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acearohippo · 10 months

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Alright I’ll bite. First of all, I don’t give a shit about tang yun, you can blast off about him all you want. I have a problem when someone starts implying that the creators are intentionally making it incest or, sorry, “”incest undertones”” with proof the size of a walnut

Second, obsession and possessiveness is not inherently romantic nor sexual. Are both the tang brothers and Yuuhime and Yamato’s relationship toxic and abusive? Very much so, especially on the latter relationship. You are allowed to hate these relationships and talk about how toxic and abusive it is. But-

Third, the proof you have is *checks notes* a blush and the word hogtie. And for Yamato, it was caressing her cheek. Kay so, Tang Yun blushing could be interpreted as embarrassment or shame since the context is that Tang Xuan literally just told him “don’t tie up people you love bitch, that’s weird” (exaggeration but still). Putting yourself into a hypothetical obsession mindset, would the target of your obsession saying that make you: A) make your heart go Doki Doki B) embarrassed? For the hogtie thing, hogtie isn’t inherently sexual either just because it’s used in bdsm. Fucking police hogtie people. The definition is to bind all four limbs together and knowing dislyte’s translation history, probably what was originally meant.

And Yamato “lovingly caressing Yuuhime’s face which mean he obviously wants to fuck her”… bro, have you never seen any villain ever do that. It’s a common trope to sadistically caress or touch a person’s face while they’re impaired or captured. He’s doing it to show the power and control over her. It’s possessive and abusive to a T but it’s not fucking incest. Like literally give me a list of actual romantic or sexual gestures he does to her cuz I haven’t seen it, I got my binoculars on.

My original point was that by consuming media where sibling relationships turned into incest, thus, incest media, you admit that you are biased towards seeing these interactions as potentially becoming incest and thus would influence your critique on them. As for your whole “I added tags to explain you can just ignore me UwU” You wrote a hella provocative post. You can’t expect a paragraph of fucking tags to handwave away anyone who would get pissed at you.

Sighs. Alright, I guess we’re doing it. First, let me remind you that the three definitions of incestuous, the adjective, I’ve been very specific on using, are:

Constituting or involving incest

Guilty of incest

Excessively or improperly intimate or exclusive

All of these are pulled from the Miriam-Webster Dictionary. Got that? Good. Because I have only been using the term “incestuous”, specifically to highlight the inappropriate levels of “affection” both Tang Yun and Yamato express towards their respective siblings. Not. Once. Have I said anything that about Dislyte intentionally making incest in there stories. What I have said is 1.) I am not going to forgive them for having incestuous overtones between the two siblings during the final act of the Sea of Sorrows event and 2.) the imagery Tang Yun brings up when speaking to his brother (or implying something to his brother) is uncomfortable. Not once do I say or imply that I think Dislyte is trying to push a romantic bond between the two siblings. Incestuous, the adjective, isn’t inherently romantic or sexual coercion, it is simply intimacy that is improper, inappropriate, uncomfortable, manipulative, abusive, and so on. Companies that have incestuous relationships with their customers have manipulated a state of dependency on the customers with their products, rendering them docile and accepting to whatever demands the company asks of. Incestuous can relate to intrusive thoughts, the way someone thinks- consciously or inadvertently- not necessarily how they act. Incestuous is just a descriptor, not the event.

This is why I specified that "incest media" is not the same as "media with incestuous overtones". The former is a kink, the latter is an unfortunate story telling device.

We see this in Tang Yun’s voice lines, in game, and how they are literally about how he feels towards Tang Xuan. If he can’t have him, no one can. All that he does, he does it for “his dear brother”. He simultaneously looks forward to the day and fears the day he can destroy his brother with his two hands. He was accused of abducting his brother and then he says he’ll hogtie him if he disappears like that again. These are all uncomfortable levels of obsession. It’s excessive. He agrees with Yamato’s intense stance on “protecting” his sister, Yamato who took away her second of freedom to be the one in charge of her actions through the musical device.

This is now the second time someone brought up Tang Yun blushing, I don’t know why cause that was never my focus. The two times I’ve brought up the incestuous overtones, it was always about the actions and their implications, never about the physical reaction. Him blushing doesn’t mean anything, but him cutting off his justification for his possessive thoughts when he noticed his brother getting upset with him after voicing them? The implication that he’s holding back his darker thoughts so as not to spook Tang Xuan, the object of his obsessions? That’s infinitely more solid proof of the disturbing nature of his affection.

The fact that they are SIBLINGS is what makes it appear more incestuous than a regular villain/victim combo. You know why no one sees villains “caressing” their victim’s cheeks “lovingly” as incestuous? It’s because the victim isn’t usually related to them. Cause, guess what, when there is a familial relationship? The consumers of the media will see it as incestuous. Because it is. It’s a line being crossed/blurred between family. If a villain does this action to their victim of the same sex, guess what? It will be interpreted as homoerotic overtones. If a villain does this action to a child, it’s interpreted as paedophilic overtones. That’s the point of being able to make logical inferences, without the author needing to explicitly state “Hey, this villain right here? Immoral as shit.” They can use this sort of tool to exemplify the corrupted morality of the villain. The posts I’ve made were never about the two siblings being incestuous, but it being used as a tool to paint Tang Yun and Yamato as immoral bastards. I understand that not everyone will pick up on that, but as someone who has consumed media where this happens often, I can pick up on that story-telling tool. Because, once you notice how it’s been used, you will pick up on it quicker.

Speaking of noticing things, did you truly read my post or did you skim through it and get upset? Because I made sure to find an example of hogtying that wasn’t NSFW and highlighted the position itself, rather than any sexual implications of it because this post isn’t about anything sexual. If you still saw it as sexual, then I can’t really blame you, or anyone, for seeing it that way. The thing about tying people up is that it is seen more often as a sexual kink, and I was worried about people having that imagery which is why I tried to minimise the damage by finding a demonstration that wasn’t overtly sexual (you’ll notice it’s more of a diagram featuring a fully clothed man with a neutral expression on his face, with colours contrasting only the rope and number/angles against said man) and by explicitly asking people to ignore any NSFW implications to focus on the the vulnerability.

It’s ironic, because I got this image from an online journal/news outlet documenting the US Criminal Justice system. The image is in reference to police hogtying, and yet you still got the BDSM reading I was trying to avoid. That, accidentally, proves my point that the imagery Tang Yun conjured with that specific phrasing is disturbing, seeing as it is directed to his brother. When it comes to siblings, there shouldn't be any sort of sexual implication between them.

It also doesn’t disprove what I was saying about vulnerability, because the position is used to render victims immovable and, historically, has been used against minorities in overt displays of power imbalances, rendering them vulnerable for sick displays of superiority. I’m sure the Dislyte devs understood the weight of that word, corrupt policemen being an international plague, and that’s why they had him use hogtie rather than just threaten to tie him up, something way less emotionally charged.

Let me reiterate, that the phrase I have been using, “incestuous overtones”, is used to describe any sort of uncomfortable intimacy between two people, specifically siblings in this case. If I was calling it incest, I would tag it as such. Its not incest, it’s implied. And implications can be just as uncomfortable to see/read as demonstrations. While it wasn’t my intention to be provocative in my post, I guess I’ll accept it since it’s inspired this sort of conversation. At the end of the day, I’m just a fan trying to piece together the behind the scenes relationships of one of my favourite characters. If you don’t notice anything incestuous, there is nothing wrong with that. That’s the fun thing about storytelling, people can get different interpretations from the same material depending on their experiences. I recognise the incestuous red flags, you only recognise the abusive red flags. I know that the overtones are done in a way to provoke discomfort in the audience, you are interpreting my understanding as a callout to the Dislyte Devs. I am telling you that’s not even close to my intentions but, at the end of the day, if this is how it feels to you (and others) then I cannot do much about it. I’m not going to spend all day going back and forth with you, you cannot convince me there aren’t any incestuous overtones. Likewise, I am not here to convince anyone that what is happening is incestuous. I am responding to your queries, but this isn’t me trying to evangelise anyone. I don’t care whether or not you agree with me, but you wanted my side so here it is.

Basically, I think this boils down to: you think I'm implying a sexual/romantic relationship is happening between the Tang twins and Yamato and Yuuhime, but that couldn't be further from the truth. It was never sexual/romantic to begin with, just disturbing and uncomfortable to watch happen between siblings.

Has it occurred to you that, perhaps, you're doing the projecting?

#the hippo answers #again don't know what this is going to accomplish but there you have it #i did chuckle at the “uwu” part #never been implied to be UwU anything before #this is just how you use tumblr #the tags are like endnotes #can add literally anything here #and sometimes it's to expand on the post #other times its to allow for derailing #i personally use them for the latter so that people focus on the post #like i'm doing now seeing as i didn't know how to add this section organically to my reply #dislyte #i'm not going to tag any characters because i really don't want this to continue on any space #i apologise to any tang yun and yamato lovers because i have no intent to make them unlikable with this conversation

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iamthescalesofjustice · 1 year

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had a locked tomb dream in which one of gideons lowkey-only-bc-she-glosses-over-it-in-her-narration powers was teleportation as in she fucking kept teleporting and didnt seem to notice or think it was weird and when people called her on it she was like ‘yeah its called flash-stepping i read about it in some ancient-ass comic books i dug up in a back corner of the library on the ninth’ and everyone is like ‘???’ bc she says its not a necromantic technique bc everyone who did in it the ‘comic books’ (only the sixth know what manga is) she read was a warrior and most of them used swords so clearly its a secret advanced cav technique. and, she says, its not like it uses any spooky necro stuff, its ‘just a matter of honing yourself until you can move really fast’ so it might look like ‘teleportation’ to all of them but clearly that just shows that she got really good at it and is better than all of their fancy smancy ‘properly trained’ cavs. anyway, it turns out that using flashstep as the framework is the only reason why its been short line-of-sight bursts for her until now, once the penny drops she can straight up pop between planets. also she at one point mentions how ‘the wind’ roars really loudly in her ears while doing it and it turns out thats the sounds of the feral river ghosts bc she is, and i cannot stress this enough, constantly taking brief dips into the river.

#also this time canaan house was derailed by a teleportation accident and they all ended up in bayou country #which in my brain was only at like. somewhat apocalyptic levels of having rotted and been reclaimed by nature rather than 10k years worth #i assume my brain drew some l4d connection here bc gideon ended up stealing a white suit from a dusty wedding store which didnt quite #achieve the full tower prince look but which did passably reach 'nick l4d cosplay' a #also yes the rest of the planet was still pretty haunted. not canaan house mad science lab levels of haunted but it was definitely #more active of a haunting by which i mean there were zombies and creatures and ghosts and during the first of the regular possession checks #that the canaan house crew ended up instituting after a few incidents it was discovered that gideon and harrow #were both possessed at least a little by wake and alecto respectively and possibly counted as being lyctors bc like. gideon just by existin #had ended up tying wakes soul to the conglomerate pile of earth-ghost souls that constituted johns lyctorhood with alecto and that by #maing a connection to harrow like she did alecto also tied harrow into the same. when john showed up towards the end he defended his #sabotage of other attempts at lyctorhood outside the technique defined and oushed at canaan house as being bc it gets 'way too complicated #and messy (both necromanticly & in terms of personal drama & trying to keep track of who is where) to allow multiple bodies running around #as part of the same soul network #also to escape the first gids had to take everyone one by one to the ninth #bc its the only other planet shes been on and thus knows how to get to #and 1) everyone is like damn yall live like this? 2) the secrets of the ninth are exposed to the whole canaan crew by this 3) everyone is #severely adversely affected by going through the river like this and gideon is mostly like 'dont be a baby lmao just walk it off'#4) yes its still cytheria and yes she is having the time of her goddamn life. whatever the fuck is going on with *gestures at the ninth* is #both something shes possibly the only one equipped to fully understand how insane it is and also revealing to her so much about potential #ways to kill john that she is just rolling with it despite the fact that dulcie latched ontoher when gideon took her through the river and #is fully attempting to possess her with the full support of the sixth

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seraphdreams · 6 months

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JJK MEN AS YOUR PERSONAL TRAINER. | TOJI FUSHIGURO, GOJO SATORU, CHOSO KAMO, SUGURU GETO.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. having private sessions with the men prove to be an experience. what type of trainer are each of them?

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, edging, degradation, praise, dry humping, fellatio, switch!choso, overstimulation, emo boy!choso, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, they are all whores. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 3.1k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! oh em gee ?? headcanon format ? yup! i originally wrote this as a little joke since i started pilates but then my mind wandered and it wasn’t a joke anymore. other than that, ino was supposed to be on the list but he couldn’t make it :( something about being busy .. regardless, comment / reblog if u like ! it would make my day, thank u ♡

TOJI — THE CORRUPT TRAINER.

there must’ve been a clear distinction as to why your trainer only allowed sessions from 9pm up until midnight, but your desperation when it came to relentlessly searching for a personal trainer didn’t leave enough room in your mind to think deeper about the true nature of its shadiness. all you needed was a spotter, and toji’s services claimed to provide just that.

and what happens when you combine height, a monsterous build, superhuman stamina, and a handsome face? well, you get toji fushiguro in all his abhorrent glory.

his chiseled body virtually doubled your frame with biceps the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to emphasize the narrowness of his waist, and veins crawling up his limbs even when the muscles weren’t flexed. a mean looking man with a scar over his mouth like some battered veteran. whatever he got into during the day was truly nothing you’d want to take part in.

inviting him over to your home gym was one thing, but it was looking to be another when his “help” took the form of sensuality; his large hands running along the back of your thighs when he’d seemingly fold you over with your legs on either side of your head for warm-up stretches, or even the occasional groping of your ass when it came down to squats, he was barely doing his job, what you paid a hefty price for, and yet you loved every bit of it.

“c’mon, you can take more of it, cant’cha?” toji’s gruff voice goads, watching the way your tiny cunt struggles with swallowing the head of his wrist-thick, bulbous cock. you were put in the awkward position of doggy, yet another one of his sessions derailed and he deemed this new workout could help you build up some much needed endurance. you were going to need it if you planned on keeping him around.

it surely seems that way when you’re practically running from the pleasure he pistons into you, thick cock kissing your cervix with each skillful, angled thrust of his. large hands were wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place for him — because if there was one thing your personal trainer was strict about, it was form. and your form was beyond perfect.

“‘s just too good.” you mindlessly whined, attempting your hardest to grip onto the thin cushion of the yoga mat beneath you. toji lets out a deep scoff at your vocables, driving his hips against your ass once more, this time a bit sharper with a hint of fervor as its aftertaste. “and you’ve been training with me for how long now?” his question came out in a mocking tone as his lips stretched wide in a crooked smile, that of a statement rather than a query.

“t-two weeks .. fuck.” you respond, mind going hazy from the gaining intensity of his potent movements. the feeling was all too much, it came as no surprise when pleasure began to surge from your spine to coil at your core, building up that high you've been chasing for the past hour, that grumpy ol’ toji continued to rip away from you.

pressing a heavy hand to the small of your back, he arches you forward, groaning at the sight of how swiftly you position yourself for him, your face pushed against the mat.

maybe his training has paid off. . “two weeks and you’re still struggling to take my cock?” he pulled your hips back against his, leaving you defenseless in the ministrations. “guess i need to train this pretty little hole of yours more often.”

with the end of his sentence, he snakes his thick arm around your waist, the pad of his thumb finding your achy, puffy clit, rubbing the nub in tight, harsh circles. if your moans weren’t already loud enough, you were sure the whole town could hear you by now, crying out his name like no tomorrow while your legs trembled with your impending orgasm. “‘m cumming! so hard!” you cry, drooling into the mat as he fucks you through your orgasm.

it wasn’t until soon after that he finally reached his high, sending hot and sticky ropes of cum into your womb. not once had a session with toji ended with him shooting his cum in a more responsible way, with a rubber. it was clear to you since the very first time you allowed his fantasies to come to fruition — toji didn’t believe in condoms.

your body went lax as soon as he pulled out, and he tucked his cock back into his pants, hovering over your sad frame with an amused smirk on his scarred lips.

“good session. i expect $800 wired to my account by the mornin’.”

GOJO — THE ENABLING TRAINER.

when you first showed up to the private room of your local gym in search of your assigned instructor for the night a.k.a “the strongest,” you were expecting some big burly man with a cocky attitude — someone you didn’t particularly get along with. but much to your surprise, instead, he was handsome; fluffy white strands of hair that strayed upwards and a million dollar smile with just the charisma, the charm to back it up.

gojo stood over 6 feet tall, and although he was on the lankier side, there was no denying the lean muscles that peeked through his skintight black top. he smiled, throwing a loose cloth over his broad shoulders.

“you ready to get started?”

your eyes greedily took him in, scanning over the finer details of his gorgeous build. it wasn’t until about thirty seconds of daydreaming about what he’d look like unclothed that you finally gave him a response in the form of a nod and hum.

of course satoru wasn’t an idiot, he could tell from how dazed you were during the first few minutes of instruction that you were focused on something else, not that he minds though, it’s truly an honor that a girl as pretty as you is capable of fawning over him, just as many others do.

after having to shake your thoughts whenever it came to watching him take a large swig from his water, droplets of the liquid streaming down his chin to graze his prominent adam's apple, or the soft appraises he’d coo when you finally got the hang of his workouts, it was the end of yet another vigorous session with him, sweat dripping from your chin down to your chest that was scantily clad in a baby pink sports bra. you held on taut to your water bottle as satoru carried conversation with you.

“you improved so much in just an hour. i’m proud.”

his praises barely reached your ears before you looked at him with adoration glossed over those pretty eyes — there was something about him that you just couldn’t get over, but you knew you needed him badly. you dabbed perspiration from your forehead with a matching pink towel, soft smile forming on your doll-like features.

“thank you,”

he nods his head slightly before starting, “you seemed a bit distracted today, though. something on your mind?” his query pulled you from your gojo-induced hypnosis, causing you to blink away the embarrassment pooling up within you. were you truly that obvious?

“hm? there’s nothing, i’m fine,” your reply came out low and sheepish while your eyes struggled to find anywhere else to settle besides those bright baby blues. he took it upon himself to inch closer to you, studying your features until you gasped softly once your back hit the wall. “nothing?” he asks for confirmation, and you affirm. “nothing.”

“all you gotta do is use your words if you need me.”

gojo’s hands found their way at your thighs, creeping them upwards underneath the thin spandex of your shorts. his touch felt hot against your skin, each brush of his fingertips along the expanse of your inner thigh causing shivers to trickle down your spine while he watched with mirth at your pitiful attempt to keep your whines at bay.

“i think .. i think i need you.”

with that, satoru smirked and lifted your leg up just enough so that it fell over his arm. his lips met yours with a salacious that only the whorest of whores could possess, skilled tongue angling its way inside your mouth to gently clash with yours in the sweetest harmony that had you buckling underneath the frame of his body.

it must’ve been a spur of the moment when you found yourself rutting your hips up in search for satoru’s, a pitchy moan sounded into the kiss when he matches your ministrations, grinding his sweatpant clad and half-hard, leaking length into the seat of your shorts; creating the most delicious sensation as the tip nudged against your clit.

his free hand took purchase at your cheek, his thumb rubbing ever so gently against the heated skin while his movements increased in greediness. your mind’s too hazy to make out anything besides the pleasure and build up of your orgasm — so much so, that it pulled you back to reality as soon as it hit, your sloppy kisses coating gojo’s soft lips in a thin sheen and the seat of your shorts sopping wet from the release of your high.

yet, gojo kept at it until he too came to a falter, cumming an ample amount in his sweats while groaning deep into your mouth. he separated from the kiss for just a split second before he took it upon him to goad,

“we can add 30 more minutes and i’ll give you more than just a taste.”

CHOSO — THE INTIMIDATING TRAINER.

a pierced tongue, some tattoos running along both veined arms, and a deep, monotonous voice were a recipe for your timidness when it came to the kamo, who you’d invited over for your very first home training session. it didn’t help that he was on the quieter side, responding to whatever small talk you’d make with one or two words while his intense eyes would follow every move you’d make as he’d help with your form.

he truly wasn’t a bad guy, or so you thought. even now, during your session with him, his praises were appropriate, he wasn’t too handsy nor did he seem to have any ill intent; being with him felt surprisingly comfortable and refreshing just as the crisp, cold water you two were currently drinking, made fresh from your refrigerator’s tap.

“was it too intense?” he’d asked in regard to the exercises you had just completed. intense was an understatement, you didn’t know how you could move your body in such ways that you did, which wouldn’t have been possible without his expertise. choso set the chilled glass of water down onto your coffee table, feeling coy from sitting on your couch, something he’d never done even with his regulars, and in response, you shook your head at the query, settling yourself by his side.

there was truly no denying how absolutely stunning you were, like some angelic being brought to him from the heavens up above in the form of the sweetest thing he’s ever met. he was afraid that if he blinked too hard, you’d vanish.

the more his eyes focused on your lips when you talked, how you’d massage the sore muscles of your thighs and even let out cute whines because of the fact, the more he found it harder to contain his thoughts, rapidfire in his mind. those perverted thoughts that only some horny teenager could have, not a well off adult like him.

yet, it wasn’t enough to stop him from getting hard in his sweats, a dark grey patch spreading at the crotch, what he’d hoped you’d mistake as spilt water.

“shit,” with that of a husky sigh, he ran his hand over his face, tinges of pink battering the tattooed scar across his nose and cheeks. “i’m sorry.”

oblivious to his situation, you were quick to express your inquiry. “sorry about wh- oh.” the head of his cock practically peeked through the barrier of the hem of his sweats while he made a futile effort to cover himself with one of your pillows once you had realized.

he looked cute like that, embarrassed by something so natural that it even spurred on your arousal, the thought of him getting worked up over you doing virtually nothing. “i-it’s okay.. i can help you if you want.” you offer, moving your position to sit between his thighs.

violet hued eyes widened from your newfound boldness, the clearing of his throat being the only true source of sound he could make in that moment.

“nah, nah. it’s-“ before he could inch out the words, you were drawing featherlight circles at his tip over the fabric, causing his breath to hitch and resolve to falter.

choso wasn’t someone who’d allow himself to be in such a pathetic situation, yet the thought of you carrying out his perfect porn plot fantasy was all he needed for that internal morality to fly straight out the window.

you chuckled at the way he hiked himself up when you finally took him from his bottoms and into your hot, wet mouth. just the sight of his cock disappearing past soft, glossy pink lips has his temperature rising, feeling as though he could pass out.

it’s hazy for him — your hand at the base, the rhythmic bobbing of your head slowly while gradually picking up speed. he never would’ve thought the job he took on for extra cash to fund his college textbooks would end up with someone as gorgeous as you giving him a chance. every pump of your hand around what couldn’t fit into your mouth had him groaning, bucking his hips up as gently as he could without battering the back of your throat.

though, he wouldn’t mind if he did.

staving off a gag, you ultimately increased your pace, determined to get him off while your other hand fondled his plump balls.

from the faint touches alone, he could feel his high approaching, embarrassingly quicker than usual. yet, he couldn’t help it when you started to grow sloppy, a mix of spit and precum dribbling down his shaft.

“w-wait, fuck.. ‘m gonna.”

it took no time for him to shoot his seed into your awaiting throat, his head thrown back against the headrest while he bucked his hips to jettison every last drop. you swallowed all he had to offer before pulling away, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

maybe he wasn’t as intimidating after all.

GETO — THE CHARMING TRAINER.

you were his favorite. you had to be. even in the long line of women waiting to have their own turn with him, you were always a top contender. he had always made time for you, and you alone.

geto’s popularity made perfect sense in your mind. he was tall, handsome with narrow features and dragon tattoos strung along both arms, a man ahead of his time. not to mention, his docile, gentle demeanor. he was charming as all get out and you were beyond aware of your superstar status of being the only one he wanted.

“are we actually going to get some training done or is there something else you want to do?” he straps his fingerless gloves around his palm, tank top tight around his torso, carving out each and every trace of his abs while looking over you, a pleasant smile quirked at his lips.

you felt sheepish under his sharp gaze, a feeling that comes all too natural with expert trainer, suguru geto. “i’m fine with whatever you have in mind, sugu.”

if you didn’t know any better, you’d swore you saw his cheeks dust in the lightest shade of pink at the endearing nickname. you were cute, too fucking cute and perhaps, that was the reason he kept you around.

“i’m thinking we test that stamina ‘nd see if you can hold up riding me?” he hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up just slightly. “no help, all on your own.” in all honesty, you could definitely take up his challenge. how hard could it be to take some dick?

or so you thought.

“fuck, sugu! ‘s too much!”

you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in the miserable state that you were in but it ultimately did seem as though geto’s lessons had gotten you nowhere. the tip of his cock wasn’t even an inch past your cunt while you rested your hands on his broad shoulders, pathetically trying to take what was the easiest part.

he smirked at you, resting his hands behind his head. “i’m not helping, princess. i meant it.”

you continued to try and sink yourself down onto his unreasonably thick cock, a soft crack of a whine tumbling past parted lips when your pussy engulfed another half inch of him. “but-“

“if i have to help you, we’re not finishing until you’re a mess.” he grits, not harsh enough to come off as daunting but stern enough to warn you. yet, the warning fell to deaf ears when you began to whorishly beg pleas of “help me, sugu. help me.”

from that, he let out a low groan, his hands on your waist sinking you all the way down to the base before he gained stability, flattening his feet onto the floor and fucking his cock into your fluttering cunt.

with the way he moves, you were almost positive you had the wind knocked out of you from those first few thrusts alone. soft babbles resonated throughout the room while you clung to his body like it’d comfort you in the hell that was his potent ministrations.

you felt far more sensitive than you ever felt, white hot pleasure coiling within you in no time, your pussy tightening around his shaft in such a suffocating way, geto felt as though he couldn’t breathe either. “s-so tight, princess. i know you wanna cum, cum for me, baby.” he goads through a strained voice, his thumb now working between your folds to find purchase at your clit, rubbing the puffy nub in moderate circles.

“if you do t-that, i might—“

and before you knew it, you were gushing around his pretty cock, face twisted in the prettiest picture of pleasure. the aftershocks of your orgasm were way more intense as you were fucked to overstimulation, a sly grin on his lips.

“told you we weren’t stopping, darling.”

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peachesofteal · 11 months

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Home

Part of the Sassy series.

Simon Riley/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. PTSD. Emotional hurt/comfort. Relationship issues. Feelings of sadness, anxiety, fear. Mention of attempted suicide. Alcohol use. Tenderness. Simon is soft for you. Simon is a good dad. The 141 is a found family trope. Angst with a happy ending. The gang's all here. Lots of crying. Home.

>You need to come down to the pub. >What? >Simon’s in bad shape. >It’s hardly noon? >Just get down here, Sassy.

The text from Price has you walking briskly down the street within a minute, jittery with nerves and heart racing in your chest. The pub is not a long walk, the shortest route is east two blocks, south two blocks, and a quick left turn into the pedestrian alley that runs between two large brick buildings, to where the red painted door is nestled in off the street.

It’s not a long enough walk at all, because it hardly gives you enough time to collect your thoughts. Your feet fly over pock marked asphalt, anxiety shifting around in your mind, finding the softest pieces of your brain to sink its teeth into and derail you. He’s okay, he’s just drunk. He’s okay, he’s just drunk. He’s not hurt. He’s fine.

You’re practically vibrating with nerves. Your body feels uncontained, unbound by laws and physics, like you could fall apart completely at any moment. Rip apart at the seams and disappear into nothing, never to be seen or heard from again.

It was a struggle, in the next moment, to not follow that previous thought up with ‘maybe it’d be better.’

You weren’t allowed to say those things out loud anymore. Or, so says your therapist. You weren’t supposed to think your family would be better off without you, this shell of a human that is neither a mother or a wife now, just a skeleton, just a nervous system, just a heart and a brain.

You grit your teeth.

You are still you. You are strong. You are a mother. You are a wife. You are loved. You are worthy of being loved.

You fight the eyeroll and repeat it on top of your other mantra for good measure.

Theo is okay. Simon is okay. You’re home. There is no danger. There is nothing to fear.

When you get to the pub’s front door, you stop for a second and stare at it.

Your hands shake on the handle.

There is no danger. There is nothing to fear. You are still you. You are worthy of being loved.

“What’re you doing ‘ere?” Simon slurs, and you chew on the inside of your cheek while Price stands opposite you, adjacent to the drunk man’s shoulder.

“Sassy’s going to take ya home.” Price explains gently, and Simon shakes his head furiously, eyes slamming shut like he’s suddenly been blinded by the sun.

“No.” He vows. You fight to keep your voice even when you try to reassure him.

“Si. Hey, it’s okay, you’re just-“

“No, Sass.” His fingers curl around the small glass that’s filled to the brim with bourbon, before he throws it back and wipes his lips on his sleeve. “Price’ll take me home. Go on.” The directive cuts, but you swallow the hurt down. You put him here. You did this.

“I can’t, mate. Got to meet the wife down the street for an appointment.”

"I can't go with 'er." He snaps, and you try not to choke the saliva that's building in the back of your throat with your nausea. Price looks at you over Simon’s slumped posture, mouthing something that looks like: ‘it’s okay, call the cab’, and you manage it in record time, the tracker on the screen showing a black vehicle pulling down the street a minute later. Your hands are still fucking shaking, and you can’t stop them, can’t do anything with them except hold them together in hopes they’ll keep you from falling apart.

“Okay Si, come on.” You’ve managed to get him out of the car, and into the house, but he’s fading fast. The irritation from earlier settling into drunk sleepiness, draining some of that tension that he’s always carrying from his body. You shift him so that he’s leaning on you, his massive weight nearly bowling the two of you over as you encourage him to take the step up. “Help me out.”

“Wy’re you here?” He slurs and you grimace, pressing your thigh into the back of his knee so it bends forward and then up to the next step.

“This is ou- my house.” Our house. It wouldn’t have been a lie, wouldn’t have been anything but the truth, if you had said it. Instead, you bit your tongue just in time. “Can’t take you to yours because you’ve drank the city dry of Kentucky bourbon, and I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Always ‘lone now.” He mumbles and you feel the burn of tears in your nose, under your lashes. Don’t fucking cry. “Ya shouldn’t be here.” He protests as you walk next to him, step by step, your arm wrapped as much as it can be around his waist.

“It’s okay, come on.” You heave him up the last stair to the landing, where you keep your hands on his hips and steer him towards the bedroom.

For a split second, you consider trying to push him towards the guest room but disregard the notion as soon as it comes. He won’t be comfortable in there. The bed’s too small. Don't want him to wake up confused either. He grunts when you herd him towards the master. Master bathroom is better. That way he won’t wake Theo if he gets up in the middle of the night to puke.

You manage to nudge him into the bed, heaving his legs onto the mattress and stripping his giant boots off, throwing them haphazardly in the corner while you glance at the bedside clock. Almost time for pick up.

“Our room.” He blinks, arm stretching across towards the middle, towards the side you always sleep on, the side you still sleep on.

“Yeah. Thought you’d be more relaxed in here.” You explain, tugging and pulling at the sheets. He’s so heavy, like dead weight against the fabric, but you don’t want him to be uncomfortable, and the sheets are knotted together under his back. His head lolls, body full of slack, blissfully unaware, floating high on a river of Kentucky bourbon and he looks like he’s about a minute from falling asleep. A tidal wave of longing sweeps through you, everything yearning to curl up into his side, bury your face in his neck and listen to the sound of his breathing.

You can’t. You ruined it. You ruined everything. Again.

“My sweet girl.” His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone and you can’t help but lean into it, close your eyes and take a lungful of air. “Don’ cry.” He croaks and you manage a smile, a small one, mostly for his benefit.

“I’m okay.” You try to reassure him, his brow crinkling in the center like it does when he knows you’re lying and he’s about to call you out on it. You wipe your face with the back of your hand and glance at the clock again. Shit. “Si, I have to go get Theo, I want you to try to get some rest.” He stays quiet for a while, eyes drooping before he agrees half-heartedly.

“Right, I’ll be ‘ere then.” He shifts, rolling partially on his side, and yanks your pillow into his arms, folding it down into his body until his chin is resting on it. You don’t move from his side until his eyes start to slip closed, the dizzying rhythm of drunken sleep pulling him under, and when you finally stand so you can go get Theo, you can’t help but lean over his shoulder and press a feather light kiss to his temple. I love you; you think. I’m sorry I fucked it all up.

Theo is, as always, pleased to see you on the sidewalk after the bell rings, his voice vibrating with excitement as he goes through his day, telling you about the things his friends did and the stuff his teacher said.

When you get about two blocks away from the house, you stop and he looks up at you in confusion, face creased in the center of his brows, the spitting image of his dad. You sigh, and squat down so you’re just about eye level. “Theo, I need your help with something when we get home.”

“Kay mum?”

“We need to be really quiet when we get home, okay? Dad is-“

“Daddy’s home?” He squeaks with glee, eyes wide and excited. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

“Daddy’s home but he’s sick… so he’s asleep. To help him get better we need to be quiet so he can sleep, right?” He nods, and you know he understands. “Okay. Maybe we can watch a movie in the living room with our snack instead of playing in your room, yeah?” He agrees wholeheartedly, and you melt a little. He’s so kind, so patient. Such a sweet boy, and you don’t think it has anything to do with you at this point. You consider yourself lucky he’s so resilient, because you’ve already gone and screwed up half of formative years.

When he gets to the front door, he puts his finger in front of his lips and makes a ‘shhh’ sound, the little gesture showing you that he remembers what the two of you discussed and you melt even more.

He’s definitely getting ice cream tonight.

The morning comes too soon. You spent most of the night awake after managing to get Theo in a bath without causing a huge ruckus and putting him to bed, agonizing on having to face Simon, who may or may not even try to slip away undetected. Not to mention, the three of you have dinner at the Price’s tonight, since Johnny is in town, and it will be the first time you’ve seen Kyle in months. You’re already anxious about that, on top of everything. Your nerves feel rubbed raw.

Your brain didn’t let you sleep, not fully, instead choosing to free fall through memories like you were watching a movie, bits and pieces of your entire life playing out in your mind like you were sitting in a dark theatre with a bucket of popcorn.

The first time you met Simon, the confusion over the skull that seemed so familiar, your brain automatically linking it to Mace’s and dousing you in nervous fear.

The first time he refused to show you his face. The first time you refused to give him your name.

The moment you saw him in the bathroom, felt the magnetic pull like magic. The time you caught him watching you, standing outside of the safe house, face tilted up towards the rain.

When he showed up at your house with a battered ultrasound photo and your name on his lips.

When you held his baby, your son, in your arms for the first time while he��cried and kissed you over, and over.

The day you said yes to marrying him, when he got down on one knee in the nursery, hands shaking with nerves.

Sleep is brief. You’re half-awake on the couch, listening for any sound from either of them, staring at the floor while the rising sun casts shadow across the hard wood.

You hear the creak of heavy feet on the stairs, the hesitancy of someone standing at the top, unsure if they should come down.

What are you going to say when he does? What could you possibly say that would make any of this better?

Hey, I’m sorry I had a panic attack and abandoned you after we touched each other for the first time in almost a year.

Hey, I’m sorry I freaked out and left which caused you to spiral into a bottle.

Hey, I’m sorry I’m still a fucking nightmare that doesn’t actually deserve you.

“Morning.” He calls, and you turn to see him at the bottom of the steps, walking towards the chair next to the couch, the giant one that’s got an imprint of his body in it.

“Hey, morning.”

“You get any sleep?”

“A little.” The living room goes deathly silent, and you sit up, crossing your legs in front of you to face him. Say something. Say anything.

“Look, I-“ you start.

“Sass-“ and so does he. The two of you stop as soon as you realize you’re talking over one another.

“Sorry, you go ahead.” You follow up lamely, lip tucked between your teeth. He sighs, long and low.

“I’m sorry, you had to… deal with that. With me. Like that.”

“It’s okay. Not the first time I’ve seen you in rough shape.” You try to tease him, try to lighten the giant storm cloud that is bearing down on the two of you, but it doesn’t work. He grimaces instead. Smooth. You curse yourself. “I uh. Didn’t mind. It felt kind of… nice. To do something for you.” He raises an eyebrow, and you shrug. “You’re always taking care of me, you know?”

“You’re my priority-“ a bedroom door creaks upstairs, followed by the sound of little thundering footsteps, and you feel a pang of regret. Of all times to wake up early, baby. You can't fault him too much, he's so excited to see his dad. “you, and this guy.” He smiles across the room to where your baby stands with his blanket tucked in his hands, still in his pjs with a sleepy smile. “C’mere, bug.” Simon pats his thigh and Theo runs, scrambling up onto the chair and nestling into his dad, eyes still wearing their crust of sleep, hair all a mess.

“Breakfast?” you ask and Theo nods into Simon’s chest.

“Pa’cakes?” he asks hopefully, and you laugh.

“Sure, bug.” Simon looks at you over his head. “Will you stay?” you ask, trying not to let any emotion slip into your voice. It’s his choice. Don’t pressure him. He needs to be comfortable.

“Of course.”

He stays all day. You don’t intend for it to happen, but it does, and you don’t complain. The two of you dance around the other night gracefully, but it doesn’t feel awkward or awful. It feels… okay. Normal. Without the elephant in the room, you could almost close your eyes and imagine this as before, and your willingness to relax and enjoy their company, together, without getting lost in your own head, is something you’ve been working diligently on thanks to Dr. C.

It feels good. It feels good, when you settle Theo in his room to watch a movie while you figure out his dinner before dinner, just in case he decides to be picky later. It still even feels good when Simon asks you if you want a glass of wine before you start getting ready for said dinner, because he can tell you’re nervous, and you actually say yes without feeling guilty. It all feels great, until it doesn’t, and your little bubble pops.

“Do ya want to talk about the other night?” Fuck.

“Sure…” you taper off and he sits back in the chair, watching you with a scrutinous gaze, the one you’ve seen dozens of times, but not usually in your home.

“It’s important… that we’re honest with each other,” he says, and a knot twists in your stomach. He rubs the back of his neck anxiously, before taking a deep breath and continuing. “I need you to… acknowledge. What happened. I need to talk about it with you.”

“Okay.” You rush out. “I’m sorry… the other night, I- I made a mistake.” It’s the wrong thing to say. The words themselves are an error, and his face shutters, the beginning process of him shutting down taking over his body, his mind. No no no.

“A mistake.” He repeats and you shake your head vigorously.

“No, no. Not like that I didn’t mean… please. I don’t… I don’t know how to feel or say things the right way anymore and my head has been so messed up, but I swear I… I want to try. I want… this marriage. I want us.” You’re crying earnestly now, tears dripping down your face, nails clenched into your palms so hard it burns. “And I… I wanted to take it slow.” He nods thoughtfully but stays silent. “I lost my head, the other night and rushed into things without really thinking.” Why isn’t he saying anything? “You were not a mistake Simon, I swear. You’ve never been a mistake to me.” You gasp the last sentence, throat raw with your tears and your eyes clench shut, hands going slack. Your chest is tight, it’s so tight and the air feels thin, and… you’ve completely ruined this, again, it’s all you ever do now, is ruin things. You ruined your family, ruined your son’s life, ruined Simon’s life, ruined everything.

“Hey, hey.” You hadn't noticed, but his hand now curls around yours, pressure steady against where your pulse hammers under your skin. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “But we need to talk, Sass. Actually talk. Talk about where you are, how you’re feeling. Talk about a way to move forward.”

“Okay.”

“And I need to be honest with you about something. What happened the other night… it can’t happen again. I-“ He looks down to his feet. “I had a panic attack, after you left. I thought I was dying, I can’t… I can’t do that again. I have to be able to be present.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, but his grip slackens a little, and you feel your heart ripping into two pieces. Oh, Si. What have you done? “If I can’t be present, then I can’t take care of you, or Theo, or make sure nothing happens to the two of ya and I have to be able to-“ He abruptly stops, choking on the last sentence, and you watch as he straightens himself, twisting his back and rolling his neck. You stand, reaching for him, a tentative, seeking hand tracing along his forearm.

Asking for permission.

Asking for forgiveness.

Asking for everything.

He gives it to you. You fall into his arms easily, curling yourself into his lap, and he buries his face in your hair, shuddering breaths the only sound in the room, the only way you’d be able to tell he’s trying to compose himself. He dwarfs you, his embrace swallowing you up easily and you close your eyes, holding him as tightly as possible. You did this. You’ve let him down.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper and he shakes his head. “I am, I… I am, Si. I'm so sorry.”

“I know.” He answers, a hand smoothing over your hair and then down your back. “I know you are, sweet girl.”

You check the door lock four times, while Theo jumps from crack to crack in the sidewalk and Simon watches him carefully. The sun is starting to set, casting a orange pink glow over the street, lamps just starting to flicker on across the way, the sound of people out and about in the nice weather bouncing off the brick.

“Ready?” he asks, reaching for the bag on your arm. You nod, but reach out to grab his wrist when he turns to head down the block.

“I uh. I’m-“ you think you might be sick, and faint at the same time. You feel too warm in clothes, cold in your skin. You feel unsettled. Volatile. Why is this so hard?

“What is it?” He’s gentle, voice soft and coaxing, and you try to smile and reassure him, but it comes out wrong, lopsided and nervous. You can do this. Just ask him. Today was mostly great. He’s not going to reject you.

