#-how deed polls work

[thinkhappythxughts]

finally getting round to sorting my deed poll (legal name change) and oh my god this is going to be an annoying process. To have it changed on my driving license i need the deed poll and a whole new license application form, which needs to cross-reference my passport. The passport name change system is so complicated that I don't even fully understand what documents I need. For the license I also need a payslip, which means I need to change my name with my bank. The bank needs to see the deed poll in person, and the process can be helped by seeing proof of name use, such as a payslip. Which can't be in my chosen name until the bank updates it. My brain hurts and this feels like a hate crime

[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC Prompt: The New Teacher

(So, I've seen a lot of prompts that have Danny go to Gotham and be a teacher but I don't remember seeing any with it in this direction, so on the chance that this is an original idea here we go!)

Jason was given a choice, or multiple choices. Babysit the Replacement on a mission that could last a week, go to Bludhaven and have some 'brother bonding time' with Dick who needed backup on a big case, or take a temp solo-gig in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere called Amity Park.

Well, considering he was still a bit hurt about the fact that B replaced him all those years ago and the pit loved to grab hold of that bit of frustrations towards his younger brother, that didn't seem like a smart idea. Dick wasn't an option either because he knew that would lead to 'talking about feelings' and other shit that he didn't want to do.

So he took the solo-gig.

It was supposed to be easy, at least that's what had been implied by the others he'd spoken to about the case. It seemed like most of the Justice League thought this situation was being 'exaggerated' because most of the time when somebody checked out what was going on there was nothing happening. No big take over, or kidnapping, or 'end of the world' situation, but there had been too many calls to put Bruce's mind at ease. The frequent calls mixed with the fact that the Government apparently had the area under a 'black out' made Bruce even more nervous.

Hell, if it hadn't been for the fact that Bruce was famous and that Scarecrow, Penguin and Riddler had all escaped from Arkham he would have been doing the case himself.

Which is how Jason ended up in a restraunt named 'Nasty Burger' looking at the news papers he had managed to get from a stand down the street while taking notes of things he had already seen. It wasn't just that the Government had cut them off, all of the tech in the city was easily 20 years outdated compared to the rest of the world.

Nokia phones, chunky computers, hell he'd even seen a kid with a PDA of all things. Thankfully, it looked like his tech still worked other than running slower than it should have, but thanks to modifications made by Barbara and Tim things were running better than he expected. But, they did struggle to have access to anything, specifically the news.

Hence the paper.

Ghost Boy: Friend or Fiend. A new vote cast by the city has found that the Ghost Boy - Danny Phantom - has had an astounding rise in support after the events over the Christmas Holiday. The new polls suggest that 43% of Citizens support Danny Phantom, with the majority of his support coming from the students at Casper High who insist that Phantom is a hero who has saved them countless times over the past few months. 49% of people still agree, however, that Phantom appears to be at the center of the majority of the attacks with many still claiming that he is the sole cause of the attacks. However, 8% of the population remain undecided, including many teachers, police and hospital staff. Upon seeing the new results of the pole Mayor Montez had this to say; "While I will admit that Phantom appears to favor the younger generation and frequently seems to come to their aid, we cannot forget what it has done in the past. Taken hostages, injured innocents, and caused millions in property damage. Phantom may not be a 'villain' in the typical sense of the word, but we shouldn't blindly trust him just because of a few good deeds."

So there was a... hero? Half hero - potentially villain - in Amity Park? That might have explained some of the calls they'd gotten from Amity park over the past few months. Still, he was concerned by some parts of the report.

Students at a high school were frequently coming under attack? So much that this potential-villain kept saving them? Just what was the cause? What could cause so many issues?

Jason looked up as he saw that same PDA kid talking with a girl with short black hair in a half-ponytail who was wearing a black crop-top. The girl seemed annoyed while the boy seemed worried about something.

"But it's Vlad, Sam... what if he does something?" He heard the boy whisper, "We should go back him up..."

"He doesn't need our help, besides Jazz ran away from home, remember? She got herself into this mess it's her problem to get out of it. Something that Danny should have learned a long time ago."

Jason frowned, pretending not to hear them as he hesitated then got up and walked over to the two younger teens. "Hey, excuse me."

The girl looked annoyed and suspicious while the boy looked confused.

"Uh, yeah?" Tucker asked.

