#hives clinically

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 35

Part 1 Part 34

The shower Eddie finally takes, after over a week of rotting in Steve’s clothes, should be a relief. His head is no longer itchy. He washes the ash out of his eyes, and Steve’s blood out from beneath his nails. Replaces grime with the smell of the clinical nothingness that is the toiletries the hospital provided.

His breath no longer feels like it’s wilting the air around him after he brushes his teeth. The scrubs he changes into are stiff, but clean and dry.

It should be a relief. But, Steve is out of his sight, quiet and small in his hospital bed.

Wayne will keep him safe, he knows. But who will hold his hand if he wakes up again, delirious? Who will sooth him back to sleep?

He hurries the whole process, bangs plastered to his forehead, hair dripping down the back of his borrowed scrub top.

When he rushes out of the bathroom and into Steve’s hospital room, Wayne’s closer to Steve’s bed then he was when he left him, hand clasping Steve’s own, and staring down at him with a look on his face that Eddie’s only ever seen directed at him before. 

It’s just like when Eddie’d kicked the hole in the plaster of the trailer. Or when Wayne had been called in by Hopper after one infraction or another. Or when he comes home after a session of Hellfire, and regales his uncle with the beat-by-beat replay of the action. 

Like fondness and exasperation are warring for space in the purse of his mouth.

“What happened?” Eddie asks. The linolium is cold on his bare feet as he walks over to retake his own seat at Wayne’s side. 

“Your boy woke up just long enough to ask how you were and then pass back out,” he says, glancing at Eddie, eyes twinkling.

“Did he seem–” Eddie starts, looking down at Steve’s relaxed face. “Is he okay?”

The doctors won’t tell them anything. They’re not his emergency contacts, not family. No one seems to care that no one’s been able to contact the Harrington’s for the two days Steve’s been rotting away in the hospital, alone, save for them. Eddie’s mind drifts back to the way Steve had hid so instinctually in his closet, like he needed a safe place in what should have already been safe, and wants to wring their skinny necks. 

Wayne gently maneuvers his hand out from beneath Steve’s own. Steve’s fingers curl into a loose fist, grasping at air, like he’s seeking the warmth of Wayne’s skin even in his sleep. Wayne sits back in his seat, crossing his ankles as he settles with a sigh.

“He’ll be just fine,” Wayne says, turning in his chair to try to catch Eddie’s eyes. “That boy cares about you.”

He says it like it’s a revelation, but Eddie’s not surprised. He can feel it in the tug at his sternum. The way Steve’s eyes had looked through Eddie’s tears as he’d pressed his forehead to his. Like recognizes like.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “He does.”

The Eddie of two weeks ago would’ve been standing on a table top about it. Saying jocks are a monolith, and Steve is the most jock of them all. He would’ve rioted about King Steve Harrington and his corrupt court of lackeys trying to buy his way into Eddie’s good books. For drugs. Or clout. Or something fucking stupid. Eddie would’ve raged against the machine, a riot in the making. 

But that’s not his Steve. Maybe it was never Steve at all. Things look different from up close, and their lunch tables were always so far away. 

Will Steve sit with him at lunch? He doesn’t look much like Steve the Hair Harrington anymore. His hairs been shaved down to the quick. They’d had to, just to get to the wound trailing up Steve’s forehead and into his hair. He can’t imagine this Steve, hurt and small, sitting with the jocks, throwing fries at Tommy Hagan. 

The thought of school after all of this is like hives crawling up his spine. They’d died, risen back up again to end up back at fucking high school. 

“I want to go home,” Eddie says. But he means his trailer a week and a half ago, before he was split into thirds. Before Steve Harrington and Will Byers. Before.

“You can,” Wayne says, scooting over in his chair so he can wrap his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, dragging him uncomfortably over the arm rest for a pseudo hug.

Eddie looks down at Steve’s sleeping face, wonders when home stopped just being a trailer and Uncle Wayne. Things change so fast when you’re running.

It’s a long night.

Eddie sleeps uncomfortably, propped up in his chair. Wayne drapes a scratchy blanket over him on his way out the door, off to work. 

His dreams are full of shadows spilling out of the ground. Chasing him, and he’s always running but never getting anywhere. Of Steve’s back and Steve’s blood and Steve’s vacant eyes. 

He wakes up to fingers combing through his hair, head pillowed on Steve’s hospital bed, blanket slipped off and onto the floor. It’s dark. One of the nurses must have turned off the lights.

The first day Eddie’d refused to leave, they’d given him his own oxygen mask and deluge of tests, propped up in his seat with Will similarly chained to his side. The second day, they’d tried to get him to go home, get out of the way. 

They’d stopped trying to kick him out the day before. 

The fingers move through his hair, pulling at the knots Eddie hadn’t bothered to comb out. Uncle Wayne must be back from his shift. Or maybe, it’s Mama Byers again, checking up on him again, as if she owes him anything at all.

“Hey.”

His heart ba-thump, ba-thump, tugs. He turns his head, smooshing it into the rough sheets to look up at the head of the bed. Steve’s eyes are open. He smiles hazily down at Eddie, uncoordinatedly petting at his head.

Eddie’s lungs heave, trying to vacate his body all together with the pressure of their seizing. He sobs, raising his hand to trail up across Steve’s cheek, impossibly soft after everything. “You’re such a fucking prick,” he says, heat lost in the way he’s blubbering into the sheets.

Steve smiles, like he’s never seen anything as great as Eddie Munson making a mess of himself at his bedside. It’s probably the morphine. “I know.”

“I dared you to stay alive,” Eddie says. “And then you just–”

He’s choking, too much to finish, like Steve’s not breathing in front of him again, or bleeding out in front of him. Steve’s always dying, and Eddie’s always crying about it. 

“I did,” Steve says, still petting his head. It hurts a little. Eddie’s hair’s a mess of tangled curls atop his head. He never wants Steve to stop touching him. “I said I’d come home.”

Eddie cries. He’s not a cryer, but something’s flipped in him, making him weepy. Like the expectation of grief unrealized keeps bubbling up his throat and bleeding out his eyes. Steve Harrington, his own living ghost, smiles down at him. 

“I’m so tired,” Eddie says. It’s a whine, the consonants drawn out and wet at the edges. 

Steve’s still smiling, dopey and tired and perfect. He pats the spot next to him. “Come here.”

It’s a bad idea. Steve’s hurt. But Eddie’s so weak. The thing in his ribs tugs. Eddie follows it.

He crawls under Steve’s shitty hospital bedding, tucking his wet face into Steve’s neck, arm slung carefully over his chest. “You’ll still be alive when I wake up?” Eddie asks, trying to make it a joke. As if Steve’s lifeless eyes aren’t still looking at him from dreamland.

“Promise,” Steve says.

It feels like Steve’s lips on his forehead, quick and fleeting. In the wee hours of the morning, Eddie and Steve fall asleep.

Part 36

#steddie upsidedown au #eddie munson #steddie fic #my fic #steve harrington

[noxturnalpascal]

Devotion 🖤 I. Stronger Together (Ch 3)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE PREVIOUS

I. Stronger Together

CH 3 (5.3k) One afternoon you come back with Bianca from your baths and Tess informs you that you’ll now be accompanying Joel to one of his weekly community meetings. There are the three nights a week that you all leave the house, but Joel also goes out after dinner the other four nights of the week, interacting with different groups in The Valley. Tess has always accompanied him to his Thursday meeting and she lets you know that you’ll be taking her place.

At the meeting he introduces you to the group, which is comprised of farmers who live further down the Valley, outside the safety of the town. You learn that they come together every Thursday to bring in the animal products, take away food, trade supplies, discuss safety issues, and spend some time socializing. The evening meeting with Joel is the last thing they do before they head back to their land.

With each passing week, he watches you come out of your shell more and he’s impressed by your demeanor. You assist the older folks with getting a drink and a bite to eat. You make conversation with them, easily giving them your time and attention. You nod and listen when they speak with Joel about their concerns. Most importantly, you don’t overstep. You allow him to speak, giving them his practiced lines, finding solutions to their issues and pacifying their fears.

You however, feel like you’re struggling to find your place at the house. In your attempt to fix the holes in Joel’s socks you accidentally sewed the socks shut, leaving Tess to pull the stitches and mend them properly. Tess gives you some rags and asks that you clean all of the surfaces in the house. She stops you ten minutes later when you can’t stop sneezing from the dust. She assigns you to the laundry instead, but the cold, soapy water makes your hands break out in hives. She makes a joke about you being allergic to hard work, but she doesn’t laugh. You think she was joking.

Sometimes you work outside with Rosie in the mornings, but you hate getting all dirty and smelling like earthworms. You pull up too many weeds that aren’t weeds and she sends you inside, urging you to use your talents elsewhere. What talents? You tag along with Sasha sometimes, and listen as she tells you how to set a trap for small animals, but you feel completely useless at her side. She’s good at so many things and you feel like a clumsy oaf, even more so when you trip in the woods one afternoon and scare off the deer she’d been tracking for an hour. She doesn’t attempt to hide her irritation the way Rosie did.

Kerri and Bianca try to use your help in the kitchen, but you burn all of the chicken on the grill your first night cooking. They switch you to helping with preparing the meals, but you cut yourself so badly with the knife that Joel threatens to take you back to the clinic and give you more of his blood. You stand against the doorframe with your arm above your head for forty five minutes before it stops bleeding and he calms down. No more kitchen work for you, he mutters as he holds you on the couch later, letting you rest while everyone else cleans up the meal.

All of the women are too nice to give you the dirty looks that you think you deserve. They all earn their place here and what can you do? Nothing. You try not to be sad the day that your only friend at the house, Bianca, moves out. Is she actually your friend, or is she just too timid to tell you off? You go up to the attic to help her pack up her few belongings before Tess sends you downstairs to help Kerri pack up to leave the room she’s been sharing with Sasha. 

You’re nervous that with Bianca gone you’ll be expected to take over her chores, which are a little bit of everything. You seem to mess up every chore you’re assigned. What the fuck are you supposed to do with yourself? As you walk down the stairs you hear Tess tell Bianca that this is for the best, and that she’s just getting bigger. You’d noticed Bianca gaining weight but you didn’t know that was a problem. Did Joel say something about her weight gain? Why would he care? 

You let your thoughts spiral a bit, wondering if Joel cared about your weight, if he would ask you to leave if you put on more pounds. Fat and useless, what a combo that would be. You’re not exactly skinny as it is, and you’re not even as nice looking as Bianca, with her kind, warm, brown eyes and her long, chestnut hair. She’s very shy and nearly silent but she’s very pretty. You see men look at her. Most people don’t give you a second glance, but that’s the way you prefer it. There’s a reason you chopped all your hair off and wore tight bindings across your chest for months.

You don’t want men looking at you. When a man looks at you he’s only thinking about one thing. He’s thinking what he can get out of you, what he can take from you; except Joel, you tell yourself. Joel doesn’t look at you like that. Joel doesn’t take, he wouldn’t do that. He still looks at you with wonder. He still has so many questions in his eyes about you that you’ve been slowly trying to answer. Maybe if you let him in, show him you’re trying to trust, he won’t care that you aren’t as useful in the home as the other women. 

–

Joel’s schedule is packed, making up for meetings he missed while he visited with you all day, every day in the clinic for nearly two weeks. It means you have less reading time together during the week, so your time together dwindles to holding hands under the table at mealtimes, quick smooches as he pulls you into his office between meetings, and nuzzling into each other outside your bedroom door in the mornings. 

Your only real alone time now is walking to and from the meeting on Thursdays. Each week after the meeting ends the group members filter out, some staying back to help you put away the folding chairs. As a group, you all walk together to the town square before splitting up; them heading out of town while you and Joel head back to the house. Each of these evenings allows you two a few stolen moments alone on the porch of the house before returning inside.

First you just spend them with your foreheads touching, noses brushing, and shared giggles between your pressed together lips. The second week Joel drags you onto his lap on the front porch bench, kissing and licking at your neck while you card your fingers through his hair. You start to panic when you feel him getting aroused underneath you, but the terrified voice in the back of your mind is muted when the front door opens and Sasha comes out for firewood, interrupting and ending your time alone together.

The following week is Thanksgiving, one of the few holidays The Valley celebrates. Joel makes sure you’re sitting next to him at the head table. There is so much going on, almost every single person – save for a small patrol – is gathered together for this feast. Everyone joins hands above the table while someone makes a prayer, but Joel doesn’t let go of yours for a long time afterward.

Even though you haven’t been getting as much alone time together, Joel feels like you’re still growing ever-closer. He has you next to him for this holiday meal so he can show you off. He wants everyone in The Valley to see that you trust him, that you’re becoming his. He notices your wide eyes scan the room, overwhelmed by the very large crowd of people and the raucous event. He leans over and whispers in your ear.

“What are you thankful for, baby?”

He sees your eyes cast down, trying to hide a shy smile. You squeeze his hand and meet his eyes. He squeezes yours back to ground you, to reassure you, like he’s taming a feral little animal.

The following week as you and Joel put away the chairs after the meeting, you hear a man call out a goodnight and you look up just in time to see the last farmer heading out the door. You turn in a circle to confirm there is no one else in the room with you and Joel, and your eyes come back to the door just as it clicks shut. The silence that follows is deafening. You’re completely alone with Joel. Completely.

What strikes you is not the all-encompassing fear that grips you; what strikes you is how this is not the usual fear you have come to know from being alone with a man. For once, you’re not scared of what Joel might do – by now you trust him not to hurt you. You have been mostly alone with him so many times in the last two months and he has always been gentle and respectful, never crossing your still-unspoken boundaries.

After he told you about his daughter, something inside of you shifted. For the first time in your whole life you thought that perhaps you belonged somewhere. Being here with him feels right, it feels like your destiny. You’re not scared of him doing something, you’re scared of him doing nothing. What if he doesn’t want you as badly as you want him? What if he got tired of waiting for you? What if he rejects you?

Joel sees you staring at the door with that look in your eye, the look like you want to run right through it, leaving behind a cartoonish hole in the door in your wake. 

“PJ”, he says, and your eyes find his, “Let’s put away these chairs and we can go.” 

–

He doesn’t try to hold your hand on the way home, worried that you’re too skittish for him to touch, sure that you’d bolt if he tried. You’ve never done that, you’ve never run from him and yet it’s always in the back of his mind. He’s so worried about losing you. He thinks about it all the time. It terrifies him.

The hour is late when you return to the house and you find it dark, everyone already in bed. You both head upstairs but instead of heading into his room as he usually does, he turns with you and stands outside your door. You tilt your head back to look up at him. Your hair has been growing out, looking more like a pixie cut now. He can just see the wet of your eyes twinkle in the darkness.

“Do you wanna come in?” you ask, your voice faint even in the silent house. 

A deep rumble emanates from Joel’s chest. He can’t enter your room. It’s been one of Tess’ rules since the beginning and it’s very important to her. The position he holds in The Valley, the way that everyone looks up to him, she said they’ve put him on a pedestal. And once on a pedestal you have to be very careful because everyone can see you. 

Everyone knows he lives with all of these women, and everyone knows that he sleeps with most of them. Everyone but you. He’s kept this knowledge from you on purpose. They are consenting adults, they each have their own space and their own autonomy. If they want to initiate sex with him, they come to his room. He doesn’t go to them, keeping it entirely on their terms. 

But how does he reject your offer to come into your room without telling you the rest? Without revealing all of his half-truths and omissions. It’s taken so long for you to trust him, he can’t destroy that trust. But won’t saying no hurt you too? He wants to say yes but he can’t. How the fuck does he say no to you? Shit. He’s already waited too long to answer, his silence has gone on for too long.

“We could… close the door,” you offer. His eyes clench shut.

Jesus Christ you’re going to kill him. His dick is aching in his jeans right now. He’s been waiting for you to make an offer like this for so long. Waking up every morning hard, having to jerk off like a teenager before he can even start his day. None of the women have even tried to come to his room for sex since he brought you down off that mountain. He didn’t ask but he’s sure they see him preoccupied with you. Hell, he’s damn near drowning in you.

He’s never been like this with a woman he’s brought into the house. Never kissing them in the kitchen or touching their knees under the dinner table. He’s never made out with one of them in his office between meetings or woken up early just to smell their hair in the hallway. He’s gone off the fucking rails and it’s all because of you. But he can’t break the rule, he can’t accept your invitation into your room. He also can’t tell you about the rule.

Your heart is going to beat out of your chest, you’re sure of it. Joel reaches one hand forward to grab yours, finally touching you. His calloused fingertips trace the inside of your wrist, gently moving across the delicate skin. You can barely see in the dark but you know he’s moved closer because you can smell him, feel the heat of his body radiating off him. His clothes smell like sunshine, line-dried in the crisp autumn air. You smell the day wafting off his skin, a hint of sweat and leather hits your nostrils.

Your knees begin to knock together and you’re so afraid that they’re going to give out under you when he rejects you. You reach your free hand up to brace yourself, placing it on his chest, feeling his own heart thumping wildly underneath. You barely hear him say not tonight PJ over the pulsing beat in your ears, but before you can react to his refusal you feel his arms snake around your waist and he’s pressing his lips onto yours, hard. 

He pushes you up against the open door frame of your room, his feet planted securely in the hallway. You immediately grant his tongue access to your mouth and he begins to explore it, for the first time. You’ve never felt his hot wet tongue against yours, and you think it just might be the thing that kills you. You moan into his mouth as you throw your arms around his neck.

He continues to kiss you with moving lips and licking tongue, your hands moving to twist in his curls – curls that are a bit longer than when you first met him. His arms roam freely up and down your back, pulling you close to him and pressing your hard nipples against the broad planes of his chest. You’re lost in the heat of him, the taste of him, the feel of his body pressing to yours. You’ve waited so long for this. You don’t know how long it’s going to last but you never want it to end.

Driven by lust, madness, or both, you cup your hand over the zipper on his jeans, palming his erection. It feels so big in your hold. He exhales a moan into your mouth and clutches his hand overtop of yours, pressing you into him more firmly, curving your fingers around the heft of it. Fuck, it’s so hard. You feel wetness dripping out of you into your underwear. Holy fuck you’re getting dizzy. 

Unable to even think straight, you don’t notice he’s let go of your hand until you feel it cupping the front of your jeans, and the noise that leaves your mouth is sinful. He slams his mouth overtop of yours to muffle your wail but it still echoes down the silent hall. You know he must feel the heat radiating off your core, he must already feel how embarrassingly wet you are. He brings both hands to the front of your jeans and undoes the button, pausing to look you in the eyes and wait for you to nod him on further. You do.

As he takes down the zipper you close your eyes and think this is finally it, you’re finally going to feel him where you need him the most. But instead of feeling his fingers skirt along the waistband of your underwear, you feel them touching your lips. You open your eyes and his face is inches from yours. He nods his head and tells you to open, and lets his index and middle finger pass over your lips and touch your tongue.

He doesn’t have to tell you to close your mouth, you do it on your own, closing your eyes again and letting your pooling saliva coat his digits. You lick your tongue between them, along his knuckles and the pads of his fingers, then you gently suck, running your tongue flat along the underside as if it were another part of him in your mouth instead. You wish there was more light in the hallway because when you open your eyes to look at his face you’re pretty sure he looks the way you feel.

He takes his fingers out of your mouth slowly, a trail of saliva connecting them to your tongue briefly, before he dips them into your underwear and slides them right over your clit. He wouldn’t have known of course, but he didn’t need you to wet his fingers, you were already soaking wet from just his touch. The state he finds you in sends jolts of electricity surging down his cock. 

He gently rubs his finger alongside your bundle of nerves, dragging them down to collect even more of your ample wetness. You scramble your hands up the front of his shirt, longing for skin-to-skin contact with him. You shuffle your fingers through his sparse chest hair and drag your nails over his hardening nipples, causing him to crash his lips against yours to silence his own groan this time.

He pushes his middle finger towards your hole and feels you nodding as he does it. His finger slides inside you so easily; you’re so fucking wet. He’s never felt anyone this wet before. You reach around behind him and shove your hands down the back of his pants, grabbing handfuls of his ass, squealing against his mouth when you discover that he’s not wearing underwear.

He continues to work his middle finger in and out of your tight hole, spreading his index finger to run it up alongside your exposed clit. He knows you like it because you’re whimpering and clawing at him non-stop. It’s so loud in the otherwise dead-silent house but he can’t bring himself to give a single shit who else can hear you. Every sound you make goes straight to his leaking dick.

He pulls his mouth off yours and brings his face to your hair, inhaling deeply. Today was your bath day and your hair smells like soap and lavender. He likes it but he prefers when it smells slept-in, smells like you. He lowers his mouth and sucks a dark mark into your skin just below where your neck meets your shoulder, then he brings his lips to your ear, biting and kissing your earlobe. 

He whispers in your ear; you’re so fucking wet baby, you’re so tight, can feel how wet you are, can you feel it baby?, I’m gonna smell like you after this ya know, you’re all over me, can you hear it?, you’re gonna feel me for days baby, for days.

You yank on his arms, pulling him as close to you as possible and orgasm with a squeal, shuddering in his hold and panting his name over and over into the hollow of his neck. He takes his hands out of your pants, glistening with your release, and greedily shoves his fingers into his mouth above your head. Once clean he brings his face to the side of your neck, nuzzling you and nipping at your skin there and breathing in your heady scent.

Before either of you get a chance to give any due attention to his painful, raging erection, Tess’ door opens and she comes out of the room to head towards the bathroom. You yip in embarrassment and cross into your room, closing the door in Joel’s face. Joel shoots Tess a pissed off look and Tess shrugs her shoulders.

“Sorry, it sounded like you guys were done,” she says flippantly as she closes the bathroom door.

Joel knocks lightly at your door a few times and you open it a bit, mortified at being caught acting like a couple of horny teenagers. 

“Don’t be shy, baby,” he coos. “We didn’t do anythin’ wrong.” 

That’s true. He made sure to stay outside of your room so Tess has nothing to be upset about. He leans his face into the crack of your door and you give him several kisses on the lips but then you hear Tess coming back out of the bathroom and you shut the door in his face again, muttering a flustered goodnight from the other side of the wood.

He turns to Tess again, visibly angry and she suppresses a smile. She resists teasing him verbally and instead kisses him on the cheek and wishes him a goodnight also, closing her door behind her. Joel takes himself into his room and fucks his fist – again – to thoughts of you.

–

The week passes quickly, alone time together still nonexistent as Joel’s responsibilities increase. He always seems to be out of the house on patrols, having meetings, and visiting community members. He argues with Tess about his schedule being too full and she tells him winter is hard, and that people need extra reassurances to make it through. She also reminds him, in a whisper, that he has spent a lot of time focusing on one person and ignoring the rest, and he needs to make up for that. His only response is a growl before he leaves the room.

Joel finds you outside the bathroom door one morning and you blush, realizing you’re wearing one of his button-up shirts, ready to defend yourself for pilfering it off the laundry line. Instead of admonishing you, he wordlessly pulls the open collar over your one shoulder a bit, observing the fading mark he’d sucked into your skin. He kisses over it gently and you think he’s having regrets about marking you like that, but you say nothing, a little embarrassed by the fact that you stare at it every morning in the bathroom mirror.

When Thursday comes around again you find yourself alone once more after the meeting, entering a house that is dark and quiet. Instead of going upstairs you both go into the kitchen for a glass of water, slowly taking sips from your glass before you lose all control and launch yourself at him. This might be your first time instigating this kind of behavior but your need for him fuels your boldness.

You grab at him everywhere you can reach, pulling him tight to you, feeling the hardness of his shoulders under your hands and the softness of his belly against yours. You pull on fistfulls of his hair and shove your tongue into his mouth, eliciting groans from him. You don’t even care how desperate you appear as you writhe against him, whimpering. You are desperate for him. 

You need him to hold you tight, to kiss you hard, to make you feel like a woman. You need to belong to him, to matter to him, to make him happy. You need him to give you purpose, to bring you joy, to make you whole. You need him to make you forget every man that came before him, every hand that touched you with bad intentions. You need to feel his body enveloping you. You need him to consume you.

He pulls you into the dining room and lifts your legs up to place your butt on the table’s edge but instead you wrap both legs around his waist. He growls at your aggressive move and pushes your back down firmly on the dining table, keeping himself against you. He begins to grind himself against your core, unable and unwilling to hold himself back.

Feeling like feral animals, you lick and moan into each other’s mouths as the table creaks beneath you. You shove your hands up the back of his shirt, clawing marks down him. He moves his face along your neck, taking deep inhaling breaths and nipping at your skin, debating on whether to give you a fresh mark. Fisting your hands in his hair, you tug on his locks and interrupt his thoughts, earning groans that he muffles into the crook of your shoulder. 

Suddenly the lights in the kitchen flip on, and Tess is standing in the doorway.

“Please,” she says calmly, “Not on the table where we eat.”

You clap your hand over your mouth, silencing your loud yelp. Joel pushes himself off the table, also startled by her appearance. You take the opportunity to scramble away and run up the stairs. Hearing your door slam closed, Joel turns to Tess, snarling.

“What the fuck, Tess? What the fuck,” grabbing the edge of the table in a splintering grip. 

“Why don’t you two just fuck already?” she chuckles, trying to rile him up.

“That’s what I’m fuckin’ trying to do,” he growls, slamming his fists down several times. 

“Don’t break my fucking table,” she snaps at him. 

Joel grabs her by the hips and pushes her face down bent over the table, slamming his body into her ass. Tess just lays there, letting him rut into her for a moment. He grabs her by the hair, yanking her up, and takes a big inhale into the back of her head, continuing to grind his pelvis into her. He takes a few more breaths and stops moving his hips, calming down. Eventually he releases her, pushing her away from him harshly.

“Yeah, I don’t smell like her, do I?” Tess says. 

He mutters something she can’t quite make out, still pissed off. She can see his softening erection but a wild fucking look remains in his eyes. She watches him point to the table several times before he opens his mouth. 

“That’s my fuckin’ table. I’ll do whatever I fuckin’ want to it,” and with that he goes up to bed. 

He jerks off in his room alone. Again.

–

Once again the interim week is relatively tame, as you don’t have much chance to be alone together. You manage to sneak in kisses and touches when you can, but your stolen moments are no longer innocent. There’s no more playful giggles or gentle caresses. You exchange lustful glances over the table, your kisses are laden with tongue and your touches are now groping and needy. 

You wake up every morning having dreamt of him all night, and spend every day wet and wanting, full-body shudders running through you at the memory of his hands and lips on you. Everytime you pass him in the hallway you ache for him, fleeting touches never fulfilling the longing you feel. You can’t get to sleep at night without touching yourself, covering your face with your pillow to muffle your pleasure. 