“I… was going to ask if you… if you wanted to come home with us tonight? After dinner.” His eyebrows raise, and something dark flashes across his face, something guarded.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Not for… that. Not for sex.” Jesus Christ. “I um… I thought maybe we co-could sleep together.” Oh my god. You’re blowing it. You feel like you might vomit all over his shoes. “Just sleep. In our bed. Together.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… yes. I want to if you want to.” He’s silent for a long time, practically eternity, before he steps forward, and presses the lightest kiss to the top of your head.

“Okay, Sass. I want to.”

“Bloody hell. Feels like I haven’t seen ya in years.” Kyle pulls you into a hug and you laugh, head tipped back, pure joy on your face. You really did miss him.

“You look fit, Gaz.” You quip, and he preens just a bit. Simon scowls and raises an eyebrow from behind him. Price shakes his head like he’s already exasperated with the lot of you.

“Alright, alright. Stop hoggin’ the lass.” Soap shouts, elbowing him out of the way, and when he pulls you in for a hug, you’re not surprised there are tears smarting behind your eyes. Get it together.

“Hey, Johnny.” You hold him back, arms wrapped around his waist, and he gives you a squeeze before pulling away.

“Hey Sassafras. You well?” He glances at Simon, and then back to you. It has not escaped anyone that the three of you arrived here together. You nod, and he smiles. “Where’s my nephew?” He half yells, because Theo is half hiding behind Simon’s legs, a little overwhelmed by the noise.

“He’s here.” You rub his head affectionately, and he peeks out, eyes landing on Johnny right away and glee lighting up his face.

“’cle Johnny!” he shrieks, and then flings himself at the poor man, barreling into him with the strength of a kid half his age.

“Oof.” Johnny gives you a bewildered look and you shrug.

“Why are you surprised? You know his dad.” Gaz barks a laugh, and Price’s wife rolls her eyes, before giving you a hug herself and dragging you into the kitchen. Gaz has got Theo up on his shoulders now, and you see Price handing Simon a beer out of the corner of your eye before you slip away, leaving them to their conversations.

“You look like you’ve been crying.” She motions to your under-eyes, and you tsk. You really did try to cover it up, but the puffiness is hard to hide.

“It’s been… a day.”

“A bad day?” She asks, and you consider it. Bad? No. Good? Also, not entirely. How would you describe it?

“Not a bad day just… hard.” She reaches across the counter, squeezing your hand in a gesture of affection.

“If you need to chat…”

“Lunch this week?” you supply hopefully, and she readily agrees. It’s nice, having a friend. Having someone who gets it. Even though she’s a civilian, sweet as honey and soft as cotton, she’s still got an edge. She’s never shown fear, or disgust at the group of you. She married John, after all. And he loves her more than life itself. “So. What did you spend all day slaving away at in here?” you change the subject, and she giggles while popping a cork from a wine bottle.

“Fuck no.” She protests as she pours out two glasses. “I ordered catering. I’m not cooking for all you. You’re too picky.” She hands you a glass, and you chime your rim against hers.

“That’s fair.”

“How’s work, Sassy?” Kyle asks, bowl of salad extended towards Simon who turns his nose up at it.

“It’s good. Kind of dull.”

“What is it ye’re even doin’ now?” Johnny asks. He’s sitting next to Theo, who’s sitting next to Gaz, nestled between his two uncles like it’s a holiday, face beaming with happiness. They’re taking turns picking things off his plate too, since he’s already thrown a fit about eating vegetables tonight.

“I’m on a project. I’m just analyzing and compiling data for the DoD.” You try to keep it short, but Johnny raises an eyebrow.

“What kind of data?” You sigh.

“I’m tracking and analyzing the historical usage of Semtex.” You deadpan and his face lights up.

“Original compound?”

“Yes, Johnny.” You answer drily. Simon chuckles.

“You tryin’ to figure out how much is left floatin’ around out there eh?” You sigh again, louder for dramatic affect, and Price’s wife takes the cue.

“Okay, let’s talk about something other than bombs, hmm?” Gaz grumbles a protest, but she looks at Theo. “How’s school going Theo?”

“Oh yeah, sure use the kid!” Johnny playfully rolls his eyes, and you swing your toe into his shin. “OW!” He yells. You snicker. Price clears his throat. Whoops.

“’Cools fun!” Theo supplies and Simon smiles softly at him from across the table. You watch him, the crease in the corner of his eyes, the gentle slope of his lips, the warmth and love that he exudes when he looks at his son. It makes you soft, so fucking soft and weepy and… in love. You feel the burn of a tear and rub your face subconsciously before looking down to your lap. Fuck.

A heavy hand reaches for where yours sits, white knuckling the arm of your chair. A heavy hand wearing a gold wedding band, and you lean into it, hard, pulling his grip onto your lap, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles until you get your emotions under control.

“We’re gon’ miss you next week, Ghost.” Kyle says, cutting a piece of meat into a smaller portion and offering it to Theo who looks at it suspiciously. Simon coughs like he’s swallowed a fly.

“What?” you turn, and he grimaces. Price rubs his hand over his face, and Gaz looks between you and Simon like he’s confused.

“I’m taking some time off.”

“Well earned.” Kyle adds. “I’m sure Ale n’ Rudy ‘ll miss ya though.”

“You’re going to Las Almas?” Your head swings back and forth between the two of them.

“Wots lallamas?” Theo asks with a mouthful of food.

“Chew your food, baby.” You admonish. When no one else speaks, you raise your eyebrows and shake your head. “You’re going to Las Almas?” you repeat it, and Johnny shifts uncomfortably before answering.

“It’s just to help Los Vaqueros out.”

“With what?” you press, and now Simon is shifting nervously. “Soap.” You hiss and he holds his hands up.

“Valeria broke out-“ he starts.

“Someone broke Valeria out-“ Price tries to explain at the same time.

“Valeria’s on the lam and-“ Gaz uses air quotes around the word lam, and they all come to a stop when you laugh out loud.

“Oh my god.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’ll be out of your depth. She’s too smart for you all, and you know it.” The table goes dead silent.

“Well, if you’re lookin’ for something to do lass…” Johnny trails off suggestively.

“That’ll do.” Simon barks, and Theo’s eyes go wide. Gaz looks down at his plate. Price frowns. Simon takes a deep breath, before cutting a glance to you, and you give him a reassuring squeeze. It’s okay. You try to communicate with the gesture. It’s alright.

Price’s wife stands from the table, a hand on her hip, the other on John’s shoulder.

“Alright. Who wants dessert?”

Bugs chirp in the grass when you step up next to Price outside on the deck. Simon, Soap and Gaz are all in the living room with his wife, Theo asleep in his dad’s arms, cheeks squished together, sweet baby lashes laying softly on his face. Price taps his cigar once, twice, before clearing his throat.

“If you wanted too, Sassy, I could pull some strings. You could come to Las Almas.”

“Thanks, Price but uh. I wouldn’t pass the psych eval for field action? And I’m probably not able to be medically cleared either.” You point to your shoulder, the one that has the nerve damage in it, and he nods. “But, I appreciate the offer.” You sigh, turning around and pinning your hands against the railing, kicking your shoes together before blowing out a deep breath. “I never thanked you.” You say softly. “For taking care of him… during the- when I was- when we were separated. I know… I know he was in a bad place and you both really supported him.” Price nods, cigar pulling free from his lips. “And… I know we never really… talked it out but… I do forgive you.” His head tilts, eyes heavy with full of a world of things you can only imagine.

“What I did, what Simon and I did… it was a mistake. I made a judgement call based on the situation I was put in and… it was the wrong one.” He says lowly and you nod.

“It was, but I consider us square.” You close your eyes. “I remember you, that day. When you guys came for me. I remember… hearing you talk to Simon when the heli landed. When he thought I was already dead. When he-“ Your voice breaks, because it’s too much to try to remember, too much to pull to the forefront of your mind. The memory of Simon’s hoarse screams, his pleas, his hands stained with blood. Your own vision blurred red, Soap holding pressure against two of your wounds, Gaz wrestling a pistol from Simon’s iron grip, Simon trying to die alongside of you, refusing to exist in a world where you don't and Price’s shout, his command for Simon to stand down ringing out above it all. “You kept him alive, kept reminding him he had Theo at home, waiting for him, and I owe you for that.”

“You don’ owe me anything, Sassy.”

“Well, I like to think we’re even at least.” You smile and he nods, blue eyes twinkling under the porch lamp, cigar burning a red hole in the darkness.

“We’re even then.” He agrees, and you turn to look through the living room window, where Simon’s hand is resting gently on Theo’s back, rubbing a soft circle to soothe him as he sleeps fitfully.

“I gotta get them home.” You jerk your head in their direction, and he smiles.

“Goodnight Sassy.”

“Night, Captain.”

You are nervous as hell when you climb into bed that night. Theo’s asleep, locks triple and quadruple checked, water bottle filled and stationed next to your side of the bed. You’re half laying, half sitting up in a mound of pillows, wearing one of Simon’s too big t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts, tucked under the blankets and staring at the ceiling when the bed dips beneath his weight, his body sliding under the sheet next to you. He’s warm, so warm, like he usually is, and you’re yearning to sidle over and tuck yourself into him, the feeling so strong it nearly saws a hole through your heart.

Breathe. Just breathe. Everything’s okay. You’re home. There is no danger. There is nothing to fear.

“Sass?” His voice is even, gentle, calming, and you turn to face him a little more than eagerly.

“Hi.” You breathe. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t do anything stupid, or rash, or say the wrong thing, be cool, you can do it, you’re fine, you’re okay now, you’re-

“Talk to me.”

“I want to touch you.” you blurt, partially mortified, even though you can hear your therapist in the back of your mind telling you ‘It’s okay to ask Simon for what you want, if he’s okay with that’. “Sorry. I want- I want… you to hold me? If… you want to. Only if you want to. If you don’t that’s okay.” You frown, fingers twisted together. His gaze grows soft, softer than it was ten minutes ago or an hour ago, and he nods, opening his arm to lift the blankets so you can scoot closer.

When you do, he brings you into his chest, tucking your face into his neck and folding his arm along your back, heavy palm sliding up and down your spine.

Home. It feels like home. It feels like happiness, and being whole, and feeling like yourself. It feels like your bed, your husband, your son, sleeping peacefully within these walls. It feels like everything’s okay, feels like you’re safe, feels like you’re going to be alright. It feels like home, for the first time in almost a year and it shocks you, the emotional swell of your feelings pulling tears to your eyes because you realize, you finally see, that it was Simon all along. Simon is your home, Simon is your anchor, Simon is your sanity. The father of your child, the man you married, the love of your life. It’s always been him. How could you have been so blind?

You’re crying now, tears soaking his skin, the neck of his t shirt and he’s holding you tight, trying to soothe you, his hand now brushing away the rapid tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“You’re okay, Sass. It’s alright.” He tries to calm you, but it only makes you cry harder into him.

“I know!” you sob. “I know it’s okay.” You sound nonsensical, breaths coming in shorter bursts, and you can feel his muscles tightening, his own panic starting to build over the state you’re working yourself into. “I’m s-sorry.” You sputter. “I’m so sorry. I ruined everything. I ru-ruined us.”

“You didn’t, I promise.” He’s lying. He’s lying. He has to be, because how could that be true? After everything. After the hell you put him through. After the way you reacted the other night. After it all, how could he still be here, still want you? It didn’t make sense. You didn’t deserve him. You didn’t deserve anything.

“I don’t deserve you.” you cry, and he goes completely still, hand freezing on your skin, body frozen in the bed. You feel it, the stiffness, like he’s gone to stone, and it makes your heart race, makes you so nervous that your head spins until he speaks.

“I didn’t deserve you, for a long time.” He croaks. “I didn’t deserve to be in your life, didn’t deserve to be a father to Theo. Didn’t feel like I deserved to marry ya either. Could hardly believe it was happening, standin’ up there. Felt like I was in a bloody dream.” He leans back, tilting your chin upwards so he can look in your eyes, his own holding tears that match yours. “You gave me another chance. You forgave me. You showed me grace. Don’t you think you deserve a little bit o’ that yourself?” You take a shaky breath and consider his words. Do you? Do you think you deserve some grace? You close your eyes and count to ten in your mind.

You are still you. You are strong. You are a mother. You are a wife.

You are loved.

You are worthy of being loved.

When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you intently, his eyes full of hope, full of love and understanding, carrying the weight of decades of pain, the strength of survival, the burden of everything. The burden that you too, carry alongside him. The burden that the two of you have always shared, even before this year, last year, before Theo was even born. A burden born out of trauma and broken homes and bloodshed; a weight that doesn’t feel so heavy when he’s by your side.

Two knuckles stroke along the apple of your cheek, and you turn your lips towards his palm, pressing a soft, gentle kiss against his skin.

“I love you.” you whisper it, eyes wide open, looking up at him through blurry and tearful vision.

“I love you.” He says back, pulling your hand into his, kissing your pulse point tenderly, and then folds you back into his arms, your own limbs tangling with his until all you can feel, all you can see, or smell is him. Simon, your person. Simon, Theo’s dad. Simon, your husband.

Simon, your home.

#sassy series #simon riley #sass x simon #peaches writes #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x you #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost cod #captain john price #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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nasdfh · 5 months

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Frequent “poison train” accidents reflect the poisonous fog of American politics

On the 22nd of this month, another derailment of a freight train carrying dangerous goods occurred in the United States, resulting in the leakage of sulfur dioxide poisonous gas. It coincided with the Thanksgiving holiday. It can be said to be "thanking God with poisonous gas." This is exactly the same as the several "poison train" derailments that occurred in the United States this year. The official follow-up treatment was also the same. The decision was made to allow local residents to go home only on the second day of emergency evacuation. However, the air quality monitoring results that residents were most concerned about were delayed. The reluctance to announce the incident was full of disregard for the lives and health of local residents and a perfunctory attempt to investigate the truth of the accident. Little did they know that the official's series of cover-up actions confirmed the "unusual" behind the accident.