"Hey, sorry to bug you both. But could you guys tell me about this... 'Danny Phantom' person?" He asked, holding the newspaper out.

The girl looked even more suspicious, "And... who are you?"

"And how haven't you heard of Phantom?" Asked the boy.

"I just moved to town." Jason admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, I'm just trying to catch up on all the town drama."

"You moved to Amity Park... willingly? Psh, what do you have, a deathwish?" The girl grumbled.

"Come on, I just moved from Gotham, which is worse?"

The girl blinked as the boy laughed.

"Furries vs Ghosts, who will win~" He said as the girl elbowed him. "Ow! What?!"

"Danny Phantom is a hero." The girl explained, "He showed up in April and has been protecting the town since."

"A hero, huh? Could always use more of those in the world, but the mayor seems to have it out for him."

Tucker sighed, "No kidding, man. Somebody framed Phantom for something really bad and no matter what he does to try to fix it the city just see's that incident as the only thing he's ever done. It was the first big 'public thing' outside of the high school so it was huge but it wasn't his fault."

The girl reached for her phone suddenly, looking at it before she answered. "Hey, Danny. What's up?" She was quiet for a moment, "Yeah, we're at Nasty Burger, wanna join us? Lunch on me?"

A quiet mumble came through the speaker before she smirked.

"I'll order for you then. Double or triple?"

More mumbles.

"Triple it is. See you soon." She said, then hung up. "Come on, Tuck, Danny is on his way for lunch."

"Hell yeah, see you later, dude." The boy said, then jogged off with the girl.

"A teacher? Yeah, it looks like there's some openings but why would you want to have your cover as a teacher?" Oracle asked as Jason sat in his hotel room, looking through the paper again.

"Most of the incidents seem to surround the High School, I want to see what's going on."

Oracle hummed, typing for a moment. "Alright, well as luck will have it, it looks like teachers are sparse at Amity High, at least from what I'm able to get using your connection... which is infuriatingly slow, by the way, are you sure you did it right?"

"I've done it a million times, of course I did it right."

Oracle grumbled, "Stupid Amity black-out. Okay, so you have options. Most of the teachers have fucked off so all of the teachers in Freshmen year switch around to cover lessons or do mixed lessons. For example the English teacher also teaches Math and the normal Math teacher also teaches Science. So it looks like you could have any position you want and the school would just shuffle around the teachers."

"You said English is taken, right?"

"Yep, the teacher is named William Lancer and he- oh... wait, he's on a leave of absence due to injuries he suffered over Christmas Break. Concussion, broken arm, and bruised ribs, he'll be out for a few weeks."

Jason smirked, "Perfect. Sign me up."

". . . Jason, the English and Math teacher... never thought I'd see the day. Alright, I'll type up your application, send it in and casually push it to the front of the line. You'll be official by the time Winter Break ends in a few days. So get studying."

"Sounds like a plan, but I'll be fine, I mean our family is crazy and i deal with criminals on a nightly basis. How hard could this assignment really be?"

He would regret asking that question by the end of his first day as an Amity High School teacher.

[italian-lit-tournament]

Italian literature tournament - Third round.

Propaganda in support of the authors is accepted, you can write it both in the tag if reblog the poll (explaining maybe that is propaganda and you want to see posted) or in the comments. Every few days it will be recollected and posted here under the cut.

First, propaganda for Ludovico Ariosto, then for Guido Cavalcanti. The quantity of material will be colossal, so just scroll down for more.

For the Ludovico Ariosto stans:

by @larmegliamori

The opposing party has brought on the big guns, I see: us Ariosto girlies, gays and they must bare our teeth and ambitions.

So, here's my two cent on why you should vote Ludovico Ariosto!

Extreme relatability: Deeply entrenched into the politics of his time (as the firstborn of ten children, of which one was disabled and other five were women), but at the same time just wanting to stay home to live of his poetry? Dare I say iconic. Perfect representation of us literature kids.

He actually managed to marry his muse, Alessandra Benucci, and did it respectfully!

Working various jobs for patron(s) he didn't particularly like? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

Not to mention his most widely known work, the poem "Orlando Furioso" (The rage of Roland), has all the goos stuff us modern audiences would like! It features:

A wide, diverse cast, spanning from Ireland to India, stretching probably to the (by then) newly discovered Americas;

Fantasy elements: faeries, sorcerers, giants, orcs, the first modern iteration of the hippogryph and even a fantastical voyage to the Moon!

