#absolutely the coldest take of the decade

[poisonousquinzel]

people that hate harlivy because it's "ruined Ivy's character" and "she's better alone being a pure villain" are so baffling to me like what the hell y'all got against her being happy? like lady's slowly healing from her past trauma that was the catalyst behind her seclusion and distrust that lasted decades, and she's finally letting herself embrace her humanity more bit by bit and starts trusting people, starts forming relationships and bonds and falling in love and that's a problem??? that she's got positive character growth???

After years trapped in an echo chamber of her own dark thoughts, a woman was placed in an adjacent cell.

Harley Quinn.

A young woman madly in love with a monster. Trapped in a cycle of abuse.

Ivy cared about her. She wanted to help ground her. Teach her how to be free of The Joker.

To protect Harley, Ivy started to adapt and grow. Her love for the silly little clown girl stabilized her. It made her stronger. It made her better.

In time, their love would become something more. Ivy helped Harley reject her monster. Take control of her own life. Her own story.

They weren't heroes, exactly.

They broke all sorts of rules together, but they followed their hearts. And helped the kind of people they wanted to help, and hurt the kind they wanted to hurt.

- Dr. Bella Garten (Batman Secret Files: The Gardener)

She's stabilizing and figuring herself out. That's a good thing. That's a healthy thing

The path of destruction and loneliness Ivy was on would only end in her dying let's be real here. She would never be allowed to win, to achieve her goals, to best the Dark Knight. DC wouldn't allow it.

It'll always end like it always has, with her losing the battle.

And if she'd continued down that path, spiraling more and more into the dark thoughts and distancing herself from her humanity, she would die trying to succeed.

That's not good writing and it's not good story telling, spending decades telling the same tale with the same ending until her character is shelved permanently six feet under.

Harley didn't ruin anything for her or her character. If anything, she gave her a reason to live beyond achieving her environmentally based goals.

And in this household we support Ivy being fucking happy and healing from her trauma,, folks 👏

Like I stg it's weird ass behavior, the coldest of takes, absolutely deserving of an insta block if I see that sorta misplaced negativity in the tags

#poison ivy #pamela isley #harlivy #harley quinn #harleen quinzel #dc comics #tw abuse mention #this isn't about j*ker why is anyone including him in this discussion idgaf about him or his character #I'd like to see him dead #thats it

[xo-urban]

Hey this request isn’t really an X reader kind of thing, more like of their reaction to it oh and male reader is married to a man and has kids also

So basically the task force 141 was going through a mission but it failed so they had to lay low for a few hours or days so— Male reader took upon him to let them crash at his safe house which has his family currently staying in it.

{two kids in their 10 or 11 ig, and a husband}

Someone is heavily injured, like a gash wound or blooding bad, so their leaning on Male reader, who’s a medic— having to help because before his equipment was blown or left behind.

When their in they meet the husband, who’s just finish’s making up dinner for him and the kids, his face held shock seeing his other half{us} and a group of heavy suited men. {you can put their reaction here XP}

— sugar~

Alrighty! This is gonna be headcannons if that’s alright with you!

The Team finds out about your quieter life.

No ship, just some friends reacting to you being married.

You had been married for a long time with your husband for more than a decade.

They two of you adopted two kids which you raised, now being glorious at the ages of 10 and 11.

You and your husband have previously served in the military, except you still worked and he retired to take care of the kids for you so you didn’t have to worry so often.

You had been fighting along side the infamous Task Force 141, who you would have definitely call them a second family.

One night a mission goes south, and everything turned out to be absolute shit. No one knew where to go or take cover so you stepped in and took the lead, bringing your team to a safe house you knew like the back of your hand.

You rushed inside as a bloody wounded soldier was brought in. You were the medic of your team, there to fix everyone up. So you wasted no time patching the poor soldier up.

Your husband would eventually greet you with food, assuming the commotion was you after a tired night. But he was greeted with far more people than he expected.

Your husband would be very confused, but to see you working calmly relaxed him a little. Glad to see you were okay.

Eventually your kids came in to check out what was happening in curiosity.

When you finished, you finally greeted your husband before introducing everyone to each other.

You told your husband the situation you guys were in and he was glad to help.

141 was quite surprised to find out you were married and had two kids! Astonished. Mainly cause you never talked about your family.

You would offer to help cook more food as Gaz and Price offered to set up a few places to sleep, while Soap dragged Ghost along to take care of your kids.

When you came back with plates, you could see Price and Gaz laughing, stripped of unnecessary gear, same with Soap and Ghost, except Soap was playing along with some figurines with one of your kids while Ghost sat there, still with a smile under his mask as your other kid drew on his mask with washable markers and decorating it with shiny stickers.

Your families were brought together that night and you couldn’t be happier.

Over the past few days, your husband and team had grew fond of each other, but soon enough everyone had to get back to work, despite the kids’ protests, 141 made sure that they’ll come back to visit. It’s nice to see some of the coldest hearts warm up in the company of the safe house.

Your husband and you of course kiss and hug proudly throughout their stay, sharing stories and making memories.

#fanfic #fanfiction #male reader #modern warefare 2 #platonic #task force 141 #headcanon

[hexonthepeach]

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 12: haze

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate’s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned] [4: bound] [5: home] [6: gift] [7: reunion] [8: security] [9: secret] [10: prisoner] [11: gambit]

wc: 5.6k

chapter warnings:  involuntary drug use, involuntary marking, dubcon explicit sexual content from a first-person perspective

recommended listening: colorblind - maddox

Lee Donghyuck, callsign Haechan [canis aureus α] (formerly 78th in line for the throne)

In the "first times for everything" category, Haechan ticks off the box for attempting to cook a meal with an erection that just won't quit. 

He feels like he's fourteen again, unable to control the blood flow to his dick during co-ed physical drills, when the sight and scent of a few of his comrades had him rushing to the coldest, farthest shower. 

Isolation in an Alpha-only designated military program hadn't been much better–just more confusing–but it had taught him how to channel his interest in play, and maybe even a little submission. 

For you, however, he's an open book. 

No amount of distraction can keep him from focusing on the soft shape of your lips (the thought of them closing around his shaft sends another twitch to his knot, still popped from his last session) or the way your tail has a habit of flicking when you're thinking (wouldn’t it feel so soft against his bare chest when he sank into your presented behind . . .?). 

It's this train of thought that has the fire alarm going off and yet another round of poorly-diced garlic, onion, and potato ending up drenched in fire extinguishing agent and the garbage. 

In the end he orders a delivery of his favorite fast food–a little bit of everything to please you, of course–pacing until the drone arrives downstairs laden with boxes.

He's feeling the elation of gifting you with your meal in proper Alpha fashion and maybe still a little distracted by the thought of your legs wrapped around him, so when he swipes the door open to the medical wing and immediately drops the armful of precious cargo it's because he is absolutely, 100% not prepared for the sight before him. 

Taeil is nowhere to be seen. You, on the other hand, can't be missed. 

The room is wall-to-wall fruits and flowers and sandalwood musk with you at the center of it, perched in the high desk chair at the doctor's main station, a VR rig strapped to your head. 

It's the sounds, he realizes–the tinny register of whatever is playing on your headphones matched by those coming from your throat, frustrated whines mixed with the occasional cry of pleasure, or maybe pain. Your movements are jerky and awkward and obscured by the loose-fitting medical gown you've changed into but it's clear you're mounting something, kneeling in the wide seat and leaning towards the desk for leverage. 

In an instant he's lost his fight with his body, blood rushing from his head so fast he's reeling. He has to adjust himself in his pants, throbbing at the contact, unable to tear his eyes off of you trapped in self-pleasure like you’d manifested from his deepest fantasies.

"You even so much as lay a finger on her and you'll no longer have a pack. You fuck her and it's death." Johnny had gone around the room to each member, making eye contact, ensuring the duck of a head or a verbal affirmation from each. 

Not one of them had resisted. Granted, there was still a question of what Taeyong thought was good for the pack but it wasn't worth breaking blood to find out.

A pack couldn't function without a prime, nor could it without complete obedience.

Doyoung had repeated the same thing with a softer edge of civility. 

"Any imposition on the prime's mate and you will be forced to accept a duel. Let's not let it come to that."

He'd come back to that memory more than a few times in the last few days, letting it act as a frigid reminder that you were strictly off limits, regardless of animal nature. 

He coughs, loudly, trying to announce his presence in a way that you can notice–earning nothing. His face and ears are on fire as he finally decides to take the food out the door and try again–locking the keypad.

Ring the doorbell. Ring the doorbell again.

He takes the opportunity to tuck himself into his waistband beneath his belt and pull his shirt over it, as well as offer a prayer to his ancestors that you'll never see it. 

He tries a few times before you open the door, hair wild and eyes starry with arousal, distracted and embarrassed. You've thrown on Taeil's white coat, which only adds a sheen to the fantasy currently playing out in Haechan's head.

Doctor, I need you to check on a huge problem I'm having . . .

"You're here," you say. By the looks of it you're hiding something, holding right past the sliding door. He nervously licks his lips, watching the way your fox-like eyes dart to his tongue.

"I brought you food," he says. He lifts the bag, feeling the slosh of liquid from a crushed sauce container.

"Oh. Yes. Thank you." 

You smile and relax. 

He's done for, he realizes. If he wasn't before–he is now–seeing what you look like when you're pleased. 

It was different with Taeyong–gifting him felt a little like laying offerings at the feet of a fickle god. He can tell you're incapable of dismissing even the tiniest gesture, as if you were starved for it. 

It makes his chest feel tight to see it.

"Where's Moon?" Haechan asks, carefully moving past you. He's conscientious of spooking you, knowing you're on edge and buzzing with anxiety. 

"In bed," you say, grabbing on to your sleek, dark tail to fidget with it. "It's weird. He's being weird. He said he had to take another suppressant and then he got sleepy again? And locked himself in?"

Haechan goes to Taeil's quarters, overriding the door control. He almost chokes on the smell of the other Alpha's pheromones. Under other circumstances it might be pleasant, even welcome to his jackal, but there's a tinge of metallic bitterness that makes him gag.

He can hear the older man's soft snoring, collapsed fully clothed facedown on his bed. He's glad to be spared the sight of whatever level of rut Taeil's going through in his dreams, if only because you don't need to see the second-in-charge and man providing you with medical care in that state.

He turns around to find you playing with the handle on the takeout bag, absentminded.

"Aren't you starving?" he asks.

Your ears twitch. 

"Kind of," you say. You make eye contact with him for a moment, just a little too long to be an accident. "It's hard to want to eat when I'm so . . ."

"Thirsty," Haechan interrupts, smacking his forehead. "I forgot drinks."

"It's fine," you say, blocking him from leaving. He can't hide the sound he makes when your hand presses to his sternum, light but like a lead weight. 

"I should get some dishes, too–" he panics, moving back, panicking more when you follow. 

"Taeil has his own stash, no?" Your teeth flash as you look up at him, head cocked. "I saw bottles in his specimen fridge."

"It's probably just beer," Haechan says, regretting it instantly when you smile wider, exposing your always just a little too big canines. 

"Perfect," you say.

"No, definitely not–I'm on duty and you're on–" 

"Why not? The doctor probably shouldn't be napping on the job either. It can be our little secret." 

Our little secret. 

The words echo like a gong hit through his brain, all those stuffed-down desires finding this particular outlet a nice alternative to the other, unthinkable ones.

He could please you and protect you from the others and it would be one step closer to having you forever. If not for real, then at least emotionally. Yes, that sounds nice.

"We can split just one, no? Before Mark comes back?" Your finger taps something out just beneath his collarbone and his mind goes blank.

Fuck Mark, he thinks. Maybe this will get you to finally sleep, too. Haechan feels a surge of confidence overtake the warning bell at the back of his brain.

"Okay," he agrees. 

And oh, does that make you pleased. 

Indeed, everything seems perfect and a little easier once you're both sprawled out on the old couch that serves as seating by Taeil's desk, chicken and specialty pizza piled across the low table. 

Haechan finds an old melo you've never seen before–a thriller action, not romance of course–to play in the background on the largest monitor. 

"Is it a good one?" 

"My favorite," he lies, unable to eat. If he's seen it he doesn't remember, too caught up in the graceful and formal way you pour him his share from Taeil's stash, your smile of acceptance when he pours yours in return. 

He barely touches his plastic cup of beer, a few sips proving dangerous as you settle cross-legged on the floor to devour chicken wings like they're your last meal.

You're having a good time, sufficiently distracted with food and conversation. 

Somehow this is worse than walking in on you masturbating. 

