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I'm thinking abt that pretty fall leaves embroidery pattern post and about how like... it is categorically a repost, it's a reupload. right? a thing that is generally disliked. but because it's credited, it's genuinely boosting the artist in question.
and it could ALWAYS be like this. reposting content could ALWAYS be a symbiotic relationship, but because sourcing back to the original creator of something is so uncommon, it's just easier to ask people not to repost it at all. and people still don't understand the difference. or they'll go to the effort of cropping out usernames/signatures to repost something, which is More Effort than literally crediting the creator of something you liked enough to want to repost.
Like. I literally don't actually care if my own shit gets reposted, you have to understand. I just don't want it STOLEN. But "do not repost" is easier to write on my art than "you can repost this, but don't alter the image/remove my signature, don't you dare write 'credit goes to the artist' because that is not credit, please link back to my original post or someplace that you can actually find me. please use an actual link/url instead of writing a non-clickable link of my username, because making it text instead of a clickable link cuts the number of people who will go to the effort of visiting my own page in Half."
All those aggregate themed accounts, those fuckin annoying as hell instagrams and facebook groups that are like "body positive art we love wamen 💕 hashtag feminism" and then MASS-STEAL plus sized art created by women, if pages like these that always go and steal my older self-portraits and other works... If they just put a link to my prints of those pieces in the text of those posts, or, fuck, my commission info page? I would literally be living on the moon right now. I would have a house on the moon
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no yknow. i wanna put out there that as much as qjaiden walked pretty willingly into the feds building i also wanna say she was not as willing or okay with it as ppl seem to think.
like the whole lead up to this scene is spent with her saying “You’re acting weird!! […] A bad kind of weird!” to Cucurucho and she’s put off by his behavior. So much so that shes going to tell Cellbit about it- which she usually does Not do
Then, of course, when she actually is walking to the building, she’s talking a lot and very casual, but the moment that door starts to slide up behind her she leaps out last second.
And when she’s in the hall with Cucurucho she takes extra time to find the the warp plate OUT of there and stare at it SEVERAL times.
Then of course, she doesn’t go into ANY of the rooms unless Cucurucho goes in first specifically because, “[…] Not seein’ any buttons on the other side, so I will not…”
TL;DR—
qJaiden absolutely knew she was in at least a Little danger here. She was scoping her exits, she was paranoid, and uneasy about how cucurucho was acting.
What comes after that/ her reaction post sever kick is still unknown, maybe it ended up okay, but i hate the idea that she just rolled up there completely Okay with everything that was happening as if there wasnt 100000 red flags she was spotting along the way
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Touch deprived
Kind touches stop after Damian is two.
He does not know this, because at the time, he is two.
The next time someone touches him without the intent of harming him, it is Richard, and it is a surprise. Damian can't help lashing out; he can't help how his heartbeat races, how his breath quickens, how he can't let go of the dagger he drew out of his boot, how he has to leave. Immediately.
The next few touches are equally as kind, if less of surprise.
Damian hates them. He flees from them equally.
He cringes when his father reaches out to touch his shoulder; he dodges Richard's loving tackle-hugs. Cain is impossible to dodge, and he hates her hair-ruffles in equal measure. Todd occasionally invades his personal space and Damian flees before contact can be made. Brown will attempt "fraternal punching", which is just regular hits aimed at his shoulders and arms, and Damian refuses to let those land out of pride in his skill.
Drake, however, does...nothing. Until he invades Damian's room one afternoon.
(Damian does not get off his bed; if Drake is to attack him, Damian could easily subdue him from his reclined posture.)
"What," Damian snaps. He owes Drake no etiquette.
Drake rolls his eyes; the teenager holds up a gray mass as large as a common pillow, arms straining under the weight. "Got you something, your highness. Here."
Damian ignores the incorrect address. "I do not want it."
"You haven't tried it."
And then something heavy falls on top of him. Damian's eyes widen; he scrambles away, prepared to free himself from...
...A blanket.
Damian stares down at it. The blanket sits on his bed, threatening in its mere presence.
"Try it," is all Drake says, eyeing Damian as if the boy is prepared to attack him outright. (He is.) "It's good for anxiety and stuff."
"I do not have anxiety." Damian would never fail deeply enough to have his mental state affected thusly.
"Sure, kid."
Damian is not a kid. But Drake leaves before Damian can correct him on his misinformed opinion, and then Damian is alone with a...blanket.
And. Damian does tests on the fabric, of course. It comes back clean of touch-based toxins, air-diffused toxins, and anything that isn't cotton fiber and cheap plastic pellets. It's only a blanket.
Only...it's a heavy blanket.
...Out of curiosity, Damian uses it one evening. He looks forward to rubbing its ineffectiveness in Drake's face in the morning, but...
...Damian takes the blanket downstairs for movie night the next week. When Richard doesn't reach out to touch him, Damian dares to lay on Richard's shoulder. The blanket presses down against him the way a hug probably ought to.
He is comfortable through the entire event.
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