Citations and references galore: from Virgil to Ovid, from old chansons de geste to Boccaccio!

Proto-feminism and gender studies: Ariosto's female characters, although often very feminine, are actively involved in their story arcs. The poem also features two warrior women, Bradamante and Marfisa, the former of which is the protagonist of her own subplot. Said subplot heavily relies on gender, may it be appearances or not. And let's not forget the famous tirade at beginning of the fifth canto, where the author berates femicide! If you're willing to open your heart to his writing, Ludovico Ariosto reveals himself to be a compelling, layered, modern author, and yet there's a levity to his writing that works like a balm. Vote for Ludovico Ariosto (even if only for the memes)!

I'd also like to add that Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, in the 70s, got a theatrical AND television adaptation that was too campy for its own good.

It featured, amongst other things:

- 1500s inspired costuming (it sure was... A choice but I'm not complaining)

- Mechanic horses (that literally ran on rails) and hippogryph:

- Olympia of Holland, one of the most tragic characters in all the poem, as a vamp (slay):

(Posing with Orlando/Roland in on the left, with her lover Bireno on the right)

- Astolfo literally ENTERING INTO A HOLE TO GET TO THE MOON:

The television adaptation was partly shot in the famous Baths of Caracalla, in Rome. If you want to witness this masterpiece yourself, it's on YouTube! In two parts.

Remember to always stan Zio Ludo, and vote for him! ✨

Hello everyone! For today's Ariosto Propaganda Piece, I'd like to talk about the Satire.

Those seven pieces written in terzina dantesca (because our boy Ludo knew how to pick his role models) are an interesting insight about early 1500s society and Ariosto's character and private life. They all start from an actual event in his life and enlarge towards society as a whole, often with a critical eye towards it.

The first one, destined to his brother Alessandro and a friend, starts these absolutely iconic lines:

[Quick translation: Ruggiero, if you make me so ungrateful in the eyes of your descendants, and it bears me no advantage to have sung your worth and your mighty deeds, why should I stay here, since I don't know how to cut huns on a fork, nor how to hunt games with hawks or dogs?]

A bit of context: Ariosto's first patron, bishop Ippolito d'Este, had to move from Italy to Hungary and wanted all his court to follow him. Ariosto refused because of health and family matters, and he was threatened with the loss of all the benefits he had previously granted him. Note that Ariosto was basically a kind of personal secretary to Ippolito, carrying out different important missions for him, and even risked his life a couple times to carry them out. So it's understandable he feels disappointed at his patron's reaction... and that's why, in this more "private" writings, he complains with Ippolito's ancestor, the hero Ruggiero he had extensively wrote about in his main poem.

Honestly, a genius move. Not something you see often in poetry, is it? Another reason why you need to vote for this man ;)

For the Guido Cavalcanti stans:

Propaganda in favor of Guido Cavalcanti by @eresia-catara

May I add further propaganda for Guido: He's a noble, he disdains aristocrats, he was Florence's number one Server of Cunt, he was the city's faggot, he was heretical, he went on a random pilgrimage but interrupted it and managed to be buried in a church anyway, he had an archenemy who sent some men to murder him on said pilgrimage, he came back and tried to murder him back in plain daylight, he gave zero fucks about politics, he got exiled because he was considered a menace for the city. He SAW DANTE's poetical talent, encouraged it, shaped it, and through him the whole of italian literature. Think about it. Also they became besties until they evolved to a tormented psychosexual haunting dynamic (see break-up poem) where Dante himself actually exiled him. In the 13th century his poetry anticipates so many of the literary themes of the XXth century, going from fragmentation of the self (his is basically vivisection and dispersion of his parts), to dissociation from one's own mind and body, lack of identity, irony, desecration, his poetry is full of schizophrenic-like hallucinations, reading them is truly a trip, and yet his language is profoundly meoldic and sweet. And there's also gender-fuckery. and theater, of course, because his poems develop like a scene from a theater (adding layers to the dissociation). So really he has it all guys.