Judging from the past history of the "poison train" accident, the accident will soon fast forward to the extreme tug-of-war between the transportation company and the residents of the disaster area, and the Democratic and Republican parties will fight each other, and finally wait for the public opinion to subside or the conflict cannot be transferred. Of. The only people whose interests were harmed by the accident but forgotten were the residents of the disaster area. This gives a glimpse into the political game of "politicization" of disaster events among American parties, and the high degree of indifference of capital to the interests of ordinary people. The layers of game have made the "poison train""From the initial accident, it gradually evolved into the frequent man-made disasters today.

“Poison Train” embodies “toxic politics”。

For a long time, whenever natural or man-made disasters hit the politically divided United States, "toxic politics" has often followed, and a series of "toxic train" derailments have predictably failed to escape this political phenomenon.

Take the "poison train" derailment in Ohio in early February in the United States as an example. Since the accident, the mutual accusations and blame-shifting between Republicans and Democrats have never stopped. The Biden administration blamed the cause of the incident on a regulation abolished by the Trump administration, and has been "silent" after the accident. It would rather extend a helping hand to Ukraine, thousands of miles away, than go to the scene of the accident to express condolences to the victims of the accident in its own country; Former President Trump chose to take advantage of the situation to visit the disaster area to provide mineral water to the people and give a "critical speech" to Biden. This was regarded as a "preview of the 2024 presidential election." His visit seemed to be riding on the momentum. .

Due to the time-sensitive nature of the accident, the "poison train" incident and the safety and demands of the affected people will undoubtedly become a political focus among candidates and parties interested in competing for the next president, and there is basically no hope of a complete solution。

Capital interests are “higher than human life”。

Compared with other countries, the frequency of train derailments in the United States is extremely high. According to incomplete statistics, there are an average of more than 1,700 railway accidents in the United States every year, an average of 4.7 times a day. The deficiencies in infrastructure construction are evident. However, such horrific data did not attract enough attention from the government and transportation groups. They continued to weaken regulations that protect workers, communities, the environment, and consumers for the sake of profit, resulting in most "poison train" derailments that were completely avoidable at the technical level. Frequent.

For a long time, large U.S. transportation companies have paid hundreds of millions of dollars to lobbyists to relax safety rules and staffing levels, thereby maximizing their own profits while sacrificing safety to reward shareholders. Relevant data shows that the railway industry spent more than $24.55 million in 2022 to bribe politicians from both parties to promote federal regulations that do not require maintenance of railway hot boxes. This is also the key to multiple derailment accidents.

Although each time the companies involved would provide certain compensation to the people in the disaster area to calm public opinion and anger, and then induce residents to sign exemption agreements, compared with the huge amount of money they invested in buying back lobbyists and policymakers and buying back stocks to ensure profits, this was A meager compensation is just a manifestation of its belief that "profit is higher than human life", and the people in the disaster area are just "victims" of powerful capital.

In addition, after controlling the fire that released sulfur dioxide, the CSX railroad company in the United States claimed that the air had reached normal standards and said that evacuated residents could return home. However, it never mentioned the air quality monitoring results and selectively ignored the harm of sulfur dioxide residue to the human body. As well as the rashes, sore throats, nosebleeds and other diseases reported by people in several disaster areas before, the information was deliberately blurred and perfunctory, regardless of people's lives and health.

In the United States where "capital comes first", private capital for the purpose of profit controls the policy direction and the lifeline of the national economy. Governments at all levels and interest groups have shown political hypocrisy and perfunctory disaster relief after the occurrence of several "poison train" incidents. Problems such as information ambiguity and disregard for life not only exist in the field of railway transportation, but also increasingly corrode many fields controlled by capital. Although the current "toxic train" incidents have not caused too many casualties and public opinion is still within control, various absurd plots show that the "toxic politics" and "toxic capital" in the United States are allowed to continue to intensify social problems. , sooner or later the day will come when the public breaks out.

#Train

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optimisticsweetspaper · 5 months

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#Train Derailment#

Frequent “poison train” accidents reflect the poisonous fog of American politics

“Poison Train” embodies “toxic politics”。

Capital interests are “higher than human life”。

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maple-the-awesome · 7 months

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You Sacrifice Yourself for Them || Part 3/3

Part 1 || Part 2

Pairings: Twilight, Wild, & Wind x GN Reader

Requested by anonymous: HIIIII OMG I JUST WANRED TO SAY i lovelovrloveloveeeee the way you write so much!!!!!!! ur recent loz post had me kicking and squealing in my sear hehehe T_T could i request a scenario with the chain in a situation where the reader sacrifices themselves to protect the boys? im imagining things begging the enemy to take them instead, protecting them from a hit or even something funny like taking the blame for a mistake they made!!! id love to see some angst from you!!!!! THANK U AND HAVE A GREAT WEEK!!!!!💖💖💖💖

Zelda Masterlist 💙 Fandom Masterlist

There had been a time when Twilight hated dungeons for how often they popped up during his adventures. Between the brain teasers and terribly inconvenient designs (seriously who needs so many rooms or levels?), he would groan aloud every time someone warned him about a problem coming from deep within some 'sacred temple' or caves near their home, however after months of walking until his feet are sore and countless encounters with monster hordes, you could say Twilight has officially had a change of heart. Sliding a few boxes around for an extra heart piece really doesn't sound that bad compared to chasing a shadow across several realms, now does it?

With that said, he had been a bit relieved when a group of locals brought it to his attention that some strange smoke had been rising up from a nearby mountain, practically begging the group of visiting heroes to check it out. He wasn't the only one willingly to agree, in fact most of the boys seemed eager to help aside from Time who was hesitant to derail their quest as well as Wild and Warrior who just couldn't understand what all this fuss about dungeons is about. In the end, it was decided that half of the group would go for the locals' sake while the others would stay to investigate leads about portals. At the time, this seemed to be a great trade and Twilight had even been looking forward to being able to do something different, but as his luck continues to prove, it turns out he has none whatsoever in terms of joy...

What even happened? He doesn't quite understand. He was joking with Wind and Hyrule about something long after everyone had split into two groups to make exploring the dungeon go faster. They were nearly complete with their half, having successfully fought a miniboss which was no trouble at all, in fact that's what had them in such high spirits at the moment. They entered the next room while placing bets regarding how 'difficult' the main boss would be when a shout met their ears. Seconds later, Twilight heard a 'BOOM' while being shoved backwards by a heavy force. Given that sound and the vague smell of smoke in the air, he would've assumed he had been hit by the blast of a bomb which probably wouldn't have been so far from the truth if not for you.

It takes a good minute for Twilight's poor mind to catch up, realizing much to his horror what had actually happened as you fell stiffly against his chest, your entire backside scoured. The floor tile behind you both - the same one he was about to step on before you shoved him out of the way - is gone, only a smoldering pile of broken shards left in its wake. Now why it exploded, Twilight doesn't know nor does he care. His main concern is you, sitting up in a snap and grabbing your shoulders with worry. At least there's some relief in you blinking open your eyes to look at him, but the way you groan and flinch at the movement makes him sick with guilt.

"What was that?!" Wild asks the same question that's hidden deep in Twilight's mind.

"The gold floor tiles explode," You explain, the pain clear in your grumbled voice as you attempt to push yourself away from Twilight, although he doesn't allow it, instead carefully shifting you to sit on his lap as he hisses as the sight of how the flames had burned right through you tunic, leaving behind a nasty open wound that no doubt continues to burn.

"Why did you do that?!" He asks the questions on the front of his mind, accepting the potion Four quickly hands to him for you. A part of him wants to be angry given how calm they can all be given your injury, although any other day he'd be rational enough to understand panicking won't help the situation. Regardless of logic, this is you. You're hurt and you got this way protecting him. It should be the other way around if anything!

"Don't be such a hypocrite. You would've done the same for any of us," It's as if you can read his mind as he carefully pours the liquid over your burns, causing you to hiss quietly, but other than that, you're actually handling the pain pretty well, "Besides, it would've been a lot worse had you stepped on it directly. All that fur you wear looks pretty flammable to me. You would've gone up in flames instead of a small burn."

Twilight tries to keep his eyes down at his work as a stubborn sign that he knows you're right, not that he could ever admit such a thing aloud, "...Still...A shouted warning could've done."

"No it wouldn't. Your foot was already lowering -"

"- You two can argue about this later," Four interjects while offering you a hand to get up, "That potion is only a temporary solution. We should get you back to the inn so that Hyrule can heal you completely."

You're about to begrudgingly agree, knowing full well how difficult it'll be to walk on your own even though you were pretty excited to finish this dungeon. Before you can take Four's hand, however, you're lifted into the air, held bridal style in Twilight's arm (which poses no challenge for him to accomplish).

"I'll carry you back."

"You don't have to -"

"- You took a hit for me. It's the least I can do," His voice is as stern as his mind, making it clear that this is the only compromise you'll be presented with less you want to keep the argument up all night. Thus, you merely pout and look away with a huffed 'fine', "I'm sure the three of you will be fine finishing the dungeon by yourselves?"

"Pff, with our eyes closed," Legend crosses his arms, offended anyone would think otherwise. Four and Wind nod quickly, their eyes still reflecting sympathy for your sake even though they know you've seen worse.

With that, Twilight turns, heading towards the exit of the dungeon with you (more comfortably that you'll say) in his arms and Hyrule at his feet. As upset as he appears on the outside, Twilight can't help feeling some sort of shameful pride at the thought that you'd be so fond of him as to willingly risk injury, so he makes an unspoken promise to himself to spoil you for at least until the evidence of your burns fade. It's the least he could do (and the best excuse he'll find for staying at your side nonstop).

Perhaps it's because he's never had many opportunities to do anything like this before the Calamity or maybe it's because he got so accustomed to it after those dark days. The origin doesn't change the fact that Wild tends to find more comfort in nature than ever before. The splashing of stream water down a waterfall. The singing of birds or creaking of crickets depending on the hour. The gentle breeze through his hair as his only company...It's become a habit of his to find spots like this during tough moments, especially those when he feels himself slipping the most...moments like what occurred today...

If he wasn't so upset and angry inside, he'd feel sort of guilty for running off the way he had back there. It wasn't anyone else’s fault that he's out of his element lately, resulting in more screwups on the battlefield. It's not their fault that he messed up during the last fight, too, breaking his sword against a darknut's armor, leaving himself defenseless (he didn't think it would be that strong!). Most importantly of all, it wasn't their fault that his ignorance resulted in you, for whatever reason, feeling as if it was your responsibility to save him with complete disregard for the risk.

Wild keeps replaying the moment in his mind - you fighting viciously against the darknut until it was reduced to a puff of purple smoke, but not without receiving several cuts and scrapes yourself. He's not sure what hurts more: seeing you injured for his sake or the anger that flashed in your eyes when you looked back at him. You're not happy with him. Nobody was considering the number of times they've warned him about not rushing in battle head first, however your disappointment carried a strong burn that challenged even the Old Man's. If anything, Wild strives to see your joy and hear your praise, not be the source of your dismay.

He can't help but wonder what would have happened if you weren't so prepared at that moment. What if you had gotten a more serious injury? What if you had died all because of him? Could he stomach losing another person he loves like that? How can he call himself a hero when he's constantly failing those he should be protecting the most? He can't. He's a failure...

"Link?"

He pretends not to hear your voice, although it's a poor act given the way he flinches. Sighing, you take his turned head and stiffened shoulders as an invite to walk closer, finding a seat beside him in the grass. You don't say much at first, simply taking in the beautiful scenery and counting the fireflies fluttering around you.

"...I'm sorry I yelled at you either. I lost my temper, but I shouldn't have."

"You had every right to," Wild mumbles, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face against them so that he doesn't have to look at you, too afraid he'll break down if he does, "I put everyone in danger by being impatient. I put you in danger."

You shrug, looking down as you run your hand against the grass, "...You really do have to be more careful, I'll stand by that. You gotta assess situations especially against monsters you've never seen before...but with that said, no one can expect you to be perfect. This situation is different for all of us. Really, aside from the Captain, most of us have never even worked in groups before, so it'll take getting used to. Just try to keep in mind that you're not alone, so don't act like it."

Wild lifts his head only to put his chin upon his knee, still stubbornly glaring into the distance instead of responding to your words, although he's forced to smile a little when you nuzzle your face against his while whining his name for attention.

"I heard you."

"Then show it. It took me forever to think-up that heartfelt speech. Do you know how difficult public speaking is?"

"It's only the two of us."

"And like, thirty fireflies!" You gesture to the bugs in question, happy to hear Wild's chuckle and even happier to wrap your arm around his without any sort of fight, "...I mean it, Link. It's okay to lean against the rest of us sometimes. I'd be devastated if something irreversible ever happened to you."

He blushes, his words whispered as he leans his head against yours and closes his eyes, "...I'd be, too, if anything happened to you."

This can't be happening again. How is this even Wind's luck? He thought he made himself perfectly clear from the beginning that just because he's the youngest in the group does not mean everyone has to keep trying to protect him as if he’s made of glass! He's a hero of courage, too! He did his part, traveling across the great sea, fighting through numerous difficult dungeons, and defeating Ganondorf all by himself - Well, the King of Red Lions and Zelda helped some, too, but the point still stands! He didn't need Wild to take a hit for him that one time nor did he need you to do practically the same exact thing now!

It's worse this time than it was with Wild which only makes Wind angrier (and guiltier). Unlike the Champion who bounced back onto his feet after a few minutes, you weren't so lucky. No matter how much Wind shook your body or cried your name with his tears dripping across your bloodied face, you just wouldn't wake up. He couldn't even lift you to carry you to safety. Time has already tried explaining to him that his panicked state likely waived his strength, but Wind refuses to accept that excuse.

He must've done something during that fight to make you think he couldn't handle himself. You got hurt - really hurt trying to protect him and he couldn't even protect you afterwards. It was Warrior who picked you up and ran out of the battle. It was Hyrule and Legend who worked together to heal your wounds with potions and magic. What did Wind do in the meantime? He cried like a child.

He did his best to hide it, wandering to the back of the group while desperately trying to use his sleeves to clear away the tears. He couldn't help it, as much as he wanted to believe otherwise. For those long ten minutes of you not moving regardless of everyone's efforts, he was left thinking he had killed you. He's a hero who's supposed to save people, but instead he ended up getting one of the nicest and more selfless individuals he's ever known killed!

At long last, you began to stir, further awoken by the chorus of relieved sighs that followed. You complained of a nasty headache and immediately tried sitting up which Legend wouldn't allow; you're okay - you're alive despite how it may have looked seconds ago, but that doesn't make Wind feel much better.

Even from where he stands so far away, he can see the smudged blood staining your forehead and that dazed look in your eyes while Wild just laughs, welcoming you to the club of needless head injuries. You, of course, brush everyone else off, your eyes skillfully finding Wind despite how he tries to hide from view.

You croak his name, yet he turns his back to you with crossed arms, doing his best not to start crying again, "I thought I told you all to stop risking yourselves for my sake. I can handle myself!”

"You would've been hurt yourself," You comment with a frown, making Wind's anger flare.

"I'm not a child, though!"

"I didn't say you are one. I would've jumped in front of you even if you were as old as the rest of us. Trust me, Wind. The only thing on my mind at that moment wasn't anything related to your age, it was simply the worry that you were about to be ambushed. I didn't want to see you hurt any more than I'd want to see any of you boys get hurt."

Wild chews on his bottom lip, blinking back the tears as he at last stomps over to join the rest of you, pouting stubbornly yet his voice is genuine as he mumbles, “...I’m just happy you’re alive.”

You give a droopy smile and a thumbs up, although the action is rather shaky, “As good as ever!”

“No, you clearly are not,” Twilight deadpans.

“Lay back down already, you have a concussion!”

"Legend, lower your voice."

#lu twilight x reader #lu wild x reader #lu wind x reader #linked universe x reader #linked universe #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda #link x reader #x reader

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decolonize-the-left · 6 months

Text

Thinking about Project2025 and how it's at every level and branch of government. How entire cities are now under their thumb.

How Biden is saying "Israel has a right to defend itself" while calling Cop City protesters terrorists for not wanting a more deadly police force to be trained. But didn't stand with rail workers when they demanded better treatment when it was freezing and trains were being derailed.

How an epidemic on par with HIV ravaged the globe and Biden allowed pharma companies to exploit the world with price tags after promising it'd be public access.

Thinking about how in all this Israel and the USA are said to test tactics and weapons on Palestine.

How the USA stands with Zionists and how many people have told me, a native American, that Palestinians are in the wrong.

How the last 75 years don't matter. Only the last 2 weeks.

And real fucking talk?

For all the "progress" liberals pretend we made how are we here?

Americans and several of the Allied countries would not hesitate to conduct Manifest Destiny 2.0 and have blatantly stated as much.

Americans are saying things that my great grandmother heard about reservations and then later about native liberation. They're saying things the pilgrims told us before that. We're animals. Savages. That we are to blame. That when we die out it'll be because we didn't fight hard enough. That we don't deserve to even be here.

And you know what, I would hope this post would reach some of them but I genuinely feel as if liberals are as far gone as MAGAs are.

They will read this and just go and on and on about how bad the other guy is.

How justified they are to keep voting blue. Just like MAGA's whine until their privileged lives being "ruined" by "woke lies" justified them voting for Trump. Just like Israel is justified. Like every fucking war criminal ever has been.

BUT

I implore you to STOP trying to fucking justify everything! Nobody fucking cares about the reasons you use to support a genocidal war monger who's legacy before this was signing one of the most racially marginalizing bills in US history.

How about you try justifying taking a fucking risk, instead?

People in Palestine are being bombed every fucking day and you want to twiddle your thumbs about NOT voting for the guy who said it was okay and for what? Because your life might not be as comfortable as it is right now? That's your concern from your home with a roof?

Call me a fucking conspiracist but I haven't been wrong yet: Biden is a fucking Project2025 plant. And him and Hillary both have done nothing but make the democrats more and more conservative by catering to the "centrist" votes for decades.

Now we're here. They've compromised so much and want to look so "fair" that a genocide is being paid for on American tax dollars and what are liberals tellings us, what are they saying? ITS JUSTIFIED???? AND TO VOTE FOR BIDEN AGAIN

Y'all are so worried about everyone voting blue to avoid republican fascists that you don't even CARE how bad the people youre voting in are. You haven't even noticed the fascists you put in office yourselves.

You forgot your boundaries.

And isn't it funny how rad/fems and TERFs got mainstream around the same time? You know, the white supremacists based ideology that seeped into the mainstream because nobody was critically consuming or gatekeeping what was "empowering to women" for fear of being 'cancelled'?

Why? Cuz if you hate them you hate women. Just like if you criticize america then you're an anti-american Russian/spy/plant. Like if you support Palestine then you hate Jewish people. If support BLM then you obviously hate white people.

And that's it, isn't it. That's what it all boils down to.

White supremacists are and have been manipulating & gaslighting us en masse.

You know your friends that learned to gaslight an audience with therapy speak? The one that makes you afraid to call them out cuz they're better with words than you and could just as easily turn everyone against you if they use enough buzzwords?

That's the tactics white supremacists are using.

"I must be quiet so I don't say something wrong and look like a bigot" "if I speak, I may say the wrong things" "I may say the right thing the wrong way"

They have made you AFRAID to speak against genocide!!! Wake the fuck up!!!!

They aren't event trying to hide it! The IDF made a post that straight up says "you are an anti-Semite if you speak against Israel"

WHICH IS JUST STRAIGHT UP UNTRUE!! So may Jewish people have come forward against Israel and against Zionism and to support Palestine!

Israel's government is Zionist and that is not an inherently Jewish trait! Making you you believe otherwise is part of the propaganda and manipulation so you Stop speaking up. You can support Jewish people and Palestinians both.

Israel and the USA want you to believe that it is one or the other and that's not true.

The only people who benefit from trying to make you choose between which humans get to live are the white supremacists who cheer when this rhetoric starts to normalize conversation about which people are more worthy of living than another.

You have been gaslit into supporting genocide.

Gaslit into going down a white supremacist pipeline.

Gaslit into giving your silent consent.

Snap out of it.

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ozzgin · 8 months

Note

Hey! Could you write a Yandere Hector Doyle with a reader who is trying to escape him? And she maybe get caught by him and gets punished for this? This would be so cool! Thank you in advance :DDD

Ooh, I’ve been wanting to write something about the death row convicts and I think you picked the perfect yandere for it. Doyle is my favorite.

Yandere! Hector Doyle x Reader Headcanons

Featuring Hector Doyle and his escapee reader that should know better. Warning: Dubious consent/non-consent, violence

Doyle likes to think that life has a certain degree of determinism to it. But not in the romantic, fateful sense of higher meaning waiting to plan out. Rather a mathematical logic, a Markov chain that takes its course based on what the current state has to offer. So what begins to unfold with assumed probability might only need a little push in order to derail. Look at him, for example. He came to Tokyo so he could taste defeat and ended up absolutely smitten with you instead. Which, in a way, could be considered as the fulfillment of his initial goal. All of his intentions have been crushed within the second he laid his eyes on you.

And what’s so special about you, anyways? He doesn’t know himself. Maybe it’s the way you stopped when he asked you for directions, so innocent and oblivious to the fact that a death row convict stood before you. He could’ve ended you in an instant. You just smiled, browsing your phone for the location. Not a single tense muscle, nor the faintest suspicion of the immediate danger. Utterly defenseless, at the mercy of his disposition. He briefly pictured his protracted blades soundlessly puncturing your throat, followed by your pretty little face twisted in asphyxiated panic.

Tsk, no good. If you were this unconcerned with him, how long would it be until someone actually acted on these perverted thoughts? You’re pitifully vulnerable. Once the idea of foreign hands having their way with you settles in, it becomes apparent to him that he must interfere. Why it would bother him so much is beyond explanation. As rational of a man he is, Doyle also doesn’t mind giving in to his vices. Otherwise he wouldn’t have landed in prison. Or on a plane to Japan.

Oh, what corruption you’ve brought into his very soul. Obsession has seeped into every sulcus of his brain, throbbing with demands. He must have you, and most importantly he must keep you away from others. A wild rescue that has failed to show their survival capacity is condemned to a life in a fenced sanctuary. You’re no good outside. You have no sense of self-preservation, otherwise you wouldn’t have willingly embraced his presence without any attempt of guarding yourself.

Therefore, it should be rather obvious that remaining with him is the best case scenario. You no longer need to worry about outside threats under his fail proof protection. Spending time with you has also shown him that you’re not dumb by any means. Quite the opposite. So why are you acting so foolish right now, (Y/N)? Running away from your guaranteed safety and well-being…ludicrous.

What’s even more preposterous is thinking that you can actually escape. It should be clear to you by now that everything you’ve done wasn’t a mark of your volition, but of his benevolence. He has been allowing you to do things. Don’t mistake that for freedom. It seems you’ve forgotten, and as always he’ll be so kind as to remind you where you belong.

His kindness, however, seems to have led to your misdemeanors. Perhaps this reminder needs to be in the form of a punishment. Hah, forced discipline was a favorite toy of prison guards. Doyle, unfortunately, is not someone that easily bows down to authority. You, on the other hand… He can see it in your wide, frightened eyes, just how much power he holds over you.

An involuntary shiver crosses your back once you discover his approaching figure. You’ve been caught, and Doyle might not be as forgiving this time. You feel yourself becoming smaller in the shadow of your captor, pondering on your possible sentences. Like the helpless body being torn apart in Goya’s “Saturn devouring his son”, the only thing in front of you is blackness. The entrance of a starved, hungry mouth, ready to swallow you whole. Don’t ever leave him again, (Y/N). You know his only mistake is loving you too much.

#baki #baki the grappler #baki hanma #baki x reader #baki headcanons #hector doyle #hector doyle x reader #yandere baki #yandere hector doyle #yandere x reader #yandere

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jgnico · 2 years

Text

Some "bad miracles" in Nope. (Or rather bad things that were inadvertently miracles and vice versa.)

The power outtages. It's something that we normally see as a an inconvenience, same as our cell phones suddenly going out. But the lack of light/sound (the house going dark, the car stopping, the music cutting, the phone call dropping) is what essentially hides our main characters thoughout the movie.

The shoe standing upright during Gordy's massacre. While the byproduct of something horrific, its what essentially keeps Jupe alive, by distracting him long enough during the rampage for the actor that played the father to take Gordy's attention away from the room that Jupe was hiding in. (Also the birthday balloons --normally seen as a gift-- being what sets Gordy off.)

Money falling from the sky. Something that's commonly thought of as a miracle, a dream scenario, being what killed Otis Sr.

OJ having to sell the horses to Jupe (bad) being what kept Jean Jacket from seeking food at the Ranch for half a year.

Angel getting trapped in a tarp AND barb wire while trying to run from Jean Jacket being what actually kept him from being eaten.

Em accidentally photo-bombing some kids (bad for them) being what allows her to finally take a photo of JJ when all their other plans have failed. (Also shoutout to the mantis that just so happened to cover the camera for the entire time that Jean was attacking, only for it to leave right after. I'd say that can fit in here too.)

The motocyclist showing up in the middle of the main characters' big plan. While inconvient for them pre-crash, and awful for the cyclist post-crash, he and his reflective helmet actually completely draw and keep JJ's attention long enough for OJ to make it to safety. Much like how the vfx ball spooked and irritated Lucky, the helmet most likely did the same for JJ and completely derailed her focus from both OJ and the horse.

And finally, the "rain" of blood/saliva from Jean Jacket falling on the house. This one has isn't immediately obvious but it's pretty safe to say that it's a refence to water bring turned into blood in Exodus. While a miracle from God for his people, yes, it was both a plague and punishment for the Egyptians.

#this is so sloppy but please take it #also feel free to add more #nope #nope 2022 #nope spoilers

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lokiinmediasideblog · 21 days

Text

FISA 702 HAS PASSED THE HOUSED. WE MUST STOP IT!

Fax your legislators! TELL THEM YOU WON'T VOTE FOR THEM IF THEY VOTE YES ON FISA (Fy-zah) 702!

You can also fax your legislators for FREE at:

From Edward Snowden's Twitter:

If you were mad about your House rep voting to let the government spy on you without a warrant ("FISA 702" - fy-za seven-oh-two), we may have one last shot. CALL YOUR REP @ (202) 224-3121 and say "𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘃𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝟳𝟬𝟮, 𝗜 𝘃𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗿𝗶𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂."

From the article link:

House lawmakers voted on Friday to reauthorize section 702 of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, or Fisa, including a key measure that allows for warrantless surveillance of Americans. The controversial law allows for far-reaching monitoring of foreign communications, but has also led to the collection of US citizens’ messages and phone calls.

Lawmakers voted 273–147 to approve the law, which the Biden administration has for years backed as an important counterterrorism tool. An amendment that would have required authorities seek a warrant failed, in a tied 212-212 vote across party lines.

Donald Trump opposed the reauthorization of the bill, posting to his Truth Social platform on Wednesday: “KILL FISA, IT WAS ILLEGALLY USED AGAINST ME, AND MANY OTHERS. THEY SPIED ON MY CAMPAIGN!!!”

The law, which gives the government expansive powers to view emails, calls and texts, has long been divisive and resulted in allegations from civil liberties groups that it violates privacy rights. House Republicans were split in the lead-up to vote over whether to reauthorize section 702, the most contentious aspect of the bill, with Mike Johnson, the House speaker, struggling to unify them around a revised version of the pre-existing law.

Republicans shot down a procedural vote on Wednesday that would have allowed Johnson to put the bill to a floor vote, in a further blow to the speaker’s ability to find compromise within his party. Following the defeat, the bill was changed from a five-year extension to a two-year extension of section 702 – an effort to appease far-right Republicans who believe Trump will be president by the time it expires.

Section 702 allows for government agencies such as the National Security Administration to collect data and monitor the communications of foreign citizens outside of US territory without the need for a warrant, with authorities touting it as a key tool in targeting cybercrime, international drug trafficking and terrorist plots. Since the collection of foreign data can also gather communications between people abroad and those in the US, however, the result of section 702 is that federal law enforcement can also monitor American citizens’ communications.

Section 702 has faced opposition before, but it became especially fraught in the past year after court documents revealed that the FBI had improperly used it almost 300,000 times – targeting racial justice protesters, January 6 suspects and others. That overreach emboldened resistance to the law, especially among far-right Republicans who view intelligence services like the FBI as their opponent.

Trump’s all-caps post further weakened Johnson’s position. Trump’s online remarks appeared to refer to an FBI investigation into a former campaign adviser of his, which was unrelated to section 702. Other far-right Republicans such as Matt Gaetz similarly vowed to derail the legislation, putting its passage in peril.

Meanwhile, the Ohio congressman Mike Turner, Republican chair of the House Intelligence Committee, told lawmakers on Friday that failing to reauthorize the bill would be a gift to China’s government spying programs, as well as Hamas and Hezbollah.

“We will be blind as they try to recruit people for terrorist attacks in the United States,” Turner said on Friday on the House floor.

The California Democratic representative and former speaker Nancy Pelosi also gave a statement in support of passing section 702 with its warrantless surveillance abilities intact, urging lawmakers to vote against an amendment that would weaken its reach.

“I don’t have the time right now, but if members want to know I’ll tell you how we could have been saved from 9/11 if we didn’t have to have the additional warrants,” Pelosi said.

Debate over Section 702 pitted Republicans who alleged that the law was a tool for spying on American citizens against others in the GOP who sided with intelligence officials and deemed it a necessary measure to stop foreign terrorist groups. One proposed amendment called for requiring authorities to secure a warrant before using section 702 to view US citizens’ communications, an idea that intelligence officials oppose as limiting their ability to act quickly. Another sticking point in the debate was whether law enforcement should be prohibited from buying information on American citizens from data broker firms, which amass and sell personal data on tens of millions of people, including phone numbers and email addresses.

Section 702 dates back to the George W Bush administration, which secretly ran warrantless wiretapping and surveillance programs in the aftermath of the 9/11 terror attacks. In 2008, Congress passed section 702 as part of the Fisa Amendments Act and put foreign surveillance under more formal government oversight. Lawmakers have renewed the law twice since, including in 2018 when they rejected an amendment that would have required authorities to get warrants for US citizens’ data.

Last year Merrick Garland, the attorney general, and Avril Haines, director of national intelligence, sent a letter to congressional leaders telling them to reauthorize section 702. They claimed that intelligence gained from it resulted in numerous plots against the US being foiled, and that it was partly responsible for facilitating the drone strike that killed the al-Qaida leader, Ayman al-Zawahiri, in 2022.

#us politics #internet #mass surveillance #censorship #lgbtqia #palestine #islamophobia #FISA 702 #KOSA

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quietwingsinthesky · 4 months

Note

Thoschei kiss without a motive :O

(hands to u my first writing of the morning) have some weird little guys

He’s getting used to breathing again.

Funny thing about coming back from the dead in a body that resists it, that would rather burn than focus on the beating of its own hearts: it was hard to remember he needed air. Hunger came much easier.

This body is alive now. A little radiation can be good for you, under the right circumstances. Even better with a taste of fate derailed and a glimpse of the Doctor’s wide-eyed shock, as if he was the only one who got to break the rules of time.

Hunger lingers. Hunger transforms. He’s growing restless inside the TARDIS’s walls. Not a prisoner — the Doctor has never been able to keep what he loves in a cage, always sets it free and doesn’t dare hope it loves him enough to return. Not free — where would he go? And besides, the Doctor can barely fly the TARDIS on his own. What if he went and crashed into a moon and forgot to regenerate because the whole ordeal was so humiliating? The Master can’t leave him.

The Doctor can’t look at him, most days. Others, he can’t look away. He’s bad for conversation whether he’s guilty or enraptured.

So the Master takes up sneaking into his room while he’s asleep. The Doctor would at least lock his door if he didn’t want it to happen, not that any lock would keep the Master out for long. The Doctor sleeps in awkward bursts, a familiar pattern that he’s never grown out of and the Master has always had to deal with. At least he manages to get into his own bed these days before passing out.

The Master perches over him. He watches the Doctor breathe and matches him. He doesn’t make a sound.

He’s bold enough to touch when the Doctor is deeply unconscious. He slides a hand over the Doctor’s chest and feels one heart, then the other, so slow and peaceful. Not like the humans he plays around with their jabbering single heartbeats, too fast and too loud.

He raises his hand to the Doctor’s throat. He likes this body’s neck. His hand fits so well around it. It would have been a shame to let the Doctor regenerate into someone that the Master’s hands might not belong on. His lazy pulse beats below the Master’s fingers, and his breaths echo from the Master’s own lips.

Up again, to his mouth, to feel the air pass back and forth.

He doesn’t think. He takes.

The Doctor’s mouth is slack and warm.

And then, his hand is in the Master’s hair before he can react, keeping him still and close.

When he’s allowed to pull back, the Doctor is watching him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t panic, as comfortable as before. The Master wonders how many times the Doctor’s been playing at sleep to lure him in.

“I thought you came in here to kill me, the first time,” the Doctor says calmly. “I prefer this.”

#asks #fanfiction #doctor who #thoschei #the master #the doctor #tenth doctor #simm!master #tensimm #god why do these fuckers have so many tags. what is wrong with them (affectionate)

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spotsupstuff · 5 months

Text

Iterators, of course, aren't made capable of resting. They are here to work.

Even if biological to a degree, the components of the Hiveminds either take careful turns for a shut eye or they work themselves to death from exhaustion. Terrifying-, is Three Sparrows' opinion on that, -but they can't live any differently. Just like moths without mouths or crazed fish fighting against the streams of oceans, that's just how their Cycles are predetermined.

But there's these few rare days... Especially with the newer Iterators- those that are still chugging through life like newborn rain deer fawns, unsure in their existence, a little too vulnerable- when they slow down for a thorough, long debug session.

For the citizens this means a little dimmer day. A little bit of detoxification from screens as nonessential devices shut down or receive far too little power from the hearts of the Iterator. As those beats slow down and the energy that does get generated from them is more focused internally.

For her, as his Mechanic, this means an especially busy couple of days. Anxiety inducing ones, too.

First thing in the morning of the first day, Sparrows sends her charge a question- "how did the debug start up go?"- then remembers that the drama queen that is Caper of Euros does not wish to be bothered to formulate as horrendous things as whole words at this stage, because, in his words: "You don't understand just how *draining* it is to put together syllables in such a state!". So she adds a little unprofessional "doin good?" supplement message right after.

It takes unnaturally long for him to respond (twenty whole seconds!!!) with a singular checkmark. She breathes a sigh of relief and allows herself to go about her day now.

The city of Ales keeps relatively quiet. The typical churn of energy, cogs and thoughts of a behemoth beneath her feet is near silent even in the depths of the inner subway system. The traffic lights blink a little slower, the fake birds overhead sing just that tad bit louder. The children freed from school thanks to the low current bump into her by accident as they chase each other through the city square. Three Sparrows clutches her breakfast, gives the little rascals some mock chase with her fist waving in the air and then she sits down to finally scorf that food down.

First day is the hardest. This one is dedicated to check ups of the hearts, gravity generators and the memory arrays. All of that is functioning at its bare minimum right now and she better make use of that! Less thunderous beats for her body to weather even through the suit specialized for this, less frustrating fights against complete antigravity and less train of thoughts for her to derail by accidentally bumping into the softer bits of his mind.

She won't get to really interact with Euros today- or well... at least he won't be able to respond much to her day's worth of effort like he'd usually do. It's still strange to think of that. Running all around someone's body yet not actually properly interacting. This job forces a person through so many paradigm shifts... It gets exhausting to change one's understanding of simply *being* so many times.

So today she ensures his hearts are without a single scratch. That the Void Fluid trapped inside of the water is still spinning right (that part is always needlessly scary. the Void stuff can't be trusted, no matter how holy the preachers say it is, Three Sparrows on a Wire doesn't give a damn). She checks all the cables and tubes surrounding them, the antigravity generators solely dedicated to only this giant chamber all the while trying to keep her own little heart from panicking at the loud noise.

Manually she visits all the major generators sprinkled through the facility and runs diagnostics on the lesser ones through her watch. She amputates and treats the biological parts of the arrays that need it, tells hi to a sleepy yet determined Inspector that came to check it out, pries neuron flies out of weird places they somehow managed to wedge themselves into and takes a peek into Euros' mental state as per regulations.

She already knows his priority list won't make the demanded norms. Her own name shines at her from the first spot, forcing all too familiar self-blame to bloom in her chest. With a swipe of a finger, the screen disappears. Her final report will have lies in it again, then. Nobody can know.

At 23:11, fifteen hours since the beginning of the work day, Three Sparrows stumbles out of the stuffy biomechanical guts of her boyfriend without popping into the puppet chamber once absolutely destroyed.

"Oh, I always forget how sweet the evening air is. Void below, wow," she says, taking a deep breath before dragging herself home.

Aching limbs force her to skip normal dinner for easier-to-prepare and consume nutritional supplements, but they don't manage to stop her from making it to the daily family call. Or from quietly hacking into Euros' systems afterwards.

There's a spike of panic in the entire Hivemind, according to the live diagnostic program running on her watch and she looks on as his systems reach for the firewalls he unconsciously dropped alongside his damn heart rate (most likely, she has yet to catch the moment when he actually drops them). Three Sparrows can't help but grin to herself a little as she turns off her computer's cloaking *just* before the firewalls reactivate. The recognition of her IP address is instantaneous- telling by the sudden stop of Euros' frantic efforts at self-defense.

At least for a few seconds. Then he's rapidly purging her out and slamming the firewalls back into their place behind her. She barely manages to burst into laughter and her watch already pings with a new message. Message in question? Only reads a singular period.

But oh, those few pixels somehow manage to obtain all the dramatic affront, anger and disbelief a typical Euros rant would have. It only makes her laugh harder.

When she finally wills herself to stop, lest she gets a headache, she replies: "when will you finally remember to *not* become a sitting mouse for hackers during your debugging. you dumbass you!"

Euros replies with another period.

"watch out for yourself, ok? just bc im tots willing to break a guys face in the name of keeping your giant eight legged box butt safe doesnt mean im exactly itching for that kinda situation" "now good luck during the night. i gotta go take a five everything hurts"

Two periods and a second later, a heart.

Sparrows smiles at the screen a little, turns off her computer and climbs into the soft bed sheets.

The next day flies by a little easier. This one is dedicated to check ups of technologies related to production of the biological Hivemind members. There's quite a lot of those scattered through the whole body of Caper of Euros, but at least the hearts are beating a little faster today which means the gravity generators everywhere are stronger and that again means Sparrows gets to call upon an Inspector to hitch a ride with it for the whole day. No solo swimming in 0g this time!

All the production centres end up being more or less perfectly fine. Any damage caused by use is miniscule enough to not matter and be fixed naturally in a matter of days. As it should be with all Iterators out of their test run phases.

A small feeling of pride settles warmly behind her ribs. Another thing she can be almost certain to check off the long long list of her duties as a Mechanic, another Euros' step towards being completely self-dependent and, for the lack of biomechanical term on an Iterator scale, fully mature.

He's progressing despite small hiccups here and there and she couldn't be happier.

Though, one thing she will admit.

As she gives her goodbye to today's guide, Sparrows just can't wait for this day to be over. It won't be admitted aloud, especially where Euros could hear her, but she's starting to painfully miss their usual interactions.

Sure, today her interactions with him were... "closer" than yesterday, but it still wasn't it.

Another dissonance. Even being near something more closer to her level than the entirety of his physical body is not exactly a direct mutual interaction. The Inspector nuzzled to her, held her, clicked at her in some attempts at communication. And it was Euros, but... also just such a small piece of him.

So small, that it almost borders on meaningless. But it hurts to think of anything with such personality and role in the grand scheme of him as meaningless so she quickly shakes that thought out of her head.

It is strange. But she doesn't mind calling the *puppet* meaningless. That thing is what her heart yearns for now, whose embrace she's currently missing- its carmine coloration and big dark lenses are what her eyes are searching for. And still, the cynical and rational part of her dubs that piece useless without an issue.

Because the puppets are useful with their emptiness. The uselessness makes them precious, paradoxically enough.

She's even writing a paper on this subject, questioning if the existence of these masks or decoys- essentially inherent lies- are really so important. So naturally, her thoughts spiral further as she's walking back into his facilities during the third day.

Today is deep puppet chamber maintenance day. A whole day dedicated to the bullshit.

In her paper, Three Sparrows argues that puppets are installed more for the sake of the Anemon population more than the Iterators themselves. In the grand scheme of things, can it be said that these priorities will pay out?

Yes, certainly, there are aspects to puppets that are helpful for the Iterators themselves too. Mainly that the relatively little things are the central focus point of the Hivemind- a means for the entirety of the scattered person to come together and form an Individuality seamlessly.

'But,' she asks, 'isn't That a condition Created by The Puppet's Existence? If We direct Our Attention to the Iterator Inconvenient Sporadic Change, she was known to exist Outside of her Individuality Without Complications! Research shows that she performed just as well if not better in Her Duties than the other Iterators of Her Time Period- which, if I May remind The Reader Kindly, are some Monumental Names. Better output than that of Boreas' Blessing, Orion's Pathway and even The Dedicated Aftertaste of Disdain.

Her Processes proved to be Seamless, Direct, Quicker. Reports are Also Kind Enough to mention the Need for Maintenance- Be it Physical, Psychological or Emotional- was at a sweet Minimum.

If a Puppet of an Iterator Should not be Given, is it Possible that the Hivemind would find a Different, Healthier Way of Coming Together? Of My educated Opinion, I'd dare to Say Yes.

The Consciousness would have the Free Choice of expanding Outwards, to the Limits of the Superstructure, rather than Claustrophobically Inwards. This Change of Procedure would Potentially Result in Absence of These known Disorders that Plague Your Great Gifts to the World:'

Then there is also of course the benefit of pearl reading and printing, but really? Her computer doesn't need a whole person just to burn her a picture, song or some text into the surface of a pearl and then also read it back. This function of the puppets is a weakness if anything. Why not exchange the entire chamber setup for something like a series of pearl readers so they might as well multitask in this, too?

Euros certainly could be reading twenty pearls at once and burning information onto thirty other, for sure. Maybe that would sate his programmed hyperactivity at least a little before he gains access to his predetermined role as a Phone Operator Chief of the Eo group.

The puppets are just a ginormous fumble at optimization of the Iterator blueprint and that's that.

And still...

Three Sparrows climbs through the pipe into Caper of Euros' puppet chamber. This place is like another heart, despite its function being nothing like a real one. A hub of his mind, maybe. An important, precious piece of him, even if those epithets are forced onto it by circumstance.

Her feet hit the floor and the chamber brightens up just that bit to signal at least a piece of his attention is now dedicated to the happenings within the room, but stays deep carmine instead of turning light pink. That signals he's still working, just as she instructed him.

Overseers come and go to take a look at her, some stay to watch her. Understandable, since the puppet is slumped over in the middle of the floor, sitting with its eyes half closed- for once, he is the one frustratingly limited in his ability to interact with her properly even though she's right here.

"Good morning, Caps!" Sparrows cheerfully calls into the more or less empty room, giving the Overseers a quick salute in greeting. They reply with quick spins of their tendrils, the room itself greets her back with a pleased purr. One that she can feel shaking her legs even through the metal soles of her boots as she walks over to today's main point of interest.

Kneeling next to it, she rests a hand over its chest in support. "Alright. As always, we'll get through the detachment sequence and you can go fully back to finishing off the debugging. How close are you to being done?"

Something whirrs and then a projection appears on the wall in front of her of a progress bar. 87%.

"Nice! You are getting faster. Come on now, then."

During a deep maintenance of the puppet, it is advised to nearly fully disconnect it from the rest of the structure. The purpose of that is to give the systems some rest, but also to avoid stressing out or making the Hivemind uncomfortable by sticking a hand into what it perceives as its very personal very own chest.

The first step is for the Hivemind to pull back from the body, to avoid the shock of forceful extraction. Once that is done, the Iterator disconnects the umbilical arm from the back and allows the Mechanic to slowly push it away. Carefulness is needed during this- the arm contains cables and tubes, acting like an umbilical cord for an unborn offspring in some animals.

The baby analogy never fails to make her skin crawl. While Anemons conceive children without such things, it's still so... personal. It stirs unwanted feelings inherent to intelligent organic beings, the need to look after a child. These puppets are like stillborns. Stuck within the womb for the "mother" to use as an extension of its being.

That is not a matter easily pondered.

The next step, after the bundle of crucial cords safely rests on the ground, is to disconnect the umbilical cables from the back of the puppet's head.

One by one, Sparrows disconnects them. And with the last, Euros' puppet goes slack against her hand. Quite unnerving, that. It always makes her heart jump even though she knows better than to worry.

She secures the umbilical cables to the arm and pulls back to take a look at him, both arms supporting his shoulders. The head lolls, eyes still open a little yet unseeing. Something whispers that's not right, so she guides his eyelids closed for him.

...Iterators can't sleep. But the useless piece of Euros looks like he does and suddenly she can't help but feel like this is the most important thing in existence.

The something in her shifts, the something that is yearning, loving, that wants to take care of another and keep him safe from the sharp world outside.

Sparrows caves. Gathers the puppet into her arms, rests his head against her shoulder. The chamber lowly, but sharply whirrs. He's probably annoyed that she has decided to be all cuddly and sweet now when he can't be fully present for it. What little consciousness he can still muster in the puppet presents itself in the tiniest nuzzle of his face into her neck.

Such a small gesture, yet it steals her breath away. She hugs him... it.. closer, cheek presses against his forehead, a hand moves to caress the side of his face.

She marvels at the feeling of holding him. Questions why she is left stumped by an almost empty thing.

He's sleeping, face buried against her neck, says the something- he is awake, just a little drowsy, staring at her with seven eyes across the room, replies reason.

She cradles him in her lap… he's so thin and light, the feeling begs her to keep him safe until he wakes up again, he wouldn't be able to defend himself against a predator-! He holds her in his center, so small and insignificant compared to his mind breaking vastness.. her life span so minute compared to what he is yet to live through. Someone of his caliber wouldn't find a challenge in simply deleting her like a line of code.

'The only thing keeping me truly safe are the taboos woven in their genes,' says the cynical piece of mind, jaded by decades of unkind life and all tired, entertaining the absolute worst of scenarios for the sake of a warning. 'I couldn't be in a safer place than here, at his mercy, in this artificial world where he might as well be a true god,' says the lovesick heart backed up by years of experience, making her arms tighten in a hug.

She caresses his arm, taking a note of the bit too dry skin, created similarly enough to her own to bring comfort of familiarity, only to be snatched away again when there's no softness of flesh beneath.

'That's just a Generation 2 thing,' the knowledgeable mind shrugs it off.

And the more primal worrywart of a heart panics about it as it applies organic understanding of things to it. Remembering the few times Sparrows was allowed to touch Boreas' puppet, the many times Zephyr pulled her against her side for the night. Those are his family members! They are padded with something pliable-

Cushioning of Generation 1 to combat possible gravity generator outages. There's more certainty in the Iterator engineering now, Euros has no need for those. He's better off than either of them. He's safer and, terrifyingly, many times more loved than them.

She sighs, concerned and-

"Sparrows?"

Ah, that seems to be the limit for how long Euros is willing to take the actionless silence. The voice is relatively quiet considering it always echoes through the little room from the speakers seated in the corners of the ceiling. It's kind of sluggish. Not entirely out of the concentration of debugging. The Overseers have come closer.

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

"Sure you were. Your face went on quite the journey there. Why were you frowning so much?"

She considers. "...dissension of... wants and reality, I guess."

"Well then don't go doing that when I can't feasibly help out. Same with the cuddles I want in on that."

Three Sparrows only rolls her eyes in amusement at that and goes back to work, this time with the Overseers watching her a bit more intently. It's a little uncomfortable, but she can't blame him for worrying when she does so constantly.

Later that day, when the sun hides away, her gaze lingers in random places.

In the kitchen at the table with one chair, one plate and one cup of tea. She stares at the too much space on the couch in the little living room, one toothbrush waiting at the sink, the empty place beside her in the bed.

Perhaps an Iterator puppet isn't the only empty thing in her life.

#rw #oc: three sparrows #oc: caper of euros #oc tag #philosophy sessions au #my writing #inspired by the need to have sparrows cradle a sleepy caper puppet despite her opinions on puppets #the fight of mind's opinions and heart's instinctual opinions.... oh the inner discord #mind: puppets are basically appendixes. Useless. | heart: That Is My Fuckin Boy!!! my LOVERBOY. i protect partner... get awae from him...#kinda a sad ending but what can you do. rw is tragedy adjacent and iterators are actual literal tragedies. their existence Sucks

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 6 months

Note

Holy crap I’m loving your writing! Im especially obsessed with Ken and the ranch owner

I’m wondering if you’d be willing to do an fem human reader x Ken where the reader gets a bit sick, nothing too serious but Ken absolutely freaks out and thinks the reader is dying or sum (he learned about death from Stero Barbie. Also spiders. He’s terrified of both) and the reader thinks it’s a bit funny so she’s like “yeah I’m dying” but then he gives her the most terrified and sad kicked puppy look and she has to explain that it’s just a cold lol

Awh thank you!! Im glad that ppl still love my barbie movie stuff even though barbie summer has come and gone 💔

........

There were only two things that Ken feared after beginning his new life in the Real World:

One is the mortality of humans, as Barbie told him all about how fragile their lives were and the two paths they were given: either growing old and dying peacefully in their beds, or some terrible occurrence cutting it short long before their time on this earth was up.

The second was spiders.

He especially hated the spiders.

You only recently discovered he had that fear after finding one of those 8-legged critters in your house--or more specifically in his room, where he came barreling out from as though he accidentally set something on fire.

At first, you thought he really did start a fire until he dragged you back into there, begging you to get rid of the "strange beast".

You had no clue what he could possibly be referring to....and then he pointed to the corner, where a little cellar spider sat completely unbothered, weaving its web.

In that moment, you realized you may have turned him arachnophobic, considering you did show him one insect-themed horror movie this past Halloween. He kept freaking out over it potentially growing horse-sized or injecting venom into his bloodstream when he was asleep.

But despite you assuring him neither of those things could happen (and insisting that the spider was more afraid of him), Ken refused to go into the room until it was gone.

You find it hard to fathom that this same doll who led an entire revolt, came to terms with his own identity crisis, and bravely made the transition to humanity....was totally inconsolable in the presence of a tiny bug.

Then again, maybe showing him that movie--and allowing Barbie to explain why arachnophobia was among the top fears humans had--was a huge mistake.

Regardless, you made it your mission to get rid of the critter.

Oddly enough Ken insisted that you didn't actually kill it, but you found you it sweet that he valued its life despite it scaring the shit out of him. So you contained it in a cup, putting a napkin underneath it before releasing it outside.

After that, you mentioned how most people usually killed spiders and other pests that invaded their home.

He looked wildly uncomfortable at that fact, before he began talking about some rather... concerning things: like if the spider knew how short its lifespan was, how easily it could have been crushed, if it feared death or if it was even aware of it at all-

Before he could derail and start rambling about death itself too much, you stopped him, asking if he was feeling alright.

And he went quiet for a moment, before smiling and giving you a kiss, reassuring you he felt better.

Yet even as he left the room, he still appeared awful tense.

It was that day where you worried that it's more than just spiders he feared..

.......

"Babe, what's wrong? Are you sick??"

"...unfortunately, but it's nothing serious. Just a stupid cold I caught at work." Sighing tiredly, you sat up in bed, seeing Ken walk into the room.

He looked nothing short of horrified at how drained and exhausted you sounded this morning. "A-Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I don't want you to catch anything, so I'm sorry...but no kisses today."

"Then..what about tomorrow?"

You just rolled your eyes, drinking some tea you made for yourself. "Maybe, but we'll see if I wake up."

Although it was meant to be a little joke, your foggy brain forgot how seriously the blond often took jokes, and he rushed to your bedside, kneeling down.

His eyes were wide as he took your hand. "If you wake up??? Are you dying??"

Putting down your mug, you sighed once more, trying to figure out a way to remedy this situation before you upset him too much. "No....I mean I just feel like I'm dying, but.." You paused, noticing the tears coming to his eyes. "Ken?"

Now that he was a lot closer, you could see the utterly terrified look on his face--as though you kicked a puppy right in front of him.

Yep, it was already much too late. He was upset.

"I-I know tomorrow is not guaranteed for anyone, but you have to get through this, [y/n]! Please..I can't lose you, too...not when you've done so much to help me." He was extremely close to crying, his lips trembling.

Your heart sunk as you placed a hand ober his own. "Oh honey, I was only kidding around when I say-"

"Why do humans joke about death so much? Don't they know y-you...you can't come back? That they have such short lives?? O-Or sure, some believe you can be reincarnated but that doesn't make it any-"

At this point, he was just blubbering nonsense, so you took him into your arms. And for a moment he fell silent, before burying his face into your chest, trying to calm himself down. "I-I'm sorry.."

"No, no..I'm sorry. You're right..I shouldn't be joking about death around you." Frowning slightly, you stroked his hair. "I promise I'm not dying. Not today, or tomorrow..not for a long, long time. This cold will pass and I'll feel better soon enough."

".....a-are these the irrepressible thoughts of death Barbie had?"

'Oh.'

It finally hit you.

He was going through the same thing she once did.

"Ken.." You had him sit up so you could see his face. Aside from it being a little red and his eyes puffy and watery, there were tear marks trailing down to the stubble that had formed along his jaw and chin. "Why didn't you tell me you were having those thoughts?"

Sniffling, he just shrugged. "I don't know. And... I don't know why I'm thinking them. Barbie could blame it on somebody who was playing with her, but...I can't. Because I'm not a doll anymore, I'm human....a-and...those were my thoughts alone." He shuddered, terrified at that realization. "I guess I just..didn't wanna scare you, b-but obviously it's too late for that..."

A small chuckle came from him, although it dissolved into a small sob as he wiped his eyes. "S-Sorry, I....I want these thoughts to just pass already."

"And they will." You nodded, squeezing his free hand reassuringly. "It looks like you're just experiencing them for the first time, and that's okay. They won't be all you think about. And you don't have to apologize for how you're feeling, as long as you're honest with me."

"Th-Thank you.." He sniffled. "I should be taking care of you, not the other way around. Do you need you anything? More tea? Meds? Anything at all?"

You smiled fondly, leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead. "You're all I need right now, sweetheart."

That response seemed to bring Ken's giddy old self back, as he smiled bashfully in return. He melted back into your arms when you wrapped them around him, and he listened to your heartbeat: the only assurance he needed that you were still living.

Eventually...those thoughts of death did pass him by, and he felt okay again.

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