You don’t remember being this wound up over anyone in your whole life, especially not since the world ended and every day became a fight to survive. Touching yourself never brought you such relief before, but imagining it’s Joel touching you ignites a spark deep inside and your desire is driving you mad. Joel makes you forget how miserable things are, how scared you’ve been. He makes you feel safe.

The next Thursday you come back from the meeting much later than expected, Tess is waiting up – drinking tea in the dining room, a bit concerned. She sees you both enter, him practically carrying you inside and up the stairs. When he comes back down she goes to make some commentary about you two “finally” doing the deed when she sees a fresh wet stain high inside the thigh of his pants. Did he come in his pants?

“What the fuck?” she can’t help it from slipping out. 

He doesn’t meet her eyes, just shrugs his shoulders and shuffles into the kitchen for a drink. He doesn’t seem agitated like he was when she interrupted him before so she thinks he must at least be satisfied with whatever happened tonight. He passes back through the room and mutters a goodnight, heading upstairs without elaborating on the state he’s in or what kept you two so late.

She’s known Joel for many years and has felt a lot of things for him, but at no point did she let herself believe that he felt anything close to love for her. She had actually convinced herself that he was incapable of feeling love, and is pretty sure he’s convinced himself of the same thing. But what is this if not true intimacy?

She wasn’t sure about you at first, especially given your penchant for fucking up your chores. But you are friendly to your housemates and giving in the community. You’re kind but reserved, and although it takes you a while to warm up to people, Tess firmly believes that you’re a genuinely good person, and – most importantly–- could be truly good for Joel. She sees that Joel lets his guard down around you, and that you like Joel for who he really is, which is something he doesn’t show to anyone.

She knows he’s kept things from you, and wonders how much he’s been manipulating you in-between letting his true self show. Maybe that’s not the right word for what Joel does, manipulate. It doesn’t feel like that’s what he’s doing when you’re the target of it. It feels good, amazing even, because when Joel makes you feel like you matter to him, it’s intoxicating. It’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

She wonders if things are going to change, and how they might change. She thinks that if Joel can admit his true feelings and commit, then his relationship with you could change the very trajectory of this community. She and Joel worked very hard to build this community up but she knows that it’s stable enough now that a change like this won’t topple it. She quietly hopes it will change significantly.

She doesn’t love how subserviently women are treated in this community and has always wondered if it would transform if Joel took a partner. For a while she hoped that partner would be her, but that thought died out long ago. If Joel is seen in public showing love and affection for an equal female partner, it could benefit women and the community as a whole going forward.

She lets herself envision that future, where Joel embraces his feelings and makes changes in his home and the community, and the positive effects are felt all across The Valley. But the biggest hurdle will be getting Joel to admit to himself – and everyone else – the softness and vulnerability that you bring out in him. Letting himself love someone means opening himself up to loss, and if there’s one thing that Joel Miller does not do, it’s lose.

🖤

NEXT

Thank you endlessly to @papipascalispunk for helping me with this series and listening to me rant about Cult Leader Joel. 🫂 I appreciate you SO much.

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper @missladym1981 @xdaddysprincessxx @lumoverheaven @ghoulettesinspace @brittmb115 @wintersquirrel @obscurexsorrows @littlevenicebitch69 @lulawantmula @pedroswife69 @joeldjarin

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[jessource]

prompts:　random quotes + excerpts.

“ you are so vulnerably haunting; your eeriness is terrifying irresistible. ” “ we’re not that different, you and i. ” “ you are a child of the cosmos, a ruler of the skies. ” “ you’re just becoming more of what you’ve always been. ” “ i’m not changing, none of us are changing. everything is fine. lets have a picnic. ” “ my father had the kind of anger all fathers do – loud and terrible. it lingers for your whole life. ” “ girlhood rots between my teeth, a sickness so sweet it aches. ” “ i wished so badly to have my own life, but you wouldn’t let me. ” “ parts of me died in the house i grew up in and i visit them in dreams. ” “ today i heard your name and my hands started shaking. please make it stop, make it stop. ” “ i wasn’t even allowed to cry over any of it, anyway! i wish the only thing that i spilled in my life was milk. ” “ this is not fun! it’s just scary! ” “ but if i hadn't fallen, i wouldn't have met you. ” “ have you let go of the ails that anchor you yet? ” “ have you let this marvelous spinning earth pull you into its arms and sweep you off your feet yet? ” “ i dream, i dream, i keep dreaming. one word in my mouth crystallises like sugar: hope. ” “ the nights get heavy like they always do. ” “ heavy wind, cold rain, and yes the stars. ” “ drifting apart always seems to hurt more as it happens. ” “ i am trying to say: look at me. ‘i am weightless. you make my heart grow light.’ ” “ right now, everything without you is almost sticky-sweet. it tastes like nectar. ” “ can you accept help or are you the eldest daughter? ” “ i swallow a bee for each ill deed done. i am a hive walking. i strain to hear you over the regret. ” “ i knew that it was cruel to be so optimistic, but, in my solitude, i couldn't resist the urge and spent entire days basking in idiotic fantasies, sometime verging on prayer. ” “ grief is not a feeling, but a neighbourhood. this is where i come from. everyone i love still lives there. ” “ there is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get. ” “ i was once very close to getting out of here. ” “ there is no moving on. only running away. ” “ i don’t love anyone. well, maybe my sister. ” “ i am infatuated with the private life, and with anonymity; perhaps even invisibility. ” “ sometimes you just need someone to tell you you're not as terrible as you think you are. ” “ i opened my mouth, almost said something. almost. the rest of my life might have turned out differently if i had. but i didn't. ” “ she is still inside of me. i carry her with me wherever i go. ” “ being a confessional human being for me is like a defense mechanism. if i can tell you the flaw before you see the flaw, then maybe it's okay. ” “ being a person didn't come naturally to me the way it seemed to for others. people who were sure of themselves awed me. i studied them and tried to mimic their ease. ” “look back at the mess you've made. try your best to pick up the pieces. ” “ not only had my brother disappeared, but– and bear with me here–a part of my very being had gone with him. ” “ i kinda wish i was buried six feet under ground. but oh god i also wish i was buried in your arms. ” “ we tell our stories differently, don’t we, you and i? ” “ you poor thing. sweet, mourning lamb. there’s nothing you can do. ” “ a golden cage is still just a cage. ” “ although i may not be yours. i can never be another’s. ” “ my mother didn't foresee what was going to become of us as a result of witnessing her despair. ”

#rp prompt #rp meme #rp sentences #rp starters #rp sentence starter #prompts #memes #rp starter #pinterest #quotes #rp quotes #mymemes. #*

[dwarf-hat-enjoyer]

I meant to ask yesterday, but how ab some touch starved Harvey head cannons? <3

🤝Touch-Starved Harvey🤝

synopsis: Exactly what it says on the tin <3 Our favorite town doctor craves physical intimacy more than he knows. Headcanons+drabble of how he copes with it, how he reacts to physical contact, and a bonus of how he reacts to receiving physical affection! gn!Farmer, romance. SFW.

w.c.: 1.7k words!

content warnings: None!

A.N.: BABY'S FIRST REQUEST! Thank you so much :,) Highkey this was super enjoyable for me to write and I'm REALLY happy that you liked my other post enough to pop in!!! Enjoy &lt;3

Before the farmer, before befriending Maru and assimilating into his role as the meek and respectful town doctor, he had always been rather avoidant to initiating casual physical contact. Everything he gave, everything he received- it all ranged from polite social expectancies to standard work-related procedures. He didn't think much of it. Having always been a more anxious type, the possibility of making another uncomfortable was always on his mind in these interactions, and what better way to avoid such a thing than to not have it at all? Handshakes and the occasional stiff hug were enough for him. Unfortunately, this proved to be a bit of an oversight on his end, considering the side-effects it would provide.

By the time the farmer arrives, his chronic loneliness has very much caught up with him. Not only has he distanced himself physically from others around him, but mentally as well. Outside of his clinic, the way Harvey's been so avoidant to touch has turned it into a source of anxiety for him. His self-consciousness extends to this field as well- when Granny Evelyn beckons him to lean down for a hug after he's finished his house visit to George, he worries that he's hugged her too tightly or for too long in the very back of his mind. Even the handshake exchanged with the governor at the last year's Luau haunts his memory, with the constant niggling thought that he hadn't been firm enough.

And don't get this man started on his non-existent romantic life. Moving to such a small town those few years ago, he knew that prospects like that would be limited, to say the very least. Many of the eligible singles in town, as lovely as they were, were...well, not exactly his type. And even those that were, how could a guy like him ever manage anything with anyone? The thought of being forward or flirtatious in any way practically gave him hives. But the idea of having someone to be close to, physically and emotionally...He couldn't say that he didn't crave that. But all in all, he wholeheartedly believed that it wasn't in the cards for him and his touch-starved ways.

Enter the farmer. They were just another patient to Harvey in the beginning, another member of the town for him to look after. He didn't pay much attention when they touched him or when he touched them, aside from his ordinary overthinking. He couldn't afford to think too deeply about, really. He was their doctor, for Yoba's sake, and whether it was a friendly punch in the arm or a simple tap on the shoulder to get his attention, it would be highly unprofessional to dwell on. Besides, the mystique of being new in town and charmingly single was sure to draw them quite a few pairs of eyes, anyway. How could he compete?

Well...He definitely began thinking about that. Time marched forward as time does, and an unexpected friendship began to blossom. Harvey being Harvey, it was hard for him to recognize his developing feelings at first. Their gestures became more frequent, and his heart swelled with each one. Whether it be grabbing his wrist to drag him to see their chickens or a grateful hug for patching them up after a night in the mines, it lingered in his mind longer than it should have. When the day came that he idly pondered asking them to the coming year's Flower Dance, it all suddenly became clear to him: He'd fallen. And he'd fallen hard.

Everything suddenly became so much more meaningful. The coffee and pickles they'd frequently brought him, fresh from their farm. When he caught them looking at him and only him among the faces of a festival crowd, was that a sign? Did they think about him as often as he thought about them? Did they think about his touch the way he thought about theirs? With all these thoughts swirling about in his head, he would suddenly become much more reserved around the farmer, quiet and flustered as if a single word could shatter the friendship they'd so carefully cultivated already.

Eventually, something would have to be said about his behavior. This is Harvey, after all- and even if it weren't, who in their right mind would suddenly clam up the way he did for no good reason?

Clamming up...Was that what he was doing? Harvey sighed to himself as he took in the early summer atmosphere. He brushed his knuckle over the surface of the fountain's water, sitting contemplatively at its edge. It was on days like these where he wished he had the confidence and sense to dress down a little rather than sweltering away in his slacks and button-up shirt, but there were other things on his mind. The sweat on his brow was the least of his concern. How could it be anything else? He'd recently realized that it had been two or three weeks since he'd realized his feelings towards the farmer, after all- which marked two or three weeks since his overthinking was pushed into overdrive by every little moment between them. His mind wandered back to the early days of their friendship. When Harvey closed his eyes envisioned his feelings, true to his bookish personality, he saw a graph. With every little moment between them, the line grew bit by bit until it became positively exponential. The way the farmer aided him at George's check-up was the first incident he could recall. When George, being every bit the stubborn old man he was at first glance, chastised Harvey for his advice, their sudden appearance ended up making the appointment much less of a headache than he expected. Their own appointment went a similar route, with them being one of his easier patients. It went as smoothly as it could have. Harvey had nearly forgotten the incident, but their pulse stuck out in the otherwise unremarkable memory. They were a farmer, for Yoba's sake. They had a business to run, physical labor to attend to and an entire town to entertain to keep themself afloat both financially and socially. Any other doctor wouldn't've thought twice about it and simply moved on with their day. Any other doctor wouldn't've fallen this hard for a patient, he reminded himself grimly. "Hey, Harvey!" In an instant, his thoughtful silence shattered like an egg thrown at the mountainside at the sound of the familiar voice. They'd sought him out. Did he really mean that much to them? Damn it all, doctor, don't get your hopes up! The contents of the farmer's backpack rustled and clanged with every step as they trotted up to him. With a proud grin on their face, they held out their hand expectantly, a small something clutched in their fist. "Oh. Erm...Hi. How are you today?" Harvey asked politely. The farmer blinked, then smiled warmly. "I'm doing alright. Just got back from the mines. Don't have a heart attack, I managed to find that purple mushroom you asked for at a level that wouldn't kill me." Harvey chuckled stiffly, reaching for the mushroom presented in their hand. Big, big mistake. It was a simple brush of their fingers. He hesitated to even call it a mere accident. They seemed so calm, despite the fact that he'd definitely lingered for a millisecond longer than he should have. In the moment, he cleared his throat awkwardly, preparing to apologize- "Harvey." "Ah, I'm sor- Yes?" he stammered, smiling in a way he prayed didn't seem nervous. "If you're going to apologize for touching me," the farmer began, gently yet firmly, "I'm gonna take that mushroom right back. You're squeezing that poor fungus to death, anyway." It was only at their words that he noticed his death grip on the mushroom. He opened his mouth to apologize anyway, but the farmer continued, "That's just something I noticed, you know? One, you've been super quiet with me lately, and two, every time we so much as brush up against each other when we do talk, you start tripping over your words and apologizing as if you just slapped me." "I know that you do get bouts of anxiety, but..." The farmer trailed off, "We're still friends, right?" Their question was genuine, concern-wrought and excruciatingly, painfully innocent. Harvey could hear their voice quieting as it left their lips- not accusatory, simply gentle and ready for whatever answer he'd give.

Harvey fumbled over his words before they'd even left his mouth. To explain himself would be to reveal the absolute fool he had been. Avoiding them for as long as he did would've only harmed their relationship, just as the farmer revealed had happened that moment. Of course they were worried. Of course they wondered whether or not he was mad at them. Of course they'd be hurt by the way he'd shied from every touch of theirs, all because he had made great towering mountains out of the littlest molehills. "Harvey…?" "It's complicated," he blurted out. The farmer's eyes widened as the words poured out of him. "I've tried to keep our relationship professional at first. After that, I- I thought it would be strictly platonic. I didn't even consider the fact that I would feel this way about you." "What do you mean 'this way?'" they prompted him gently. This farmer was going to kill him with how sweetly patient they were being. With a deep breath, he spat it out. "I'm interested in you. Romantically." What Harvey expected in that moment was a kind let-down. A small speech about how they value him as a friend, but can't see any sort of future with them. At worst, a sneer and a more curt rejection. They wouldn't be the type to laugh and mock him, this much he knew. What he hadn't expected was the smile pricking at their lips. Nor did he anticipate the way they reached softly for his hand and the electric joy that set every nerve in his body alight at their touch. It was all clear now. And damn, he truly was a fool to believe so deeply that they didn't feel the same. "Is that all, big guy?" … Oh, farmer. You'll be the death of this doctor yet.

~FIN~

#stardew valley #stardew valley harvey #harvey stardew valley #stardew harvey #stardew valley headcanons

[ms-scarletwings]

On Defective Irkens

“It is theorized that Tak may also be an Irken defect because-“

“Say guys do you think Skoodge is defective? He did a thing he wasn’t told to do once do you suppose-“

“Service Drone Bob's contempt for the Tallest is extremely abnormal, even for most defective Irkens…”

“Hints of the comms officer being a defective are seen when-“

Ohhh mauling the fan wiki writers grr biting biting thrashing and then turning around to the rest of you before I’m done, you bet, for I have sat and listened for over 12 years of leaps and speculations of this sort and now I’m now one of the ones who gets to have what the cool kids these days call a hot take on the matter.

By the end of this I’M going to bring up and expose who I actually think may be the only other defective Irken(s) in the show besides Zim, whom I’m aghast I haven’t seen anyone suggest before.

But before anything else, I want to front one preassumption center and loud.

It took me a long time to guess at why very few people can ever seem to get on the same page of what it actually means to call an Irken defective. Implicitly, the bulk of what we are given is that something can be wrong with a member of this species, and Zim is our prime and singular clear example of that. So there’s a ton of trying to find patterns between Zim’s behavior and that of other Irken characters. Weirdly (to me), a lot of people have, in their efforts, chalked the status up to a sense of rebelliousness or insubordination- a defectiveness in the manner of D&D illithids, stomping out disloyal break-aways from the collective hive mind with punitive wrath. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a cool concept, and it’s definitely closer to my opinion at least than the comparisons to real life mental disorders or disabilities. Not knocking the comfort or the enthusiasm, obviously.

From my view of the canon, I hope it’s at least apparent to other fans that “defective” isn’t some empirical measurement or status to Irkens. Look at the way they determine the defects from normal society. IRL, if I have a faulty device on my hands, there’s some way out there to tell me in a clear cut fashion if there’s a problem and what exactly it is. If it’s code, it can be scanned and debugged. If it’s mechanical, something can be seen, fixed physically. Most organic health problems are only different in the complexity of the matter, but the entire purpose of medical research is to come close as we can to bridging that gap. In Irk’s people, that line is rapidly becoming one long smear of wet chalk. I’m going on like this because if defective paks were akin to hardware actually being damaged, as Purple had put it, it doesn’t make as much sense that they are neither “fixed” nor given real, concrete diagnostics. The only way we know of that the aliens are tested in a since on this merit is by existence evaluations. And existence evaluations are anything but empirical, impartial events. They’re worlds more political and cultural than clinical.

Digest the terms we keep seeing all around the concept: Innocent, justice, trial/evaluation, Judgementia, these are terms of judicial courts and moral weight and sentencing. In effective practice,

Irk labels defects by what one does, not by what one is.

Yet, defection is presented as if that’s not the case, and there are reasons for that. Reasons that reinforce the current power structures and promote what its leadership has decided is healthy for the broader society. When Zim was merely re-encoded from invader status to food service work, it was a more secluded evaluation, presumably done on Irk. His only seen witnesses then were the Tallests and the single control brain dishing the judgement. His existence evaluation, on the other hand, rings more similarly to the IRL historical practice of literal “show trials”. Show trials were something that existed way less for the actual crimes of the accused and so much more for their audience, which, show trials are always for an audience. Three main points about them off the Wikipedia cuff:

• Typically, the defendant of such has already been determined to be guilty (oftentimes of completely fabricated transgressions), and the trial serves mostly to make a massive public spectacle and warning of the accused.

• They tend to focus on retributive punishment over correction. The disproportional brutality and lack of mercy is often the point.

• Their goals are propagandistic in nature, and there’s many notable examples to be found in the history of Nazi Germany, the USSR, and in witch trials across the world (because it was never just Salem).

A formality? Well, that much they couldn’t have more brazenly admitted to. Retribution? There’s hardly a more absolute punitive sentence I could craft up over obliteration PLUS Damnatio Memoariae. And as for the degree of spectacle, I will let you make your own observation here.

Believe it or not, the part where my comparisons along this line end with Existence Evaluations is that their standard for taking place isn’t actually this cartoonishly oppressive one that some fans try to make it out to be. In “The Trial”, Zim was not having his data read for some binary is/is not determination… he was having his experiences and actions interpreted by how much damage he has done against the Armada. He said it himself, that hotseat is reserved for criminals. Likely outright traitors and maniacs. Those who have given cause to alert the brains to a genuine existential threat to their civilization and who have repeatedly failed every opportunity given to redeem themselves.

Defective doesn’t just mean “different” to Irk. We’ve hardly seen an exploration of what the median Irken example even is, because the more we see of any one of these characters, the more they show us their eccentric uniqueness and will. Yes, Irkens are authoritarian; yes they’re over-militarized; yes, they’re a supremacist breed aligned under one ruling military… but listen, they are not literally The Borg, or illithids.

The biggest victims of this government itself are those races it colonizes. Average civilians on the other hand, they get to largely enjoy all the vices and pains and indulgences of hyper-space-capitalism. The height-ocracy may limit their opportunities, but even the lowest drones among them are supposedly hired into their positions in return for wages. Irkens are pretty selfish, but in a rugged individualism sense. It’s a dystopia of atomization instead of collectivization. If everyone had agreed that “defective” had anything to do with arrogance, free will, or an ability to feel one’s sense of self worth, no one would ever be pointing to Skoodge as a possible example. That guy’s the poster boy for what it means to be a “tool” in the derogatory sense. I’m not forgetting that he technically never even left his job. He was fired and more or less forced into hiding, and he’s still not even that perturbed over the whole thing.

Moreover, it also takes some extreme acts of harm to justify such a trial. Real harm- not rebellious attitude or even disrespect to authority. The control brains and the tallests alone get to define that threshold, and neither Tak’s/Zim’s insubordination nor Bob’s audacity concerned them enough for a ticket to Judgementia. In fact, they really don’t seem that bothered at all by deserters and those that abandon their encoded function. Tak is likely to be merely the responsibility of her janitorial squadron, the same way that enforcing Zim’s banishment was the responsibility of his Frylord. Because Irk actually does have standards of justice and layers of bureaucracy to work within when it comes to dealing with true malice. Small fry problems are for the lower rungs of the ladder to handle, until they become a higher priority by necessity. Incompetency alone isn’t a crime, either. The go-to punishment for failure in one function is demotion to a lower position. These are the only Irkens formally not allowed to change jobs, making what they do a kind of communal service or forced labor sentencing. Remember how Tak’s motivation for leaving Dirt wasn’t solely dissatisfaction with the grunt labor? Remember how she kept justifying her actions by the logic of fairness and setting things right? Not to mention how she fully made the Tallest aware of what she was up to and how her plan was well crafted enough to probably work out exactly like she wanted. Tak is utterly as loyal to the empire and competent as any invader. She was genuinely just dealt a shitty hand, and her response to it is at least understandable.

She even went to great lengths to identify and specifically target Zim and to use a planet that otherwise had less than no value to the armada’s operations. She is a great foil to Zim, but I can’t see how she’s any bit defective, only full of rage that she was screwed over by the actions of a real disgrace to their species. Genuinely destructive cases like Zim are an incredible rarity. Such a rarity that I can only guess it took this long for him to go to Judgementia because his degree of dysfunction outright baffles the system. It also would appear that it’s an event of such significance that it can only be set into motion by the command of the ruling Tallest. By murdering a couple of them, and then being a clown show for a couple more, he inadvertently bought himself some time.

And the crazy thing to remember here is that Zim doesn’t even understand that his actions are an existential threat to the Empire- that he IS a whole supervillain to his planet. This is how effective Irken programming and the education plugs are. They’re supposed to do 99% of the work of setting up the population, even the lowest drones, for not turning out like traitors to their kin in the first place. ALL of them grew up on a steady diet of the same drip-fed propaganda and essentialist ideology as their most militant soldiers. So I can see the logic behind the conclusion that the only explanation for criminals in their society must be outright brain damage or corrupted data… and I’m not gonna lie I do openly headcanon that the latter case is exactly what happened to bad egg Zim.

The limits of only having the one example in him notwithstanding, I’m anything but against theorizing about who else could be “worthy” in the Irken sense to also stand before those brains, playing sweaty advocate for the worth of their continued existence and all. I just don’t see it in Bob, or the Comms officer, or any other invader. Tak, there may be some hypothetical ramp to that end, in her future, but as things are right now, I only see a candidate that has become comfortable right in the control brains’ biggest blind spot of all. See, eggs don’t always have to crack in order to go bad. Sometimes, maybe they just spoil. Sometimes, I believe just the right conditions and time can turn them downright rotten.

Dramatic musical flourish, please.

I forget whoever said the quote “Power doesn’t corrupt, It just exposes who people really are”, but I’m a huge fan of the fact that they did. In my opinion, it’s less about power itself and more about a complete lack of accountability that allows the weakest and most toxic seeds to really fester in a seat of authority. Indeed, we all know that there is something pathetic, and vapid, and cruel floating around The Massive’s bridge. I am saying I’d call Red defective, but I couldn’t be certain enough with myself to say that Purple’s largely the one carrying a lot of fault. His greatest sin is his negligence and enabling his companion. whoever we can say shoulders more of the blame, they have been running this horror show as a joint unit, so they will both bear the guilt. Without a doubt, these two are terrible- popular maybe, but terrible leaders. Like, more responsible for the near ruin of their home world and species than I can even pin on Zim at this point. By almost every measure once you hold them up to Miyuki’s and Spork’s barely few moments of would-be screen time, they’re the worst Tallests for the Empire we’ve ever known. It’s too bad that they have no one over them we know of to flag them for an existence evaluation, because I am assured that the real orchestrators of the Armada would be disgusted to look over their track records since they took power.

I mean, what can I remember just off the top of my head?

- Full awareness of Zim’s blackout-causing history before the beginning of Operation Impending Doom I and not keeping a close eye on him, removing him from his position, or keeping him away from the homeworld’s WoMDs

- Overseeing the shipment of faulty equipment to Invader Tenn (even if the packages had not been switched, the Megadoomer still had a potentially fatal flaw), and then presumably NOT giving her urgent guidance/assistance to avoid being captured by native hostiles

- Showing an egregious amount of immaturity and frivolity when making logistical decisions, such as the flight path of the Armada or how conquered planets are utilized

- Repeated abuses of their standing, trying to extra-judicially get rid of subjects over the pettiest reasons (if they had the formal authority to just vaporize Skoodge, Bob, OR Zim on the spot, they wouldn’t need to come up with convoluted and indirect methods that they only hope kill said targets)

- Upon Zim returning to them from his banishment: not sending him back to Foodcourtia and not refusing to humor his wishes to larp as an invader

- Oh yeah, also granting Zim at least some invader tech and allowing him to leave Conventia in what I assume is a ship he could have only stolen

- Still not dealing with Zim with extreme prejudice in a timely fashion after the events of Backseat Drivers from Beyond the stars, or investigating enough to find out and deal with prisoner 777

- HAVING WAITED THROUGH ALL OF THE ABOVE BEFORE SENDING FOR ZIM’S EXISTENCE EVALUATION

- Spending the bulk of their reign so far dicking around in space and gorging themselves. Seriously, Red showed us one act of proactive competence… and it was in order to fix a mess that they allowed Zim to get them into. Not to mention, the Resisty got away from that scrap after thoroughly humiliating their flagship.

Red, and by extension, Purple, are the almighty, Tallest threats to the entire Irken project of galactic conquest, as much as Zim would have loved all the credit in the universe. By what they’ve done, and who they are. He might be damaged, but them? There’s some defective moral character if I’ve ever seen.

#invader zim #iz #iz theory #iz headcanons #tallest red #tallest purple #iz tallest #iz the trial #defective Irkens #long post #scarlet talks about things #Tallest slander

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 376: Back Together, p2 (Third Round of New Hires)

“Y-you've interviewed all these people, gone through all their resumes?” he asked, sidled up next to Melissa. This was his Office Manager/Girlfriend and the young woman who - along with her hive of worker bees - was handling so much of the practice’s expansion for him. “You must have been busy…”

Dr J, geriatrician and former owner of the medical practice the two of them now sat in while finishing up a dinner of take-out Thai food, was suddenly not feeling quite as confident as he had throughout the day. Melissa had been showing him the new women that they’d hired, girls who were set to work in the two new wings of the building. 

Far Horizons was about to become a full-on health-care complex, complements of funding by Evolution Pharmaceuticals and his ex-wife Sheryl. It all opened for business on Monday, after some early ceremonies and a news piece that was supposed to air at the end of the week. Rather than feeling excitement for the growth of his (former)  business he was instead starting to squirm. His mouth filled with something that tasted like dread. 

“Yep, We've been very busy!” she chirped, pulling up the application and pictures of another girl on the tablet. This one was someone who’d be working behind the desk in the (it still made him shudder) Regression Clinic. In truth, the interviews Melissa had with these girls had been brief, quick introductions more than anything, and they were done over the computer. The girls were mostly all still out in California or Mexico or wherever. 

Dr. J tried to relax about the whole thing, but it was hard. It was all just so crazy, and was quickly becoming a reality. “So the, uh, 50’s housewife look is really coming back, huh?” he pondered aloud, looking at the dress on a pretty young brunette and having a strong recollection of a recent dream. The flashback made him temporarily dizzy. He was becoming confused. For one thing, these images weren’t the amateur selfies that the new girls on his current staff had sent him, back in the last couple waves of hiring. These seemed more professional, and he daresay more clinically crafted to highlight the women’s, umm, best features.

These girls are all insanely gorgeous, he marveled. Like the staff he now had surrounding him day-to-day, it was nearly unbelievable. What the actual fuck - where are they growing these people?!? “It’s kinda, uh, ‘Stepford Wife’-ish,” he commented, unsure she would get the reference.

“You know…I just ordered a few new dresses myself,” Melissa replied as Jay stared at the tablet, no longer paying enough attention to her. She could feel it. She could tell as he went through the tablet preloaded by Evolution with 'applications' that he was feeling more nervous and agitated. Maybe the effects of Katarina’s milk were wearing off, or maybe this was just too upsetting for him. She understood, it could be overwhelming, tripling your staff and facing the prospect of being surrounded by more than three times the women in the office every single day. It was a lot, and she could tell he had some questions.

“So, what’s up with the, uh ‘subject number’ on all of them?” he began in a mumble, “Or this blacked-out space on all of them?”

Melissa paused; she knew she had to have answers. She didn’t want to lie if she didn’t have to, but more importantly she didn’t want to upset him. “The Col-…uh, Evolution actually helped out, found us a lot of girls, doing most of the hiring and human resources for now, until we have our own girl for it - she’s this one here, with the red hair!” She showed him a particularly bosomy picture, hoping to distract him.

“And what does ‘program’ mean? And what’s ‘Coronado’?”

“Oh uh I dunno?” She hated having to lie to him. “Maybe they have some sort of, like, employment…outreach?…program? In…Coronado?” oooOooo I just want to blast him with perfumes, make him believe me! But I promised myself I wouldn’t do that as much. Unless he…unless he wanted me to do it. Ooo nnnnhh that’d be…..oooo…

“So…how many of these new people are there?”

“Including the men?”

He’d forgotten about those. The guys they were hiring, for maintenance, groundskeeping, some gruntwork data entry. The ones they were keeping housed in the basement.  “Uh, no, just the uh-“

“The girls?" she said with a knowing giggle. 

He nodded, grunted his assent: “uh, yeah.”

"Well, at first, It looks like we’ll have about sixty new girls,” Melissa replied, knowing it was a bit more than that, “some on our payroll, some on Evolution’s, but I’ll be managing them all.” The prospect made her warm and wet between the thighs. “And I think eventually we’ll need more.” 

He shivered, and his voice cracked. “a-And how many do we have now? Already working?”

“Thirty. Including me.”

“Jesus.” The scale of it was staggering to him. The scale, and the fact that they’d been able to grow so quickly, filling all these positions in so short a time. “Wow, why? What’s so attractive about these jobs? It can’t be just the pay,” he asked. The pay is ridiculous, though. I don’t know how it’s all feasible. 

“Oh getting girls for these applications was easy!” Melissa replied, “And all of them were hired before your video came out. Now? After this weekend? That video made us very popular! Soooo many people want jobs here now! Girls willing to move from all over! Just to work for us! The applications just keep coming in! Even now!”

“T-that’s insane…” 

“Why is it so crazy? We now have streams of you and your-”

‘Harem’, she wants to say ‘harem’. 

“…staff, all over the internet. Girls just want to be part of it.”

“It makes no sense!” he exclaimed, then paused. His voice dropped as he descended into thought. “The world is…twisted.”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s really not,” she purred, closing the space between them as she leaned in towards him. She’d already begun releasing pheromones subconsciously: 0001.55.6009.xx, 0001.55.6388.dd, and, though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t, 0001.55.6022.cd. “Honey, It makes perfect sense. The world is just…changing. Girls want what they want, and it’s different than before. You have to know that you being so perfectly vulni will bring in girls wanting to join us. They want to join us and grow into something better.”

Dr. J sighed, pondering his place in all this.

“We've been swimming in candidates” Melissa commented, her voice a near-whisper, secretly having begun to shiver herself. All this talk of growing, gathering more girls around herself was getting her excited. She recognized the feeling and it was continuing to make her warm up between her powerful thighs. I want another hundred of them, a thousand. Millions…

“S-swimming..?” Dr. J stammered the fear creeping into his voice.

And now you’re drowning in them. Melissa smiled. She knew it wasn’t just seeing Jay’s shrunken flagellations on livestream that was attracting all the outside attention, from both men and women. Her own influence was growing. They were watching her and her girls, and the world was starting to gravitate toward them. Toward HER. Randi had said something to her recently about it, and it struck her: ‘They’re all, all your followers, all these viewers, starting to see you as something more than themselves, something more perfect, and they like it’. The memory excited Melissa even more, and set her mind reeling. 

“Wanna see some more girls?” Melissa offered, pulling herself from her thoughts and smushing herself into him even closer. She slid her chair until it was practically on top of his. “They’re all so pretty, don’t you think?” Again on her tablet she started swiping through girls, applications, photos, a blur of beautiful girls, attractive women, each one another member of her little beehive. “All our new roommates…” 

“r-roommates?” he stammered, as she’d settled on a particularly athletic looking brunette. Jesus this one could kick my ass. Look at those arms.

“Well, more like housemates.” Melissa corrected. She could tell that he was growing even more nervous, less relaxed by the minute. His thoughts? She could taste them almost as clearly as she did her Tom Yum Goong: they’re all so beautiful, and there are so many of them.

“They’re all going to be living together in the barr-...the dorms and apartments upstairs,” she continued, “those new spaces are pretty much ready to go.” She reached out, pushed an errant lock of hair from his forehead. She could sense his pulse quickening, and saw his eyes flit to her big chest. Where all this talk of new girls - a huger hive of honeybees - made him uneasy, it was thrilling to her. Every new face seemed to make Melissa feel bigger.  And, these days, I like being big. 

“We put a rush on the new girls’ suites since they all need a place. Most are coming from so far away. Mine and the current girls’ won’t be ready for another little bit.”

“And I’ll be staying-”

“With me.”

I can’t wait to put you in your room.

Suddenly he looked even more nervous, especially as he thought  about moving in with her. Maybe it was too much? 

Jay couldn't comprehend what he was feeling in all honesty as he felt himself shift away from her. “uh…could we, like, maybe do this another time?” he asked abruptly, “Maybe just, I dunno, we could talk about something else? Do something else together?”

She knew him well enough by now to know what his little plea meant. She needed to change course with him and protect his weak male ego. You can be so fragile. “Oh,  so you want to spend time just with me?” she asked with a girlish giggle, tucking her tablet under her arm...

“Well, yeah…” 

She sensed he was getting more agitated. Was Katarina’s milk wearing off, or was this all just too much for him now? She knew that she could just calm him down with some of her body’s own perfumes, and did allow a little more 0001.55.6022.cd to ebb off her skin. Despite it, she still felt him wanting to back away some more. As he retreated she caught his eyes  roaming her chest again in a quick furtive pass. He just couldn't help it. I know what the poor thing needs, even if he doesn’t know it himself. 

“Whoa whoa whoa mister,” Melissa laughed, reaching out her strong  arm toward his remarkably thin shoulder, “You’re not going anywhere." She felt him squirm underneath her grip as he tried to get away; it was like restraining a small puppy. “No you are not.”  She took a moment to turn off her tablet and place it on the table. Then, she sat up nice and straight. “C’mere,” she directed him, “Come sit on my lap.”

He gave her a look she didn’t necessarily like. He was having thoughts, getting a bit too fussy for her liking. She knew she needed to exert her will a bit. He needed to calm down. 

“I said.  On. my. Lap. ”

He stayed frozen in place. Was she going to have to release more pheromones? 

“Dear? This is not me asking you. On my lap, NOW.”

Her voice. Something had changed in her voice. It’s not that it was, well, loud - though she had increased its volume - but it had made the windows rattle. It carried with it authority, a terrible, acute authority that made him feel small.

And it made him listen. 

He half stood, turned, and brought himself towards her. On her little breakroom chair she spread her thighs a bit, letting him in to sit. She urged him to hop up onto her right leg and smiled as he sat. 

“That’s it. You said you want my attention?” she purred, enjoying the weight of his little body on her lap, “Well, now you have it.” Snaking her perfectly toned left leg around him, Melissa carefully locked him into place as she gave him a comforting smile and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. 

He tried to move, but his legs may as well have been shackled by steel. His skin prickled in a blend of fear and excitement as he became once again intimately familiar with the phenomenal strength of  her body. Her formidable thighs held him tight while, at the same time, he felt the soft, comforting mass of her right breast pressing into his side. But even surrounded by the soft feminine weight of Melissa’s body, he was still agitated. 

Oh, my fussy little boy.

At first, Melissa was amused by the feeling of his futile half-struggles against her. Then, those feeling changed, She was not only reminded her just how weak he was, but the sensation, the thought of her being so much stronger than him made her feel powerful. Aroused. Hot. She felt herself now getting wetter with each passing second. Tiny thrills fluttered her increasingly superhuman heart as she felt him struggle against her. with all his adorable, meager little might. 

Gotta control yourself, Missy. Deep breaths, in and out, just like you’ve learned. You can't…you can’t…

She felt her breathing pick up, in pace.

…you can't what? You can't enjoy yourself? You can't be yourself around your boyfriend?

A simple but very reckless question began to form in her mind: ‘Why?’ Why can't I just be myself?

She smiled.

“What do we have here?” she began again, unable to keep the husky arousal out of her chuckle, “A poor little bunny, struggling to escape my trap?”

“haha I, uh…”

Though he was sitting on her thigh, his head was still lower than hers. She looked down into his face and read his eyes, his expressions, his emotions and thoughts. She somehow knew what he was thinking, how he’d noticed things seemed physically weird today. Like, didn’t his shoes - new since yesterday - fit better this morning?

“What’s wrong?” she asked, though knowing exactly what was now bothering him. He was feeling so physically inferior, especially now that she was enveloping him in herself. It made her tingle again. She knew he was comparing them: comparing their heights, their sizes, and just how small he was pushed up against her chest. I am, she silently answered his thoughts, I am so much bigger than you. 

“I’m…I’m just a little nervous about all these new people, because…because…” he offered. He knew he didn’t even have to explain what made him so anxious about them, that she could already guess his next unspoken words: it’s because they’re…strangers. 

“Oh, sweetie, give them some time,” she purred, consoling him with a voice she knew he liked, “they’ll become family too. Just like all my other friends have.”

His next thoughts were plain as day to her too: Yeah but why do I feel like, with all these new women around, I’m going to seem even smaller? And then, as he squirmed a bit in her embrace: Why am I suddenly craving milk? he thought, Should I…ask for it?

“I’ll get you some milk later,” she answered, making him gasp. She giggled, and knew she had to reassure him. “I heard your tummy rumble,” she explained. I hear Katarina left some in the fridge. “I’ll get you some, when we’re done here, and then we’ll play at home.” You’re fun to play with when you’re so relaxed

“H-home?”

The poor thing was confused again. 

“You are staying with me again tonight, right?” she asked.

He fidgeted anew. “I was, I’m…actually thinking of staying at my place?”

“Nope,” she answered, “They’re still fixing it up. It’s not ready yet.”

”huh okay,” he replied, completely unaware that he’d just agreed to come home with her again. “But I thought it was just cleaning, patching a few holes in the walls, fixing some cabinet doors?” he enjoined, “And do we know who did it yet?” His eyes glanced down the top of her blouse.

Hm yeah that’s right. ”uh, no,” Melissa answered. I have to ask about that. I’m sure the girls have reviewed the security footage.

“okay, but maybe I can stay on the cot in my office?”

This little man is being a little difficult. We still don’t know who’s ransacked his room, and he thinks he can stay here all by himself?  Maybe he needs to be shown who’s in charge a little more convincingly. 

“Here, stand up,” she instructed, removing her large left leg from where it lay over his thighs.and hips. She took him under the armpits and hoisted him from her lap...

“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked, as she stood him between her legs and leaned in towards him.

She didn't answer. She didn't need to. In just a moment she had the drawstring of his scrubs untied, and had stripped his pants and briefs off him. He was hard. 

Of course. He’s always hard for me. But he’s worried. We’re at the office, in the breakroom. He’s thinking ‘what if…’

“I promise you we’re alone,” she assured him. The windows didn’t have any shades, they were basically on the ground level. But whatever.

She looked down and saw that he wasn’t tall enough to reach what she wanted him to, so she reached down toward his bare, bony hips and lifted him up with her hands, bringing her legs together and him down to kneel on her lap nearly eye-to-eye, his hips at the level of her chest. 

“I noticed you’ve been looking at my chest all night,” she said, her voice now dripping serious with barely contained arousal, sounding deeper, “Why don’t we bring you in for a little visit?”

With that, Melissa used her two hands to part the button-gap of her yellow silk blouse, between the second and third button. She’d opened up a slit, a window of an entry for him, right at the level of his huge, solid, nine-and-a-half inches of dick.

“Slide it in,” she said, and immediately he groaned. She smiled.  She could  almost see the blood rushing from his brain into the second most amazing thing about him, her most valuable ally, that incredible cock of his. It guided him to comply, and with both feeble-looking hands (yes, he needed both hands, both hands, to have the strength to control his own erection) he pushed it down and slid it in-

NNNNnnnnghhhh!!! ohmygodohmygod….

- into the opening between the buttons of her blouse, into the warm, dark passage which led in between her breasts and deep into her cleavage. He felt every millimeter of movement: the cool smooth satin of her shirt sliding around his shaft, and the soft kiss of her breasts as he began to part her softness. He slid into the velvety cave and felt like he was being embraced by heaven itself. Her breasts were held aloft, tautly pressed together by the support of her bra, but he had no trouble sliding in between them. Though he was so big, so long, her cleavage was deep enough to take him in, straight on in full, to the root. It was like they were made for each other, his cock and her tits. His sac pressed against the cool fabric of her blouse.

“Ooooooooooo…” Melissa cooed, looking deep into his eyes as they rolled back in his head, “How does that feel?” she used her arms to gently press her massive breasts together, squashing herself around him even more firmly, as she  wrapped her hands around his little butt and began to push, in and out, her chest into him. His weak body had started to shake and quiver in her embrace, and it was only with her help and encouragement that he was able to begin to pump.

“There we go, there we go,” she purred, helping him move his meager hips in and out, in and out, slowly, sliding in through her slick satin shirt, her smooth skin, and then out of the warm grip of her dark, hidden cleavage. She was going to gift him with a clothed titfuck that she knew would melt his little male-mind. Men are so funny.

His words were nearly gone, but he managed some clumsy form of praise. “Mmm….mmm…oh my god…M-Melissa….oh my god…”

“Shhh, honey, shhhh….it’s okay,” she cooed, now gently rocking her chest forward, her shoulders back in time with each pump, to guide him through a rhythm, to help him along. “You just enjoy it baby, you just enjoy it in there.”

Now his voice had totally failed him, and he fell to grunts. It had been all day - all day! - since he’d climaxed, since he’d come. His body had grown used to orgasming several times a day, if not more, over and over. Whether at his own hand or hers, he’d become accustomed to it, he basically needed it. The milk had helped to distract,  had given him focus, had allowed him to forget his needs until now. But, here now, he was suddenly pent-up beyond belief and ready to blow.

“C’mon, honey, c’mon…go ahead,” Melissa encouraged him, as she felt his scrawny frame start to shiver differently, tense up. He was close, and she knew he had a whole day’s worth to share. A whole day of blissful orgasms, and they were all going to come out in just one moment. She watched, was happy. In and out, in and out of her clothed chest he thrust, thrust, thrust. Trust, trust. He trusted her. She felt it in him, she did. He let himself be like this, he let himself be weak around her. He let himself be enveloped by her, be surrounded by her, be consumed by her, and she loved it. She loved holding him, engulfing and cocooning him and she wanted to do it more more more. If she could pull him fully in there, into her blouse, in between her tits she would. She would trap him, and keep him there. Encapsulate him, insulate him, enwomb him.  “I hope this brings you lots of pleasure…” 

Fuck my chest little man. 

“Oh goddddd….” he finally groaned, finally finding his voice, finally surrendering, his love into the unseen depths of her warm chest. Under her shirt, beneath her blouse, into the satiny confines of her top and bra and skin he let loose a load that drained him, drained his stress, drained his day away. She let him go, she let him empty himself into her, and felt his warm life bubble and goop and stickily slicken his shaft as he continued to thrust and thrust and thrust in his trust of her. She would hold him, she would support him, she would keep him and let him die his little death here, kneeling on her lap and emptying his mess into her top. A whole day’s worth, a trove of his treasure.

“Good baby, good boy,” she allowed herself, the feelings of love and care and affection for him now overwhelming everything else. She hugged his hips to her big bosom, held his smaller body to her larger one. He’d had his hands on her shoulders, and now he let his arms drape behind her. He collapsed, his head falling to rest on hers.

“Melissa, I love you,” he murmured, mouth full of her thick, dark hair.

“I love you too, sweetie…I love you too...” she said, and felt him fall asleep.

==============================================

lots of thanks to ElephantPorn for the AI images in the animation, and to RiF for editing in the copy

#growing into the job #growingintothejob

[spicysix]

Fanfic Writer Appreciation day ♡

i stole this idea from @1lostsoul0fishbowl, and in celebration for Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day, i've decided to list 21 of my favorite fics! a few of them i've talked about before, and a few are very well known but still deserve to be talked about again. i'm tagging the authors if i know their tumblrs!

i divided them into two lists, a purely Steddie one (my otp y'know) and a second one for everything else (other ships, X readers, other fandoms etc)

without further ado, in no particular order, here is (under the cut cause the lists are LONG, babes):

Steddie

The One in Which a Time Loop is Fucking Exhausting. by @badpancakelol - timeloop

You're Divine by @azrielgreen - Kas!Eddie

i can give you a heartbeat by soupbitchin - ghost!Eddie

Looks like we're in for nasty weather by @geddyqueer - modern AU, ghost whisperer!Eddie, cryptids

Straight Knife Through The Heart by @relenafanel - modern AU, rockstar!Eddie

New York Hardcore by @grandmastattoo - punk!Steve

your cosmic call sign by @nancywheeeler - aliens!AU

Wild Geese by watchcatewrite - roadtrip

the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you by @greatunironic - rockstar!Eddie, found family

your love is standing next to me by @fivecenturiesverse - rockstars AU, social media fic

STEVE’S FIRST BRUISE by cairparavels - spider man!Steve

took you for a working boy by @pukner - genderqueer!Steve

this love came back to me by @strawberryspence - rockstar!Steve

i could be honest, i could be human by @steves-strapcollection

what's left of my lungs by WirtWilt - hanahaki disease

echo by @grandmastattoo - timeloop

wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name by DotyTakeThisDown - BDSM, sex club master!Eddie

Petals in a Storm by @inairbinad

Eddie's Memory Log by @harmonictechnicality

this demo will save your life by oh_simone - 'rockstar'!Eddie, band manager!Steve. characterization of all times

STRIKE TEN. by @metaldeads - scoops era

Others

The Entire History Of Human Desire by KidA_666 - ST / stonathan

Dreaming Of You by Koken - Marvel / stucky X reader - reader has powers

Harmless by @shurisneakers - Marvel / bucky X reader - 'villain'!Reader, lovely crack, perry VS doofenshmirtz dynamic

Hive by Rattle - SDV / sebastian X sam X farmer - there's a big plot twist here. best SDV fic ever

Trinity Epoch by @heli0s-writes - Marvel / stucky X reader / pacific rim AU (honestly anything by helios is amazing)

matters of taste by @fairyysoup - ST / steddie X reader - bakery AU

half of my soul by @graysonnightwing - ST / steve&robin - platonic soulmates get platonically maried

Over & Over by @beetlesandstarss - ST / ronance - this one hurts like a bitch but it's delicious

burning yarrow by @storiesbyrhi - ST / eddie X reader - witch!Reader, vampire!Eddie (literally anything by Rhi, but this one's my favorite)

don't delete the kisses by @stevenose - ST / steve X reader - camboy!Steve

We Tried The World by @upsidedownwithsteve - ST / steve X reader - roadtrip (again, anything by Emmy is great but her roadtrip Steve is top tier and this fic was a huge inspiration to me personally)

No Such Thing by lattebiscuit - Marvel / bucky X reader - college AU

We Got A Lovin' Thing by lattebiscuit - ST / steddie X reader

Helping Hands by MutantsandSoldiers - Marvel / bucky X reader, stucky X reader - ABO, mutant!Reader

Howler & the Black Cat by bajablessed - Marvel / bucky X reader - vigilante!Reader

Sunshine Blend Dark Roast by @icallhimjoey - RPF / joe quinn X reader - barista!Reader (again, anything by this author is an instant hit. i had to close my eyes and point at the screen to choose randomly because i couldn't pick one myself)

no good at waiting by @familyvideostevie - ST / steve X reader - farmers market AU

in a dark, dark room by @carolmunson - ST / Eddie X reader - kas!Eddie. this one just dropped and it's an instant hit. it's dark so beware!

Like Real People Do by @myosotisa - ST / eddie X reader - drug addicts, rehab clinic, beware of triggers

Bad Influence by @dearest-readers - ST / eddie X reader - pornstars AU

coffee shop blues by @ghost-proofbaby- ST / eddie X reader - barista!Reader, barista!Eddie, grumpy VS sunshine trope

WHOOF! *wipes forehead* that was some work. i obviously couldn't fit all my favorite fics of all times here, but i did my best to bring great content! (i thought about dividing into 3 lists and make an X reader specific one but....i was too tired of searching for links already lmao)

i have many other great recs in my fics recs tag here and on my ao3 bookmarks so if you trust my judgment and want more fics to read, those are always public!

shout out to all the amazing fic writers on all sides of these fandoms that i love and admire, and know that you are very appreciated on this fic writer appreciation day! ♡♡

#lui rambles #fics recs #this is not a chain in any way but if you feel inspired....you can copy the idea too

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Ontario pharmacies will officially be able to assess and prescribe medication for 13 common ailments as of Jan. 1.

The service is intended to make access to care more convenient by eliminating a doctor's visit, according to a release from the Ontario Ministry of Health. And it's free for patients with a health card, the ministry says.

"Empowering pharmacists to use their expertise to assess and treat minor ailments helps patients get the care they need sooner and closer to home," Justin Bates, CEO of the Ontario Pharmacists Association, said in the release.

The move comes as Ontario hospitals and clinics have been hit hard with a surge in viral illnesses.

The government first announced in July that it intended to give pharmacists more prescribing power in the hopes of reducing the load on primary care physicians and emergency rooms. While pharmacists said at the time they were glad to see the changes, they also said the changes should have been made sooner and don't go far enough.

"Ontario is taking a very cautious approach with only 13 conditions," Bates previously told CBC News. "We need to expand it."

Here are the conditions you can skip the doctor for:

- Allergic rhinitis.

- Candidal stomatitis (oral thrush).

- Conjunctivitis (bacterial, allergic and viral).

- Dermatitis (atopic, eczema, allergic and contact).

- Dysmenorrhea.

- Gastroesophageal reflux disease.

- Hemorrhoids.

- Herpes labialis (cold sores).

- Impetigo.

- Insect bites and urticaria (hives).

- Tick bites, post-exposure prophylaxis to prevent Lyme disease.

- Musculoskeletal sprains and strains.

- Urinary tract infections.

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

#cdnpoli #Ontario #Pharmacare #Healthcare #canadian politics

[002yb]

The intensity with which Damian stares Jason down is unnerving, to say the least.  The brat’s mom must have conditioned Jason somehow to have a compulsive need to react when Damian exhibits even the slightest levels of distress too, because the longer Jason tries to ignore him the closer he feels to breaking out in fucking hives.  And yeah, Jason’s aware he was the kid’s caretaker for awhile there.  Jason doesn’t remember it and Damian feels betrayed for it, but Jason is no one’s keeper now.  If the kid has a problem, he can ask.  It’s not like Damian is shy about speaking his mind.  Jason isn’t going to fucking coddle him like some doting, obedient little au pair.  

“What’s wrong?”

–well, Jason’s a liar.  

For all he’s achieved since getting home, being this little master’s nursemaid is how Jason is going to go out.  Doesn’t matter how fearsome and vicious Jason might be; how he accomplishes impossible feats–that’s the standard to be an Al Ghul wet nurse.

“You’ve been injured.” Damian tells him, and–ah.  The explanation brings startling clarity to Damian’s expression.  The brat is vexed, displeased.  Though Damian doesn’t talk about it much anymore, he remembers more than Jason does from their time together before.  Jason was his caretaker, his confidant; his guardian, his support.  To see Jason hurt is a slight to Damian, somehow.  He takes it personally; his disappointment is actually palpable.

Jason doesn’t recall getting injured though.  Overall it was a pretty droll night.

A frown pulls at his lips as he looks down, checking himself over.  No scratches, no scrapes; nary even a scuff along his boots.  When Jason meets Damian’s gaze again, the boy scowls at him and gestures pointedly to his own neck for reference.  Jason raises his hand to his neck, slowly mirroring the motion until his fingers brush a tender spot just above his collar.

Jason’s eyes widen, his hand clapping firm over the mark.

“I will tend to it.” Damian tells him, uncharacteristically sweet.  It’s both heartwarming and terrifying.  And–it must be another thing that was conditioned into him, because just thinking to refuse this boy has Jason’s nerves on edge.

So instead Jason dismisses with an easy, “It’s okay.  It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” Damian insists, and holy fuck of all the nights for Dick to be called in to cover a shift at the GCPD.  He’s the only one around that could successfully run interference right now.  As he should, given that this is all Dick’s fault.

Cass walking by is more happenstance than her reading distress in his body language and coming to rescue him.  Still, Jason forces eye contact and she slows to a stop in front of them both.  Damian gives her a fleeting glance before turning back to Jason.  Waiting.  Expectantly waiting.

Philosophically different as Cass and he are on a handful of key moral issues, they’re not on bad terms.  That’s what Jason thought, at least.  For all her insight and empathy she really misses the fucking mark this time though.  Cass looks at Jason, then to Damian.  Sees concern and confusion and compassionately diffuses the situation with a clear, “Not hurt.”  Which, awesome.  Great.  A big sigh of relief for Jason, but then Cass smiles a bit and adds on an entirely unnecessary explanation of, “Hickey.”

From across the cave, all the way from the damn Batcomputer, Bruce visibly perks up in his chair.

“Hickey?” Damian asks.

Cass nods and helpfully explains, “Suck mark.”

She says it clinically, like it’s no big deal.  Which it isn’t, but Jason’s cheeks still flush with embarrassment.  A low whine pulls from his throat because what the fuck, Cass?  She just offers him a nod as if to say, ‘you’re welcome,’ and Jason just–he’s never coming back from this.

Damian looks up at him with open disdain and disappointment, but before the little brat can fire off a biting remark about Jason’s fucking ‘promiscuity’, Bruce swivels slowly in his chair to turn and face them.  The stare down Bruce levels him with is endlessly more unnerving than when Damian did it.  Unlike with Damian though, Jason’s not going to back down here.  Just as slowly, Jason turns to challenge Bruce, staring him down just as hard.

It’s subconscious how Jason pouts about it.  Who wouldn’t though?  His pseudo-siblings just ousted him to daddy dearest.

“You’re seeing someone.” Bruce states, carefully neutral.  Jason realizes the man isn’t even looking at him–his eyes are trained to where the hickey would be visible were it not for Jason keeping himself modest.

Jason’s cheeks are still flushed with color.  He’s aware he’s not intimidating in the least right now, but he still grumbles and gripes, “Yeah.  Don’t be weird about it.”

Bruce barrels on with single-minded purpose, intent on being weird about it:  “Who is it?”

Jason huffs and lets his modesty die for the sake of crossing his arms over his chest and haughtily cutting his chin to the side, averting his gaze.  Petulantly, he says, “Not telling.”

Not one to be deterred, Bruce calls out with a hail mary of, “Tim–” that’s promptly returned with a bland, ‘Nope.  Not getting involved.’  It’s a refusal that effectively takes the wind from Bruce’s sails and Jason basks in that.  Smugness makes his lips curl as Bruce zeroes in on the suck mark, on the defilement to his degenerate little troublemaker.

It’s a sense of empowerment that quickly dies once Jason’s attention is returned to Damian, to that open look of displeasure over Jason parading himself around like a harlot.  For a brief second Jason feels cowed, but then he remembers he’s a grown ass man beholden to no one and scowls.  He pulls up the collar of his shirt and petulantly grumbles, “Don’t judge me, brat.”

Read More on Ao3!

#jaydick #dickjay #damijay #(platonic) #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce is there too #bat dad #words

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

By Michael Tomasky

The last Congress, the 117th, which sat from January 2021 through January 2023, was controlled by Democrats on both sides of the Capitol. These lawmakers worked in concert with a new Democratic President, so naturally, we witnessed an unusual amount of legislative activity.

Wanna guess how much? The 117th Congress passed, and Joe Biden signed, 362 laws. Now it practically goes without saying that a hefty majority of these were small-bore matters—relatively inconsequential in policy terms. There were the proverbial post office renamings, the Harlem Hellfighters Congressional Gold Medal Act, the Big Cat Public Safety Act, and the like. Still, an unusually high number of them were very consequential indeed: the American Rescue Plan, the hard infrastructure bill, the CHIPS and Science Act, and several more. They were aimed at helping people and businesses through the pandemic, solving aching public needs, creating jobs, reshaping industrial policy, and more. Whatever else you want to say about them, these people were earning their paychecks.

The 118th Congress—the current one; the one that opened with the clown show where Kevin McCarthy needed 15 ballots to be elected Speaker by his own party—has not been quite the hive of productivity that its predecessor was. So far, seven months into its term, it has passed, and the president has signed, 12 bills. They’re on track, if they can possibly keep up this scorching pace for the next 17 months, to pass maybe 44, even 45 or 46 bills!

And what laws they are! They’ve renamed a veterans’ clinic. They’ve toasted the 250th anniversary of the Marine Corps commemorative coin. Oh, but it hasn’t all been ceremonial. They’ve also pressed forward with the racism for which they are so widely and justly known, notably the bill that revoked part of Washington D.C.’s criminal code—McCarthy called it soft on crime, and Biden quasi-reluctantly signed it to avoid that age-old tag. The only law of any real consequence was the increase in the debt limit, on which the supposedly out-of-it Biden ran circles around the supposedly spry Speaker.

As far as improving the lives of working- and middle-class people, McCarthy’s majority has done absolutely nothing. But by God, don’t call them the “Do-Nothing Congress.” Oh, no! They’ve done stuff. For example, they’ve investigated Hunter and Joe Biden over, under, sideways, and down.

I wonder how many public dollars James Comer and Jim Jordan, respective chairs of the House’s Oversight and Judiciary committees, have spent trying to prove crimes that probably don’t exist but that they insist, every week, will be pitilessly exposed for all the world to see in just a little while, you’ll see—you’ll all see. In fact, Democrats: Why not tell the world how much they’re spending? I’d assume you have access to the basic budgetary materials. How about a Biden Goose Chase Clock toting up the taxpayer dollars being wasted on this sham?

Those two just get more ridiculous every week. Last week, you’ll recall, Comer’s committee had a closed-door session with yet another star witness, Devon Archer, a former Hunter Biden business partner who was supposedly poised to finally blow the lid off the whole thing. “The walls are closing in on the Bidens,” Comer crowed on Newsmax Monday night.

In the end, Archer’s testimony—taken that afternoon, released later in the week—did nothing of the sort. Which Comer might have known if he’d even bothered to show up at his own hearing, which he did not do!

As for Jordan—well, his special new “deep state” committee or whatever it’s called has been an even bigger abuse of the taxpayer dollar. Just Google “Jim Jordan deep state committee” and look at the headlines: “Inside Jim Jordan’s Disastrous Search for a ‘Deep State’ Whistleblower”; “Jordan’s ‘weaponization’ panel is all conclusions, no evidence”; “Jim Jordan’s ‘Weaponization’ Committee Is Misfiring.”

But hey, don’t be too hard on him. He may have other matters on his mind. In late June, the Supreme Court decided that a lawsuit brought by former Ohio State University wrestlers against a team doctor who was found by an investigation to have sexually abused 177 young men from the 1970s to the 1990s can move forward. Jordan was an assistant wrestling coach during part of the period in question; he has always denied any knowledge of the abuse. Two former wrestlers, however, in a complaint to the Supreme Court, allege that Jordan was aware of the behavior of “Dr. Cough” and did nothing: “Because Coach Hellickson, Assistant Coach Jordan, and the athletic department treated Dr. Strauss’s behavior as acceptable, John Doe 23 believed there was nothing he could do to address his discomfort with Dr. Strauss.” CNN reported back in 2020 that six ex-athletes charged that Jordan knew.

This is one of the reasons I laugh these days when I hear Republicans say of Democrats, as McCarthy and others did during the D.C. criminal code debate, that Democrats are soft on crime.

And oh yeah, the other (and main) reason: Donald Trump. Today’s Republicans are the softest-on-crime bunch of legislators in the history of the republic. They wanted, until they got hooted out of town for it, to “expunge” Trump’s impeachments! I’m putting that in scare quotes because there’s actually no such thing as an “impeachment expungement,” but you know, there was no such thing as holding family members guilty for someone’s crimes until Stalin decreed it, either.

The GOP’s lies are operatic, bald-faced, and so nakedly and obviously untrue that one experiences a kind of wonderment just watching these people actually go out in public before cameras and say these things. Here was McCarthy, for example, shortly before Trump’s arraignment: “I could say the same thing that Hillary Clinton says about her election that she lost.… I can say the same thing about those in the Democratic Party from the leadership on down about George Bush not winning, that Al Gore did. But were any of them prosecuted? Were any of them put in jail?”

I mean … what?! Do I even have to answer that? Clinton made some noises about votes being off but conceded to Trump the day after the election. Gore fought the 2000 outcome to the Supreme Court, as anyone would have, but the court issued Bush v. Gore on December 12 and Gore conceded on December 13. Neither egged on a riot on our most sacred national building (a riot that McCarthy denounced at the time himself!). I can’t help but think that when these guys and their handlers sit around dreaming up what they’ll say next, they just howl to one another: “We can say anything—the mainstream press, drunk on their weird notion of ‘objectivity,’ can’t really challenge us because if they do, we can accuse them of showing liberal bias, and the gullible idiots on our side will be our echo chamber!”

I’d call these people a joke, but it’s far worse and more frightening than that. They are a menace. Congress has been littered with racists and drunks and bribe-takers throughout its history. But it has never been this bursting at the seams with people like this. They lie about everything. They denounce and seek to destroy our system of government. They use their power to conduct taxpayer-funded fishing expeditions for which they have no evidence, where they’re just praying they get a bite so that, in classic fascist-projection fashion, they can accuse Biden of that which they know Trump to be guilty.

And as for trying to do anything to improve the lives of the American people—i.e., doing their jobs? Please. Don’t be naïve. To their mind, American people don’t need health care or wages or a cleaner planet. They need tax cuts and guns and protection from those 100 or so transgender high school female athletes (yes, in the whole country) and, most of all, Donald Trump as their President for life. Come to think of it, the fewer laws these maniacs pass, the better.

#us politics #news #republicans #donald trump #conservatives #118th congress #gop #gop policy #gop platform #republican platform #2023 #the new republic #op eds #Michael Tomasky #rep. kevin mccarthy #biden administration #president joe biden #hunter biden #rep. james comer #rep. jim jordan #Devon Archer #Hillary Clinton #bush v. gore #us supreme court #us house of representatives

[republicsecurity]

Warm Chow

The platoon gathered around the mobile field kitchen, their visors raised to reveal their faces. The aroma of warm food filled the air as the recruits queued up to receive their midday chow. The field kitchen was a hive of activity, with the clinking of trays and the subdued chatter of the recruits.

Instructor KO10T and 6DG05 moved among the recruits, ensuring everything was in order.

The midday chow was a brief respite from the rigorous training, providing a moment for the recruits to refuel and recharge both physically and mentally.

After the meal. Instructor 6DG05, standing amidst the recruits took a moment to address the platoon. His voice, transmitted directly into their helmets was beacon of knowledge.

"Recruits, pay attention. This isn't your usual mess hall," 6DG05 began, his tone a blend of authority and detached efficiency. The HUD displayed diagrams and data overlays, highlighting the features of the field kitchen. "This is a mobile field kitchen, designed for swift deployment in various operational scenarios. Efficiency is key, and today's meal is optimized for quick consumption and nutritional replenishment."

He gestured to the array of dispensers and compact cooking units, each strategically placed for easy access. "The food is formulated to meet your dietary requirements, ensuring optimal performance during training. The waste management system in your suits will efficiently process any byproducts, maintaining a seamless and controlled environment."

As 6DG05 spoke, the HUD provided additional information, detailing the nutritional content of the meal and the efficiency of the waste disposal system. The recruits, listened attentively.

"In the field, adaptability is crucial. You'll encounter these mobile kitchens often, and understanding their workings is part of your training," 6DG05 continued.

The two field cooks, clad in the same Mark IV Armour Suits as the recruits, stepped forward at the instruction of 6DG05. As they approached, their visors raised, revealing faces marked by the same disciplined efficiency as the rest of the platoon. The ambient lighting of the field kitchen cast an almost clinical glow on their features.

"Recruits, meet your culinary specialists for the day," 6DG05 announced, his tone maintaining the professional detachment that permeated every aspect of their training. "They are fellow tactical paramedics, just like you. Remember, adaptability is key in our line of work, and that extends to every role within the corps."

The field cooks nodded in acknowledgment as their visors remained raised, displaying a sense of camaraderie with the recruits. The HUD provided brief bios and designations beside their faces, highlighting their dual roles as paramedics and culinary experts.

"This is T4C7L, specializing in emergency medical support, and E2S9R, with a focus on nutritional science and field cuisine," 6DG05 continued, gesturing towards each cook in turn. "They understand the demands of our mission, and today, they'll ensure you receive the sustenance necessary for optimal performance."

The recruits observed the field cooks, their faces briefly visible before the visors descended once more. The efficiency with which the two cooks moved, their actions synchronized with the precision of well-honed professionals, mirrored the ethos ingrained in every aspect of their training.

As the recruits engaged in their midday chow, 6DG05 nodded appreciatively at T4C7L and remarked, "Good job on the meal, T4C7L. Efficient and nutritious, just as expected."

T4C7L, visor raised, offered a nod in return. "Thank you, 6DG05. It's all about maintaining peak performance in the field, after all."

Their voices continued the conversation over the encrypted communication channels within their helmets, a private dialogue in the midst of the recruit-filled field. T4C7L, who had once been in the recruits' armored shoes, couldn't resist a hint of wry amusement.

"I remember my days as a recruit," T4C7L said, his tone carrying a subtle condescension. "They're so eager, thinking they know what's ahead. Little do they realize the true extent of the conditioning that awaits."

6DG05 chuckled, the sound digitally filtered through the communication channel. "Yes, T4C7L. We've all been through it. It's a necessary process. Keeps them sharp, focused, and, most importantly, obedient. Our corps thrives on discipline."

T4C7L agreed with a nod. "And what's next in their immersive experience? Anything particularly devious?"

6DG05's visor conveyed a semblance of a knowing smile. "Oh, just a taste of tactical medicine tasks, a bit of shooting practice with the HUD messing with their perception. We're preparing them for the chaos of the field while ensuring they remain firmly under our control. It's a delicate balance, after all."

T4C7L chuckled, visor concealing his expression. "Delicate indeed. But it's a rite of passage. They'll emerge from this with a newfound understanding of their place in the corps."

T4C7L's voice carried a tinge of nostalgia as he continued, "Back then, we thought we knew what it meant to be a tactical paramedic. Little did we comprehend the true extent of the conditioning, the seamless integration of body and suit."

6DG05 joined in, his tone reflecting a shared understanding, "Indeed, the integration is both physical and mental. It's a process of molding them into instruments of precision, ensuring their every move is synchronized with the ethos of the corps."

The recruits, now finishing their midday chow, remained oblivious to the instructors' conversation playing out over encrypted channels.

"Remember the first time we donned the suits?" T4C7L asked, a touch of humor in his voice.

6DG05 responded with a virtual nod, though his visor remained lowered. "It was a transformative experience. The recruits may find it uncomfortable now, but soon they'll learn to appreciate the symbiosis, the unity of man and machine."

T4C7L chuckled. "And the psychological conditioning — the way the AI seeps into every crevice of your thoughts, ensuring you're not just a paramedic, but a paramedic with unwavering loyalty."

6DG05's agreement echoed through the encrypted channels. "Loyalty to the corps above all. That's what separates us from the chaos outside these walls."

The instructors, bonded by the shared experience of their conscripted past, watched as the recruits finished their meal. T4C7L turned to 6DG05 virtually, a sense of pride in his voice. "Look at them, adapting, becoming one with the suits. Soon, they'll be part of the grand symphony."

6DG05 responded with a virtual nod. "And we, the conductors, ensuring each note aligns with the Corps' harmonious melody. They'll learn to appreciate it in time."

[bizarrestart]

Hey guys did you know that (GASP) people with personality disorders are not a hive mind, and each person’s experience with their particular diagnosis is unique? And that folks with pds are not inherently bad people?

Also, shocking news, if a friend or a family member is being shitty to you, no matter how much you think their behavior lines up with a “typical” (aka demonized) diagnosis of a pd, you still have NO ability to clinically diagnose them with a personality disorder.

Fascinating stuff folks, even my mom hasn’t found this out.

#actually bpd #bpd #actually borderline #borderline personality disorder #personality disorder #mentally ill but not in a fun way #borderpolar #this is speaking about my experience interacting with my family while borderline but truly it could describe all of us with pds

[singing-cicada]

I have time so now y'all get to hear my Zazie pronoun head canon/opinions. (This was a comment under one of @madnessmadness post, I'm just expanding for funsies)

Knives using 'it' (respectfully) out of recognition that Zazie Is Not a human person, and will use they/them plural to talk about the worm hive mind as a whole in relation to Zazie.

Conrad using 'it/them' in a clinical sense. Not to be outright insulting, just apathetic/dispassionate.

TriStamp Legato uses they/them for Zazie (singular) and Zazie (hive mind). In TriMax, he uses he/him for Zazie 1.0, she/her for Zazie 2.0, switching to they/them after a few months.

Elendira will vary. TriStamp Elendira will switch pronouns based mainly on who she's talking to. With Knives and Legato it's they/it but with Conrad she will intentionally switch between they/she/he/it.

TriMax Elendira would likely use they/them, possibly adopting 'it' after she sees Knives use it enough without Zazie reacting negatively. (There is a part of me that wants the two to bond over Gender.)

TriMax Vash, Wolfwood, Milly, and Meryl would do the same as TriMax Legato, but Vash would switch to they/them much quicker than the others.

TriStamp Wolfwood would probably use it/them , echoing Legato/Conrad, but would also accidently use neo-pronouns by calling Zazie worm/bug in place of traditional pronouns in a joking/insulting manner.

TriStamp Vash would likely use they/them exclusively unless asked otherwise. There's a part of me that thinks he would feel weird using 'it' without being expressly asked out of fear/discomfort around dehumanizing someone, even if that someone is a facet of an alien hive mind.

TriStamp Meryl would use he/him for a while after the reveal, but would start slipping into they/them as time goes on.

Roberto would circumvent pronouns al together by calling Zazie "that fucking worm kid" almost exclusively.

Zazie only cares about gender in a more academic sense; observing how humans reacting and interaction based on how the present and are perceived. They don't really care about what you use but will judge why you use what you do.

#trigun #trigun stampede #zazie the beast #I won't tag the rest #this ran away from I was jsut trting to kill time in a waiting room #anyway that bug has so many eyes to examine gender with

[hive--knight]

can he have clinical depression

day twenty-six:

hive knight but he's clinically depressed

#hive knight #hollow knight #daily #daily blog #;;daily.hiveknight #;;hiveknight #;;hiveknight's.mailbox

[stevenbasic]

GITJ Post 329: A Saturday at Melissa's, p4 (2pm: Alicia Ray)

“Thanks sooo much for coming in,” I told her, smiling my best but by this point gritting my teeth and just counting the moments ‘til she was gone, “you’re totally ready. You’re going to do great next week.”

Actually, there was something about this huge girl - Melissa Monroe, queen and manager of the medical practice that had been chosen as one of the hives for the movement and the clinic where I went to get my shots -  that made me want to hug her. She was like a superhero, six and a half feet tall if she was an inch and body like a goddess. Ideal in so many ways and I felt an attraction to her, magnetic. But then there was also something about her that riled up some territorial she-wolfy instinct in me and made me want to claw out her eyes haha.

“Oh god thanks it’s been so fun!” she beamed, obviously still giddy the way people get when they do things like this. There’s a magic to knowing you’re going to be on TV, being behind the scenes, I get that. All the makeup, the cameras, the lights - it’s exciting when it’s new. I did this all the time, it was my job now, but to her it was cool and fun. Kind of adorable but her giddiness was getting on my nerves for some reason. I knew everyone else was wearing their masks around her like they’d been told, and they said I might feel this way: one queen reacting to the presence of another in her hive, so I figured I could just tough it out. Believe me I’d been through worse in my career haha, having to smile and primp the right way to the right men in making my transition from pageant winner (I was a former Miss Connecticut, had I mentioned that?) to traffic girl here at Channel 5. But now my career was not in the hands of men any more, I was on a - what’s the word? - trajectory up and up and up and headed for big things. Really big things. National things. They’d started to assemble a group around me - the new weather girl, the sports girl from what-they-tell-me-is-Kansas, along with Aly, Julie and the others - girls I’d be taking along with me as I moved up. But in the meantime, I still had to smile and do crap like this. 

“It was fun!” I sang back as, finally, I did give her a hug. My own boobs, big as they were now, got squashed by the massive knockers this girl was packing in her top. Melissa Monroe was here at the station on a Saturday for a pre-interview, some photos, and a debriefing in prep for the piece the mobile team would be filming at the end of the week. There was a big construction project happening at the clinic, the pharmaceutical company that made my medicine was going to be expanding the practice throughout the whole building, and they wanted some press coverage for the grand opening of the new wings. That’s where my team, my haha hive of girls came in; they’d be doing an on-location piece this Friday. Thankfully, it wouldn’t be me at the site job. Now that I was an anchor, I didn’t have to do that sort of shit anymore. But still they wanted me to meet her, get some pictures together. “Here, let’s take one for the ‘gram…”

“You must have sooooo many followers, being on TV,” she said, after she snapped a pic of the two of us, “is it okay if I tag you?”

“Sure,” I chuckled, but then thought about them, all of them, the simps and followers we girls here at the station had been - what’s the word? - amassing. We didn’t just have viewers anymore, or watchers. People watched us religiously. We all had websites, fan sites dedicated to us, to me. We had the “Church of Channel 5”. We had, like, worshippers. But what if our little simps started to get a look at her? I mean, I was getting tall - three inches I’d grown - but she was an Amazon. I was getting curvy - 34F and counting, my waist still tight, my butt growing bigger and bigger - but she’s like a walking wet dream, built like a cartoon character. Thinking of my audience spending their time and unzipping their pants to her instead of me or Marta or Janet or the others….is this what jealousy feels like? Again, it was a she-wolf thing. I’m the alpha around here now. Leave. Haha listen to me. I sound so badass.

“So what are you doing tonight?” I asked, casually, hoping she didn’t take it as an invitation to ‘hang out’. Yuck. 

“Ooo I’m spending it with my boyfriend,” she said, obviously smitten with whoever it was, “He and some friends are coming to my place…”

===============================

sorry we've been away; working to catch up. Onto post 350-something at Patreon

#growing into the job

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Ok, I'm in the last chunk of Valdemar, the third in the Founding of Valdemar trilogy, and a companion quite literally just went "We want and need our Chosen to be healthy, in mind, heart, and body," and y'all...not only does this ping my ableism bell, but it also seems to be rewriting Valdemaran history a little bit???

Like, let's be absolutely real here. On the page, heralds in other Valdemar books have experienced depression (Vanyel), PTSD (literally most of them, but Vanyel, Thalia, and probably Mags), hypervigilance (Vanyel again), anger management challenges (Tylendel), anxiety (Lan), and a host of varying physical disabilities (Jadus, Thalia, Amily, Pol, and the heralds whose name I forget who ends up severely burned in the Arrows of the Queen trilogy). I haven't always liked how the physical injuries and disabilities are handled, but they've always been present and they've never actually disqualified anyone from being a Herald, even if Amily had to be partly cured before being chosen and Jadus retired after losing his leg.

This new statement about how companions prefer explicitly abled heralds feels like a really icky attempt to rewrite history, and this book has handled disability in general really poorly, even for a Vakdemar novel. And no, this book doesn't even get the excuse of "it's a survival situation" because they've been in Haven for ten years, they're fine. They aren't actively traveling, they've succeeded in building a sustainable and defensible keep, everything else is details and time.

This whole passage is really problematic in the context of the Valdemar universe:

So there are a couple of key issues. First, we really, REALLY need to address why casual sanist language is not ok. The companion isn't talking about quirky behaviors or idiosyncrasies when they say "madness," and we shouldn't be quick to elide what I am choosing to interpret as clinical madness (mad studies scholars, help me out here, I know definitions can be slippery, but I don't have a good one for fantasy contexts) with personality quirks--which is what Restil is doing here. Be CLEAR about your term use and watch where you're using sanist language and maybe stop.

Second, I really dislike the whole idea that madness can spread. Yes, I know, companions are magical and have a weird hive mind thing happening, but I dislike the perpetuation of the myth that madness is contagious or that associating with mad people can make you mad out of nowhere. That's a deeply harmful, isolating idea that is kind of antithetical to heralds as I understood them in other books--particularly Vanyel's trilogy. Community strengthens and supports, it does not ostracize and isolate. This was actually WILD to hear in a heraldic context in a Valdemar novel, because I think every other Herald would rightfully lose their absolute shit over this. Whatever happened to "there will never be another Tylendel?"

Third, the swimmer and drowning man analogy is bad here, for the same reasons that perpetuating the idea that you can "catch" madness is bad. We do not leave people to drown, and the analogy oversimplifies the ever-loving hell out of mental health crises and what can be done to support the person in crisis. We do not just leave them to drown, and again, the Heraldic Circle literally would never.

Fourth...that last sentence is just straight ableist. It is very much expecting what Rosemarie Garland-Thompson defined as a normate: a 20-something cishet white man who is athletic. Literally the normate is so narrow and focused as to barely exist in the real world, and it completely negates the value of anyone who doesn't fit that mold. It's also contradictory to the "we take the weird ones" ethos the companion expressed earlier, so the writing itself is wishy washy on the whole thing.

I am just...floored and kind of disgusted by the blatant rewrite of what companions look for in their chosen here, and I cannot square it with other Valdemar books that handled this better (although not perfectly). Like, as someone who lost communities to chronic illness, I'm very much soured on companions after this book. I will take Yfandes or Kalira or Rolan over any companion in this book, and I'm pretty sure the circle in earlier books wouldn't have stood for this.

#mercedes lackey #valdemar #heralds of valdemar #the founding of valdemar trilogy #ableism in media #ableism #ableist tropes #ableist nonsense #ableist bullshit #fuck ableism #heralds #herald mages #companions #adult fantasy #adult fiction #books and reading #books & libraries #books and novels #books