The thing is, Ariosto feels very contemporary but Guido is the og relativist and unreliable narrator. His poetry offers NO truth whatsoever you only have a sequence of schizophrenic hallucinations and what he describes only seems like it's real but who knows, the narrator is dead, how can he even speak or if he's alive he's not because he has dissociated himself from his body and is only coldly contemplating his own murder. He's not reliable because he has lost his reason, his soul has crubled into pieces and each piece has fled his body. Also he hears voices, and feels a sadistic presence in his mind in the form of a woman watching him die. This man was too ahead of his time, he was too dramatic, too eccentric, but also too acute and sensible, he must have looked deranged and we love him for it. and deserves to be voted!

Guido Cavalcanti propaganda by @girldante

GUIDO CAVALCANTI PROPAGANDA ABBIAMO:

LA DISSOCIAZIONE SCHIZOFRENICA:

IL COMICO, IL SIMPATICO BURLONE, IL MEMATORE ANTE LITTERAM:

IL MACABRO, IL GORE, I SINTOMI™

IL BREAKUP TOSSICO PASSIVO AGGRESSIVO CON DANTE

in conclusione

you can find my old propaganda here, but listen, while i do respect zio ludo's rizz, a vote for guido cavalcanti is a vote for gender roles reversal, death-life liminality, medieval atheism, antisocial freaks obsessed with philosphy who imagine their pens are talking to people about their owner's suffering (what is wrong with him), eye carving enjoyers (what the FUCK is wrong with him), sons who are sacrifical lambs, people who have long swinging necks like geese (allegedly???), and gay breakups involving dante alighieri. and also, well, I don't recall ariosto wearing a miku binder. twice.

in conclusion

Guido Cavalcanti propaganda by @apis-vergilii

Here’s my Guido propaganda: @girldante and @eresia-catara have already covered the poetry reasons, and I’m here to get metatextual about the whole thing.

Simply put, this is the Weird Niche Hellsite, and Guido is the Weird Niche Hellcandidate.

We live in an era of the cynical enshittification of the internet. In a sickened sea of dying social platforms, AI slop, and every last pixel being for sale, THIS is still the webbed site where a bunch of strangers can rediscover a lesser-known medieval poet in all his angsty, gothy glory, abandon all pretense of ironic detachment or mature indifference and go absolutely apeshit over his life and work, breathlessly and deliriously creating everything from exhaustively researched essays with footnotes, to anime fan art and inexplicable photoshops. This is the place where Goncharov happened. This is the place where we stole the president’s shoelaces. This is the place where a heretical medieval Tuscan stilnovista got himself a full-on Fandom, and we are all so much the better/worse for it.

So vote for the spirit of the old internet in all its dorky glory. Vote for the joy of learning things for fun and not for school. Vote for the bizarre Florentine emo goth. A vote for Guido Cavalcanti…is a vote for all of us.

if all else fails to convince you, well, i don't recall ariosto having an historical fantasy saga centered around him where he gains clairvoyance and gets increasingly more and more manipulated by the manifestation of his generational trauma. also he gets out of his body to have epic fights with spiritual creatures.

this should be a testimony to how his cuntserving echoed through time

Propaganda by @girldante and @eresia-catara that I guess should be read together:

well. seeing as we're on topic. Was Ariosto ever described as having

les bras d'Hercule avec des mains de nymphe by a 19th century french story? It is not made up guys, he served androgynous cunt so hard it didn't go unnoticed. Guido simply suggests fluidity.

Like. Arms like Hercules and hands like a nymph.

And Lorenzo il Magnifico also Fangirled over him in a letter to the Federico of Aragon

he (Lorenzo il Magnifico!!) was simply begging him to read his poems, and that's because they are absolutely eatable in all their irreverent, elegant, goth glory.

Finally, Boccaccio wrote about him in his Decameron (VI,9) and, truly, can you say no to him:

this little ballerina? look at how sad he looks!

would you look at that! Guido Cavalcanti propaganda is publicly sponsored by thee Lorenzo De' Medici himself!!!

as for the last bit, Boccaccio's novella from Decameron, where Guido calls out a bunch of idiots through a riddle that said idiots will take a bunch of time to understand and then proceeds to abandon them jumping over a grave, was cited by thee Italo Calvino in his Lezioni Americane as an example of his conception of lightness, as in the ability to lift oneself over the heaviness of the world.

In conclusion: Guido Cavalcanti is literally your fave's fave.

[hoshigray]

Back at it with pt. ii of the assassin duo! Toji x reader (finally!!): where the reader avoids Toji after the one-night stand, and it goes well for the most part. But can the same be said for Toji? How long can this quiet game go before someone snaps?

A/n: Am I writing this because I'm spitful of getting a community label on my sugar daddy! Toji x sugar baby! reader fic? Yes. Yes, I am. 🙃 Sighhh. But ya know what, it's all good because you lovelies gave it so much love, so tysm for 3k notes!!! And thank you so much for the 300+ followers!! Y'all are too kind~~~ Since I have no idea how to celebrate, I guess another poll will suffice so pick whichever prompt you'd like to see for next Thursday (as well as a bonus art from me hehe)!!!

Also, for context's sake, this is pt. ii of this drabble that I have written, so please give it a read if you ever feel confused. This fic was long overdue and is WAY longer than I EVER intended for it to be, so I apologize for this hefty piece of work. I do hope you like it tho!!

Also, also: @absoluteindulgence here ya go!! just as I promised ccc:

Cw: dom! Toji x fem! reader - fingering (fem! receiving) - Toji gets a bit possessive/jealous - sex in a public place (workplace) - biting - clitoral play (pinches 2x) - Toji is his coky self but reader doesn't back down - implied overstimulation (fem! receiving) - pet names (angel, angel face, baby, darlin', good girl, honey, sweetie, sweetheart, sweet thing) - third party interruptions (they don't walk in on you two doing the deed tho) - kissing session - edging (fem! receiving) - Toji steals your panties bc he's a cheeky asshat - ayoo Toji and reader catching feelings.

Wc: 5.1k (omfg I'm so sorry y'all lmao)

The last time you ran into Toji was the "I'll treat you for dinner with nothing attached" mishap you got yourself into. How can you not ridicule yourself for getting caught in such a moment? The man you hate with every fiber in your being practically had you folded like a pretzel, chuckling and teasing you in your most vulnerable state as he used your body in his way fit.

The most unpleasant thing about it was you reminiscing about those intimate moments you had with him that night. When his hot groans made you squeeze tighter on his dick. His thick fingers in your mouth play with your tongue as he kisses the nape of your neck from the back. When you hold him for support while he pounds into your wet folds, the naughty sounds make you bury your face into the crook of his neck.

Or worse: as Toji had his way with you, he called you the sweetest names as if he truly meant them, like he wouldn't mind calling you by them for the rest of his days.

Images of that night continue to haunt you, especially within the confines of your own home, in your own bed. How many nights has it been since you've fought the urge to touch yourself and failed? Losing count says quite a lot.

"Hnngh, shit shit shit...Fuck, y/n, you don't know what you're doing to me, baby." His voice is present in your mind as your fingers rub your clit. You shut your eyes close once you enter a digit inside your opening. "Awwh, are you embarrassed, angel? Don't wanna look me in the eye? No? Heh, then what are you grippin' 'round me for..." Another digit enters between your folds, and you grip your bedsheets while the memories still play in your head. "Damn, sweetie, lookin' so beautiful fr' me, ya know that?" Faster and faster your fingers go, your sensitivity inching higher and higher. "My beautiful darlin'."

And then you release. Cum slides down your inner thighs as your legs shake, your dignity and shame staining the dry sheets.

Damn you, Toji Fushiguro. Through gritted teeth and tears swelling up, you swear to not get mixed with that man from here on out.

And you do just that. Anytime you saw him within the same corridor or room, you would ghost him as if his familiar tall, solid build could never catch your eye. You'd go on about your business, onto the next task, onto the next client.

You didn't even take his missions anymore, nor did he for yours. Everything was going back to where it was before this incident of yours. As if you two never acknowledged each other in the first place.

It was for the best, at least that's what you told yourself. You had to get back to who you were previously, whether that meant being the top assassin or not. Whichever came first, as long as you were nowhere near him.

As for Toji, he could tell what game you were playing the moment your eyes no longer gave him the time of day. And Toji wasn't mad at it either; he preferred the "no feelings attached" approach. So he did his part to not get mixed into whatever you were doing, missions and all.

But as much Toji tries not to, he can't stop thinking about you. The way your hips sway when you walk past him, your voice soft yet stern when conversing with your handler, and when you check your small hands to see if you adequately cleaned off the blood from the mission prior.

His mind can only think of your wrists trapped under his single hand while he stuffs his fingers into your mouth with the other. