#it’s such a privilege to have you here on my blog and in my life

[zorciarkrildrush]

I think the essence of what drives me crazy about current Enlightened Online Leftist Discourse Regarding My Life Personally And Whether This Time Killing Me Is Morally Correct (as in, commentary about the latest episode in i/p violence) is this:

I want a free Palestine.

I don't personally know a lot of people that don't! They might bristle at the tagline, because it's co-opted by people who do in fact want them dead, but as soon as I lay out why it's in literally everyone's best interest, how a non-free Palestine is horrific both to the people of Israel and to the people of Palestine, how pragmatically ridiculous the occupation of the west bank and the siege upon Gaza are (and I am a very pragmatic person), they get it. And I don't mean I debate people online about it - this, too, is a ridiculous concept - I mean having, time and time again, the deradicalization conversation with my friends, and colleagues, and my family. Obviously not only now - I've always been a very principled and argumentative Jew, ever since I became an adult - and I've been alive for, I don't know, a dozen flashpoints and operations and wars at this point, and I don't stop being argumentative and loud in peacetime either, but especially now.

But that's not what "from the river to the sea" means.

When you, gentle soul from across the sea, echo this slogan, you are either:

By apathy or will, ignoring that the sentiment cheers for the mass expulsion and killing of Jews. Indeed, any non-Muslim present from the river to the sea. This doesn't even begin to cover how even Muslim arabs still will not be safe under Hamas rule - and trust me, I don't care if a Hamas apologist told you different. A victory for Hamas (And we're ignoring the fact they do not have the military capacity for it - I hope you are aware of the privilege inherent to not understanding military conflicts) means exactly that. No "rule by the people". No socialistic, Palestinian utopia to be had, which is a fantasy I'm seeing alluded to a lot recently. Just an extension of the horrific power structure in Lebanon and Syria, where Hezbollah - friends and allies to Hamas - have been playing a tango for decades of both refusing to participate in actual government and betterment of civilian lives, while still draining their resources and controlling them with no real contest. "From the river to the sea" is not a sentiment for freedom fighting - it's a sentiment for a final solution to the people living here who are either Jewish, or for some Very Strange And Weird Reason would rather not submit to Hamas rule. You know - Israeli Arabs, secular and Muslim and Christian, Druze, Circassians, Bahai, take your pick. Their suffering, and my suffering - you know, a person who made the strategic error of being born in Israel while Jewish, which is inherently problematic and not okay of me - don't matter to you. Just the fantasy of an easy, morally correct cleanse of the land.

Are well aware of all of the above! You just don't care. You either smugly chuckle that I, and anybody else who will die, deserve it - or that it's an acceptable loss for the aforementioned fantasy. "Decolonization is an inherently violent process", you'll say to me, chillingly, before implying I have a summer home in Brooklyn I can just retreat to when things get tough. Israel is basically Rhodesia, a very popular blog here mentioned flippantly, so what's the issue with all of those lily-white Jews fucking off back home before the righteous freedom fighters strike them down? Well. This might be the part I urge you to open a book, or even Wikipedia or any god damn thing that will explain to you these upsetting, dense things you clearly struggle with.

So finally:

It's easy for me to discount islamophobes. Like, very easy. It's very easy for me to discount insane evangelistics who "advocate for me" simply because I'm a pawn in their religious rapture. It's easy for me to fight against Israeli and Jewish fascists - I have been long before this news item came across your feed, as did the insinuations that some civilian deaths are okay, actually.

It's easy for me for me to see promotions for donations to non-political aid in Gaza. It's easy for me to see the sentiment that hey! Palestinians deserve safe, healthy lives. That they have deserved an independent state, and were unfairly denied one, for decades. It's easy for me to see people saying "You know, the Israeli government is shit, actually, and their actions endanger and promote to the misery of innocents". Because that's right! I wouldn't be voting and protesting and donating for all of these sentiments otherwise!

It's not easy for me to see people, who I honestly held in high regard and saw having well thought out opinions on important matters, inadvertently echo the sentiment that my death is acceptable. That a terrorist organization, who rule over their own territory with fear and violence, are righteous freedom fighters, vox populi, only out to establish a free state. Like hey, their manifesto said otherwise, so it must be all there is - right? That Jews are just hysterical, they can easily live elsewhere - ever since that nasty holocaust business everything's fine abroad. Besides, it was just so long ago who even cares stop talking about it. Hamas, Hezbollah, ISIS, the Ayatollahs in Iran, the fucking Islamic Jihad - are not interested in freedom. They aren't, and echoing their slogan tells me you are either ignoring that, or support them anyway. If antisemitic rhetoric, half truths and lies by omission work on you today, they would have in any period of time. I'm sorry this makes you uncomfortable. I'm not, not really.

Know what your fucking words mean. Have a cursory glance at the history of the MENA and why it's so fucked, one that doesn't boil down to "The Jews, with American help, rolled into where they don't belong". This isn't even a joke. I've seen this braindead, history-revising sentiment repeated so many times, both online and in actual textbooks, that I feel I'm going insane. So many well-meaning people handwringing and assuring each other that repeating genocidal slogans is fine, that calling the i/p conflict "a simple problem" (which means it has a simple solution, right? Just kill the Jews.) is a well-adjusted and intellectual take. That "only the Zionists should die! The rest will be fine :)" I dare you to say that and also give me a correct definition of what Zionism is. Why I, a Jew that advocates for Palestinian statehood and rights and safety and always have, won't also face the wall in your little fantasy.

Freedom to Palestine. Peace in the middle east, fucking yesterday.

A curse and a plague on those who don't want either of those, and just want to cheer on the death of "the other side".

A curse and a plague upon you, when you tell me, smugly, from somewhere safe and far away, "from the river to the sea".

#selfpost #long post #i/p #israel #palestine #antisemitism #antizionism #I pondered linking every word of every claim I make to sources like Reuters and Wikipedia and what have you #but honestly? Please just read them #don't get your news off fucking Twitter #my respect for “critical thinking” online leftists is already at an all time low

[dotchannie]

- 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 :: c.bc x reader (MDNI)

synopsis : Christopher Bang Chan has some less than pleasant views about his own appearance, tears welling over his lashline when you enter his personal space and give him some much needed skin contact.

a/n : this is a fic from my previous blog @/binniesbang that has been reworked so i could repost here, i hope you guys enjoy ! warnings below the cut <;33

wc : 746

Warnings: Pet-names, insecurity and self esteem issues, mentions of scaring(not specified), nipple play, Channie’s mental state is implied to be unsteady.

“Chan? You okay?” you ask while rapping your knuckles against the bathroom door. He arrived home around forty minutes ago and hasn’t offered you anything other than a gruff rumble of acknowledgement when you welcomed him home.

“Channie? Sweetheart can I come in?” Again, he’s silent but you take his lack of response as neither a protest nor a warm reception and gently click the door open—greeted on the other side by a sight that makes your heart drop to the pits of your stomach.

Your boyfriends stood in-front of the bathroom mirror with his shirt off, scowling at his own reflection as though it’s mocking him— eye brows pulled so tight you can barely figure out where exactly his focus is drawn too.

Observing him, you watch as careful hands trace across old scars gained in his younger years—noticing as he pauses above faint little marks that are barely visible, unnoticeable to anyone who doesn’t have the privilege of seeing him in this nature.

The same hands begin to move up towards his biceps, fingers gliding back and forth across the stretch marks developed in the early years of his adulthood. Proof his body has bulked up over the years.

Eventually he notices you in the mirror, wet eyes and shaky hands— tips gently caressing at minor imperfections in his skin.

Chans eyes are usually so bright, full of life but right now? Right now, they’re too tired to offer you anything but a single tear as his emotions begin to get the best of him, forcing their way to the surface— voice a small unsteady whisper when he speaks.

“What do you see in me?”

Immediately you cross the room and press yourself against his back, raising your arms so you can hook them over the fronts of his shoulders and steady his form— anchoring his body to your own.

His chest is rattling with the effort it takes to keep his breath even, you own tears slicking the skin on his nape— words of encouragement lodged in the depths of your throat.

You don’t trust your voice to stay smooth, the risk of making him feel like an inconvenience tainting your ability to speak, no matter how untrue. So you drop your forehead to the space between his shoulder blades and let your hands offer him comfort.

It takes a moment, but Chan begins to calm and utters a request you weren’t expecting in the midst of a vulnerable moment.

“Can you take your shirt off?”.

It’s no secret chan thrives on skin to skin contact and so you oblige, slowly unbuttoning your shirt before returning to your previous spot behind him.

“What do you need baby?,how can I he-“, he cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence.

“Just touch me. Please.”

keeping your hands soft, you begin perusing the dips and curves of his torso, wanting him to feel what you can’t bring yourself to tell him right now— one hand kept low, resting just below his belly button, fingertips idly dragging in circles through the small trail of hairs decorating his lower stomach.

The other one however, is traveling towards a spot you know makes him weak in the knees and just as expected his breath hitches— buckling when he feels your cold thumb rub across his nipple.

You can no longer tell if he’s breathing deep because of the tears or the stimulation, maybe it’s a mix of both but a gasped “More, I need more” from him is the go ahead you need to dip your hand lower into his waistband.

Chans mental state is in no place to take anything other than the slow steady pace you keep on him- a flick against his chest, lips placed to the pulse below his ear and he’s done for.

The whine he involuntarily releases is the only positive noise you’ve heard from him in the past hour or so, head lifting to meet your eyes in the mirror as his senses shift into overdrive all over again and he has no hope of stopping the fat tears from spilling over his lashline.

“It’s okay pretty boy let it go, you’re okay. So pretty when you cry”.

You’re watching him in the mirror as his head falls back against your shoulder, accidentally thumping into yours in the process and heaving one last deep breath as he hits his peak.

“You still wanna know what I see in you?”

𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 !

#bang chan #stray kids #bang chan x reader #bang chan x reader smut #chan x reader #chan x reader smut #bang chan smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids x reader smut #skz #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x reader smut

[theragethatisdesire]

꧁ rage's writing masterlist ꧂

welcome! please find all of my writing below. i have tried valiantly to keep track of all my drabbles as well, but i'm still figuring out this formatting thing, so it's going to be a bit while i figure out what works for me! thanks for reading :)

DISCLAIMER: all of my writing contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor or ageless blog, please kindly leave my page.

Eren Jaeger

ti penso ogni giorno (a collection)

a collection of one-shots set in a modern au that spans nearly 10 years of your relationship with the cute boy you met at a party in college.

much ado about nothing (ongoing series)

plug!eren enters the life of our stressed out, literature student reader just when she least expects him. in true shakespearean fashion, chaos ensues. strangers to fwb to idiots in love.

scary dog privilege (one-shot)

you enlist eren as your fake boyfriend for connie’s birthday party, unable to face your ex, jean, without the help of your best friend. you forgot one crucial thing, though: where jean’s all bark, eren’s all bite.

Jean Kirchstein

pretty girl (one-shot)

your new boyfriend jean is pretty much perfect, except when it comes to your incredibly vanilla sex life. you make the mistake of underestimating him.

Reiner Braun

a girl is a gun (canon-divergent series, ao3 only for now)

after years of bloodshed and distance, evin finley reconnects with her childhood friend, reiner braun. they’ve both changed over the years, but the string that ties them together seems to have survived the wars they’ve faced. when secrets about evin’s past start to come to light after eren jaeger’s raid on liberio, reiner finds out whether or not love truly is the death of duty.

Multi-Character

aot faves as dads (headcanons)

just my favorite boys with their precious little ones in another, happier life.

three’s a… (poly!erejean uni)

you and eren have been getting more adventurous in the bedroom and roping jean into your adventures. jean’s way too in his head about the whole thing.

show off (poly!erejean uni)

eren notices that you and jean have a bit of a crush on one another. he helps you act out your fantasy.

cabin in the woods (poly!erejean uni)

you and the boys head up to jean's mountain cabin to celebrate the one-year anniversary adding jean into your relationship with eren

drabble masterlist

sometimes i literally just never shut up and sometimes i play ask games so find the result of both of those things linked here.

#rage.writing #masterlist

[goldensunset]

🌟calamitous-star

🔁 princesslight400

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🌃 ad-astra-purr-aspera ♦️

Hey all! This is your friendly neighborhood reminder that Founder’s Day is coming up on Saturday, and with it, the deadline for the annual required donation to the Master Ephemer Heritage Center. Don’t forget to get everything in order before then! ☺️

🌅 borninthewrongera Follow

how absolutely RICH for a pampered little society-of-the-heirs princess like astra to make a psa about paying your dues. i bet founder’s day is super fun for someone who only has to worry about getting dressed for her public appearance and not the actual financial bullshit the rest of us go through right?

📚 all-academia-is-dark-here

🤍 princesslight400

that person’s entire blog is full of posts romanticizing the keyblade war 💀

#YO??? #also lady astra i am so sorry as well

500 notes

🥀beauty-in-red ♦️

🔁 starlight-and-social-justice Follow

———————————————————————

this post contains filtered tags:

#master ephemer bloodline discourse

🤍 princesslight400

🔁 scala-ad-crylum Follow

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🔐 scala-ad-crylum Follow

so every day on my way home i pass by this one random guy always standing out on his balcony and today i accidentally made eye contact with him 😭

🗝️ ephemerally♦️ Follow

Soooo is he cute? LOL!

🔐 scala-ad-crylum Follow

i mean it’s not like i can really see much of his face cuz he wears this big hat but he does seem kinda hot. or at least in a romantic melancholic solitude way if nothing else. but like i’m not about to ever actually go talk to him

🔐scala-ad-crylum Follow

if this post gets 30k notes i’ll say hi and blow him a kiss

🔐scala-ad-crylum Follow

nonononoNONONO I DIDN’T MEAN IT STOP REBLOGGING THIS

🕵🏻 thevirusofficial Follow

So, this is how I figure out I’m Tumblr famous…

🔐scala-ad-crylum Follow

BALCONY GUY????

#HELPPPP #fish i’m sorry but this is the funniest thing i’ve ever read in my life

30,467 notes

🌊 fountainwaterdrinker-29

remember when, for about a week, they made it so that any random non-heir who paid 800 munny to the site could get a red diamond badge next to their username too? the way all the heirs on here went absolutely BALLISTIC lol

#you had to have been there #i swear we were about a day away from civil war breaking out

1 note

🦋 no-good-usernames-left-5

🔁 imissthechirithies Follow

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⚜️ littledandelion ♦️ Follow

Why do some people act as if being descended from Master Ephemera makes you inherently privileged and prideful? I assure you I see myself as your comrade and equal and share in your struggles and sorrows to the same extent as anyone else. I wish only to befriend you all.

⬜️ verdandi-simp-deactivated10962310

don’t care

✊ starlight-and-social-justice Follow

goodnight sweet prince 😔

#NOOOOOOOO THEY NUKED MY MAN VERDANDI-SIMP #absolute hellsite

5097 notes

#unreality #this genuinely took me almost 3 hours to put together lol #inspired by that other one of course #kingdom hearts #khml #missing link #kingdom hearts missing link #mine: kh

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Brinklump Linkdump

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.

Life comes at you fast, links come at you faster. Once again, I've arrived at Saturday with a giant backlog of links I didn't fit in this week, so it's time for a linkdump, the 14th in the series:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

It's the Year of Our Gourd twenty and twenty-four and holy shit, is rampant corporate power rampant. On January 1, the inbred droolers of Big Pharma shat out their annual price increases, as cataloged in 46Brooklyn's latest Brand Drug List Price Change Box Score:

https://www.46brooklyn.com/branddrug-boxscore

Here's the deal: drugs that have already been developed, brought to market, and paid off are now getting more expensive. Why? Because the pharma companies have "pricing power," the most reliable indicator of monopoly. Ed Cara rounds up the highlights for Gizmodo:

https://gizmodo.com/ozempic-wegovy-wellbutrin-oxycontin-drug-price-increase-1851179427

What's going up? Well, Ozempic and other GLP-1 agonists. These drugs have made untold billions for their manufacturers, so naturally, they're raising the price. That's how markets work, right? When firms increase the volume of a product, the price goes up? Right? Other drugs that are going up include Wellbutrin (an antidepressant that's also widely used in smoking cessation) and the blood thinner Plavix. I mean, why the hell not? These companies get billions in research subsidies, invaluable government patent privileges, and near-total freedom to abuse the patent system with evergreening:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/23/everorangeing/#taste-the-rainbow

The most amazing things about monopolies is how the contempt just oozes out of them. It's like these guys can't even pretend to give a shit. You want guillotines? Because that's how you get guillotines.

Take Apple. They just got their asses handed to them in court by Epic, who successfully argued that Apple's rule requiring everyone who sells through the App Store to use Apple's payment processor and pay Apple 30% out of every dollar they bring in was an antitrust violation. Epic won, then won the appeal, then SCOTUS told Apple they wouldn't hear the case, so that's that.

Right? Wrong. Apple's pulled a malicious compliance stunt that could shame the surly drunks my great-aunt Lisa used to boss in the Soviet electrical engineering firm she ran. Apple has announced that app companies that process transactions using their own payment processors on the web must still pay Apple a 27% fee for every dollar their process:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/apples-app-store-rule-changes-draw-sharp-rebuke-from-critics-150047160.html

In addition, Apple will throw a terrifying FUD-screen up every time a user clicks a payment link that goes to the web:

https://www.jwz.org/blog/2024/01/second-verse-same-as-the-first/

This is obviously not what the court had in mind, and there's no way this will survive the next court challenge. It's just Apple making sure that everyone knows it hates us all and wants us to die. Thanks, Tim Apple, and right back atcha.

Not to be outdone in the monopolistic mustache-twirling department, Ubisoft just announced that it is going to shut down its driving simulator game The Crew, which it sold to users with a "perpetual license":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VIqyvquTEVU

This is some real Darth Vader MBA shit. "Yeah, we sold you a 'perpetual license' to this game, but we're terminating it. I have altered the deal. Pray I don't alter it further":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

Ubisoft sure are innovators. They've managed the seemingly impossible feat of hybridizing Darth Vader and Immortan Joe. Ubisoft's head of subscriptions, the guillotine-ready Philippe Tremblay, told GamesIndustry.biz that gamers need to get "comfortable" with "not owning their games":

https://www.gamesindustry.biz/the-new-ubisoft-and-getting-gamers-comfortable-with-not-owning-their-games

Or, as Immortan Joe put it: "Do not, my friends, become addicted to water. It will take hold of you, and you will resent its absence!"

Capitalism without constraint is enshittification's handmaiden, and the latest victim is Ello, the "indie" social media startup that literally promised – on the sacred honor of its founders – that it would never sell out its users. When Ello took VC and Andy Baio questioned how this could be squared with this promise, the founders mocked him and others for raising the question. Their response boiled down to "we are super-chill dudes and you can totally trust us."

They raised more capital, and used that to create a nice place for independent artists, who piled into the platform and provided millions of unpaid hours of creative labor to help the founders increase its value. The founders and their investors turned the company into a Public Benefit Corporation, which meant they had an obligation to serve the public benefit.

But then they took more investment money and simply (and silently) sold their assets to a for-profit. Struggling to raise capital, the founders opted to secretly sell the business to a sleazy branding company called Talenthouse. Its users didn't know about the change, though the site sure had a lot of Talenthouse design competitions all of a sudden.

Finally, the company announced the change as the last founders left. Rather than announcing that the new owners were untrustworthy scum, warning their users to get their data and get out, the founders posted oblique, ominous statements to Instagram. The company started stiffing the winners of those design competitions. Then, one day, poof, Ello disappeared, taking all its users' data with it. Poof:

https://waxy.org/2024/01/the-quiet-death-of-ellos-big-dreams/

I'm sure the founders' decisions each seemed reasonable at the moment. That's every terrible situation arises: you rationalize that a single compromise isn't that big of a deal, and then you do the same for the next compromise, and the next, and the next. Pretty soon, you're betraying everyone who believed in you.

One answer to this is "Ulysses pacts": making binding commitments to do right before you are tempted. Throw away all your Oreos when you go on a diet and you can't be tempted to eat a whole sleeve of them at 2AM. License your software under the GPL and your investors can't force you to make it proprietary. Set up a warrant canary and the feds can't force you to keep their spying secret:

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

If the founders were determined to build a trustworthy, open, independent company, they could have published their quarterly books, livestreamed their staff meetings, built data-export tools that emailed users every week with a link to download everything they'd posted since the last week. Merely halting any of these practices would have been a signal that things were wrong. Anyone who says they won't be tempted in the moment to make a "reasonable" compromise in the hopes of recovering whatever they're trading away by living to fight another day is bullshitting you, and possibly themself.

The inability to project the consequences of your bad decisions in the future is the source of endless mischief and heartbreak. Take movie projectors. A couple decades ago, the studio cartel established a standard for digital movie distribution to cinematic exhibitors called the Digital Cinema Initiative. Because studio executives are more worried about stopping piracy than they are about making sure that people who pay for movies get to see them, they build digital rights management into this standard.

Movie theaters had to spend fortunes to upgrade to "secure" projectors. A single vendor, Deluxe Technicolor, monopolized the packaging of movies into "Digital Cinema Prints" for distribution to these projectors, and they used all kinds of dirty tricks to force distributors to use their services, like arbitrarily flunking third-party DCPs over picky shit like not starting and ending on a black frame.

Over time, the ability to use unencrypted files was stripped away, meaning every DCP needed to be encrypted, and every projector needed to have up-to-date decryption keys. This system broke down on Jan 1, 2024, and cinemas all over the world found they couldn't play Wonka. Many just shut down for the day and refunded their customers:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/1/1/24021915/alamo-drafthouse-outage-sony-projector

The problem? Something that every PKI system has to wrangle: an expired certificate from Deluxe Technicolor. The failure has been dubbed the Y2K24 debacle by projectionists and film-techs, who are furious:

http://www.film-tech.com/vbb/forum/main-forum/34652-the-y2k24-bug-major-digital-outage-today

Making everything worse is that Sony mothballed the division that maintains its projectors, so there's no one who can update them to accommodate Technicolor's workaround. Struggling mom-and-pop theaters are having to junk their systems and replace them. There's plenty of blame to go around, but Sony is definitely the most negligent link in the chain. Shame on them.

Big corporations LARP this performance of competence and seriousness, but they are deeply unserious. This week, I wrote, "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Score one for team deeply unserious. The multinational delivery company DPD fired its support staff and replaced them with a chatbot. The chatbot can't tell you where your parcels are, but it can be prompt-injected into coming up with profane poems about how badly DPD sucks:

https://twitter.com/ashbeauchamp/status/1748034519104450874

There once was a chatbot named DPD, Who was useless at providing help. It could not track parcels, Or give information on delivery dates, And it could not even tell you when your driver would arrive.

DPD was a waste of time, And a customer's worst nightmare. It was so bad, That people would rather call the depot directly, Than deal with the useless chatbot.

One day, DPD was finally shut down, And everyone rejoiced. Finally, they could get the help they needed, From a real person who knew what they were doing.

This is…the opposite of an AI hallucination? It's AI clarity.

As with all botshit, this kind of AI self-negging is funny and fresh the first time you see it, but just wait until 3,000 people have published their own versions to your social feed. AI novelty regresses to the mean damn quickly.

The old, good web, by contrast, was full of enduring surprises, as the world's weirdest and most delightful mutants filled the early web with every possible variation on every possible interest, expression, argument, and gag. Now, you can search the old, good web with Old'aVista, an Altavista lookalike that searches old pages from "personal websites that used to be hosted on services like Geocities, Angelfire, AOL, Xoom and so on," all ganked from the Internet Archive:

http://oldavista.com/

I miss the old, good internet and the way it let weirdos find each other and get seriously weird with one another. Think of steampunk, a subculture that wove together artists, makers, costumers, fiction writers, and tinkerers in endlessly creative ways. My old pal Roger Wood was the world's most improbable steampunk: he was a gay ex-navy gunner who grew up in a small town in the maritimes but moved to Toronto where he became the world's most accomplished steampunk clockmaker.

I was Roger's neighbour for a decade. He died last year, and I miss him all the time. I was in Toronto in December and saw a few of his last pieces being sold in galleries and I was just skewered on the knowledge that I'd never see him again, never visit his workshop:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/16/klockwerks/#craphound

A reader just sent this five-year-old mini documentary about Roger, shot in his wonderful workshop. Watching it made me happy and sad and then happy again:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eqMGomM8yF8

The old, good internet was so great. It was a place where every kind of passion could live. It was a real testament to the power of geeking out together, no matter how often the suits demand that we "stop talking to each other and start buying things":

https://catvalente.substack.com/p/stop-talking-to-each-other-and-start

The world is full of people with weird passions and I love them all, mostly. Learning about Don Bolles's collection of decades' worth of lost pet posters was a moment of pure joy (I just wish more of it was online):

https://ameliatait.substack.com/p/the-man-who-collects-lost-pet-posters

That's the future I was promised: one where every kind of freak can find every other kind of freak. Despite the nipple-deep botshit we wade through online, and the relentless cheapening of words like "innovation" and "future," there are still occasional gleams of the future I want to live in.

Like the researchers who spliced a photosynthesis gene into brewer's yeast (a fungus) and got it to photosynthesize, and to display enhanced fitness:

https://www.cell.com/current-biology/fulltext/S0960-9822(23)01744-X

As Doug Muir writes on Crooked Timber, this is pretty kooky! Fungi – the coolest of the kingdoms! – can't photosynthesize. The idea that you can just add the photosynthesis gene to a thing that can't photosynthesize and have it just kind of work is wild!

https://crookedtimber.org/2024/01/19/occasional-paper-purple-sun-yeast/

As Muir writes: "Animals have no evolutionary history of photosynthesis and aren’t designed for it, but the same is true for yeast. So… no reason this shouldn’t be possible. A photosynthesizing cat? Sure, why not."

Why not indeed?!

OK, that's this week's linkdump done and dusted. It only remains for me to share the news with you that the trolley problem has been finally and comprehensively solved, by [email protected], of the IWW IU 520 (railroad workers):

Slip the switch by flipping it while the trolley's front wheels have passed through, but before the back wheels do. This will cause a controlled derailment bringing the trolley to a safe halt.

https://kolektiva.social/@sidereal/111779015415697244

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/20/melange/#i-have-heard-the-mermaids-singing

#pluralistic #pharma #big pharma #ozempic #wegovy #linkdump #linkdumps #roger wood #klockwerks #ello #enshittification #ubisoft #if buying isnt owning piracy isnt stealing #drm #games #the crew #apple #app store #malicious compliance #app tax #app store tax #search #the old good web #boeing #aviation #monopoly #jet blue spirit #competition #law #genetic engineering

[asgardian--angels]

Talking on the phone with my mom I finally broke down and cried thoroughly about the cancellation. I think I'd been holding it in for the last two days, or two months. And honestly I've been wondering all along why this show means so much to me. I am not queer, I am not neurodivergent, I am not POC or disabled or any of the groups that this show has been so important for in terms of representation and being treated with respect and dignity. I understand and completely empathize with all of you, and fight for this show and your rights worldwide alongside you, but it still left me wondering why I myself have latched onto Our Flag Means Death. I suppose part of it is that despite being white and cishet and the privileges that have always come with that, I have been treated like an outsider and ostracized my entire childhood and teenage years, for being ugly and having "disgusting" interests (primarily liking insects, reptiles, other creepy-crawlies - aka the thing I literally do for my career now). I was bullied relentlessly from preschool through early college and became a very lonely introverted person - I still am. Undoubtedly Our Flag Means Death gave me renewed hope that I haven't missed some key window for finding love or relationships of any kind that matter, as I sit here typing this at age 28 having never dated anyone.

But it had to be more than that. And with everything that's happened the past couple of months, and the last few days, I think it finally clicked for me.

Followers of my blog may or may not know that I am a conservation biologist, or pollinator ecologist, whichever hat fits best on a given day, they're quite close. I don't make many original posts like this anymore on here because my job is so busy. Basically, I do a variety of things - academic research, habitat management & restoration, and public outreach - to try and preserve biodiversity and ecosystems on our planet. I'm just going to say it: it's a thankless job. Nothing we do ever feels like it's enough, and burnout is common in our field because we sit with the guilt of feeling like we are the only thing between survival and utter destruction of planet Earth, and work ourselves to exhaustion. It's one of those jobs where your work is your life, and your passion is your work, and it's inseparable from who you are on a molecular level. We are often faced, on a large scale, with hostility, from people that don't believe in science and are more than happy to pull a shotgun on us, or rich old men in power who are content to watch the world burn for another penny in their bank account. There are days when sometimes it sinks in just how bad things are, and it's terrifying, and I feel like we will never be able to do enough, to change enough, before it gets catastrophic. It's paralyzing.

My ability to do my job is dependent on hope. Unwavering, unrelenting hope. Hope beyond hope. We have to believe what we're doing matters, otherwise we'd fall down and never get back up again. I'm no big-shot, I give talks to a few hundred people at a time, and make urban pollinator habitat on a local scale. Is any of that going to make a difference compared to the ramifications of a single oil mogul deciding to cut corners and cause an oil spill that kills millions of seabirds and damages ocean food chains for decades to come? If people in my field let thoughts like that linger, we'd be paralyzed to inaction. I have to hope that the people I teach choose to do something good with that knowledge, and go on to inspire others, or that the patch of habitat I make allows a declining species to maintain a foothold instead of going locally extinct. You just have to keep going.

And Our Flag Means Death got wrapped up in that for me. The Stede Bonnet effect, if you will. He set out to do pirating differently, treating his crew with respect and helping them grow. In return, they internalized that mindset, and it spread to how they interacted with others. It changed the trajectory of individual lives, and also at least began to change how the society of pirates operated as a whole. It was a beacon of hope that choosing small acts of kindness did matter, even if you yourself could not see the ripples it made. It renewed my faith that love persevered and would win. That we could all make life a little better for each other and ourselves through kindness, compassion, forgiveness, and mutual support. I think a good chunk of that is from Taika - these are running themes in his projects, and his films move me deeply for that. This show became in some, perhaps subconscious way, a source of strength for me to keep putting myself out there in my line of work to do whatever I was capable of to help the cause.

The cancellation was devastating, but the second cancellation (turbohell cancelation?) was even more so. Because now it's so clear that this is largely the work of David Zaslav and the regime he's built. It's petty, it's greedy, and more than anything, it's cruel. Indifferently, indiscriminately cruel, when one person at the top can have such power to make or break the lives of thousands, millions, beneath them, and though it would have been barely a drop in the bucket, a hand wave, to renew our show or let it pass to another streamer, he actively chose to shackle it to this sinking Titanic of a company WBD has become. I have always operated on the belief that you can do anything if you work hard enough at it, and believed deep down that there was some order, some justice in the universe, atheist though I be. We as a fandom did everything we possibly could, we loved this show harder than anything. The numbers were there, the awards nominations were there, the critic praise was there, and we were loud and loyal every single day. I felt like we could do this - how could we not win when we've done so much, and the show deserves it so much? Surely cause and effect will prevail.

This fight seemed small, though really it wasn't; we fought for the right of artists and creators to make quality, original stories and have them told to their natural end, we fought for diversity representation to be more than a token character - OFMD raised the bar so much higher on all fronts, we fought to shed light on the chaos and impending collapse of this industry silencing art and exploiting writers, actors, and all manner of production workers. It was a small fight from the outside, one that I really felt we could win. And I put my heart and soul into it, because if we could win this, if we could save this simple, kind love story about two guys on a boat, then maybe there was hope for the bigger, badder stuff too. It shouldn't seem an insurmountable task for several thousand fans to convince a streaming service that they'd turn a tidy profit to give our show one more season.

Yet we lost - through no fault of our own. I am so proud of us. But that really struck deep for me. If one peabrained CEO of a media company wouldn't budge on greenlighting a show that was in his every best interest business-wise - perhaps enough to even save Max from going under in the not-too-distant future - my god, what hope was there for changing anything bigger? The 'real' problems of the world? When no amount of ethos, logos, or pathos can penetrate these men at the top, where's that hope to fight? Lately the world seems like it's just going belly up all over. If we gave everything we could, and it still wasn't enough - if it could never be enough - what hope is there? It's like chaining yourself to a tree and the bulldozer plowing right on ahead. And I think that broke something in me. It shook me to my foundations because it broke my rules of how things are supposed to work. We believed hard enough, we worked tirelessly, and we deserved it for how important this show was to so many people. And it didn't matter. Our best wasn't enough. And that caused an avalanche of all of the horrible, scary things piled on my shoulders - we're losing the Amazon rainforest too fast to save, climate change is going to turn the corn belt into a dustbowl by mid-century, a border wall is going to devastate imperiled wildlife in Texas, deforestation and hurricanes on songbird wintering grounds could lead to entire species extinctions, saltmarshes are our lifeline and they're shrinking and we're still building stupid concrete stormwalls, invasive diseases will completely alter the composition of our forests to be unrecognizable to our children, and if you don't make every slide of this powerpoint utterly perfect and you fail to convince every single person in attendance to get rid of their lawn then you've failed and the world is doomed.

I've struggled with being a perfectionist my whole life. This didn't help.

That's where I was a couple hours ago. But I took some deep breaths. I know the world isn't fair. But I really thought if we could win this one battle, then we could win the war.

But here's what I realized. Everything we did mattered. It mattered so much. Because there's the show, and then there's everything that was birthed out of that show. The community, so many of us around the world who have been uplifted by Our Flag Means Death in a real and lasting way that we will take with us and spread to affect those around us. The Stede Bonnet effect goes global. We raised thousands and thousands of dollars for charities around the world, real people whose lives have been improved, or maybe even saved, because of us and this silly pirate show. We brought a hell of a lot of attention to WBD and their shitty practices, keeping the momentum going in a way that I think is only going to build - and I sure hope it leads to Zaslav getting deposed. We have demanded more queer stories, more BIPOC stories, more disabled and autistic and middle-aged stories, stories with exquisite costumes and award-worthy wigs, dear lord, and we are being heard. We have expressed such love and support for the cast and crew, showing them that we appreciate their hard work and that we will be behind them in their future projects. So many of them have told us how the show and its fans have changed their lives. We convinced Rhys that his career isn't winding down but winding up, and to be unapologetic about his wonderful weirdness - we've proven to everyone through this show that your weirdness is what someone out there is going to love you for, not in spite of. We rallied to help writers and actors during the strikes in a way that was taken to heart and remembered. We have been out here talking it through as a crew, and turning poison into positivity, for over two years now, and that impact is permanent. They can cancel our show, they can try and slap copyright notices on our fan merch, and spew bullshit excuses about the numbers not being there. But Our Flag Means Death sparked a movement, the biggest pirate crew the world has ever seen, using our power for good.

We may not have any more new material for our show for a while, or ever. But I maintain hope that when the dust has settled and streaming has entered its 'new era' that they'll remember us and throw us a lifeline. Because hope is a part of my genetic makeup, and even in cancellation my hope has been renewed that the fight is worth fighting, that our individual choices of kindness are having an effect, and making the world a little easier to live in bit by bit. No one can take from us what we have built out of this show. And thanks to pirating, they can't take the actual show from us either. Despite this, no matter the outcome, I am so happy we got two seasons of this wonderful series. That was more than almost anyone expected. The story belongs to all of us, and it will always live on. We did not truly lose this battle, because in the process we gained more than we could have ever imagined. And I know there's still so much more to come. That gives me the strength to keep doing what I do, every day.

To me, Our Flag Means Hope.

#our flag means death #ofmd #this is a very long post but I need to write it for me #seeing the outpouring of love on twitter today has really been so needed #also realizing after i finish this that my blog name is literally 'There is always hope' #so i mean. this really has been my brand since i started here #personal

[jabbage]

You're right, being allo is exhausting. And sometimes I think other allos lash out at ace and aro people because it feels so unfair that other people could be happy without a romantic partner and/or having sex. Because being single is honestly miserable and sometimes I find myself quietly resenting people who don't have an emptiness from that so I can imagine people who are less self aware and more willing to take their problems out on others turn that into aphobia instead of doing some soul searching to understand why they're upset.

I'm afraid I don't specifically know what this is in response to, which makes it a little difficult to know what you want from me. I've had this blog over a decade and I've never been good at tagging. I might have joked about allosexuality seeming exhausting - I think whenever you come across someone who structures a lot of their life around something which has no or little part in your life, it seems 'exhausting'

But here are my thoughts to what you've written.

I think that people who feel the way you describe fundamentally misunderstand what asexuality and aromanticism are.

They're not a magical inoculation against the effects of allo and amatonormativity.

Being ace or aro definitely does not mean that you innately feel happy and content without a romantic or sexual partner.

We live in a world which ties emotional vulnerability, sexual pleasure, financial stability, security in old age, social success and many, many other things to sexual and romantic connections. I can assure you that it can feel very, very empty and very very lonely to live in a world where everything from your education, the media you consume, the legal and social structures around you, are telling you that the bonds you have with others will never be as important as those which are romantic or sexual, and where a very common and frighteningly accepted response to your sexuality is that you have something deeply wrong or missing on a fundamental level. That is exhausting, and lonely, and scary.

For what it's worth I don't actually think my asexuality is the thing which makes me content with being single. I think it's just been the catalyst for figuring out a happy shape for my life which doesn't require a romantic relationship, because I HAD to.

Perhaps for you, you feel that emptiness, but you think perhaps one day you'll find a relationship which will solve it.

If I felt that way, I would potentially feel empty forever. I had to, very slowly, and with luck and privilege playing important roles, create a life for myself where I don't feel an empty space without a romantic or sexual partner. And I'm still scared, because it is scary when you're living in a way that society is not kind to, socially, financially, legally, etc. I'm happy now, perhaps I won't be one day. I don't know.

But I think everybody deserves to feel secure and loved and fearless and free and successful without requiring romance or sex in their lives - even if they do participate in those things, even if those things are very important to them, even if they want them very much.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, and I wish you lots of happiness in your future <3

#asexual #asexuality #aromantic #aspec

[academiaviktor]

This Isn't Like You | Sebastian Sallow x Reader | SFW

Prompt: Sebastian Sallow made the mistake of allowing himself to get too close to Y/n, a Hufflepuff he never expected to fall for. After watching her with a fellow Hufflepuff, Sebastian’s jealousy gets the best of him. Angsty fluff ensues.

Note: I've decided to turn this blog into a multi-fandom one, so if you have any Viktor or Sebastian Sallow requests, feel free to send them my way!

I also have a Naruto-centric blog here if you're curious!

Jealousy was a brutal thing, and Sebastian hated every moment of it.

Sebastian was not an idiot—he knew what it meant to fall for someone and how quickly it could set in. He knew it could creep in when he least expected it, even if he had been determined to keep things platonic.

But Sebastian wondered if he was an idiot for not acting on those feelings sooner.

Having the privilege of being near you—immersed in your day-to-day innocence and always choosing to follow him despite being surrounded by numerous other students at Hogwarts—made Sebastian feel significant. Like it was his purpose to stand by you through everything.

Watching you sit in the library with a fellow Hufflepuff was not what Sebastian expected to set him off. To shake him down to his very core and set everything in his life ablaze.

He stood there, not too far from the scene that made his heart clench and took in how you laughed with the boy, sat next to him around one of the tables. His skin flushed with heat, and an unfamiliar tremble claimed his body.

Sebastian was your best friend, and for some dramatic reason, he wanted to be the only person to make you laugh like that. Knowing he wasn't the only one capable of eliciting those smiles from you made his system flush with irritation.

You were one of the most special people in his life, and Sebastian couldn't help but feel like he was in the process of watching you be torn away from him.

Sebastian wasn't in the library to read but to meet up with you for an outing at Hogsmeade. Seeing you tip your head back with an enthusiastic laugh made him crumble on the spot, and he tore away from the room without saying a word.

Storming through the halls, fuming, Sebastian's vision narrowed as he let that jealousy consume him. He wanted to ruin anyone who came in between you two, but he knew it was pointless. Instead, he needed to stew in it.

Sebastian realized then that he was willing to do anything for you because there was no him without you. He was deceived by his own heart, and he'd be damned if he watched someone else sweep you off your feet.

Not long after, footsteps came from behind him, and a gentle hand against his shoulder made Sebastian whirl around, eyes clouded by envy.

"What is it?"

He swallowed hard then, realizing it was you. Even if he was pissed off, Sebastian couldn't ignore how his heart lurched just from taking in your features, and wishing he could caress you. Wishing he could hold you.

"I didn't find you in the library, so I went looking for you," you murmured to him, smiling gently for him despite the irritation that shaded his face. "We're still on for Hogsmeade, right?"

Something in Sebastian wanted to refuse and tear away to spend the rest of the day sulking by himself in some dark corner someplace, but the half-assed response left his lips before he could stop it.

"Let's get going then."

The tight-lipped, almost curt response made you look at him for another moment, but you pulled a pleased look for him and fell into step through the halls.

Normally, you'd spend the whole time chatting with Sebastian, not realizing how quickly the walk went by until you got there in what felt like record timing. You'd be laughing so hard your stomach ached, bantering and poking fun at each other.

But only silence lingered between you then. Strangely, Sebastian walked a step ahead of you most of the way, head down. He directed you onto the hidden path that few people took instead, leaving only you and him to walk awkwardly through the trees.

"Did you see what happened in potions today?" You prompted him, hoping the weird tension would fizzle away.

Sebastian didn't lift his head and kept moving, mumbling a 'no'.

"Oh, well Nicolas Weaver went to mix the ingredients in his cauldron but Reina Quavo dropped something in it and the whole thing blew up in his face," you recounted, laughing quietly at the memory.

But Sebastian's only response was a murmured acknowledgment like he wasn't truly paying attention.

Brows furrowing in question then, you stuffed your hands in your pockets. "Are you alright, Sebastian?"

"I'm fine," he muttered, lacking his usual light and charm. He kept walking even as you struggled to keep up the pace due to your confusion.

"It doesn't seem like it."

Sebastian audibly huffed and shook his head, storming forward.

"What's the matter?" You called, halting in your place, fed up with his vague answers. "You aren't being yourself—this isn't like you, Sebastian."

Snapping then, Sebastian pivoted on his heel and raised his arms in question, stomping closer to you, face pained. "What do you want me to say? I'm exactly like myself!"

Disagreeing with him, you shook your head and stood your ground. "You've been miserable. Just tell me why."