That could just be a dream, a thing tucked away he doesn't have to think about besides the occasional reminder of that defiled chair just over there. This experience is alarmingly real in its mundanity. 

He's never been on a date before, never hung out with anyone his age that wasn't a designated male or a recruit with the same hopped-up hormones. He's been scratching at the ground in wait of something like normalcy.

And apparently, so have you.

"Cheers," you say, lifting your cup over his knee to tap against his. "I always wondered why people did this in the melos when they're sad. I think I get it now."

"You gotta toast to something happy," Haechan says. The word sad permeates his entire world, more when a sad look crosses your face as you grip your drink tighter.

"Things will get better," he says. "Once you're not . . ."

He doesn't dare finish the sentence, clearing his throat. 

"To first times and small pleasures," you offer, clinking his cup and clearing your own. 

You look up at him with a slightly glazed-over expression, expectantly. Haechan drinks a little more deeply, savoring the bitter taste of the craft concoction. Taeil had learned how to make NUSA-style beer a few years ago from Johnny, this was probably one of their experiments. Not his favorite, but not bad.

"Can I?" you ask, looking at the empty couch beside him.

"It's probably more comfortable," Haechan jokes, adjusting away as you settle beside him.

"I feel better just having you close, you know." Your voice is so quiet he can barely hear it over a chase scene, having to turn down the volume. 

"What?"

"I don't think I can sleep without an Alpha near me, now." You say, shyly. You've wrapped your tail around you, the fur so close he can feel it even if he doesn't dare to reach out and touch it.

"That's . . . That's probably not a great idea."

"Do you think I could go to sleep next to Taeil?" 

Your eyes are wide and innocent when you look up at him, as if you're asking permission.

"No," he says quickly. God–he can't imagine what would happen to you if you got into bed with an Alpha in rut. He could, actually–but the thought of anyone touching you makes him sick to his stomach. 

He knows Mark won't be long back–Yuta had needed his help with a job according to his message, something about Dys pack witnesses. He has a window of time to enjoy your company. It won't hurt to let you physically closer.

The worst that can happen if Mark finds you curled up next to him is to give him a dressing down. If Taeil wakes up, he can explain that too–

"Take off your coat," he blurts out. 

"What?" you ask, eyes widening even more. 

"If you're gonna cuddle me I'd prefer you didn't smell like old ringtail," Haechan says, even more humiliated by the explanation. 

"Cuddle?" 

You take off the layer with a haste that has his head spinning. Your thighs are visible under the short hem of your black gown–oversized t-shirt, really–scent so heady he thinks he can swallow it.

"Don't make it weird, okay?" Haechan says, pretending to be annoyed. "Mark will kill me before Johnny gets the chance."

"You're the one who said it," you say. 

He's stiff as a plank as you rest into the curvature of his arm, head sinking into the space between his shoulder and jaw. It's like holding the first blanket of his childhood, the one he’d worn ragged. You're so real–

–he laughs out loud, involuntarily, startling you.

"What?"

"Your ears." Haechan itches his face, hand clamping down on the top of your head to turn it to the screen. You find a better angle that doesn't tickle him, sliding down to rest against his side.

"Better?" he asks. Inside he's screaming, hyper aware of every soft press of your body. Radiating lines of warmth and pleasure seem to erupt from each point of contact, your curves etched into his memory with each breath.

"Your vest is scratchy," you mutter. 

Somehow he's taking off clothing now too, heart beating against his ribs when you bury your face in his pectoral muscle–this time much closer. You scent him in earnest, rubbing the side of your mouth against his clothing with each nudge.

"Thank you, Alpha."

Oh fuck. Fuck, he thinks. 

He wants to stop you but he's too busy counting to ten in his head, legs spread wide to keep from the shocks of pleasure that occur everytime his cockhead rubs against the band of his underwear. 

He can keep it cool, he thinks. 

He thinks.

If it means getting to enjoy you pliant and warm against him until the others show up he can survive until that freezing shower. It's naive but the alternative of making you upset is too terrible a thought to entertain.

"Don't make it weird," he reminds you. 

"You don't like being called that?" 

"It makes me uncomfortable," he says. It's the truth, considering the ache in his balls. 

"What would make you comfortable?" Your hand spreads over the other side of his chest, settling over his heart. You must be able to feel it–hear it probably–as his pulse steadily increases. 

Thank god for the beer, he thinks. He's much more relaxed than expected, a haze filtering his senses. It could be too long since he's indulged but he also knows now how good an omega like you can be, overriding anything negative.

"No talking, just watching," he says.

"Okay, Haechan." You add an informal note that makes him wish he could bite his fist in his teeth. 

The torture only increases as you seem to fall asleep against him, hand sinking to his belly. He adjusts you, carefully, forced to pull your body across his lap and onto the couch arm so you're not diving headfirst into it. Your tail has a mind of its own, lifting up from under your clothing to beat weakly against his thigh.

"Y/N," he whispers, holding you upright in an awkward position. "I'm gonna just get up and lay you down." 

Your roll over, hands clinging around his neck. 

"Don't leave me," you beg. 

"No, no," he assures. "I'm just losing feeling in my arm."

"Oh," you say. You adjust, ass wiggling into his thighs. 

The sound he makes is humiliating, somewhere between a moan and a yelp. 

"Sorry," you say, sitting up–barely–legs shifting to both sides of his hips, breasts inches from his curled-away chest.

"Don't move," he says through gritted teeth. 

"What's wrong?" You ask. Your hands connect at the base of his skull. He can't explain that he's throbbing so hard he might come untouched, instead choosing to grab your waist to try and lift you off of him as carefully and gently as possible. 

For some reason, his arms can barely move you. You're magnetized to stick to him. 

"You're crushing me," he huffs, fighting weakly. "Just let me get up so I can get more comfortable."

"Oh no," you say, backing off of him and sliding down to the floor. 

Oh gods is that infinitely worse.

The angle is devastating, your hands on his thighs as you watch Haechan move to stand, only to immediately sit back down again. The sudden movement wracks him with dizziness, and he shakes his head to clear it. 

"Is something wrong?" 

"I feel like . . . a cotton ball," he says. His mouth may as well be full of it, the room darkening in small blinks as he struggles to concentrate. 

"You know, that might be me." You rub circles into his upper legs, nails spiraling in the weatherproof fabric. 

"What . . .?" 

"Don't you remember they said that I can make you feel good? Like you're high?" 

It's decidedly not what he's expecting, or the way you clamber back on top of him and push his uncooperating body down on the cracked synthetic leather. 

"I'm sorry." Your tone seems genuinely sad as you play with the hem of your shirt.

"For making it weird? Too late," he says drowsily. 

"Not weird. Just fast. Everything will be just fine." You press a finger against his lips, tracing it down to his chin. Then his eyes can't follow, the light somehow chasing your hands.

There's a dumb smile on his face, and he can feel it break a little when you pull off your gown to expose yourself to the filtered air. With the slowed speed of his comprehension he watches a land laid out in an artificial moonlight, a finger beckoning him into the dark.

Something is weird. But he can't think about that right now. He intakes a breath, marveling as your torso resolves in the dim light into something that glows.

Everything is clearer: your beautiful body limned in the flickering light from the muted show, exposed and radiating delicious warmth as your skin pebbles.

You're wearing what looks like a questionable attempt at underwear, straps and lace and even a cute little black bow between the swell of your breasts. That gets his mouth watering again, or rather it would, if it didn't feel like sandpaper.

Why . . .?

Gift-wrapped and placed at his feet, he thinks, distantly aware of the fact that this is all too easy–suspiciously so. 

He doesn't drink often but he also doesn't go down that quickly, unless you're made of magic. Maybe you’re like one of those old legends about fox spirits who ate kingdoms, seducing empires into dust.

"You drugged me." He says, clarity on his tongue before his brain can follow.

"Just a little. For us both. So it doesn't hurt," you say, lifting hands to your breasts. He's aware they're his hands only when texture and heat appear under them, divine but passed through a filthy veil of unease.

You're on top of him, mostly naked and riding him, and he's not going to be able to stop. There is no possible way that he will be able to keep from making you sob and moan and beg beneath him when he finally shows you what's been playing in his head 24/7 since he'd first scented you.

But there's something else about this dream-come-true, an awful thing weighing him down he can't stop going back to–that at the end of it, when he eventually wakes up, he'll be dead. 

He doesn't realize he's crying until you reach out and stroke his face, bringing your fingers to your mouth and tasting his tears with a gentle dab of your tongue. 

"It won't hurt, I promise," you assure him.

"What's going to hurt?" he asks, panicking enough to grasp your ribs. You bend through his hold like water, kissing him. 

He's never been kissed like this before, and clearly neither have you. It's awkward and bruising and he can't enjoy it, even as much as you're everything he's ever wanted against him. Gods you are everything–he wants to mold into your life the same way he feels you could for him. 

A mate. He's always wanted one, never dared dream he could have one. Maybe he's just crying because he's happy.

You seem to answer his unspoken question when you pepper his face in lighter, angel's wing dusting of your lips. 

But the softness is too much, the affection more like a mother kissing a child. Here behind his closed eyelids he only feels empty, as if subjected to a gesture rather than real love.

After what feels like forever he realizes you're following his moles, eyelashes brushing his skin scattershot across his cheeks and jaw and throat until you find your favorite–at his collarbone.

You'd been the one to tell him his moles looked like the stars. Constellations, actually.

"The original name was Cynosura. Dog's tail." You'd explained. Somehow you were always smarter than you let on.

That same mouth kisses its way back to his throat. Each draw of heat from your tongue and lips is matched by the presence of your teeth, the vulnerability making the Alpha within buck him back to consciousness.

Haechan twists and struggles but he’s as heavy as lead and you’re as light as a leaf. He pants rapidly, breath stopped with the graze of your canines against the sensitive patch of skin somewhere past a third star.

"It will only sting a little bit," you say. 

Flame explodes across his vision as your bite sinks in. It's cold and hot at the same time, inferno radiating up his scalp and down through his chest to his toes. It's a body invading his own, tendrils of new feeling opening the way a flower might in the heat of the sun. 

At the same time, it rips him in two.

Suddenly that clean and sweet scent in his nostrils is a color he can see, white bruising into pink into red. Blood–that's what he'd smelled earlier in the room–Taeil's no doubt. 

Now his. 

He's never scented himself, green and earthy. Nor has he ever felt the jackal inside wake up, not even in the Wild, when he'd felt the alien sensation of fur and claws growing where they shouldn’t have been. 

It–he–is angry. The snarl erupts from his belly to his chest and explodes in the air, frightening you away with a strangled echo in your own throat. Just as quickly he finds himself on top of you, paws–no, hands–pressing your shoulders into the compressed cushions as you submit, too stunned to fight.

"I'm–I'm sorry," you repeat, eyes glassy. He can see his blood on your teeth. All the beauty of your features have been sharpened into the thinnest edge by the shadows, making you monstrous.

"What did you do?" he asks. 

"I claimed you," you whisper. 

"No," he says, adamantly. "That's not how it works."

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. You weren't supposed to bite first. You weren't supposed to strip his skin and leave him exposed. 

Your expression transmogrifies into something even more awful than satisfaction: confusion.

"I thought you wanted me," you say.

"No," he repeats. Not this way–not with him bleeding and every moment stretched to minutes, hallucinating visions of the real you. It was supposed to be gentle and relaxed and fun, not this nightmare.

He’d let his mind wander so many places over the last few days, hearing your soothing voice over his headset. He’d imagined taking you to one of the few exposed beaches a few clicks far southwest, artificially constructed by where dunes remained as bulwarks for the rising tides but real enough to the memory of places only captured in old melos. 

He was going to hold your hand on the shore and watch you chase the waves until you fell into his arms, joyful and exhausted. He’d feed you and care for you until you nuzzled into his chest and told him you–

"But I can feel it." Your voice breaks his reverie. He sees the fox under your half-lidded gaze, the way you bare your throat as you arch beneath him. Even on your back you’re presenting.

"No!" He shakes your shoulders, fingertips digging into bare flesh. "It's not the same."

"You're hurting me."

He hadn't realized his hands were around your windpipe until you'd said anything, regret immediately flooding him so deeply it washes away everything in its path. 

He's not supposed to hurt you. He's supposed to take care of you, please you, settle the pulse beneath his fingertips. 

There's a bruise on your face that's fading purple and yellow, scratches all across your body that he suddenly fears he's caused. His hands flutter over you, making sure you don't break apart like a porcelain doll dropped on the floor, pieces still held together until they're picked up . . .

He can sense your relief as he caresses your face, trying to mend your cracks–fingertips tracing the deep scars that turn shiny in the dark. Where Johnny had ruined you, you'd said. 

Now he knows what that means.

It's so strange, it's almost like he can see himself through your eyes. You're not scared now. 

In the wake of panic is pure desire–not just his but a thrumming need to match from you, made stronger by distress. Something inside you wants to be hurt, wants to be subdued. Something needs it.

"Please, Haechan. Mate me," you say. "Please."

In all his life taking orders he's never once felt this kind of compulsion before, a sudden urge to do whatever is asked, by any means. In a terrifying moment of clarity he understands this is what you've been living with your entire life.

It's the only thing you know.

For a moment you're both suspended, at odds, and then something snaps. He's not sure who moves first but you're quicker than him, still fighting.

You surge up to meet him, grabbing at his face with piercing nails. Haechan's mouth crushes against yours, tasting his own torn skin. You kiss him more eagerly now and he matches your energy, knowing fully that you're hiding nothing. 

You do want him, you won't leave him now. You’d chosen him. He’s everything you need.

This time it feels a little more right than wrong, puzzle pieces slotting together by force.

He holds your body firmly against his to keep you from leading. It's made easier when his hand finds the base of your spine to steady you, the other holding your head. Touching you where fur meets skin makes you moan in pleasure, and he lets that be a guide as he finally, finally, grasps at the parts of you that feel most natural.

You’re made of silk, so warm. Not a wiry hair in all that expanse of fur, just the most delicious give as you become tender in his hands. He almost forgets you’re still an animal, remembering when you nip at his chin when he forgets to respond in the way you want. 

He has to remind you you’re his. The jackal demands submission. 

The most beautiful sound he's ever heard leaves your parted lips as he tugs your head back by your ears, phantom pain in his skull. Your neck is there for him, a bite for a bite, but he resists the urge for revenge.

After this, you'll be nothing to him but a death sentence. But he can still make this choice.

He licks up the sweat over your pulse, swallowing pure gold despite the dryness of his tongue. It’s easy to savor it as he licks desperately into your mouth until you open for him, a blossom offering nectar.

You’re warm and wet, and so, so inviting. 

This is alright, he can stop here–he can make you purr and delight you and give you what you need until you choose to stop. He tries to soothe you with brushes over your breasts and belly, his hands as clumsy as if they were truly changed into stubby claws.

A musical series of notes underscores your tiny whimpers, desperate for contact, unable to keep still or relax into the feeling. He's only distantly aware of the clatter of his belt buckle, your nimble hands reaching into his pants to find where he's been trapped and weeping pre-cum for what feels like hours. 

“No.” He hears himself say.

His entire body goes rigid at the first contact of your fingers around his shaft, gently exploring his shape and weight. It breaks the few remaining fibers in the thread of his self-control, clinging to the last as he's reminded of how new this is for you, and him.

And how wrong.

"Please don't stop," you say against his closed lips. "I need you so badly."

"I can't," he manages, eyes clenched shut as he presses back against the couch. "Too much. Please don't make me . . ."

"I don't care," you whisper into his cheek. "Mate me."

Haechan lets out a strangled cry as you grab his cock to line it up with your entrance, settling down so horribly slow he's reminded of a snake devouring prey. You're far too tight despite your attempts at preparation, slick pouring down your thighs in what feels like sheets to saturate his clothing.

He’s lost dissolving into you, the sensation both incredible and damning as his abdomen tightens involuntarily, muscles seizing in that familiar build of an orgasm. No, he thinks, no–it can’t end like this–he can barely move, can barely hold a thought in his head. 

"I need your help, please," you say. You can’t even take his tip, knees shaking, nails biting into his shoulders through his shirt. It’s impossible to do anything but answer your prayers, seizing your hips to pull you down when he can’t lift his thighs.

There you are–finally–nose pressed to his as you wriggle in his lap clumsily, warm heat smothering him from the tips of his toes to his scalp. You’ve eaten him whole, there’s no going back.

The pace makes the Alpha inside him insane, struggling back to consciousness to take control and force you under him again, tearing away the flimsy underwear as he sinks into you with one, forceful thrust.

For a moment you're both floating in a haze of satisfaction, your jaw slack as he begins to fuck into you, unable to pull out but ramming into you in short strokes. 

Finally, finally, the words thrum through him even though he knows there’s no coherent syllables coming from your mouth. You’re just urging him on, wishing he was able to bury himself deeper inside you, feeling the struggle as the drugs take over and his weight collapses onto you instead.

Even if he can barely move he can enjoy the fact that you're just as silky inside, gushing around him, legs locking around his hips as his knot presses against your tight, pulsing hole. It's ecstatic how quickly your body adjusts to take him after resisting, your face scrunched in pain and pleasure–the same that he feels.

"Knot me, please please please," you bleat. "I need it."

"Too much," he protests, rocking into you with short, quivering thrusts. His body is betraying him in contradictions–both flagging and involuntarily cascading towards that final lack of control. "I can’t . . . I’m . . .” 

"Wait!" Your order makes him freeze, makes something in his belly clench and burn in pain. Or is that you? The sharpness throbbing through him matches, aching with delayed release. 

"Knot me," you say again, pulling his face to yours, forehead pressed to his. 

He obeys, knees buckling. You cry out as he drives the thicker base past your stretched muscle. The stimulation with the high is unbearable, he's no longer attached to this plane as he cums immediately, more and longer than he ever has in his entire life.

His hips push weakly into you, but it’s in vain, there’s no give with the lock in place. 

It takes him a while to realize you're crying into his shoulder, the little sobs and hiccups transferred to him through the squeeze of your walls around his thick knot, triggering spurts of seed deep into your womb. If he had the energy he would get off of you but there's nothing left in him, not with the sedation.

The only thing remaining is something he never once entertained in his fantasies of having you first. 

He feels empty. Hollow.

Maybe it's you, maybe it's him. If he wasn't so tired he'd be sick. He does feel sick, flooded in your negative emotions.

"He was right, it's not enough," you lament, clenching around him, making him suck in breaths as satiety mixed with displeasure courses through you both. "It's not enough. Please don't stop."

"I can’t," he says between blinks of red and black, letting that last thread of empathy burn away. He rolls into the couch, the vinyl creaking under his ear. "You're stuck with me."

For life, he thinks. But not for long.

That only makes you cry more. Your sadness and disappointment is a bitter pill to swallow but the part of him that remains himself is delighted at the sound, returning the favor to taste your tears as he kisses your cheek cruelly through them, until you have to turn your head away.

"I hate you," he says, extricating his arm from your side to burrow as far away as he can, unable to escape. He doesn’t want to feel you hot and soft around him anymore, he just wants to slip into the darkness and hope that there’s no coming back up from under it when his inevitable execution arrives.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Even this close, you sound so far away.

"Too late," he mumbles, arm thrown over his face to keep sympathetic tears back. He knows yours are as real as your whispered apologies; animals don't feel guilt. 

Neither will he. 

[previous] [next] [check the masterlist before you proceed]

#agtbtb #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fic #nct fic #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 omegaverse #nct 127 cyberpunk au #nct 127 imagines #nct imagines #nct smut #nct 127 smut

[contentment-of-cats]

I take a deep breath because I can.

Edited: They have found a debris field near the Titanic.

Mortality is never far from a cancer patient's mind. We all die, cancer or no cancer, fairly or unfairly. The universe is the universe and keeps on going whatever the big, beautiful, horrifying, and deadly universe keeps on doing. It's not my mortality that I've been thinking about the past few days, though it's never far from my mind. It's about five people I didn't know.

People hate death. It gets in the way of the happy endings that we've been spoon-fed over decades. We want to see happy endings, see absolute miracles, so much that we won't agree that there is a line where Happy Ending Land stops and reality begins. The media is complicit and people dwell in denial to the point where it's psychosis.

CNN is my case in point this morning.

If that submarine did not have a catastrophic hull failure on Sunday morning, there are now five bodies on a garage-built unclassed, uninspected, 'experimental' submarine on the floor of the ocean. The iar is gone, the battery power is gone, they are breathing in each other's carbon dioxide, hungry, thirsty, hypothermic,in the absolute dark. Billionaire hatred aside, I cannot think of a more horrible way to die nor anyone I would ever wish it on - the same way I would never wish cancer on anyone. I am walking the measured mile, these folks were locked in and dropped down. The fact that people signed an extensive multi-page waiver to board this thing makes me scream in horror.

One thing nobody wants to talk about on TV is the very real probability that one hour and forty-five minutes into it's dive, the sub experienced catastrophic hull failure and crushed down to something the size of a Weber kettle grill. All the air would have been pushed out of every component, including the humans inside. It would have taken a couple of seconds at that depth, just fifteen minutes from the bottom and the wreck of the Titanic. Apparently losing contact with the sub happened often enough that it was not reported until eight hours later. That is the best case scenario. A better case would be that they find it, bring it up to the surface, and show people the actual real consequences of hubris and stupidity.

Worst case is that they hung on in the dark, in the cold, hearing rescuers above them as they died this morning.

Their friends are saying that they could still be alive. These men were experienced adventurers, they would know how to conserve oxygen. The FFS section of this post begins below with OceanGate's co-founder talking to CNN.

While life support supplies are now believed to be running low, a co-founder of the company that operates the missing Titanic submersible says he believes the crew's expertise will extend the "window available" for rescue. Guillermo Söhnlein made the comments in a statement to CNN. He specified her was speaking on behalf of himself and not the company, OceanGate. He said OceanGate CEO and co-founder Stockton Rush — who is aboard the sub — and the rest of the crew would have "realized days ago that the best thing they can do to ensure their rescue is to extend the limits of those supplies by relaxing as much as possible." Based on the crew members' expertise, the "window available" for rescue is longer than "what most people think," Söhnlein said. Thursday will be a "critical day in this search and rescue mission," he added. "I continue to hold out hope for my friend and the rest of the crew," Söhnlein said. "I would encourage everyone to remain hopeful for getting the crew back safely."

This is fucking nutty. This is denial. Nobody wants to think that corporate hubris killed five people including the co-founder, engineers deal in reality. These people are dead. You can't spin dead. You can't wish away dead. Dead is the hardest, coldest fact of all and one of the hardest to live with, whether it's yours or someone else's.

Side note. On Monday it will have been a month since my mom's death. I knew it was coming either from dementia or COPD. The stroke moved it up. Nobody, including her doctors, saw it coming. There was no high blood pressure, her vascular health was excellent. With directives in place, she was as comfortable as possible. I remind myself that hemipaleigic, with dementia, and COPD would have been the ultimate cruelty. I still get the urge to pick up the phone and call her. I can't. Death is the hardest reality.

Next is a friend of two of the men in the sub.

“I know that the adventurers on board are experienced, very experienced,” said Per Wimmer, an adventurer who was previously signed up for two canceled trips on the Titan. Wimmer is an acquaintance of Hamish Harding and Stockton Rush, two of the five people on the missing vessel. He said Harding, a British businessman and trained jet pilot, and Rush, the CEO and founder of the company leading the voyage, are both very experienced adventurers who would know to conserve oxygen. “They would no doubt know what it means to slow down, take it easy, and use as little oxygen as possible, and therefore extend the potential timeline as much as possible," he added. Wimmer said that the presence of OceanGate CEO Stockton Rush on board the vessel is helpful, as he knows “the ins and outs of how this submersible works.”

Again, the Bulletproof Fallacy is at work. "I have never been shot, therefore I am bulletproof."

They've deployed a medical team with a specialty in dive medicine and equipped with hyperbaric oxygen chambers. There is hope, yes, and then there is acceptance that the ocean is as merciless as space. It is hostile to our life form in that if our artificial environment is breached, we can't continue to live.

They've found a debris field. It may or may not be part of the 1912 wreck.

#titanic #oceangate #there is no reality tv #happy ending psychosis

[aralezinspace]

Can You Feel It

~AO3~ Dreamling, smut

Kinktober prompt: temperature play

Kinktober Masterlist

Almost forgot to post this one with everything going on, we'll see how the rest of the month goes xD

A shiver wracked Hob’s entire frame. He swore under his breath- the room was freezing cold at his request, something he had wanted to try, but Dream was taking his sweet ass time. 

Goosebumps pebbled every inch of his flesh, even places you didn’t think he could get goosebumps. The silk sheets on the massive bed were doing absolutely nothing to warm him up. He could even see his breath fogging in front of him, small white clouds coming from his mouth. He chuckled and released another, remembering all the times he and his friends would pretend to be dragons. Maybe he was being a tad dramatic, but this was possibly the coldest Hob had ever been in his life.

“Dream-?” Damn, even his voice trembled with the cold. Cold, and more than a bit of aroused anticipation. Yet as aroused as he was, his body had decided that between his thighs was not a wise place to send his blood at the moment. Maybe this wasn’t going to go as well as he hoped.  

“I’m here, my love.” He glided over to where Hob lay on the bed, his eyes sliding up and down his naked and trembling body. “My dear, you look positively frozen.” His voice lowered and he breathed, “Allow me.” 

He leaned over to kiss his husband, and his lips were searing, warm the way Hob’s body normally was, while the immortal was frozen to the touch. Hob felt the tingles spread through his lips like aftershocks and groaned into the kiss. Morpheus’ breath was warm and wet, then instantly cold again when Hob pulled away to suck air into his lungs. 

Hob continued to gasp for breath as he watched Morpheus slowly lower his hands to his chest and squeeze. His hands were scorching , the equivalent of a hot bath. It burned and tingled and stung in the most delicious way, little waves of heat radiating out from Dream’s fingers. A sharp cry tore out of his throat; he couldn’t decide whether to squirm away from the burning heat at his chest or move closer so it could warm him more. 

Dream squeezed the flesh of Hob’s chest again, pressing that heat further into his skin. Hob moaned and writhed, jolting between the cold sheets at his back and the fire from Dream’s hands at his front. Still squeezing, Morpheus slid his hands down Hob’s torso, over his thighs, brushing his knees with a teasing smirk. Hob had wanted to experiment with differences in temperature- well then, he would give the professor an exhaustive set of data for later analysis. 

“Hold still, darling,” Dream purred, one hand pressing down on his lower abdomen. His other hand spread corded thighs, and one slick, frigid finger slid inside.

Hob screamed, unable to move toward or away from any of the sensations assaulting him on all sides. Dream’s one hand was scorching on his frozen stomach, while his icy finger sapped all the heat from his insides. Dream let out a decadent chuckle as he easily kept Hob pinned in place between contrasting hot and cold. 

“How does it feel?” he rasped, eyes of black fire trained on his husband’s face with laser focus. 

“It feels-” Hob strained to get the words out as he strained against Dream’s hold. “Fuck love, it feels incredible-” Dream hummed low in his throat and slowly withdrew his finger. 

Hob groaned as his hole clenched around nothing, and the heat and the cold inside fought for dominance, leaving tingles in their wake. Tiny whines slipped out of his throat despite his best efforts. Morpheus groaned low in his throat, his mind racing with ideas of how many different ways he could make his beloved come apart with just fire and ice. 

With a smirk, Dream lowered himself to his knees and blew a puff of hot air over the once again chilled flesh of Hob’s inner thigh- his mouth so close to where he wanted it. “Please Dream?” he asked coyly with what he hoped was a winning grin. 

Morpheus gave him a devilish smirk. Before Hob knew it, the scorching heat of his entire tongue was pressed deeper inside than should have been humanly possible, ripping a delicious scream from Hob’s throat. Oh yes, his lovely immortal would burn and melt many times before this night was over.

#The sandman #dreamling #dream x hob #kinktober 2023 #my stuff

[true-blue-sonic]

👽😳🫡

👽 Favorite Wisp?

The Black Wisp's music absolutely slaps with its strange yet funky cowboy-like vibes, so that one! Control-wise, assuming you start it up in a correct spot, the Cyan Wisp is quite easy to get you from one place to the next. And I think the Magenta Wisp looks cutest!

😳 Hottest Sonic Take?

I think I had one yesterday, wherein I stated that the way IDW suddenly retconned Silver's time travel to him being unable to control it makes no sense and does Silver's character a disservice. I think I can make it even hotter by adding that in my opinion, they should not have included any mention towards it at all if they themselves either did not get any information on how it works, or did get information but were not allowed to explicitly dive into the details around it. Because now it directly contradicts everything we've known since Silver got introduced (namely that he can control his time travel), but in a way that leaves too much unanswered and simply is too random and contrarian for it to make sense. I believe that when faced with such a situation, it's best to just not draw attention to it at all then.

🫡 Coldest Sonic Take?

wait what is the difference between a hot take and a cold take

The internet gives no answers to this, so I guess I'll just throw in another take and then see if it's received hot or cold? Anyway, I am of the opinion that the Freedom Fighters should not return to any Sonic media. They've ran their course for over two decades, and to me, they are simply not interesting, fun, or in any way engaging. It does not help that just about everything I've seen of pre-reboot Archie especially is one giant clusterfuck, with every new plot more weird or just plain stupid than the last (with Microwaved Knuckles who dies and becomes Green God for a while and Titan Tails at the forefront of my mind when I say that). And the game characters just kind of... seemed to be getting the shaft in favour of the original Archie and the SatAM characters? I can imagine that people who really grew up with Archie and SatAM might be feeling much more fondly towards the Freedom Fighters, but I did not (both since it was before my time and since here in the Netherlands it is all but impossible to access physical copies of Archie and IDW Sonic comics), and thus for me there is no reason to want to have them around, to say it bluntly. I would much prefer if the extensive game cast got more focus in the future.

#is a hot take something you presume other people agree with and a cold take something other people do *not* agree with? #I'm very much a boomer in this regard sorry

[sciencespies]

The strange physics of absolute zero and what it takes to get there

https://sciencespies.com/physics/the-strange-physics-of-absolute-zero-and-what-it-takes-to-get-there/

The strange physics of absolute zero and what it takes to get there

Weird things happen down at -273°C, the coldest possible temperature. Now we’re building quantum fridges, which could make things even weirder

Physics 14 December 2022

By Karmela Padavic-Callaghan

Could cooling with a quantum fridge force us to rethink temperature itself?

Oliver Burston

TO IMAGINE working your way down the temperature scale into the realms of extreme cold, you might start with the inside of an industrial freezer. At about -18°C (0°F), it is uncomfortable, but bearable with some warm clothes. Now, turn your mind to the -60°C (-76°F) or so that explorers experience during the Antarctic winter, a temperature so severe it can ruin human flesh. And then, for the ultimate in cold, think of space itself at -270°C.

Except, it might surprise you to hear that the coldest places in the universe aren’t in space, but in the physics departments of many universities. Here, over the past few decades, researchers have been contriving ways to reach ever closer to the coldest possible temperature, absolute zero. In the process, we have entered a new realm where bizarre states of matter can flow uphill, chemical reactions can be paused and designer materials can be assembled.

Now, though, the conquest of cold is entering a new phase as we build the ultimate cooling technology: the quantum fridge. Power up one of these ultimate cooling machines, and things get stranger still, with heat flowing backwards and temperature itself ceasing to have any meaning.

The question of what it means for something to cool is thousands of years old. In 450 BC, the Greek philosopher Parmenides thought up frigidum primum, a hypothetical substance that was as cold as possible and could imbue other objects with coldness. In 1664, after …

#Physics

#Physics

[circlique]

If you don’t mind me asking, do you have any headcanons or ideas on how some of the countries must been reacting during the cold war? I mostly find fics where Alfred a d Ivan are like: “We may hate each other and trying to one up the other in space, but we are both fully aware we capable of destroying the world so we are trying not to be extremely pissed off by my rival.” That or they are angrily copulating woth a lot of sad emotions.

“angrily copulating with a lot of sad emotions” i mean if this don’t describe the majority of hetalia ships. anyway--

I’m just gonna split it into nations because I have ideas for a lot of them but really just the ones involved in proxy wars such as Korea and Vietnam. I don’t know enough about eastern Europe or really Europe during this period to comment on them.

America: he’s still a young nation and a rising superpower. he feels that he saw true evil once the n*zi’s true intentions were revealed. He still sees himself as a hero and can’t understand why anyone would try to undermine him. The Soviets are the next rising threat and the only rival to uncontested American power that, in Alfred’s mine, could rid the world of evil. He is absolutely aware that America and Russia could unequivocally destroy each other along with the rest of the world, and though he doesn’t trust Ivan in the slightest, he keeps holding back on that small, tiny chance that everything is just a misunderstanding. After all, he doesn’t want to be the one to strike first because a hero would never do that, but boy will he be the one to strike back.

Russia: He’s spent his whole life fighting, and right when he thinks he’s finally gaining control of his life someone else steps in to throw a wrench into it all. He already had a tough time during ww2 and now this young, up-and-coming nation is here claiming to have a fix to everything. But he’s no different than the others. Ivan has no doubt he will simply sow more hurt, and Ivan wants to protect his people from other nations that would take advantage of them. He finally has the power to do it, and he’s not afraid to flex it. More and more nations are beginning to see the true evil of the West, all their colonialism and genocide, and he’s happy to have allies. He doesn’t want to throw the first strike, but doesn’t trust America not to.

China: The past few decades have been full of colonization and being taken advantage of by Europeans. He doesn’t trust Ivan but at least Ivan is taking a stance against the same people China feels have wronged him. They share an anti-West sentiment. They take up a shaky alliance in that, in which Ivan is happy to have an ally but doesn’t seem to trust China fully either, in some part still seeing him as “backwards” and a peasant (quote [loosely], “The Coldest Winter” by David Halberstam). And yet, they really only have each other, and he admires the others tenacity enough to accept him as an ally.

North Korea: He saw Japan, his colonizer, and in his eyes an undefeatable empire, brought to his knees by an inexplicably powerful weapon. He still bears deep hatred toward Japan but is terrified by the power that brought the Empire’s reign to an end at the hands of America. He realizes that to stand a chance in this new and terrifying world, he must acquire that power for himself, and that to survive he must turn himself into something even a superpower like America would fear.

South Korea: He also saw Japan, his colonizer, brought to his knees by an inexplicably powerful weapon, but SK’s takeaway was that he must ally himself with those with power. He was already on the democratic, self-empowered side of the scale with some caveats (as opposed to NK, who was always poorer and found comfort in the socialist appeal to the common man). Even before the end of the war he and his brother had started to split, but SK felt the Soviet-style crackdown on those in power would destabilize what little stability he had. He wanted to build on the systems already in place, even if it meant siding with an arguably colonial power, until Korea could stand on its own.

Vietnam: (apologies in advance because I honestly am not well-versed here) Another country that wanted nothing more than to fend off the shackles of colonialism. For her the main conflict was deciding who was more likely to uphold her interests--an American who was the descendant of Europeans, who colonized her? Or Russia, who fought against them? Of course she held some suspicion towards Soviet help, but at least Russia had also been victimized by European powers. 

I’m definitely taking constructive criticism on these btw. It’s well into the morning (for the US) after election day and I’ve had more than one drink. Sorry.

#hetalia #aph china #aph russia #aph vietnam #aph america #aph korea #aph north korea #aph south korea #Anonymous

[frangipanidownunder]

100 degrees of separation: fic

For @perplexistan who requested: M and S at the UH, where there is no air conditioning, and it is a record-setting, sweltering summer day. Set post season 11? Rated T, I guess.

By lunch-time it was 95 degrees and the temperature was still creeping higher. The ceiling fan whumped pitifully, simply spreading the misery around the kitchen. Even with the blind firmly closed, the heat wedged itself against the window and permeated everything. The clock on the wall titched slowly, as though the minutes were being squeezed through molasses to tick on.

Mulder peeled his forearms from the table and brought the sports pages with him. Scully puffed a wisp of stray hair from her forehead, smiling at his grapple with the newsprint. As she leaned across to help him, his attention was trapped by the bead of sweat trickling down her cleavage, weaving over the spray of rose freckles, and all his irritation at the humidity evaporated, as he watched it disappear into the V of her tank-top. He licked his lips.

“Thirsty?” she murmured, in a tone that suggested she knew exactly what had caught his eye. “We need to stay hydrated.”

“Kinda,” he said, finally removing the last of the newspaper.

“I know you love the game, Mulder but you didn’t need to tattoo it on your skin. She took his hand and twisted his arm over. “Look at that,” she said, her voice perkier, “Yankees beat the Red Sox 11 to 1.”

He read the print that had marked the heel of his thumb and along the grooves of his wrist. “Severino finished 13 and 2. Not too shabby, Scully.”

“Whatever you say, Mulder. I’m going to make iced tea. Care for some?”

“Sure. Price finished 9 and 6. But I can’t make out the Washington scores.” He rummaged through the ripped paper but ended up flinging strips into the air where they wafted momentarily on the rising heat like ticker-tape before settling willy-nilly over the table and floor. Scully sighed and he couldn’t make out if it was because she was standing in front of the open refrigerator or if it was a precursor to her snapping at him to clean up his mess. Taking no chances, he set about gathering the remnants of the pages and scrunching them into a ball.

“Don’t even think about throwing that at me,” Scully said from deep inside the ice box.

His mother used to say something about women having eyes in the backs of their heads and as a small boy it used to creep him out enough to stop him sleeping. When his sister was born, he turned her over just to check. Scully let the door shut and turned just as he closed the gap between them. He gathered her in his arms and welcomed her cool front.

“Ice, ice baby,” he sang, rocking his hips side to side with hers. She played along for a moment before shrugging away from him and setting the ice cube tray on the table.

“Grab that for me,” she asked, nodding at the ornate mason jar on the side. “I’ve added mint and lemon. Should be really refreshing. My mom used to make this recipe for us…” She looked up at him, eyes a little wetter than before and he tossed the paper ball into the trash can, nodding his understanding at her. It still cut her. It cut him too, their cumulative losses over the decades. If he had learned anything from their experiences, it was that they were each the only person in the world who truly understood the other. Love was nothing to do with it, though it helped. For the most part, anyway. 

He watched her drop ice into the jar, took the brewed tea and poured it over the cubes so they crackled and split a little. The lemon slices rose up the sides along with the mint sprigs and the aroma put him in mind of midsummer evenings in the Red Stag’s beer garden listening to Wimbledon commentary as the Pimms pitcher sloshed on the rickety, silvered table-top.

Like the smell, however, the cool action of the drink dissipated far too quickly and after ten minutes, they were both sweating again.

“Hyperhidrosis,” she mused, pressing a wet wad of paper towel to her forehead and chest.

“If that’s your medical diagnosis,” he said, unsticking each thigh from the chair, “how does one combat its symptoms?”

She scoffed and flopped back, angling her arms at 45 degrees, circling her wrists back and forth. “Someone tell Mother Nature to dial it back in a little. She’s being a bitch.”

“She’s a bit pissed at our inability to address the climate situation and I’d say she’s got fair cause.”

“But humidity at over 90 per cent, Mulder, that’s more than a bit pissed, that’s white-hot rage.”

“Hm-mm,” he said, turning over his cell. “If it gets to 100 degrees, I’ll expire. How do Aussies live like this?”

“They have a/c everywhere,” she said.

“Uh-huh, they probably even have it in their refrigerators.” He tried to laugh at his own joke but the heat stole it from his mouth.

“More people die from the cold in Australia than the heat. Their housing isn’t built for the winters. Temperatures in the south of the country are low outside of the three months of summer. And you won’t expire, Mulder. Not on my watch.”

There it was again. That understanding, that support. Her answer about deaths in Australia didn’t really surprise him. Housing in England was similarly deficient, just for the heat, not the cold. Radiators and terraces and wall to wall carpets helped heat homes during winters, but he remembered nights in Oxford where July humidity kept him awake, tossing and turning in his bedsit while the beat of a rave rose and fell from the neighbouring farmland. He wasn’t sure about the mortality rate but it always felt like Death was laughing at the poor souls crushed into tiny living quarters.

“What’s the hottest you’ve ever been, Scully? Aside from that time you wore that sleek black skirt suit where I could see the outline of your stocking top.” He chuckled at her mock-offended expression.

“Rescuing you from Arecibo is pretty high on the list of Times Dana Scully Nearly Melted.”

“You didn’t rescue me.”

“What would you call it, then, Mr George ‘Proof of Contact’ Hale?” Her voice rose up the scale of indignation a notch.

“I didn’t ask you to come. We weren’t even partners then. You just…invited yourself. And, by the way, I got us out of there like a Hollywood stunt driver.”

“I had to have months of physio to straighten my spine after that little trip to the rainforest. Jesus, Mulder.”

“You drive like that all the time,” he countered.

“Do not,” she snipped, and pushed her chair back. “And invited myself? Really?”

She disappeared for a bit and he lay his head down on the table but a pool of warm sweat gathered on his skin so that his forehead slipped away, juddering across the surface. He looked up as Scully came back into the kitchen and blinked away the droplets that ran into his eyes. “Are you putting linen in the freezer?”

“Yes. And no, I’m not mad. You’ll thank me later.”

She disappeared again and when she returned the next time, she was carrying a scalpel and a pair of surgical scissors.

“You are mad,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Just not the insane kind. What have I done, Scully?”

“Nothing yet. Get me two empty water bottles.” He did and she nodded to the scalpel. “Puncture holes in them at regular intervals and then cut the bottoms off.” When he’d finished, she’d come back with a ball of string. He watched as she tied the bottles, upside down, to the back of the fan, looping the string through the holes and around the grating.

“I take it back,” he said, “this is a work of genius.”

She grinned, hair plastered to her face, skin sheen with sweat and in a flash, it took him back to that graveyard in Bellefleur. “I’ll get the ice.”

“And some salt. And pour more water in the ice tray,” she called after him.

Side by side, they sat cross-legged in front of the fan as the cool air blasted them. His cell registered 100 degrees and he flashed it to her.

“You saved me,” he said.

“Again,” she said, smugly.

“Who’s keeping score?”

“You are.” She batted his hand away and let her head hang back, the curls of her frizzed hair straightening when the fan blew over her. Her nipples protruded tantalisingly and he shifted on his seat.

“What’s the coldest you’ve ever been? Icy Cape? Antarctica?”

She turned to him. “No,” she said, tilting her head. “It was when you let Agent Fowley back on the scene.”

“Ouch,” he said. “No anaesthetic for your surgical barbs.”

“Shut up, Mulder. I’m getting cool.”

“Hmmm, you’ve always been cool, Scully.”

Her giggle was girlish and his temperature rose despite her makeshift air conditioner. “Any chance of a…?”

“In this heat? Absolutely none,” she declared, but he could always melt her icy edges so he closed his eyes, held his silence and bade his time. Their deep understanding would get him past her 100 degrees of separation.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #100 degrees of separation #msr #season 11

[starseternalnighttriumphant]

Little one’s first reaction to seeing/feeling snow. Rowaelin babies

Aelin forgot how cold winters in Terrasen could be.

It was probably the coldest winter since the war, almost a decade ago. She shouldn’t have been surprised that her first child would’ve been born during one of the coldest winters. Not when he was already burning as bright as she was, his powers already the likes of Aelin’s.

It was the tail end of winter, yet it showed no signs of stopping. This morning when she had decided to get out of her warm bed, she looked out the windows to see a fresh coating of snow blanketing the castle grounds. She sighed and shuffled across the hall to her son’s nursery, quietly slipping in lest she wake him up.

She didn’t have to worry about that though. The four-month old was already cooing, his hands reaching towards the mobile above his crib. She leaned over to look at him as he made his little noises.

His silver hair was just like his father’s but those eyes. They were Ashryver eyes, Aelin’s eyes. He was already so handsome, his cheeks chubby and just begging to be pinched. He finally noticed Aelin above him and smiled at her, his cooing coming more excitedly.

“Hi my love,” Aelin murmured to him, picking him up and cradling him in her arms. “Did you sleep well, little prince?”

She murmured to him as she walked down the halls, hoping to find warmth by the massive hearth in the great hall. His eyes didn’t leave her the whole time, something she secretly loved. Her son was obsessed with her, and she with him. She never thought she would love someone on the same level as she loved Rowan, but when she first held her firstborn in her arms, she knew she would do anything for the little bundle gazing up at her.

She peeked into the great hall to see it filled with a bunch of people, including her cousin and most of her bloodsworn. She frowned, wanting to be alone with her son. She backed away and headed towards the main doors to the castle. She paused to throw on a thicker cloak, wrapping up her son as well, then headed out into the cold morning.

She descended the steps and stood still, taking in the bright morning and the sparse snow that was still falling.

“Winters used to be my favorite,” she began saying, watch snowflakes catch on her cloak. “Of course, the whole month of my birthdate is my absolute favorite, but winter is something different. It was a time to show my power. How it could keep me warm. How I could keep my family warm. I would light and unlight the hearths in the castle just with my fingers.”

She gazed down at her son. “Soon, you’ll be able to do that, little prince. And we’ll teach you how to wield it, your father and I. How to protect yourself, and others. But until then, I’ll never let anything or anyone hurt you. I promise.”

He cooed, his eyes shifting to take in the snow. A few flakes fell on his face and a V formed between his little brows. A flake stuck to his nose and he let out a tiny sneeze and then proceeded to cry. Aelin laughed and then shushed him, bouncing him gently.

“You’ll learn to love the snow,” she cajoled, turning to head back into the warmth of the castle. “I hated it when I was a baby too.”

-

@highqueenofelfhame @empire-of-wildfire @kandasboi @schmlip-scribble @city-of-fae @westofmoon @tangledraysofsunshine @shyvioletcat @clockworkgraystairs @alifletcher2012 @anabelkay @whiskeybusiness1776 @danieldesario 

#rowaelin prompt

[wooblesnyamain]

Coldest take I've ever seen was the thing about the smooth brain joke being the new r slur.

Like, I get why it's mean to joke about because that is a genuine disability, but I am genuinely hurt by the fact that people are comparing it to a slur that's been used for decades to dehumanize disabled people. Like, that's kinda fucked up fr.

Unlike the r slur, smooth brain doesn't only refer to somebody who is disabled. It's more known as a term used to describe animals who usually have smoother brains and are therefore less intelligent than other animals who usually have wrinkled brains..

Nobody jokes about it because it's a disability. They're not saying you have disabled brain, they're literally just saying you have Koala brain.

Some may argue that the r slur is used because people think it means stupid.. No they don't think that, they know what it means, they just use it instead of "stupid." That's why it's ableist, that's why it's a slur. That's why it's not the same as a joke about fucking animal brains.

Is it a mean joke? Yes, yes it is. Is it the same as the r slur? Absolutely fucking not.

#r slur #r slur mention #r slur tw #tw r slur #tw ableism #tw ableist language #tw cursing #cursing tw #ableism #anti ableism #ableist #ableists dni #slurs #tw slur #slur tw #smooth brains #smooth brain #wrinkled brain #wrinkle brain

[moe-lazyeye]

Agree to Strongly Disagree pt. 3 (botgd 2)

1 X 2 X

Malak’s hand rested on the windowsill as he gazed out at the frost crusted yard that surrounded his house...and the lone figure that stood in it. He drew a thin stream of air through his nose, and then grabbed his coat. “Opie...” He growled softly. “Stay near the back door...”

The young man glanced over at him from where he sat on the couch, and then carefully got up. “That’s a concerning tone of voice you got there dad.”

Malak glanced back at him, and then pulled the door open a crack. “It’ll be okay...just being cautious.” He slipped out and took a few steps off his porch before he came to a stop. The half breed pushed his hands into his pockets against the cold. “Mr. Donz...” He greeted.

“Please.” Dixie said. “Donz was...well...most of my relative’s names. Dixie...please.”

“Is my son alright?” 

Dixie blinked a few times. “Yes of course.” He assured. “Farris is a fine employee, and a good man. Not to mention, truly...the most fortunate of the lot of you.”

Malak relaxed a little. Despite his journey to resist the urges of favoritism, and his less than pleasant last encounter with Farris, Malak would always have that soft spot for his son. To know that he was well was a relief. The release of tension did not last long though, as Malak gave a light frown. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure? My son and I...we aren’t supposed to be around too many people.”

“Hm, yes...and who decided that?”

Malak set his jaw a little. “We did.”

Dixie bobbed his head. “Naturally. A meeting of erroring in caution and the moral dilemma of not being able to take it back.”

Malak’s legs began to curl tighter together around his shoulders and back. “Mr. Dixie...I can’t begin to thank you for what you’ve done for my son...but why are you here?”

There was a pause. A very grim, and tense pause between the two men. At last Dixie opened his mouth. “I’ve seen a pattern Malak. My great uncle, or whatever he was, had Darien in his hands. But chose to keep him alive to serve a greater good for his cause. My cousin had Darien in his hands, but chose to let him live for the greater good of his own morality...how many times has Darien ended up in the hands of people, and left without a scrape?”

Malak swallowed as he remembered his own encounter with Darien. He hadn’t been able to kill him. His own shortcomings had made him feel like a hypocrite for even thinking of doing so, and another part of him hadn’t wanted to upset Grey. 

Dixie went on as he paced a little bit, his hands animated. “And I, myself, had him cornered one day...and chose to only berate him verbally. I mean...” He gave a scoff. “What kind of Donz am I?”

Malak wasn’t sure why he decided to speak his mind so plainly in that moment. But he did anyway. “To be perfectly fair sir, based on what you’ve described before that is very much like what a Donz would do.” 

Suddenly the ice under his feet wasn’t the coldest thing in the area as Dixie set his eyes on him. “I see...” He breathed, and Malak felt as though he had been dipped in ice water. Dixie’s fingers laced around his cane as he then pitched forward to lean on it heavily. “Donz’s are people of action, objectively, and justice. I’m afraid this rebellion is only used to dealing with the outliers of our family name. But...you are correct in a sense. I, like them, didn’t follow through.” Dixie gave a small laugh and shake of his head. “Oh dear Malak, I know you and your son suffered...but I also know what you did...”  

Malak felt himself take a step back. “How-?”

“Please.” Dixie practically purred. “How many people did you rape over the course of that decade of darkness? It wasn’t hard to find people still talking about it, and to find information on the survivors. Something tells me you, unlike others, are a little more aware of the impossibility of your situation.”

Malak had gone very pale. “Are any of them...are they....do they know where my sons are?”

“Farris will be protected. After all, he had no choice in the crimes he committed.” Dixie assured. “And I didn’t tell anyone anything about you and Opie. But those people are out there Malak. And as a matter of principle...” Dixie pulled back the side of his coat a little, just enough to reveal the zippleback slug thrower at his side. He studied the man in front of him. “Mercy and reform is what will build a nation Malak...but I’ve spoken to the man who’s actions are still causing the death and enslavement of  thousands. I’ve spoken to a child murderer and village burner. And I’ve spoken to you. You, all, of, you, are a little beyond a crime of passion, a swindle, or a theft don’t you think?”

Malak stood rigidly in place now, his hands balled up into tight fists.

“Tell me Malak.” Dixie went on, and this time there was a touch of passion in his otherwise cool voice. “What do they all have in common? A realization that they did something wrong? Is that all it takes? What would have happened to Rhenco if he had simply said sorry?! Look at me...I’m here ranting all of this to you just like I’ve done with everyone else? Why?! Why can’t anyone, including myself, just commit to something?!”

Malak adverted his eyes, having no idea if that weapon would be brought up, or whether it would stay at Dixie’s side. “Because...” He said, almost too quietly. “Because we made it impossible for you too...”

Dixie drew a breath at the words, and actually leaned back a little. “Wha-?”

“Our situation...is impossible.” Malak said. “But that includes you...it includes Grey...I, the Phantom, Darien...we could never atone for what we’ve done. But we can’t live in a world of retribution and blood anymore. But that applies to everyone around us too now. You can’t commit to either letting it go or doing us in yourself without it causing you pain, and having some part of it, that can’t be ignored, be terribly, terribly wrong by doing so.” He gave a shaky sigh. “And yet...life has a way I suppose. It finds us both the most fitting ends, and the most cruel. Darien is working to undo what he’s done. I’m waiting to see what life decides to do with me. And the Phantom is simply working to move on. And you’re here, doing this, and Grey is there...standing by what she chose, doubtless assaulted by the hearsay people in your position have thrown at her. Because of our actions...everyone’s situation is impossible...that’s why you’ve gone back and forth between so many without actually taking action.”    

Dixie stared at Malak in some shock, but not offence. He glanced off to the side as the realization dawned on him, and let his coat fall back into place. “Impossible...” He said. “I...too...in the impossible...” He barked a short laugh. “It’s not fair.” 

Malak lowered his head. “Yeah...”

Dixie ran a tongue over his lower lip. “This rebellion, and it’s good graces, simply can’t be something I sacrifice...and therefore I...will never be able to do ether one of these things...and live with the choice...for the rest of my mortal life...” He turned to face Malak, and his eyes were cold again. “Thank you Malak...give Opie my regards.” 

And with that, he turned on a heel, and left. Malak let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, and then hurried back inside so he could take Opie into an enormous hug of relief.

*** 

“You’re absolutely certain of this sir?” The older man sighed as he reviewed a drafted document.    

Dixie lowered a cup of tea from his lips. “Oh most certainly.” He breathed. “I may be willing to let life handle affairs for me. But I will not leave this world burdened in my death, not when I could have done something about it when I was alive...trust me, this is the only sensible middle of the road to met at.” 

The older man puffed out his cheeks as he shook his head. “Alright then...I’ll get this to the right people, and have those savings accounts stocked. Then it’ll be official. At the time of your death, whatever time that may be, the bounties will be made available. And with the prices you’ve put up, I highly doubt Darien, Phantom, or any of the others will live to see the turn of a season.”   

#botgd 2

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

From the drafts...

I wrote this in the middle of the night the first time I went swimming for the year, but went to sleep without ever finishing it. Now I’m posting it just a couple of days before what will probably be my last swim for the year. (Happening early this year. The pool cools fast and night temps in the low 50F will make it too cold for me.) Funny how that worked out.

I’m posting it as it is, rather than try to finish it. If I waited any longer I’d be in my post-swimming blues and not in the mood....

It’s amazing how, despite remembering I love it, I’m always stunned by the pure joy  I feel the first time I swim each year.

Actually, when I went swimming last evening it wasn’t just the first time I’d gone this year, but the first time since 2018. Skipping swimming last year was my first lost year ever. I’d never gone so long without swimming in my life, unless you count the time before I learned to swim. Since I can’t actually remember learning, and I since I can also remember an event that occured on my second birthday, I must have been very young. 

To say I love swimming would be an understatement. Swimming isn’t a diversion, but a part of me. All my life I couldn’t even look at water without the desire to leap in and dive down deep to the bottom.

 Any water. In fact I kind of prefer wild water. Growing up I’d swim a mile up river and a mile back every day in the summer. I’d swim around the boat, diving down to the bottom if the river and pausing on the anchor line to clear my ears. At the ocean I’d almost never be out of the water, enjoying storm tossed seas and rips, swimming out to something I think was a boiler off a sunken ship to climb about. Even the shallow streams on our mountain would have my lying in the water while I sifted through the silt for garnets or caught crayfish. I prefered the deepest of water, the coldest of temperatures, and the strongest of currents, but anything would do.

I can’t tell you when my need to go in started. Apparently as a tiny baby my father and grandfather took me on the river one winter day...and I ended up falling in. A year or so later I fell in again, but this one I remember. Not why I went over the side of the boat, but I remember the way the sunlight looked like through the brownish water and a rather startled fish I came face to face with before Pop hauled me out. On the ride home I was convinced I looked like a cartoon character frozen in a block of ice, because it was winter of course. Once at the beach while snowflakes fell I stunned my parents by running out into the surf in my snowsuit. I was alway jumping in, clothes and all, whenever I had the chance.

Now the pool was never as much fun as those other places, but I loved it too. The pool was ours, a private place right here and convient. As pools go, it has never been entirely tame. It’s tucked in the little woods, surrounded and overhung with trees. Once a grapevine hung down over the water so I could pick grapes when the ripened. Birds would take drinks and bees and dragonflies always flew about the place. There were the occasional snake that got in, despite the high sides, and always there were frogs, tadpoles, waterbugs and the like. Pop had rigged up his own filtration system that required less chlorine and aerated the water by spraying it through the air  at angle creating a kind of current and waves. With me the only person swimming in it 90% of the time, we could afford to let it stay a bit wild.

Now the pool itself started out ordinary enough. For a little while it was your typical above ground pool with a plastic liner. This lasted until the summer of the collapsing pool. Or rather, the twice collaping pool.

The first time it collapsed it really was an accident. It begins with my brother’s fear of water. Now, he grew out of that fear, but where my childhood instinct called me to water his caused him recoil. As a tiny child he would “swim” with me wearing his good life jacket. And this day he was doing just that while I say on a folding ladder I’d hauled into the middle of the pool to play on...as one does. 

I should confess  I did torment him without meaning to back then. I’d heard adults say they learned to swim by being thrown into water. Being a little girl, I thought these grownups might know what they were talking about. I figured that my brother just needed to learn he would be alright. I honestly thought I could teach him not to fear by towing him away from where he was clinging, warn him  to hold his breath, and then duck him under for  a instant before his life jacket bobbed him back up. 

Yes, I know this is horrible. I didn’t know it then is the trouble. It was only when I was slightly older I figured out this was absolutely the wrong thing to do. Unfortunately one summer of maybe a half dozen incidents of such stupidity caused permanent damage. I meant well, but it was the worst thing I ever did to him. Apologies I have made many times over the decades, and his own shaking off his fear of water anyway fixed nothing. He never has and never will forgive me.**

Anyway, my brother was afraid of the water, but “swimming” with me in his life jacket. He had developed a way to enjoy the water but still feel safe by crawling in between the liner and the pool wall. His arms would splash about but he’s stay dry. Until he started wanting some water on him, and took to trying to let water into his little pocket shelter...

This was a BAD idea. 

Those old above ground pools were really stable because of the water pressure and the liner being against the pool wall. A few splashes of water are no big deal, but once he started holding the edge of the liner below the surface of the water so it gushed in everything changed.

So, one minute I was sitting on the ladder I’d set up in the middle of the pool, about to go back to swimming. The next, the pool was collapsing in a great sudden whoosh, the sides literally scraping down along my body. The water was gone, the pool sides folded in, and my brother was missing.

For a second it was terrible. The part of the pool my brother had been was now flattened, and the liner was still holding a couple of inches of water. I thought my brother would be trapped in the liner, pinned by the pool side, and face down in water. I was scrambling, franticly trying to get him out. 

I shoved myself under the pool side, through the water, trying to get to him. At the same moment he came crawling out of the other side of where I’d gone under. He was crying but fine as Pop came running up. I just has scrapes on my sides, no big deal. But the pool was down.

I was still early enough in the summer we got the pool back up. Unfortunately for my parents, they didn’t take  into acount our curiosity. 

Somehow I’d figured out what had caused the collapse, that it had been my brother putting the water behind the liner. But thinking I knew wasn’t enough. I wanted to test it.

This wasn’t my first dangerous test

. Once I’d fallen out of a car my grandfather was driving. This was before seatbelt laws, so I’d not been fastened in, and I was maybe four. I’d gone to the bank with him, and was leaning on the door as he started to drive off. Out I fell, but I hung tight to the door so I guess I didn’t exactly fall. I pulled myself up even as granddaddy stopped.  

It was a close call, and poor my poor grandfather must have been terrified. So what did I do once we finished the drive home? I tried to recreate the incident, and I totally suceeded! I made sure the door was latched the same way and that I did everything the same. Obviously I didn’t want my grandfather to know what I was doing, but I wasn’t afraid. I’d held myself up before, so knowing what I was doing I was confident I would have no trouble.

Well, we were now zipping along the highway, which is different than a parking lot, it was a tad more trouble. Oh, I held myself up, but I did end up with skinned knees. It’s a miracle my grandfather with his bad heart trouble didn’t have a heart attack! I was elated because I’d been right about what had happened.

What can I say? I was weird kid, fearless and bursting with curiosity back then. 

With the pool collapse another mystery to solve, I decided to see if I could make it happen again. This time it would be safer. We’d know the risks. My brother wouldn’t be in danger as I put water in the liner without him there. He was in on it, but it was my idea.

Crazy isn’t it? I loved swimming but I was sacrificing my chance to swim for the rest of the summer just  to see if my theory was right.

Well, I was right. And also Pop was fed up.This was when Pop decided to build our own pool with no liners.

My family had a fiberglassing business, everything designed by Pop and hand built by us, so building the sides like a giant tank wasn’t that hard. He would also include flanges at the top and bottom if the sides, just to make it more stable. This pool would not collapse. Over the years hurricanes knocked trees on it several times and we’d just repair the breaks. 

TBH, I worry about that happening now with no Pop, no fiberglassig business, and  no other set of hands. It was easy then, but I dunno of I could do that kind of repair myself.

Pop had one other  idea. Because I was always complaining the pool wasn’t deep enough, we would also make it an underground pool!

Now with mechanical equipment this would have been easy, but we had shovels and four people, two of them children. So we dug. And dug. And dug. If you look at  the pictures I posted of the pool you can see how bumpy it is. That’s because of the digging by hand, not Pop’s fiberglassing. 

When we’d dug it six feet or so down, slopping from the sides, we fiberglassed directly onto the ground. The weight of the water would hold it safely down, but if it was empty or nearly so rain or pumping out for cleaning too close to the pool might float it up. If that happened it would crack any place it was unsupported when filled. So Pop came up with the “hatch” that would blow and let the water into the pool rather than floating. In all the many years the hatch has blown a couple times, but it always did it’s job. 

The pool would never be as deep or as wide as I’d like, but I’m not sure any pool could. 

 Back then I could practically live in the pool, swimming for hours, swooping back and forth across the bottom, clinging to the “hatch” at the very bottom as I tested how long I could hold me breath. 

Actually, holding  my breath five minutes was ordinary and  my swimming endurance was incredible. People could swim faster, but no one could swim longer than me. I wouldn’t even seem to get tired. I actually longed to swim the English Channel because it seemed suited to my talents. 

How much did I love swimming? Well, when I graduated from high school we could pick from a long list of symbols representing school activities to go on  the side. So what did I come very close to picking? Not the academic crap you’d expect from the top student, but the swimmer. Our school didn’t even have a pool! Swimming had NOTHING to do with school, but it have everything to do with me.

Even now I think I am happiest gliding across the bottom of the pool. I play games with it. Swim across the bottom with just your arms, or just your legs, or one leg or one arm. One of the first things I did this year was see if I could still do the undulating, no arms amd no legs just wiggle your body method. Yep, I still can be the human porpoise! LOL

So swimming always meant a lot to me. Sure, after the “Halloween Hypothermia” (not actually at Halloween or hypothermia) where I got way too cold swimming my system rebooted over night so I couldn’t take cold water, but my love of swimming was unchanged. I just got so my swimming season was shorter. The idea of not swimming for a year was unthinkable...

Until it happened.

I really feared I would never get the pool clean again, now that I have to do it alone. Getting to swim this year is beyond wonderful. At least I haven’t lost swimming like I have lost so much else lately.

**I could point out his grudge over something I did when I was just learning my multiplication table isn’t exactly fair. It’s rather less fair when you consider the things he did to me over the years that I never hated him for. He did a LOT of things as the suffering he went through in school twisted him into someone burning with rage.

I mean, when he put a loaded gun to my head and threatened to kill me, yeah, it wasn’t fun, but I also understood the context, that he was using me as a focus of other frustrations and pain. I didn’t hate him, I just wanted him never to get his hands on a gun again and for there to be some way to make things better for him. 

I guess though, it all boils down to his nature.  He remembers every wound and slight, sometimes imagining them even, and he never, ever forgives anything. 

#swimming #swimming pool #water #me

[khaleesiofalicante]

(4) They’re out on patrol, and Alec unexpectedly steps in front of Magnus to shield him from a blow. They argue while travelling back to the Institute because it isn’t the first time Alec has done this. Once he’s healed, they spend the rest of the night cosying against a fireplace.

We Have Each Other - Malec Drabbles 04

The silence was killing him. There was so much he wanted to say but he couldn’t find the words. He had hoped that maybe his boyfriend would start the conversation, but Alec hadn’t uttered the word since they had started walking back to the institute.

Magnus knew he had to start the conversation. This wasn’t the first time Alec had done this. He wanted to have this conversation with Alec for a long time now, but the other man kept dodging and distracting him at every turn.

But not anymore – tonight had been the last straw. He cannot have Alec acting recklessly like that ever again. He cannot bear to see Alec hurt again.

This whole time, he had been looking for an easy way to say it. But now, tonight, he realized the truth. There was no easy way around this.

“You have to stop doing this,” Magnus finally said, breaking the silence.

“Doing what?” Alec echoed back, his feet picking up the pace.

“Alec, stop!” Magnus screamed, pulling him by the arm and stopping the other man in his tracks.

There was no easy way around this.

“You have to stop protecting me. You have to stop getting hurt on my account. You have to-”

Alec removed his arm from Magnus’ grip. “Magnus, it was not a big deal. I was just closer than the others and you-”

“STOP IT! STOP PRETENDING LIKE THIS WAS A ONE TIME THING!”

The expression on the other’s man face completely changed then. His eyebrows narrowed, jaw tightened and breath became shallower.

“You think I haven’t noticed? How you always walk in front of me – like some sort of shield? How Jace and Izzy keep an eye out for me – following me like shadows? You have to stop do-”

“Magnus, I am just looking out for you,” Alec interrupted, “Just taking some extra precautions in case-”

“YOU HAVE TO STOP!!!”

They stood like that for a minute – or longer, he didn’t really know – staring at each other.

“Magnus,” Alec breathed out his name, in a tired sigh. “I am Shadowhunter. This is what I do. I protect people. It’s in my name for god’s sake!”

Magnus remembered how his world stopped existing when Alec dropped to the ground. He remembered Alec lying on the wet ground, clutching at his stomach – his dark sweater getting darker with the blood pouring out of him. He remembered how his heart hammered in his chest, while Jace drew an iratze on his parabatai.

There was no easy way around this.

“I know, my love,” Magnus whispered softly. “But I have lived for centuries. I have seen things. I have lived many lives – more than I probably deserve. But you…You only have this one, Alexander. So, you have to choose yourself. You have to stop sacrificing yourself to save mine.”

Alec looked at him incredulously as if Magnus was talking to him in Indonesian.

“Promise me you will save yourself. Promise me you will choose yourself. Promise me, Alexander.”

Realization dawned on the other man’s face when he finally understood that Magnus was serious. He grasped the need behind Magnus’ words and physically recoiled back.

“No!” Alec gasped out. “I can’t. Magnus, you can’t ask me to do that. I am sorry. I can’t promise you that.”

He turned around and started walking faster towards their friends, leaving Magnus behind.

And that was what Magnus worried about the most – That one day Alec would leave him behind.

Magnus followed them slowly at his own pace, trying to pull his thoughts together. He had to convince Alec to stop acting like a stubborn child. He had to understand that Magnus’ life wasn’t worth all that trouble and sacrifice. He must make him realize that immediately – before that self-sacrificing idiot jumps in front of another demon in order to protect him.

He made his way to the institute to find Alec in his room, sitting on the floor next to the fireplace. Magnus had built that for his boyfriend when he found that how depressingly the cold the rooms in the institute can get at night. He had created it so that Alec could feel warm and comfortable, even during the coldest of nights. There was nothing warm about the Shadowhunter’s face tonight.

Magnus sat down next to him and silently pulled the other man against him. They both just laid there like that in front of the fire – quietly watching the flames dance.

“Just…Just hear me out,” Magnus started and he felt Alec stiffen against him.

“I love my life. I have lived for centuries and I wouldn’t mind living longer. Of course, there have been bad days or decades rather. But I am still grateful for every single day. If you had asked me if I wanted to die a century ago or even a decade ago, I would have said no in a heartbeat. But now…I can’t say that. My life is no longer just about me, Alexander.”

The treacherous tears escaped his eyes and landed on Alec’s bare shoulder. The boy tightened his grip on Magnus’ arms, urging him to go on.

“I cannot…And I mean this more than anything else, I cannot live with myself if something were to happen to you because of me. I simply cannot. So, you must stop. I know you are trying to protect me. But you are not. If you hurt yourself trying to protect me….Alec, that pain is so much worse than dying. I don’t think I am strong enough to survive it. So, please. I am begging you. Please stop.”

And then it was quiet once more. Just their ragged breaths and the crackling of the fire. Until Alec said something Magnus never thought he would hear in his lifetime.

“It is your fault,” Alec confessed. “If you think I am being reckless or stupid – It’s your fault, Magnus.”

He shifted his position and turned around to look at Magnus in the eyes. Magnus realized the Shadowhunter had been crying too, his tear stained cheek and moist eyes betraying him.

“I wouldn’t have cared before. I wouldn’t have cared enough to save you or protect you or fight for you. I wouldn’t have cared enough to die for anyone other than my family. But YOU were the one who taught me that I should fight for what I love. YOU taught me that. And there is nothing in this world that I love more than you. So, no. I will never stop fighting for you or protecting you. Never.”

“Alexander, but you are young and-”

“Yes, I am,” Alec intervened, gripping Magnus’s face with both hands like he was holding onto a lifeline. “Yes, I have a lot to see and do. You were right before. You have lived many lives and I have just this one. But that one life means nothing, it means absolutely nothing to me, if I have to live it without you.”

Magnus pulled him into a tight embrace and gripped the other man hard, his fingernails digging into his back, never wanting to let go.

“Then what do we do? Magnus whispered into the other man’s hair softly. “How do we deal with this?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t.” Alec pulled back and kissed him on the forehead. “All i know is that we protect each other – like we always do. We fight for each other. We fight for us. We fight for our future.”

It wasn’t going to be easy – none of the best things in life are. It was going to the most difficult one in his lifetime. But in that moment, Magnus realized that he was ready to fight. They might not have all the answers, but they had each other. And for now, that seemed more than enough.

#laaaast one for now #done for now #teeny tiny toony malec drabbles #malec drabbles #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #angst train #choo choo #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles

[gothamdetected-a]

an idiots guide to gotham.

sim, i hear you say, what the hell are you doing? it’s gotham. everyone knows gotham. batman’s hometown. arkham asylum. what more is there to know?

surprisingly, a lot. 

for example, did you know that the it has been described as "Manhattan below Fourteenth Street at eleven minutes past midnight on the coldest night in November." which i think is one of the coolest descriptions of an aesthetic ever. thanks dennis. anyway, there’s a lot more to this city and it’s mad confusing history than first meets the eye, so in true sim fashion, i’m here to whoop dc into shape and attempt to make sense of it all. in the immortal words of coldplay “oh take me back to the start.”

as a geography nerd, i’d like to begin way way back. like continent forming era. star wars’ a long long time ago has got nothing on this. because really, why is gotham so plagued with crime and corruption? why is it perpetually cloudy and gloomy and dark? why is this tiny patch of american coastline continually the stage for insane events while everywhere else around it seems perfectly fine and chilling. 

it’s because of cthulu. 

well, kind of. seriously. apparently trapped beneath the actual earth of gotham is a lovecraftian-esque being who’s been chilling for 40,000 years. yeah, bet you didn’t know that. it even takes to calling itself “doctor gotham” after long enough, but that might just be a writer taking the piss out of dr manhattan, which honestly, im here for. so there’s some ancient slumbering god just poisoning what will become gotham, with it’s “evil essence” or whatever. there is a native american tribe who lives in the area - the miagani. in a croatoan-like fashion, they mysteriously disappear one day: no one knows exactly what happened to them, but there’s speculation of black magic and an insane shaman who goes all caesar on them and tries to develop a tyrannical rule, but they seal him in a cave and flee only to be slaughtered by a neighbouring tribe/a mysterious natural disaster. already this place is giving off the Not Good Vibes.    

some time later a bunch of colonists arrive, one of whom is named hiriam arkham. he tries to build a chapel, but it ends up being the site of a murder and so that idea is abandoned. the colonists later accidentally open the cave and release Deacon Blackfire (nasty shaman man), who is fairly immortal, definitely a shithead, and also becomes a batman adversary and a black lantern corp member/zombie in a few hundred years. fun. the colonists are never seen again. wonder what happened there.   

so the ground keeps being corrupted and drawing the nasties to it. one of these nasties is a norwegian mercenary, captain jon logerquist, who lands there circa 1635 with his crew, feels the heeby jeebies vibe and goes ah yes. this is where i shall settle. utter weirdo. so suddenly we have a city being formed - you guessed it, gotham city, also known simply as gotham. and everything is fairly chill for a while. the city is known to be a hideout for ruffians and smugglers, has a fairly higher proportion of stabbings and burglaries, but other than it being a bit of a lawless wasteland, it’s not, you know, any stranger than other pre-civil war american towns. at some point war for independence ( 1775–1783 ) rolls through, and there’s a fairly large battle that is long and bloody and doesn’t look like is going to be won so the founding fathers decide to do something extra stupid, and summon a bat-demon. yes, literally, a bat-demon. that they think will help them turn the tides of the battle. instead they realise it can’t be controlled, panic a bit, and end up trapping it beneath gotham, nice and snuggled next to fucking cthulu’s cousin. so gotham is now especially Cursed, and also starts gathering a large number of bat colonies in it’s underground cave system, because they’re all coming to worship this demon thing or w/e. 

next step is the civil war ( 1861-1865 ), and this is the first time we get a cobblepot in town - colonel nathan cobblepot to be precise. a couple of generations happen, and the town is growing into a city - at this point five of the families truly “found” gotham as a metropolitan and industrial hub, building bridges to connect the islands and forging the path to gotham as it is today. these five families are the cobblepots, the elliots, the crownes, the kanes and the waynes. these eventually become known as gotham’s oldest lineages, and it’s wealthiest, forming the future of gotham high society. however the cobblepots eventually end with penguin, and thomas elliot gets salty and becomes hush ,and the kanes and waynes decide to start dressing up as bats so it’s more like a cautionary tale than anything. 

around this time (1870), ra’s al ghul builds wonder city beneath gotham’s old town, and around a naturally occurring lazarus pit under the city. wonder tower becomes a spectacle of the gotham skyline, their equivalent to the empire state or big ben. eventually the project is abandoned, especially after mysterious disappearances, rumours of madness and strange sounds of rioting emerging from the nearly completed project. also occurring in this decade is the conversion of arkham manor into the elizabeth arkham sanatorium (which would later become arkham asylum) under the then heir, amadeus arkham. elizabeth commits suicide, a serial killer murders the rest of the family, save amadeus, who then goes mad and begins dabbling in the occult and experimenting on patients, eventually becoming one himself. despite all this, arkham asylum remains open, setting the scene for this to be one of the most tragic and fucked up buildings in america. 

another generation goes by and the wayne family produces solomon wayne, who will eventually become an incredibly important figure to gotham, partly because he is a judge and has a courthouse named after him and all that, but mostly because solomon wayne is the man who hires cyrus pinkney. who? you ask. literally the man responsible for gotham’s fucked up architecture. solomon wayne commissions him to create what he calls “gotham style” around 1890, and pinkney, heavily influenced by both cubist/surrealist design and the gothic revival, is the bastard who ensures everything has a gargoyle slapped on it and that gotham cathedral could literally be home to dracula. every inch of the city is covered in hidden meanings and mysticism, because, if you haven’t already guessed, pinkney was a bit nuts, but solomon wayne seems mighty pleased by this and it does actually boost gotham’s industry and cause people to relocate to it from the surrounding area. pinkney’s final piece de resistance is the statue the lady of gotham (officially named Justice opens her eyes to the world ) in the gotham harbour, yet another new york parallel. 

however as a result of booming capitalism and continued gentrification, gotham develops extreme poverty, with several areas of the city, specifically around the docks, the bowery and the narrows, becoming slums. crime levels continue to rise, and many writers take inspiration from chicago and new york mobs in the 30′s and 40′s, drawing parallels and creating organised crime, mafias and gangs. families like the maronis, falcones and thornes begin to take over the city, shaking down businesses for “protection” developing protsitution and drug running rings, importing weapons etc. gotham becomes seen nationally as a dark foreboding metropolis, where the ultra-rich one percenters drink champagne in their ivory towers while the poor of the city suffer and die. city planners also take this opportunity to go absolutely nuts, and build bomb shelters, underground highways, crazy sewer systems, you name it. after all, no one cares right? it’s gotham. by the time the cold war comes to a head, the city is literally riddled with layers of alleys and tunnels and walkways, all over burdened by the watchful eyes of giant bronze statues and stone grotesques.

then, thomas and martha wayne appear, and really start trying to change the city. they develop philantrophic interests, help to create the monorail, encourage the other wealthy elite of the city to care about the rotting corpse of gotham. change is slow, but it happens. the city starts to brighten up, vaguely, and the waynes become heralded as gotham’s saviours, becoming more than a household name. of course, they get shot, in an alleyway, by joe chill, and that same night batman is born. it takes him like 20 years to actually appear in the city, but boy when he does appear, he goes ham. this isn’t a batman meta tho, so i’ll keep it light on his backstory and involvement. 

batman tackles corruption in the city, purging the gcpd, bringing criminals to justice etc, all while bruce wayne makes his lauded return and begins trying to change things in the same way that his parents did - investing in the city, creating public services, developing grass roots projects in the worst affected areas of gotham. however, this city is quite literally Cursed and it all goes very wrong very quickly. 

first, ra’s al ghul unleashes the clench (also known as Ebola Gulf A virus) into gotham high society, and through the contagion storyline, a LOT of gothamites die. i think it’s like 40% but don’t quote me on that. the whole city is quarantined, but batman manages to save the day! hooray! wrong. the second disaster happens in the cataclysm arc - a 7.6 richter earthquake (although in my professional opinion this should probably be measured using the mercalli scale because you have to take into account the density of population etc in the area, but whatever, dc don’t study earthquakes like i do :/). as a result of these two events happening literally within months of each other, the entire city is declared a “no man’s land” by the US government. most civilians are evacuated, it is cut off from the mainland by destroying bridges and creating a military blockade and left to literally rot. no central government is applicable, no services are available, and very quickly gangs take over, carving up the city between them. imagine the purge but never ending. that’s gotham. huntress and oracle and the remaining scraps of the gcpd try to keep some kind of order, while bruce fucks off to petition the government into not being dicks and fixing the city rather than abandoning it.  eventually, he comes back, batman battles a lot of people, luthor donates enough money to save the city and gotham is rebuilt and repatriated as part of the us. 

then the next big events include: 

• henri ducard as ra’s al ghul tries to cover the city in fear toxin after teaming up with scarecrow. the narrows is especially targeted. 

• steph accidentally starts a gang war after going through batman’s stuff unsupervised. for a while black mask rules gotham.

• hugo strange convinces the gotham city council to let him have old gotham, which he converts into arkham city. eventually wonder tower explodes and the “city” is shut down, cut off from the rest of gotham. 

• scarecrow successfully releases his fear toxin over gotham via the cloudburst system. most civilians have already been evacuated, but the city is thrown into ruin and chaos.   

these are just the biggest points though, and the ones which help to tie film, comics and games together. my favourite part of gotham i haven’t even talked about yet. but i’m gonna. here we go. 

gotham is chronologically removed. 

obviously time progresses there, but there is a immense sense of timelessness. gotham does not move on with the rest of the world. there’s a huge mash of different eras and styles. there are airships in the sky and maglev monorails on the ground, people use typewriters alongside touch screen laptops, buildings are either twisted gothic nightmares or glistening modern skyscrapers. the time frame that should be obvious from the setting is completely ambiguous. and it’s brilliant, because really it means that the time is not important. it could be set anywhere, anywhen. gotham looks almost the same in the 40s as it does in 2020, and it means that batman and these events can be slotted into pretty much any decade. batman can be born in 1939 or 1969 or 1999 and it still all works. it’s a mash up of modern expressionism and constructivism and art deco and gothic revival and surrealism and space-age futurism and industrialism and honest to god i could literally talk about this all day. but i mustnt so i shall stop now.  

basically the tldr here is that i have a fetish for urban decay, gotham was fucked from day 1 due to some bullshit evil god beneath it, and literally house prices must be so low, because who the hell would want to live there. 

#my metas get longer with every day #long post / #\system\directory\hidden.txt ›› META

[purplesurveys]

910

At your part of the world, is it summer now?           I think the dry season is over (what we call summer) but it can still get pretty hot during the day, blech. At least it’s starting to get comfortably cold in the evening though - weather’s actually been good enough for me to wrap myself in a blanket through the night :)

What’s the warmest it can get over there? How about the coldest?         Our temperature range isn’t that dramatic. Warmest can be 40ºC, 41ºC; coldest it can ever get is like 25ºC, 26ºC. We go to elevated cities like Tagaytay or Baguio if we’re craving for a much colder climate.

Is there a bad habit you’re trying to break right now? Mmm I guess falling into anxiety and overthinking. I’m the person who gives the most pressure onto myself and I always think that I am not good enough or that my present accomplishments aren’t enough; and that blows my confidence by a lot. At the same time I’m really the only person who can pull myself out of a slump, so it’s just an ugly cycle with me.

Is it easy to find a job in your preferred field in your hometown?           No, I wouldn’t say this city is the go-to for media and public relations. Metro Manila is... but then again, Metro Manila is the place for nearly every industry, including my preferred one.

When is the last time you went to a fun fair? End of January. My old school holds an annual fair on that month and they were able to hold one before the whole Covid mess blew up.

How about an amusement park?             My parents brought us to Star City for no reason (we weren’t an amusement park-going family so it was definitely strange for them to just drive us there unannounced lol) like a decade ago, but it was closed. I don’t think they checked their schedule.

Did you/will you take part in your city’s Pride parade this year?             My last Pride parade was in 2018. I didn’t go last year because I had been busy with internship; and there was a virtual parade held this year that I didn’t go to.

If not, why not?       I never liked virtual gatherings; they make me anxious. Plus I didn’t like the idea of celebrating and partying over a livestream haha

Ladies: Would you ever consider proposing? If not, why not? Gentlemen: How would you feel, if you were proposed to?     I prefer other people making decisions for me, especially if they’re that grand of a decision to make.

Have you ever played the original Mass Effect trilogy?           Never have.

If so, which Shepard and who do you like romancing the best?            

Let’s say there’s a person in need. They need money which they can’t make. Would you be more likely to help them out, if a celebrity asked you to?       Wow no, that sounds so selfish.

When you go to a restaurant, do you have a go-to dish? Yes, usually. I have dishes I will almost always order if I see them on a menu like Monte Cristo, truffle pasta, deep fried sushi with cream cheese, quattro formaggi pizza, fried chicken and waffles, etc. If none of my faves are available I try to pick something that’s similar.  

Or do you always try out something new?               I try out new things if I’m on vacation in a new city/province/country, for sure. That’s a non-negotiable for me in my travels. Like you’ll never see me ordering spaghetti in Bali, nor am I getting McDonald’s in Vigan.

Would you rather live next to a kindergarten or an old folks’ home?       Kindergarten. I like kids and don’t have a problem if they’re being loud. I don’t know if I can take being near an old folks’ home; it might just keep breaking my heart.

What was the last game that you played?   1010 on my phone.

What do you know about Finland?         The unbelievable competence and intelligence of Sanna Marin. Then again, maybe I’m just not used to smart politicians because of where I’m from and who we have as leaders here...

Where was the postcard from that travelled the longest way to you?     I’ve never received one.

Have you ever made jewelry? Probably made a few bracelets and trinkets as a kid, sure.

Have you ever upcycled anything? If so, what? I don’t think so. I remember my mom once tried to turn mine and my sister’s old school skirts into a bag but we quickly told her not to go through it with it because that’s not allowed and we’ll all get in hot shit because of it. Plus it’s pretty disrespectful to begin with, lol.

Which app do you use the most on your phone?     Messenger, Facebook, Twitter, Safari.

Did you learn to play an instrument as a kid? If so, which one?             Nope. I showed very early on that I wasn’t musically gifted.

What is the best part of your most ordinary day?   Playing and being sweet with my dogs.

If you learned that you suddenly needed an aid of some sort to do something that you normally don’t need (glasses, hearing aid, etc.) Would you comply or would you put it off until there was no choice anymore?         Comply. If I suddenly needed an aid, that would imply I’m already in some level of discomfort and I would want that fixed immediately.

Do you enjoy being on your own?         Yes, but it’s more accurate to say that I enjoy a balance of being on my own and being around people.

Or are you happier when there’s a crowd around you?           Again, it depends on what I need. If I’m already socially drained but still around a crowd, I can start to feel miserable and restless.

Have you ever been to a zoo? If so, which one(s)? I’ve been to a local zoo in one of our provinces (I no longer remember where) that I hated because some of the animals looked miserable. My school also has its own ~zoo~ and at least I know they’re taken care of there and also have lots of space to roam and fly around.

How about petting zoos?         No.

Have you thrown you “winter coat” off yet?             I don’t have one of those.

Do you ever look up what foreign idioms mean?     Only English idioms that are unfamiliar. I can’t understand other languages, so I wouldn’t know if I’m reading an idiom of theirs.

What’s the strangest saying you’ve come across? Cold turkey. As someone who doesn’t have English as a first language, that one confused me for a while. 

What’s a First World problem that you have?         I want to be able to go to the mall already.

Do you use food products that are advertised as more healthy?             No.

Does it matter to you if the produce you use is organic?         No. It’s a more expensive option, so it wouldn’t even be my first choice to begin with.

If so, why?               Most of the time it’s just an excuse to charge people more. < This, and also because I know very little about that world.

What has been the worst sort of physical pain that you have felt?         Ripping my earring off my piercing while in the shower; being shocked; food poisoning; and an infected gash on my foot after I panickedly kept kicking a coral reef when I thought I was drowning (I had gone snorkeling flipper-less because they didn’t have enough equipment on the boat).

Are your pains generally more acute or chronic?   Acute. Except for my back.

Do you collect anything?         Not really anymore.

If you could be doing absolutely anything right now, what would it be?   If I knew how to cook I’d be doing it all the time.

Do you read any web comics? I don’t.

Which social media platform do you use the most, if any?     Facebook. I’m starting to use Linkedin now, as well.

Have you ever made a parody version of a popular song?     No, I’m not the type to do that.

Which game did you play the most as a kid during recess? Dodgeball, ten-twenty, piko, patintero, and langit-lupa.

#survey #surveys