Irritation flared in Sebastian's eyes as he cut the space between you. "Tell you what, that I saw you flirting with some kid earlier?! That I had been in the library but couldn't stand watching him make you laugh? But that would be ridiculous, wouldn't it?!"

Stunned by his outburst, you blinked back at him with more confusion ebbing into your face. "What—"

Before you could say anything, Sebastian's lips pressed against yours firmly, forcing your eyes closed. He gripped your arms to keep you from stumbling back, completely surrounding you.

Before you could relax into the kiss, Sebastian pulled away, dropping his hands. He gazed at you, just as surprised by the sudden affection. Sebastian ran a hand over his face and took a step back, mumbling, "damn it."

Unable to find the words, you just stared at him and swallowed harshly. You took a moment to pull yourself together enough to murmur, "Sebastian, what's going on?"

Averting his eyes, Sebastian closed them, as if all of his problems would be solved the moment he opened them again. He let go of a heavy sigh before meeting your gaze. "I don't want to lose you."

"But you won't," you reassured him, taking a step forward, eyes laced with sincerity. "I wasn't flirting with Frederick in the library because I don't see him that way. We're in the same house, you know."

"I know, it was stupid of me," Sebastian mumbled, visibly annoyed with himself. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"It's okay," you said, reaching for his hands. Taking them in yours carefully, Sebastian met your eyes, almost surprised that you hadn't run off yet. "I understand. I get jealous when girls from your house talk to you or ask you questions."

Sebastian's brow cocked at that, genuinely curious. "You do?"

At your nod, a bashful smile crept across Sebastian's lips, and he chuckled. Pulling you closer from where your hands were connected, Sebastian let a hand cup your cheek while the other found its place against your hip.

"You don't need to worry about that. I don't see them the way I see you," Sebastian murmured gently, giving your hip a small squeeze before he brought his other hand to cup your face. "If you don't mind, I'd like to kiss you again."

Smiling with no objection, you nodded, heart fluttering at the prospect.

Sebastian's warmth surrounded you once again, lips soft against your own. The kiss was sweet and gentle at first like he was mapping out every inch of you. He deepened it the moment his heart screamed for more, overwhelmed by how good it felt.

Clutching at him, you knew nothing had ever felt quite as right as the sparks between you, and the thought of having to break apart made your heart ache.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian whispered against your lips, breath warm and minty. His thumb stroked your cheek, and he pulled a small smile. "You're my partner in crime, and I'll do whatever I can to keep you in my life."

Unable to fight against the flurry of elation sprouting inside your chest, you smiled back at him, murmuring, "You can start with that butterbeer."

"Anything you'd like," he replied, pressing his lips against yours like he'd never have the chance to again.

Needless to say, it took some time for the two of you to make your way to Hogsmeade, too engrossed in one another to care.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian/reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian x you #sebastian/you #sebastian oneshot #sebastian fluff #sebastian sallow fluff

[neonscandal]

Hello, I'm new here and I really liked your tumblr. I would like it if you could answer my question. Don't you think Saturo is a little needy, you know he always wants to get people's attention, he always wants to force a friendship, that scares me a little, he can even be unnecessary sometimes.

Hiii! I literally have no idea how you came across my blog but I'm happy if it made you feel welcome ❤️ Thanks for reaching out.

Don't be scared by the tall man with the impossible eyes and bulk volume suffering. He's here to help! ✨

I mean, you pretty accurately described Gojo, tbqh. He is needy, I wouldn't say he wants to get people's attention... but he has it, anyway, he is desperately reaching out for human connection, he frequently ponders and is consumed by the unnecessary (just as much as the necessary) and people tend to conflate his strength with his identity.

How do we put one at ease with this larger than life personality? We speedrun it, of course. The best way to empathize with someone is to understand how they got from point A to point D and this is as it applies in real life, too. Consider this my humble offering toward this threat I made a few years ago. Going to avoid spoilers beyond what's been animated but this is still going to be a long one so strap in! JK there's a minor spoiler that's marked (⚠️) but it's not a major plot point.

IN DEFENSE OF GOJO

A mostly unsolicited essay ✨

Before we get into how Gojo became Gojo, let's look at the basic information we know about jujutsu society in universe.

Curses are formed by negative emotional runoff, typically from people who can't control cursed energy.

There are humans who are born with cursed techniques but the brains of humans so their powers were dormant until Kenjaku!Geto activated them in the last episode of season 2.

Those with power that are beyond the comprehension of the elders happen to find themselves carrying death sentences (as it applies to Yuta Okkotsu and Yuji Itadori, specifically).

There are 3 Big Families: the Gojo, Kamo, and Zenin Clans, likened to nobility, which have been active since the Golden Age of Jujutsu hundreds of years ago.

Generally, the Gojo clan inherits the Limitless technique. Six Eyes is a lot less frequent and both techniques haven't manifested in one user in over 100 years until Gojo was born. (Purple or Hollow Purple is another hidden move which each family has some extra razzle dazzle offshoots from their main cursed technique.)

Kamo clan passes along Blood Manipulation (re: Choso, Noritoshi Kamo, the Kyoto student, and Noritoshi Kamo, the blemish on the Kamo clan who created the cursed womb paintings)

Zenin clan has the Ten Shadows Technique (re: Megumi. Bear in mind, previously a Zenin Ten Shadows user fought a Gojo Six Eyes + Limitless user and the fight ended in a stalemate that resulted in both of their deaths).

Anomalies, like that of Maki and Toji, exist even in these age old clans where an heir is born without the ability to manipulate cursed energy and/or see curses.

Of the above and those of the main cast specifically, the inheritors of these generations' old techniques have pretty shit origin stories. They are privileged but cursed in a way. Heavy is the head, and all.

BIG THREE FAMILY CULTURE

We haven't gotten a lot of insight into the Gojo clan except that it's basically a clan of one: Satoru Gojo.

Noritoshi, the Kyoto student, bears the name of the blot of the Kamo clan and is a bastard son who happened to inherit the familial technique. Because of this, he is shepherded into the fold of the Kamo the family, foisted into a position of responsibility, and separated from his "disgrace" of mother. She leaves him, knowing her presence would hold him back, and hopes that her sacrifice in doing so will enable him to better help others. ⚠️ However, when Kenjaku!Geto used remote Idle Transfiguration to awaken dormant vessels and dormant cursed technique users, the proper firstborn heir of the Kamo clan's inherited technique was awakened which swiftly saw Noritoshi's expulsion from his status and the clan.

The most damning evidence we have of the culture of these families is from the Zenin clan:

They terrorized Toji Zenin, despite his inhuman strength, simply because he was born without the ability to manipulate cursed energy. To the extent that an incident from his childhood left his face scarred and likely radicalized him into the sorcerer killer he is today.

Mai and Maki were gravely mistreated because, in addition to being girls, they were born twins which is considered highly unfavorable.

The twin superstition is "justified" by Mai's weak cursed technique and Maki's inability to see curses or manipulate cursed energy.

The misogynistic treatment of the girls is likely not uncommon within the Big Three families given 1) what we've seen happen to Kamo's mom, 2) the treatment of the twins' mother, and 3) the way that Gojo vehemently advises that Tsumiki would never be happy with the Zenin clan (as both a jujutsu outside and because she's a girl as determined by events that haven't been animated yet).

Empirically, from the above, we can extrapolate that familial ties don't mean shit in the Big Three Families, blood relations are tenuous at best. Tradition, power and hereditary techniques reign supreme to maintain status. Those outside of the blessed few are at the mercy of more powerful members of the family which will be more evident in season 3.

💡 As an aside, kinda interesting to think about Geto's ideology applied to these traditional families. In fact, I wonder if Geto cultivated his beliefs based on what Gojo told him about his family.

UNDERSTANDING THE CHARACTERIZATION OF GOJO

Now that we understand society as Gojo would have known it, let's get into how he experiences the world from birth.

Canonically, his birth shifted the power balance between sorcerers and curses. A lot of readers assume he has a god complex which, in addition to being categorically false, is more a reflection of his canonical in universe power. He is neither a god nor does he necessarily perceive himself to be one. But that's not to say he doesn't have a bit of an attitude problem.

He is born with both the Limitless and Six Eyes techniques which, again, hasn't happened in over 100 years. Subsequently, stronger curses are on the rise to compensate for this dramatic shift in power.

💡 Lowkey, I kinda headcanon that the influx of more powerful curses comes from the bitter resentment that periphery individuals must have harbored against Gojo because, let's be real. He's clearly Mappa's favorite and it brings out the anti in everybody IRL lol I can only imagine in universe if you were born to a jujutsu family and lost out on the genetic lottery when it came to cursed energy.

He explicitly draws the ire of curses and cursed users alike with a bounty that immediately incites an onslaught of first come, first serve mercenaries. As a child. Even Toji, the great sorcerer killer, tries to get the drop on a young Satoru Gojo but none are successful at coming close. Not even the invisible man.

From what we know of the Big Three above, the miracle of Gojo's inheritance would likely push him into a place of great power and influence within his clan, even from an early age. Further, we've seen what the burden of responsibility an inherited technique looks like as it applies to Noritoshi Kamo. Gojo would have been burdened with this status and, simultaneously, constantly placated by others so as to appease the miraculous heir.

Additionally, as we saw with Noritoshi, other clans may also have a vested interest in currying favor with the young heir because even proximity to Gojo creates a sense of power and status.

By blood, Yuta is a distant, distant cousin of Gojo's from a branch family and we see how OP he is.... Later in the story, Gege makes it a point to use the Great Satoru Gojo as a measure of power and, subsequently, more explicitly how close other characters' power, prowess or technique come close to that of Gojo's.

Subsequently, as the Kamo clan heir, Noritoshi tries to ingratiate himself to Megumi despite the fact that he's no longer even connected to the Zenin clan. He curses that Mai didn't inherit Ten Shadows to make relations a bit smoother. Gojo would likely have several people vying for his attention and grace whether he wants it or not.

I think you can see how, a smart kid like Gojo who literally has nothing but time to process and compute the ways of the world around him, would come to understand the motivations of others as it specifically relates to him and his power. It would be understandable if he were innately wary and distrustful of others, especially when you consider his initial experience as the target of an onslaught of, albeit unsuccessful, assassination attempts.

Here, I think, is what really gives life to the isolation that Gojo feels from a very young age which is only known by those with immense power like Sukuna and other characters who've yet to be revealed. Gojo is less an individual and more a means to an end. He is a monolith for power, protection and status. His power is so incomprehensible for other sorcerers of the era that his potential for vulnerability is taken for granted.

With a culture that prioritizes strength over, perhaps, morality, it makes sense why, when we see Gojo years later as a high school student, he is relatively disrespectful toward his elders and thinks it is silly that the strong should have to diminish themselves for the comfort of the weak. Bear in mind, this disrespect is likely because no one was really checking him on manners from a young age. Further, from his experience, strength has always been commodified, why would you diminish that? He was and remains head of the Gojo clan with all the pomp and circumstance that comes with that.

Enter Suguru Geto, the smoking gun as to why we know Gojo doesn't have a god complex. Suguru, like Geto, is the only other special grade sorcerer aside from Yuki Tsukumo (and she makes it a point to not take missions). Qualified as equals, the two are constantly doled out missions that higher ups are not even equipped to handle. Try not catching an ego about that.

Even though their power may not necessarily be on par with one another, it is enough that Gojo deems Geto an equal. Their friendship tempers Gojo's character in ways his family could not.

THE HUMANITY OF A GOD

Gojo is not a god but, to those around him, he's certainly lauded as such. Part of that entails inherently overlooking that which makes him vulnerable, makes him human. As someone who can, at will, literally turn off the ability to be touched at all, the premise is ironic. But the fact remains, from all the above and his behavior therein, it seems as though Gojo had to wait until high school to act like a kid at all and that is all thanks to Geto.

As an outsider, Geto's opposing ideology suggests that the strong are meant to protect the weak and keep others who are strong in check. Gojo is frequently shown taking Geto's criticism and point of view under critical advisement. In fact, realizing how out of touch he is with the reality of others, he defers to Geto as a moral compass, trusting implicitly in his judgement.

Not only that but, from what we saw during the Kyoto Goodwill Event, it is not uncommon for sorcerers to be wary of disclosing what their cursed technique is to other sorcerers. You can never be too careful nor can you know who's a cursed user in the making, even amongst your own classmates. With inherited techniques, word gets around but... Geto, an outsider, was intimately aware of the drawback Gojo experienced when overusing his technique and that speaks volumes about how comfortable Gojo was being vulnerable with him.

Geto encourages Gojo to speak more politely to his elders, again, a pushback he clearly wasn't getting anywhere else or, perhaps, direction he simply wasn't taking from anyone else.

Because Gojo recognizes Geto as an equal, he is more relaxed and able to behave accordingly which Geto graciously allows and creates a safe space for. Imagine all the steam this little weirdo has been holding in out of obligation? Moreover, as someone who has always undeniably been the strongest person in any room, imagine the relief in finally knowing that there is someone else you can rely on? Feel safe with? Someone you can be needy and greedy with. Gojo found his One and Only best friend.

Geto allows him to authentically be himself AND HE STARES AT HIM LIKE THIS WHILE DOING SO!

Additionally, we talk about Gojo being unnecessary at time, which he is. I poke a lot of fun at how Gojo will take in what someone like Yaga explains to him and then the output is some Digimon reference a lot. He literally speaks in gibberish half the time but Geto just... understands him. Or makes it a point to try. Bear in mind, Gojo's silly goofiness belies his penchant for serious contemplation, as well, as he's knowledgeable about historical poetry, prominent figures and events. The dichotomy of this is whiplash inducing to Ijichi. If you think about the adage, those who don't know history are destined to repeat it, it shines an interesting light on why Gojo seems to have such a wealth and emphasis on the history of not only jujutsu sorcerers but also other politics at play dating back centuries. Even more so if you consider ItaFushi to be SatoSugu 2.0 as... the story kind of feels that way, doesn't it? BACK TO THE POINT, Gojo behaves like a fool but he isn't stupid.

I think this arrogance and silly facade is a product of being plugged into the reality of what it truly means for the few to protect the greater good. He's probably hyper aware of the prospective survival rate of his peers based on empirical information he has at his disposal. It's why he pointblank tells Ijichi not to become a sorcerer. I think it's also why he's frivolous with having and creating fun. Not just for his kohais but later for his students. With Geto, he experiences a closeness he hadn't had with anyone else and it improves his ability to connect with others by extension.

I know this is not from the canon material but I think this is the perfect inclusion as to Gojo's proclivity for frivolity. LOOK AT HIM.

MISSION FAILURE AND FALL OUT

Based on the information we have currently, Gojo didn't exactly have the same splintered origins that Megumi and Noritoshi had. But from the above and his socialization with people outside of the Gojo clan, we see how coming from a place of privilege can still create deficiencies. But it isn't enough to simply learn and benefit from the good times. Maybe people take for granted that which isn't tested or taken away. We can't fully understand adult Gojo without understanding the failures of teenage Gojo.

Tasked with a mission that literally impacts the fate of the world and is relayed as such, the two special grade sorcerers take on the Star Plasma Vessel mission. As we saw in season 2, it didn't exactly end well. From this we can glean the following:

From the beginning and despite that which hung in the balance if they were unsuccessful, Gojo and Geto were willing to blow it all, come what may, if the vessel opted out of the merger. They were willing to fight Tengen themselves to spare one life even if it destabilized everything else. The idea of which seems Icarian in nature and we saw how that worked out for Icarus.

Toji's plan of attrition (wearing Gojo down specifically) was successful partly because of the false sense of security engineered by Shiu Kong that allowed them to recapture Kuroi.

However, based on Gojo's hubris, Gojo and Geto were already living in a false sense of security. Any attempts Geto made to temper Gojo's ego were appeased by the fact that, he wasn't alone. Finally. He had Geto and Gojo was insulated in the comfort and security he found in Geto's company. He could take on Tengen, he could risk another night in Okinawa burning through his stamina. It did not matter if he had Geto to rely on. They were the strongest.

Turns out it did matter and they were both foiled, thoroughly. The fall out of these events results in the following:

Gojo's evolution wherein he learns how to control reversed curse energy which shoots him past his previous limits.

Gojo avenges his loss to Toji and Riko, by extension (that order feels important to mention). He achieves a level of enlightenment and transcendence which saw the successful use of the Red Technique that he'd been unable to use in a fight against a lackey during the same mission which also made it possible to execute the finisher attack Hollow Purple, resulting in the fight's end.

Upon reclaiming Riko's body from the Time Vessel Association, Gojo, in the haze of his victory, asks Geto if they should slaughter the people celebrating Riko's death. Showing that, regardless of his power up, he still needs Geto's guidance and values the opinion of his equal. I say this even though we know Gojo lies about Shoko treating his injuries. Even he's aware that this latest evolution creates a greater disparity between their relative strength but he defers to him anyway.

Geto begins questioning whether the lives of non-sorcerers who are capable of such evil are really worth fighting and/or dying for.

The acknowledgement that, even though there is nothing beyond special grade classification, Gojo became the strongest.

Foundationally, Gojo came to terms with the vulnerability that Toji was able to exploit and subsequently trained to remediate that. Simultaneously, Geto fell deeper and deeper into a despair over a persisting moral crisis that Gojo, with Six Eyes at his disposal, was incapable of seeing or understanding. The occurrence of which is maddening to me, personally but such is the way of a fatal flaw.

Geto's subsequent and "sudden" defection pulled the rug from beneath Gojo's feet.

We have seen him dust off countless attempts on his life as a child, shoulder the burden of the Gojo clan as a child, execute his obligations as a sorcerer regardless of his beliefs as a child, and bear the brunt of jujutsu society because of the magnitude of his strength as a child and he never batted an eye. Not to say he didn't have something flippant to say about it but he endured it.

But with Geto's abandonment, whatever security he'd finally found was abruptly destabilized and it's important to note that only when it comes to Geto do we see Gojo's nonchalant facade falter. When he learns of the attack on the village with Yaga, when he confronts Geto in the streets of Shinjuku, when he encounters Kenjaku wearing Geto's corpse, he's not so silly goofy anymore is he?

Finding Geto was like finally feeling the warmth of the summer sun on your face after living in the shadows of a cave all your life. For Gojo, his departure was like never knowing that warmth again.

Not to mention, his immense power and status of being the only other special grade sorcerer meant he also had to carry the weight of being his best friend's executioner. Please.

He spends his adult life cultivating strength in others, rescuing kids from a society that seeks to destroy what they refuse to understand, uniting other so they aren't burdened by the same loneliness that plagues him and, whenever possible, trying to bring light and fun to the lives of kids who may never make it out of high school because that's the reality of sorcerers. That's the burden of responsibility they carry so, in between missions, he tries to be silly, he tricks them, he leads them on wild goose chases so they actually get out and experience their youth properly.

You're not meant to fear Gojo. Fear the society that allowed for these things to happen because he's trying to fix it. If anything, pity the man who is not allowed to be weak or vulnerable because he has always known the weight of the world. He could have been a god but he chose instead to love and it was his undoing.

If you'd like to pity Gojo further, dive into an expansive list of all the SatoSugu brainrot I could think of.

Lowkey, this feels like a call out, because why am I also terrible like this?? Am I being cyber bullied? I feel like this took me several days to write.

#neon asks #anon asks #the problem with kins #in defense of gojo #manga with me #stsg #manga with me jjk #we are the strongest #jjk #sad anime girl hour #character analysis #anime #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo character analysis #geto suguru #manga #gojo meta #suguru geto #satosugu #jjk meta #satosugu angst #satosugu brainrot #gojo brainrot #jjk brainrot #jjk gojo

[upsidedownwithsteve]

hi, here’s me saying it with my chest!! the drama surrounding autumn was six months ago and you continue to make snide comments about ‘deactivated’ users sending hate like you genuinely believe that she’s stuck around to what? send you hate asks? and nothing else? what an incredible self-absorbed implication that is. either speak with your chest and accuse her outright or stop dragging her name through the dirt because you have some childish vendetta with zero proof. 

it’s incredibly fucking privileged to be able to remain ‘neutral’ on an issue such as genocide- whilst on your laptop, with free time to be online, you know, not being bombed to death. you write almost majority of your content for stranger things. if you’ve been paying any attention, there are several loud and proud zionists contributing to that show and by remaining neutral, you take their side. true, you don’t have to post about palestine - but it’s very telling when you make a post about how you shouldn’t have to post about palestine. again, didn’t realise it was so difficult to condemn a genocide. 

Thank you for finally talking without the security of an anonymous box.

I’ve made one comment recently about “deactivated blogs” and please let it be known, there was more than one. my thoughts on who these blogs were (multiple) were said at the time, like you said, 6 months ago. if these blogs wish to attack me via an anonymous button, whilst bringing my unborn child into it, why should I give them the respect of putting their name on my blog? There are lots of people who are aware of who these blogs are and a lot of people who share the same views as I do.

I’ve never once said I’m “neutral” and I’ve spoken out about Noah and his actions before. I believe you also write for stranger things so I’m unsure what your point is. However, to me, you’re a stranger online, just like I am to you. You do not know what I do in my spare time, you do not know what charities and organisations I support, you do not know what I choose to do with my business, you do not know anything about me or my life. Speaking, or not speaking, online about things does not reflect on someone’s real life values and choices.

If you’re so unbelievably bothered by my silence - to the point of sending anonymous messages to me - then please, let me tell you my view.

I support Palestine. I do not believe this is a war. What is happening is a genocide. I support these views and beliefs through my own life decisions and through the ways I can use my business.

You do not know what else I have going on outside of the internet, away from this blog, above and beyond being five months pregnant. You do not know why I choose to use this blog as an escape from real life. You do not know what other issues, stresses or challenges I have in real life. You do not get to condemn and judge myself or others on the choices they make simply because they aren’t doing the same as you.

#ask

[undiscovered-horizon]

Imagine being the one who releases Morpheus. - Part 2

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [ENDING] [ALT. ENDING] || A/N: I spilt the beans regarding my blog's name/title || Sandman-inspired playlist

For him, it's been mere hours but for you long years had passed where you had to learn life anew, without the comforts of privilege that your surname once provided you. Ever since Morpheus returned to his domain, his unkempt thoughts would slip away and slither back to the memory of your kind words and gentle eyes. After all, you had no reason to work against your father and set him free. You knew there was a real probability that Morpheus would kill you - a judge, jury and executioner in a world he didn't belong to - and yet you took that chance, believing in his assumed mercy. It was fairly foolish, even you knew that but it was also very human and that was an affliction you couldn't simply reason your way out of. That curious complexity Morpheus wasn't entirely capable of comprehending occupied a portion of his mind while he was busy rebuilding his kingdom.

When his realm was stable enough for the king himself to leave its grounds and venture into the Waking World once more, Morpheus followed your dreams and found himself in a small town by the sea. Looking around in search of your familiar face, he noticed someone sitting at the end of a long pier. They looked ethereal in their loneliness as people walking by the boulevard were either oblivious to their existence or consciously ignored them; the world of humans kept spinning in its usual rhythm and yet there was someone, a hermit by the endless waters, who existed next to it as if they were part of this world but the world wasn't exactly part of them.

Morpheus followed the pier, old and rotting planks creaking underneath his feet. As the sound of cars, people and dogs grew silent with every step he took towards the forgotten individual, it seemed as if he was crossing some invisible threshold between two parallel but not equal worlds. He was entering their seclusion as they once entered his.

You listened to the rhythm of his steps until they abruptly stopped close behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you saw exactly the same brooding man you helped escape a few years ago. There was something unnerving and yet comforting in the way nothing about him seemed to have changed. In some poetic way, you freed him from your father's malice entire years ago but he left that cold basement no earlier than yesterday.

"You haven't aged a day," you spoke up.

Not a shadow of any emotion passed by his features. "You did."

"Come on, sit." You patted the planks next to you.

"This is not a social call," he warned in a cold tone.

"Maybe not but I sure could use one."

Morpheus did not answer. Reluctantly, he approached the edge of the pier where you sat and only then did he notice a raft of mallards swimming around you. In your hands, you were holding a bag with cracked corn, oats and nuts. With an experienced flick of your wrist, you threw a handful of the mixed dry food to the ducks in the cold water below you. Pushing one another, each of the birds tried to eat as much as they possibly could.

"Where are we?" he asked. It was somewhat surprising to you that he had found you and yet did not know where exactly he did so. Maybe instead of following roads and signs, like people do, the King of Dreams relied upon a sense he was created with but one you could never relate to.

"Southend-on-sea, England. Right outside of London."

"Why here?"

His question had an interesting hidden suggestion that you had willingly chosen this place specifically to meet with him again when in fact you were never sure you would see Morpheus even one more time.

"Shh," you whispered as you raised your finger in a meaningful manner. "Just listen."

Surprisingly enough, Morpheus complied. At the tip of his tongue, he had a reprimand, reminding you that he was in no way your equal and you should never treat him as such but something made him discard that expression of his ego. The sound of waves crashing against the shore filled his ears. It was a rhythmic sough, one that brought tranquillity into the hearts of those hearing it despite its loudness. Seagulls were flying over his head, screaming their frustrations and hopes into the aether. With each breath, he smelt salt and algal bloom. In the presence of an otherworldly monarch, Mother Nature remained unmoved in her might, unimpressed with the oniric thaumaturge.

Being the King of Dreams, he had seen things more breathtaking and wonderful in their strangeness that the sight before him. Maybe in this fascination with nature's simplicity, he could find the key to your exceptionalism that he so desired to understand.

Listening to nature, a soft smile entered your face as you let out a tired sigh. "It's so peaceful in here. When you've grown up in a burning house, you simply assume the whole world is on fire. But it's not... It's not." Morpheus noticed how your voice was dripping with hope.

Watching you feed the ducks with corn, oats and seeds, Dream noticed something about your skin: there was a long scar on the back of your hand as if a beast of malice once dared to raise its horrible hand against you. The blemish was white in colour, a sign that the wound it was before was caused quite a long time ago; surely it wasn't a recent hurt. It did cross his mind that he was the reason for that scar - that fateful day when he broke free he paid for your kindness with a deep wound. Truthfully, it wasn't very king-like of him but at the same time he refused to take the blame for it: after all, he never did ask you to break open his prison.

"I never assumed I'd see you again, dear stranger," you interrupted the reflective silence.

"I was busy rebuilding my kingdom."

"So, Dream of the Endless, to what do I owe the pleasure of our reunion?" It was clear to you that an entity of his class wasn't one for welfare checks or anything like that. Wherever he appears, he had business to tend to there.

"I admit that it is knowledge I desire." Morpheus made a pause. "Why did you do it?"

For a moment, you simply watched his expressionless face. It felt almost funny that you could provide knowledge to someone who was probably as old as humanity if not even older. Whether either of you knew it at the moment - it didn't matter, not quite but Morpheus in his mundane lack of understanding of your motives, seemed no less humane than the pedestrians walking along the boulevard far behind you. The cold sea breeze tugged at your coat.

"The school I attended had a beautiful relief of lions and vines over the entrance with inscribed Seneca's quote: Dum iter homines sumus, colamus humanitatem. As long as we are human, let us be humane. That fateful day I did only that: I was humane."

"You are Rodrick's child. I could have killed you." Morpheus seemed to not quite be ready to let go of the notion that you, possibly, had an ulterior motive that you had discarded only upon basking in the might and glory of the King of Dreams.

"And it would have been your responsibility." What caught Dream's attention was your seeming lack of fear in the face of even hypothetical death. In his experience, people both craved and dreaded that fated moment. "What is kindness if not bravery in the face of cowardice and cruelty?"

"Had you no fear of your father's anger?" he changed the course of the conversation.

To you, it seemed nearly as if Morpheus came to you with a list of questions he wished to ask - like he was conducting research more than checking up on a past partner in crime if you could be called so.

"Oh, I did," you answered in a sad voice. Absentmindedly you rubbed the left side of your chest where Magus had burned a sacrilegious mark. It stopped hurting after you moved to the seaside, something about the humidity and salt bringing relief to the acute pain. "That day he disowned and cursed me, although what hex lies on me I do not know. In a way, I doubt I wish to ever know. The responsibility of such knowledge I might not withstand."

He had no doubts that you were strikingly different from humanity as a whole. You asked for nothing, you desired no power nor riches; you were strangely content not knowing. But that observation did not satiate his curiosity for Morpheus still did not comprehend why it was that way. The secret of your exceptionalism was still elusive to him. But, perhaps, he already had been given the exact answer he'd been seeking for the past years but something about him, some expectation he wasn't entirely aware of, prevented him from seeing it. Maybe he refused to accept that behind such dilemma and complexity stood a simple, very mundane and human, explanation.

Morpheus's eyes met yours. By the soft, understanding stare you gave him, he knew you had realized exactly what piece of knowledge he was seeking - the reason why he found you in the first place. He neither asked nor begged for he was a king. And yet you decided to answer his silent plea:

"Sometimes I think that it could be a truly revolutionary thought in its simplicity." To his utmost surprise, you grabbed Dream's hand. Your skin felt hot against his cold palm as if he was a corpse brought back to life by your burning touch. Firmly and yet gently, you held his hand as you poured some of the birdfeed into his palm. "That all it takes to make the world a little better, a little warmer, is just a little bit of tenderness."

You let go of his hand and suddenly the sea breeze felt a lot more freezing than Morpheus previously thought. Had he not known the pleasant warmth of your skin, the cold weather wouldn't be so severe to him then. The same chilly air shook him awake and Dream raised his hand above the raft of mallards and opened his fingers to let the birdfeed freely fall into the murky water.

Only then, when the seeds, oats and corn spilt from his open hand and into the water to be gobbled by hungered mallards, did Morpheus experience a truly human enlightenment: those birds owed him nothing and neither did he to them. They had no means of feeling gratefulness or of rewarding his good deed. The secret of human morality and its inborn complexity was revealed to him in all of its simplicity. The King of Dreams finally understood that you helped because you could. Because you wanted to. No other reason was needed for the love you spread wherever life guided you.

He thought back to your warm touch and how it burned his cold skin. In its absence, everything felt unbearably cold to the point of undermining his peace of mind. Was that... tenderness?

Tagging people who were interested in a follow-up: @rosaren2498 @jessiboobdbdb @chantzmar @lexi-anastasia @bisexualunicronrunningloose

#the sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman netflix #the sandman #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus imagine #morpheus sandman #morpheus x you #morpheus x reader #morpheus

[csuitebitches]

By your prior response, it seems like you believe in 50/50. Generally speaking, not everyone is willing to be in a relationship where the man is providing 100% of the bills but I followed you because I thought that was your view. A feminine high value woman bring with a man who provides 100% of the bills. Not a girlfriend but a wife who depends on her husband however, she still has her own. Her husband gives her the option whether she wants to work or not, she lives a life of leisure and luxury. Has her own personal savings account etc. Idk I thought you had a different mindset when it came to finances in a relationship.

Firstly, I don’t keep my blog active for the follower count. I began CSB to keep a track of everything I’ve personally learned over the years. My content is also mostly about productivity and self growth. I very rarely discuss love and relationships on here and only if I ever feel like it. You may unfollow me if you feel that my content doesn’t resonate with you!

I don’t, in fact, believe in 50-50. My family allows me to believe the same as well. However, my background and birth circumstances are different. Even if a man decides to provide for me and I let him, I can leave at any point because my family would 100% step in and financially and legally support me at any time - not everyone has that privilege unfortunately. Most people’s lives and realities are not the same. I cannot advise my followers based on just my own background because that would be irresponsible of me.

I never said that a man should absolutely never provide for you. I said it’s difficult for most people to not have a dual income household in this economy. I’ve already mentioned that my partner himself doesn’t let me pick up the bill. I further said that you should be able to have enough money on you in case you need to leave for whatever reason and that the reality is, most of you guys are not going to find some billionaire lovesick man who’s going to hand you his Amex card on the third day of you guys meeting. And yes. You NEED to contribute to any relationship to make it work and finance isn’t the only way. Even if your man tells you to stay at home, you’re still going to be expected to contribute one way or the other. You cannot have it all.

There are enough crazy stories out there about financial abuse. There needs to be a certain amount of time + emotional intimacy + rationality involved in order for a man to provide for you. The reality is that today’s economy is not suited for everyone. Gone are the days where $100 could be stretched to every cent and you could live a decent life on it. If a man can give you the option to work, he can also switch up at any point and take back that option. Would you be ready for a switch like that? Would your past grades, work experience, etc still be relevant? What if you decide to leave him - are you in the position to?

You can do what you like in your personal life because it doesn’t concern me. But if you genuinely think that a man is going to happily and blindly start providing for you from the first date without any sort of expectation from you - I implore you to understand that real life and tumblr hypergamy don’t always intersect.

Half of your mindsets have been screwed by these so-called tumblr hypergamy blogs, with all honesty. It’s also partly bullshit and partly very culture dependent. Most eastern cultures are hypergamous BUT there is a strong family value system, there are strings attached, and a strong cultural influence, divorce is looked down upon, you’re expected to stay with your husband through all the bullshit, you’re expected to compromise at any point and a lot more for your husband; there are expectations from both the partners. I remember coming across a blog of a girl who was this “hypergamy queen” only for her to disclose she was in fact, broke, and start begging for tips from her tumblr followers. I don’t think half of you guys even understand the reality of being financially provided for.

#q/a #the reality of being provided for

[sheabutterbitch]

do you have any advice for beginning to practice radical vulnerability? i’m currently reflecting a lot on why i close myself off and i’m excited to think about eventually reaching a place of being more open! thank u ❣️

1. Write down your fears. What scares you about being vulnerable? If vulnerability must involve risk, what is that risk for you? Some common fears that work to hinder vulnerability are: A fear that your loved ones will think less of you, a fear that you will appear weak, embarrassment or shame. Dig deeper into some of these and write down where each fear stems from.

2. Identify the people in your life who you currently feel safe to be vulnerable with. It is a privilege to truly know you, and not everyone is deserving. For your own safety, write down the people in your life who you currently feel safe to open up to. Then, jot down the ones who you don’t and identify what is hindering vulnerability with them, can it be fixed?

3. Are you vulnerable with yourself? Gage your own level of self-awareness before you begin to open up to others because it is so frustrating to want to be vulnerable with someone and never having the words. Practice finding the words with yourself first. Journaling or blogging your emotions and feelings in their rawest form is a great start. Asking and answering the tough questions for yourself. Asking others the tough questions about you and your behavior. Self-awareness is key.

4. The difference between vulnerability and radical vulnerability for me has been repositioning my focus on a narrative that makes me look good. I’m not here to just be open about what ails me in life, I’m more focused on sharing the areas where I fall short of the person I aim to be. My vulnerability is not just a method to get things off my chest, it’s accountability and an active effort to be a better person for my loved ones and my community.

The Vulnerability Workbook: Embrace Fear, Set Boundaries, and Find the Courage to Live Greatly

[franklyautistic]

WrongPlanet.net, the largest autism forum, is in the midst of a hostile takeover

tl;dr: WrongPlanet’s owner got hacked and there are now no mods. Please signal boost this so that autistic people know the site is likely to be unsafe from now on.

I heard that Alex Plank, the absentee admin of WrongPlanet, had returned with a big announcement. 

Here it is:

Hey there, fellow Wrong Planeters! I know it's been an eternity since I last graced this forum with my presence. I apologize for my absence, but I come bearing an astonishing tale of woe and wonder. Brace yourselves, for I suffer from the most peculiar affliction known to mankind: "Chronic Update Blockage Disorder (and forgetting to change my password)." Yes, you read that right. For a decade now, I have been plagued by a condition that has kept me from updating Wrong Planet, ensuring that it remains untouched, like a relic preserved for future generations to marvel at. Imagine the monumental impact this has had on the state of the internet. Don't worry; I'll give you a moment to gather your thoughts. Now, you may be wondering how such an unusual ailment came to be. Well, let me enlighten you. It all began when I was innocently tinkering with some HTML code, trying to add a dancing unicorn GIF to my signature. Little did I know that this innocent act of digital mischief would lead to my tragic downfall. In a bizarre twist of fate, my fingers slipped on the keyboard, causing a cataclysmic error in the space-time continuum. A rift opened up, and Wrong Planet was sucked into a parallel dimension—an alternate reality where updating websites is a crime punishable by being forced to listen to dial-up modem noises on repeat for eternity. It's a dimension where webmasters are trapped in a perpetual loop of server errors and broken links. Oh, the horror! Ever since that fateful day, I have been caught in a cosmic limbo, unable to break free from the clutches of my disorder. Every time I attempt to update the site, my hands freeze, my eyes glaze over, and my mind is overrun with visions of cascading style sheets and merciless pop-up ads. It's like a digital possession straight out of a techno-horror movie. But fear not! I refuse to let this affliction define me. In my isolation, I have become a webmaster hermit, a guru of outdated HTML and obsolete plugins. I have attained a level of enlightenment that transcends the mere mortal realm of web development. My website, frozen in time, stands as a testament to my indomitable spirit and steadfast refusal to give in to the relentless march of progress. So, as I sit here in my digital dungeon, surrounded by stacks of floppy disks and a shrine dedicated to the ancient Netscape Navigator, I implore you all to cherish your ability to update your websites. Take a moment to appreciate the mundane task of uploading a new blog post or tweaking your site's layout, for it is a privilege denied to the unfortunate few, like me. In conclusion, I hope my tale of woe has brought a smile to your face, despite the tragic consequences it has had on my own online presence. Remember, life is unpredictable, and so are the pitfalls of the digital world. Cherish your ability to hit that "Publish" button, for you never know when it might be taken away from you, leaving you stranded in the abyss of chronic update blockage and forgetting to change my password that's been used for over 10 years. Yours humorously, The Eternally Unresponsive Webmaster Alex i come in peace

Now this is a weird post, right?

Some early commenters mentioned that this was weird - one accused “Alex” of being high - but most of them seemed to think it was just Alex being a bit goofy.

Then on page two, we have a post from The_Walrus, a long-serving moderator. Well, former moderator:

There is a >95% probability that it isn't the real Alex, and instead his account has been compromised. Firstly, Alex doesn't write like that. It just isn't his style. It's far too poetic. Alex is usually very direct and blunt. It's also self-deprecating in a way I do not associate with Alex. Additionally:

Quote:

Take a moment to appreciate the mundane task of uploading a new blog post or tweaking your site's layout, for it is a privilege denied to the unfortunate few, like me.

In conclusion, I hope my tale of woe has brought a smile to your face, despite the tragic consequences it has had on my own online presence. Remember, life is unpredictable, and so are the pitfalls of the digital world. Cherish your ability to hit that "Publish" button, for you never know when it might be taken away from you, leaving you stranded in the abyss of chronic update blockage and forgetting to change my password that's been used for over 10 years.

This is pretty much spelling it out - this individual has gained access to Alex's account. Alex's email address has been involved in 30 data breaches, according to https://haveibeenpwned.com/. Having failed to update his site for a long time, the "hacker" (using that word loosely) feels that Alex has forfeited the right to it.

Additionally, all moderators and admins (apart from Alex himself) have been stripped of their permissions.

This is obviously a regular WrongPlanet user, and I can make an educated guess as to who, but almost certainly isn't the real Alex.

To this, “Alex” responded “educate my balls, Cartman”.

It seems WrongPlanet is probably permanently compromised. It has always been a site that has serious issues with spammers, scammers, and passing trolls, but those issues are only likely to get worse now.

If you are on WrongPlanet mailing lists, be very suspicious of any emails you receive. They are likely to be scams or otherwise misleading.

Please signal boost this post as much as possible... @autie-j @asdcats @chavisory I’d be grateful if you could help get the word out however you feel appropriate.

#autism #actuallyautistic #actually autistic #autistic #wrongplanet

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

My One-Year Anniversary

One year ago today, I wrote my very first piece of House of the Dragon fanfiction.

My journey in fanfiction has been a long one. I started reading fan works all the way back in 2009 at the age of 12. I even remember the site: Harry Potter Fanfiction Archive. Wow. Wild! Of course, I naturally gravitated toward Dramione works—because that’s what you did, right? Since then, my tastes have diversified; evolved, even. Thank god.

Until I hopped onto Tumblr and started writing, I wasn’t an active member of any fan community. I was a passive lurker, hiding my enjoyment of fan works from everyone and everything. One of my favourite fandoms to read for was Game of Thrones; I particularly enjoyed the Jonsa works and any work where Daenerys claimed the Iron Throne (#JusticeForDany!). I will say that, as much as I enjoyed it, there were no characters who truly ignited my interest.

Then, House of the Dragon hit. Matt Smith’s portrayal of Daemon is just… electric. I suppose my very first thank-you is to him for bringing the character to our screens. Holy shit. Toxic, passionate, magnetic… everything I want in a fictional man! Daemon Targaryen definitely awoke something in me. I spent about a month trawling the Tumblr and AO3 feeds for Daemon x OC/ Reader works, seeking to satisfy my thirst. Daemyra is such a charismatic pairing in canon, but I could never really see myself in Rhaenyra’s shoes; she’s so forward in a way I’m not. So many of the works at that time were centred on badass powerful OCs, and I just… couldn’t relate. Thus,I officially opened my AO3 account and started a side-blog on Tumblr, posting my first work.

It was a smut piece between Daemon and a Reader-insert niece, and one of my first genuine attempts at writing smut - what is now today the second chapter of dōnus riñus (sweet girl) - and was surprised to receive positive feedback from it, given the um, dodgy themes. It spurred me to go back and write a chapter leading up to it, and then write another three chapters post-chapter 2. Then, people wanted to know how Reader and Daemon got together; I wrote gevivys (beauty) from his perspective in an absolute flurry of insanity, pushing out like a chapter a day. It all blew up - I never expected it to, and it is still incredibly surprising to me that people are wanting to read a protracted series about the shit I make these characters do! From there, ilībītsos (little slut) was underway, which was such a fun exercise in dirtybadwrong that I thoroughly enjoyed! Pretty much straight away, I continued on with ñuhus prumȳs (my heart), which I might say is my favourite instalment of the bunch due to the sheer amount of research I put into it. I'm particularly proud of that one, I must say!

Of course, this makes it sound quick. It wasn't - I have quite a busy personal life with my work, so I've not been the quickest at updating. I'm eternally fucking grateful to have an audience that completely doesn't care how often I update, so long as I'm proud of what I'm putting out at the end; I know how rare that is, and I'm absolutely boggled by you all. My squishies. I love you!

Reader has become Babey now - she has her own, like, following? IDK. It's insane to me. She doesn't even have a name, and yet there are so many people who have reached out to me to thirst over her or to talk about her or to share what she means to them. A lot of people have really resonated with the way she struggles with powerlessness and how, in some ways, she's learned to find strength for herself in a world that gives her so little opportunity to do so. I'm so incredibly glad she is a character that people can relate to. She's like my baby, my first genuine creation, and it is a privilege and honour to get to talk about her on here. I still cannot believe there are people out there willing to make art or edits or just send in asks about her. It's completely wild!

I have endless gratitude for so many people throughout the creation of this series, but we must all begin (and end) somewhere. I’d like to start by thanking my first ‘regular’, Wilma, for her enthusiasm and engagement with me as I first started on this journey. She definitely encouraged me to keep on writing. It was thrilling to wake up to another comment or ask from her about the series! If not for Wilma, I don’t think the series would’ve gotten off the ground as it has.

Thank you to my very first friend in fandom. I’ve only ever known this person as ‘Lemon’—they reached out to me when I was well and truly established during the writing of ilībītsos (little slut), helping me to conceptualise the idea for the third chapter of that instalment. They then jumped aboard as a writer, and so much of my earlier drive to write was inspired by them. If not for their messages and their companionship, I wouldn’t have begun to build the community I have now. They are still one of my fandom besties, and I love them dearly.

There are several important people I’d like to thank for being absolute superstars, and whose passion for fandom has impacted mine so greatly. Aubrey, Pancake, AQ—I’ve adored each and every comment you’ve left me, and it’s been such an incredible experience to get to know you all as people. Mage, Hannah—y’all are amazing writers and amazing human beings, and I’m so grateful to have gotten to know you. Bel, Fae, Mars, Mel, Rach—you’re groovy, and hanging out with you in Discord is the bomb-dot-com. If I'm leaving people out, my bad!

I would be remiss, of course, if I didn’t mention one particular person. We connected through a mutual friend (at the time), and eventually bonded over our love of being incredibly nasty, feral and disgusting over our love of these Targ boys. Pretty sure we speak at least every single day, and I can’t say how many times I’ve relied on her for input on a chapter or a specific plot point I’m planning. Her approval means everything to me, and so I can’t possibly go without crediting her as a major influence on this story. Ange—Angela—thank you. You’ve become one of my best friends, fandom and IRL. I absolutely love you to bits.

And, lastly, I want to thank everyone who has read my works along the way. It is still insane to me that there are people who think my writing is interesting enough to keep reading, let alone offer the outpouring of support I’ve received. It is one of the greatest parts of my day to be able to connect with others over a universe I’ve crafted, and the fact that people genuinely want to know these things just stuns me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Your encouragement means everything to me.

So, it's been one year. I'm still going, ahahaha! Here's to (hopefully) more years to come! I love you guys!

#em writes's one year anniversary

[vixentheplanet]

why did you fall in love?

“why did you fall in love? it's a hard fall from way up here."

shuri x black!reader | 18+

summary: You're one of the deadliest assassins in the world in a relationship with a superhero. [18+]

word count: 5.3k

themes: dark themes, assassin!reader, love-blind shuri (she is in love, leave her alone)

warnings: murder, manipulation, knife play, dom!reader (if you tilt your head, then left, and squint), oral sex, bondage, riding, fingering.

hi ✨ PSA this is a side blog to my main one so i can’t follow anyone as vixentheplanet

i’m okay!

i’m just re-uploading my deleted works for now and answering ask

i hope to write again but mentally not there rn

Every day, it is estimated that about 150,000 people die all across the world. Of those one hundred and fifty thousand people, one and seven hundred twenty-eight thousand of those people are homicide victims. When the night draws to a close, and Tuesday takes her daily victims, just one had the privilege of seeing your face last.

Many people make the mistake of believing that women are weak and harmless. These preconceptions force people to drop their guard and fail to see a threat right in front of them. Another widespread misunderstanding is that assassins are always male, grim, and gloomy figures dressed entirely in black. No one would ever suspect you of such atrocities, the girl in the velvet corset and gold metallic miniskirt. You were grinning devilishly to yourself as you walked the short distance from where the taxi had dropped you off to your apartment building.

In prison, you were recruited as an assassin by a criminal organization named Callio. Callio is short for blue coral snake (Calliophis bivirgata). The venom of the colorful snakes is so potent that it can cause all of the victim's nerves to fire at once, resulting in full-body spasms, paralysis, and sudden, terrible death—a fitting name for an organization housing some of the deadliest criminals. Your old identity perished the moment you became a member of the group. Callio aided you in escaping, fabricating your death, and establishing a new identity.

The organization was everywhere: police, MI5, and MI6 were covering things up so you wouldn't get in trouble. All potential evidence against you will be completely eradicated thanks to Callio's assistance. Your only task was to ensure that your target died. With each murder, you left a unique imprint without leaving a systematic trail. Your tasks took you all across the world. Except for Paris, you only stayed in one palace for a short time and did everything you could to blend in. If you wanted to have some fun, you could even go in disguise.

An 'expert' with a degree, desperate for labels, would brand you a psychopath who constantly disregards right and wrong and dismisses others' rights and feelings. It's a made-up phrase by individuals acting as society expects them to. They see the world in black and white, labeling things they don't comprehend because they've been taught to be afraid of the dark and unconventional ways of life.

It felt exhilarating to be able to live your life any way you wanted.

The night chill barely bothered your skin as epinephrine coursed through your bloodstream—the rush of adrenaline thrumming your body with pure excitement. 

When your steps click against the pavement, sirens zoom past you, no doubt on their way to the location you were just leaving. Tonight is one of the few times in recent memory that you didn't have to go out of the city for business. The target was Angus Grant-Taylor, a Scottish businessman who planned to spend the weekend in Paris. Perfect for you. While you were in Tokyo two weeks ago, concluding an assignment on a fashion mongoose, you were given his file.

A key card that granted entrance to the penthouse suite was enclosed with the file. You slipped into the elevator and pressed the button for the 50th floor. The red light surrounding the button went out, and a bell sounded as the doors opened directly into the opulent living area.

The execution was quick. In a confused combination of French and English, you put on a heavy French accent and informed Grant-Taylor that you were a sex specialist sent by a friend to welcome him properly in the City of Love. He fell for it, a horny filthy man, without even verifying your claims. It was terrible how easily you could convince him to surrender over his belt with the threat of punishment. You were in his lap moments later, looping the belt around his neck and pushing till the leather bit into his wrinkled flesh. You pulled tighter and tighter, seeing the businessman's eyes widen in terror, clawing at his neck in an attempt to end the assault, violent breathy cries leaving his thin lips.

You smile as you watch the struggle leave his body. It will be over soon. “At least your wife doesn't know her husband was unfaithful, right?” You murmured this with mock pity, no longer maintaining the phony French accent. The authorities would declare it erotic asphyxiation for a half-naked man with a belt around his neck. As soon as his body became limp, you were off his lap and fled from the hotel room. You leave the space in the direction of the camera's blind spot.

Pathetic. You thought as you pushed through the revolving door into your residential building, keeping your head low as you made your way through the lobby and up to the elevators. 

Inserting the key into the lock and hearing the click, you withdrew the key but hesitated momentarily before rotating the knob. There was a slight temperature drop, which you're sure was caused by a window opening and shutting. You feel an energetic shift as tension builds on your shoulders. There was a visitor inside. You instinctively reach for one of the solid-steel spikes hidden in your hair, preparing to strike. But, as you proceed further, a soothing fragrance meets your senses. Cherry almond bursts mingled with dense and warm woody ambery undertones.

Instead of continuing with your original plan, you smirk. Exiting the foyer, turn left into the kitchen, grab a glass from the sink, and twist the cap off the whiskey. "You know, I think you have a death wish sometimes," you say into the night, pouring yourself a celebratory shot. Had you not picked up on the scent, you would have attacked. The sofa creeks and footsteps approach from the sitting room while the brown liquid stings your throat.

The footsteps stop, and the light switches on, illuminating the room. Soft eyes land on you. “How did you know it was me and not some creep?” 

You turn to face the voice, welcomed by the woman whose attention you’ve managed to maintain for over a year. A beautiful woman who honestly had no business being involved with you, but staying away from each other proved to be a difficult task. “I could smell your cologne,” A robust and potent scent. Some days, it would bring comfort, cocooning you in a loving warmth you could temporarily allow yourself to get lost in. Other days, when you felt exceptionally vulnerable, it suffocated you with the feelings you left unnamed. 

"Imagine if it had been some creep," you add. A giggle escapes as you bite your lip and catalog how to torture the intruder. If someone made the wrong decision to break into your apartment, you would have considered it a gift from the devil. They must have some pretty fucked up karma.

Shuri's face changes as her expression hardens. She scolds you, "Stop doing that," fully aware of how unsettling your thoughts are.

You scowl at her reprimanding tone.

"Where are you coming from?" Shuri was interrogating you about what you had done tonight, and you pondered telling her the truth for a split second. For the typical person, it was a simple question. For you, it was difficult to answer. You could have been down the street, or you could have been at the scene of a homicide.  It was unnecessary to keep your occupation a secret. Shuri was fully aware of the life you led, but your contradictory morality didn't detract from the feelings she'd developed for you. 

Her justification? Shuri was an avenger; she wasn't concerned with the petty crimes of human existence. It wasn't her responsibility if it didn't pose a threat to her people or the universe. The truth? Love. Loving someone makes you unable to see their faults.

Shuri had been through so much grief and pain that she was at her lowest by the time you arrived. You were an enigma she was trying to solve at first, having met at a gala while you were on assignment. Shuri couldn't stay away once the mystery was uncovered and she discovered the nature of your life. Letting a literal superhero into your world, Shuri falling for an assassin, the relationship was risky for both of you. Secretly, you believe Shuri was drawn to you because of your darker tendencies, recognizing characteristics she fought to keep at bay in you. 

“If you don’t want to hear about what I’d do hypothetically, you definitely don’t want to know where I came from.” There’s a playful glint in your brown eyes as you smirked, bending down to remove your heels. Shuri releases a long sigh that causes you to snap your head at her. “What? Does the mighty Black Panther have something to tell me?” You challenged, throwing your coat into the empty chair. 

The two of you stood on two different sides on the scale of humanity. Things are rarely just black or white, good or bad; instead, they exist on a spectrum of gray hues. The world is filled with nuances, complexities, and shades of gray that require more in-depth examination and comprehension. Killing is a primordial act. Humans have three basic instincts: survival, predator, and prey. Humans would live like savages if not restrained by the rule of law, morals, and ethics. It's what nature intended. It was a waste of time to try to be decent when you could just be good at what you do best, murder.

Shuri saved lives as the Black Panther while you ended them. Shuri had difficulty grasping the fact that you enjoyed what you did. The gruesome sight of the victim’s body makes the detectives feel sick to their stomachs as they come up with little to no evidence. Thrilling.

Some may consider it selfish for a 'hero' to turn a blind eye to the assassin creating chaos in the world, but in reality, no one can always be entirely selfless. So Shuri gives herself the freedom to have this, to have you. As a result, you allow yourself to feel for the first time in a long time. Yet you never let the romance take you away from who you were. Make you abandon your criminal behavior in favor of a comfortable lifestyle with Shuri.

After sensing your anger, Shuri moves from the opposite side of the kitchen to be closer to you.

“I understand the nature of your profession,” Shuri hesitates in her following words, recognizing you’re prone to shutting down whenever the conversation becomes confrontational. "I must know you're safe."

Her sentiments amuse you. "You worry about me, sweetheart,"

"Y/N, I am being serious. Every time you leave on a mission, you run the chance of never returning."

"I suppose I could say the same thing about you." You fired back fast. With so many unknowns, the Avengers could not adequately prepare for every potential threat. You were at least provided with a file including all the required information and resources. On most occasions, you could be perfectly prepared for what you were about to walk into.

The situation was risky, but what's the fun of being cautious? You have a tendency to be impulsive and easily bored. “It hasn’t killed me yet.” You were well aware that you weren't invincible or superhuman. You are just too efficient at your work. But even if protected, you weren’t clumsy; every movement was careful and calculated.

"Would you like me to wait till it does?" 

A droplet slides down your cheek as your eyes water, “Are you going to save me?" You ask, brows furrowed as you look at Shuri with pleading eyes. " Save me, so I no longer have to kill. Please, please save me," you sniffled, reaching out to wipe away the tears that had gathered on cue.

Perhaps the hero knew too much about you. Shuri sighs at your shenanigans, her face heated at your ridicule of her sincerity. "Stop," she mutters.

In the stillness, a manic burst of laughter rings forth. "Wasn't that what you wanted me to do?" You argue back, and the depleted sigh that Shuri lets out has you rolling your eyes. "You're taking away my post-kill buzz." You have a grimace on your face as you turn away slightly. You weren’t in the mood for this emotional connectivity, no longer interested in hearing how much the other woman cares for you. 

Nevertheless, Shuri is right there, caging you against the marble countertop and unwilling to let you detach from her. Shuri's affection for you can be overwhelming. Initially, your emotional detachment was a struggle for the other, who wanted to be let in. She was gentle, always clutching at your rough edges with the hope of smoothing them out, and her understanding and tolerance occasionally roused in you a wish to be more patient with her.

"Don't shut me out," Shuri urges, brushing her gentle lips against your brow. It took significant effort to overcome the impulse to shut down when experiencing emotional distress. "What's on your mind?" she questioned softly.

Her focus is intense. It always fascinated you how much power she could wield over you with a look that demanded your attention. The gaze you give back is enough to convey what's going on in your unsteady thoughts. With Shuri so close, you didn't want to continue your conversation. You wanted her lips on yours so badly after being separated for a while. "Begins with the letter K, followed by the letter I. Finally, it has two of the same letters." You wait for her to figure out the puzzle.

Shuri leans forward, leaving you barely a few inches apart, your back pressed against the cold marble of the island. “Kiss or kill?” She inquires, her lips brushing across yours, close but not touching.

A smirk etches on your features. “Don’t tempt me.”

“The temptress doesn’t like being tempted?” Fucking tease.

"Playing with me may be disastrous, darling. But I’ll spare you. I think you deserve a kiss." Shuri doesn't waste any time pouring herself into you; your mouths move feverishly, embracing the severity of your hunger.

Gradually, the kiss is no longer enough to satisfy the craving. Hands tighten around your waist, pushing you effortlessly into the cool surface, the stone on your thighs sending shivers up your spine. Still yearning for the sensation of Shuri's lips, you bend your head lower. Her hands tremble as she removes the button on your skirt, the discarded garment on the tile. Shuri's movements stutter as you bite onto her earlobe, your teeth clamping down on her jewelry. "You're so sensitive," you joke.

Regaining her composure, the woman slips her hand under the lace of your panties and effortlessly finds her way to your opening. Gentle fingers move inward, gathering some of the liquid that has pooled there. As the pads of her middle finger massage your clit with the accumulated moisture, you draw away from her mouth and let out a blissful moan.

The rhythm on your clit was subtle at first, with just enough pressure to get your breath catching. Shuri’s other hand tugs your corset down to thumb over your nipple before rubbing it between her index finger and thumb. You were both panting heavily in the intensity of the moment. Your nails pinch into Shuri's skin as you press your lips together and hold her sharp jawline. "Go down on your knees."

As the Wakandan falls to her knees, lustful eyes follow her every move. You clutch the counter's edge while your legs lay on Shuri's shoulders. Your stomach muscles clench in anticipation as you feel her warm breath on your core. Your pussy throbbed incessantly, and you're certain Shuri's hesitancy came from her fascination with how your juices flowed.

You have no idea when she will give you what you want. She then went in. Shuri used her tongue to separate your folds, causing you to gasp quietly, then spread you open with a long lick, ending with her mouth on your clit. Savoring the taste.

"Mon amour," you purr, resting your palm over Shuri's curls. As you move your hips slowly, your mouth falls slack. Once the pleasure becomes too overwhelming, you fully relax, laying back on the surface. Head dangling over the edge, a dizzying wave settles in. The rush is intoxicating.

She keeps sucking and devouring. Another glide, a deeper lick, and she comes up for air, only a few seconds missing the taste of you on her tongue before diving back in. When she brushed across the inside of your slit, her touch on your core made you whimper helplessly. You extended your legs wider and pushed your hips up for more, grinding on her face impulsively. Your body understood what it desired.

Shuri did as well. As Shuri grasped your ass with both hands and forced you onto her face, you uttered an involuntary gasp of surprise. "Oh, fuck," you exclaim. She was fully immersed in her task. Nothing mattered but you. Your lustful cries redirected Shuri's attention to your clit, which she licked rhythmically. The actions cause your stomach to spasm and deliver euphoric vibrations throughout your body. You're delirious and feeling so fucking amazing. Shuri has you in such immense ecstasy that you can hardly think about anything else. Shuri sank her face as far as she could, causing your spine to arch and legs to tremble —right there.

Your eyelids slid back as your orgasm rushed over you from head to toe. Everything raced as you felt your release land fast and heavy on Shuri's tongue. You cry out her name, and every drop of air in your lungs escapes, leaving you gasping.

As Shuri gets up, you lift your legs off her shoulders, and firm hands pull you upright. Between the orgasm and the disorientation, you're dazed, but your half-lidded eyes make out her form, and your hands go for Shuri's shirt, bringing her in for a fierce kiss. "You always make me feel so good," you praise, admiring the lovely face paint your cum applied to her.

"I fear I'm addicted to hearing you yell my name." As a result of her exertions, Shuri's voice is low and slightly harsh.

You smile as you attempt to regain your composure. "You're in luck. I plan on screaming it a lot more tonight.” Shuri unleashes an insanity-inducing growl in response to your words, which she only makes when she loses control.

"I have a surprise for you," You speak to her in a hushed tone as though it was a secret. Your expression becomes increasingly sinister. Something unexpectedly made Shuri ache.

With your legs on either of her, you sat slightly on Shuri's chest to avoid disturbing the strap waiting for you to climb. In your palm is a dagger you brought from Thailand. The gold handle is detailed and encrusted with amethyst teardrop crystals, while the silver blade gleams in the Parisian night.

"Beautiful, huh?" you say, admiring the handcrafted artistry.

Shuri’s brows raise, eyes trained on the object you held. "It's lovely, but I thought I warned you against weaponry in bed, my dear?"

You tilted your head, "When I warned you not to tell me what to do,” you counter-responded. “Anyway, that's not a surprise." Shuri opened her mouth to argue, but you signaled her to keep silent with a finger; she obeyed. You put the dagger between your lips and reach for a bundle of scarlet hemp rope. 

You don't ask. Just hold it up with a pleading expression. Shuri gives you a thoughtful look before finally giving in, her gaze flitting between the rope and the dagger. She couldn't deny it, but you knew she was always eager to try new things in the bedroom.

"Fine" was the only confirmation you required, thrilled. "Raise your arms and lock your wrists together," you command, and Shuri obediently complies. The synthetic material is woven into a handcuff knot. Imagining a future in which Shuri would allow you to tie elaborate knots in the rope that encircled her body evoked a primal sense of authority.

Shuri's breath catches when the rope is secured, and she experiences faint, painful sensations that heighten her awareness. Upon noticing that her eyes are closed, you smirk. You ask, "How does it feel?" to determine if she is at ease.

"It's good," she affirms, eyes fluttering open. You admire the vivid crimson thread that binds Shuri's wrist since it stands out against her complexion.

Tightly bound and 'helpless,' you and Shuri both know she has the ability to break free if she so desires. For the fun of it, you place the blade against her neck. "Are you afraid?"

Shuri swallows with her Adam's apple bobbing as her throat comes closer to the dagger. The woman beneath you remains silent for a few moments before shaking her head. "I'm not," she says clearly. "You wouldn't do anything to hurt me, and I know that."

It dawns on you how much faith Shuri has in you. You're a deadly assassin who kills others out of joy, with no remorse or conscience. Any rational person would have been terrified. It doesn't matter how brave they act around you; a knife to the throat will make all pretense of courage vanish in an instant. Yet Shuri's gaze is fixed on you, and she isn't reacting to the dagger you're holding.

Instead of being content with her response, you take things a step further, bringing your arm back and raising the blade above Shuri's head, but she remains unaffected by your actions, continuing to gaze with you. She doesn't even blink when you bring your arm down quickly, stabbing the pillow beside her head. Yet, with your chest pressed together, you can hear her heart pulse against yours. 

You bend down and kiss her on the mouth. The kiss is anything but delicate, full of fire and desperation due to the limited time around each other. Despite being restrained, Shuri mirrors your enthusiasm, her lips moving in sync with her intent. A moan escapes your lips as you pull back and lick a long stripe across Shuri's tattooed neck.

The blade is withdrawn from the pillow when you pull the handle. "This," you declare, waving the weapon in front of Shuri. "It's only a precaution. I'd like you to keep it for me, darling." You request, putting the sharp blade between the lips of the other woman.

You lean in close to her ear. "I'm going to ride the fuck out of you," you confidently vow, and Shuri whines. Her wrist flexed in the precise knot. “Ah, ah- no touching.” You reprimand, grabbing for the lubricant container, squeezing some into your palm, and coating the strap.

You gasp as you lift up and sink down into the shaft. In this posture, you had perfect control over the intensity and motion. "You look so gorgeous," you say, appreciating how she's pliant beneath you, waiting to be used.

When you direct the shaft to your entrance, you inhale sharply, feeling your walls flex to accommodate the length. You balance yourself by resting your hands on Shuri's shoulders and dragging your hips upwards, setting the rhythm. Every time you come back down, your gaze is fixed on Shuri, and a tiny gasp escapes your lips.

Shuri's admiration as she watches you indulge in your own pleasure turns you on even more—symbolic submission, yielding to you and your dark desires. "Do you enjoy watching me use you?" you ask, and Shuri nods, unable to react vocally with the razor blade between her lips. "I'm sure you do. Strong for the rest of the world, yet weak for me." Perhaps it was your possessive attitude, but it was pretty erotic when Shuri handed over complete control; her fingertips flexed, anxious to make contact. If she had her way, you'd be beneath her as she drove into you at incredible speed. The thought got you on even more, and you didn't stop thrusting down on her.

You're chasing your climax with a ruthless drive, your moans rising in octaves at the intense feeling. You let go of Shuri's shoulder, your fingers sliding into your scalp and yanking your hair till it hurts, the stinging exquisite. "Shuri," you scream, your voice never wavering. You keep repeating her name, louder each time, keeping your promise. As a reminder to her, even when she wasn't performing the job, she was always the source of your ecstasy. Shuri looks on as you unravel, sinking deeper into pleasure as the tip touches that delicious soft area. The rush is so intense that you pause, tightening around the shaft. "I'm so close, baby," you assure her. “I’m going to cum for you.” Her pupils are blown as she watches you, hips shifting slightly. You know she longs to be free. Soon. The classic sensation of your muscles tightening emerges deep within your core; you move at a careless but steady pace, chasing to release the tension. 

Your vision blacks out, and it’s almost psychedelic as a millisecond of tranquil, chemically-induced euphoria shoots up from the center of your body. It flows around in pulses so intense that they curl your toes. The tingling sensation coursing through your veins made you shake, and violent cries fell from your lips. Your body bucked reflexively once, twice, and the third time became a shuddering full-body spasm as you drew out the high. 

You hardly had time to come down before lifting off the strap, unsteady fingers working on loosening the harness so you could put your fingers into Shuri's warmth. After watching you ride her, she's glistening with arousal. Her response to you is almost immediate, arching into your touch while you curl your fingers, stroking a rough spot that will have her coming soon.

"When you come for me, I'll cut you out," you breathe, stroking your fingers in Shuri and pressing your palm against her clit. "Would you be able to do it for me, baby?" She nods once before throwing her head back against the bed. Shuri's walls constrict around your fingers as you remove the weapon, forcing her to remain silent, and she moans so loudly that the walls tremble.

"I missed your pretty voice," you say, quickening your pace, eager to hear more of the sweet melody. "Fuck baby, Y/N," she gasps, body trembling. Seeing you are wrecking her brilliant mind, purging her of anything that isn't you, is an electrifying thought.

When you realized that Shuri was about to break, you slid the blade beneath the red hemp rope, preparing to sever the material. Shuri extends her legs farther, enabling you to press in harder, losing yourself in her and caring for her. "That's it, darling, let go," you urge, knowing she's getting near.

You slide the dagger through the rope when you feel the first wave of wetness. Shuri's walls are squeezing around your fingers as she cums, shouting out your name loud and long with a mix of obscenities. Making it clear to everyone around you who was making her feel this good.

Sweaty foreheads pressed together as you breathe into each other coming down from your high. Shuri grins as she scoops you up in her arms and swiftly reverses your position, hovering over you. "You know you're wild," she chuckles, bending her elbows to kiss you. You sigh into the kiss, missing her sweetness. “Thank you for humoring me,” you tell her between your soft kisses. "I'm sure you could have gotten out of that."

“I’d do anything for you,” and you recognize it’s not just pillow talk.

"Would you like to take a bath with me?" you ask, your eyes heavy from the sedation of your climax. Of course, Shuri agrees, and you get up as soon as possible. You are running warm water and adding a few extra things: Epsom salt, honey, and lavender oil. 

You're seated comfortably between Shuri's legs, her mouth pressing little nibbles into your neck. Your manicured nail traces over the ink that has become firmly embedded in the skin of your beloved. These were the times when you could let your mind relax. You could get caught up in the moment and believe life was that simple. Except—

Your voice cuts through the silence. “What is it?” Shuri hums. “What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t want to scare you,” Shuri says, deflecting from the question. 

You stop, pausing your tracing. “Tell me,” you demand.  

She sighs deeply, the heat raising the hairs on the back of your neck. "I was simply imagining what it would be like if we were always this way." Shuri quickly adds context to her revelation. "I have no interest in domestic life. I don’t think either of us is suited for that. I only want you."

Shuri is waiting for you to answer in the quiet. You make every effort to comprehend her emotions. Love is a feeling that makes people happy, and happiness is the spark that draws people to love, and the emotion can take the form of people at times. Shuri wishes to be with you at all times. She wants to be happy with you. "One day, you'll consume me. You’ll be all I need, and then I'll want nothing else. And on that day, I'll say yes." 

You turn, spilling the water about as you proceed to sit in Shuri's lap. Her hands naturally gravitate to your waist. "Say it," you beg, and she knows exactly what you mean.

"I love you," the declaration always makes your heart skip a beat, even if you have yet to reciprocate. You bend your neck and pull Shuri down, kissing her until both of you are out of breath.

You let Shuri hold you throughout the night, and when she slips away, believing you're sleeping, she kisses your hair and mumbles, "I love you." 

The rising light gave the morning sky a pink hue. Given your circumstances, whether it was hours, days, or weeks, you and Shuri did everything you could.  Even if you awoke alone, the cut crimson rope and thoughts of the previous night are enough to lift your spirits. You grab your silk robe, tie it snugly around your waist, and head for the kitchen.

The envelope containing your next assignment was on the coffee table, where you had left it before heading for the penthouse last night. You take it as you walk into the, your energy spent from the night before, and you need to eat.

You select a croissant, set it on a baking sheet, then place it in the oven to brown. In the fridge, you take out the orange juice and the strawberry jam, leaving them on the counter as you retrieve a glass for the liquid. You take a crystal glass from the cabinet and pour the orange juice into it, and your gaze is drawn to the diamond pattern. That's how the day begins, basking in Shuri's afterglow, the delicate aroma of the croissant filling the air. This file is thicker than the ones you're used to. Callio has been tracing this person for a time now.  Uncomfort sinks into your gut as you hold the envelope. You're noticing details you didn't previously. It's not anxiety; it's a nagging warning brought on by intuition.

"Get a hold of yourself," you whispered to yourself. You make a clean cut across the seam using one of the spikes on your hairpin. You hold the glass again, ready to take a sip, as the contents pour out of the clean incision you made across the top, but as you read the name scrawled in red pen, your grip becomes unsteady, sending the glassware plummeting. It shatters instantaneously, the liquid spilling down your feet, but you barely react as your eyes scan the name once, twice, three times, hoping for a change; for the letters to suddenly rearrange into something else. Yet it doesn't, and the more you read, the faster your pulse becomes as discomfort takes over your body.

Shuri Udaku

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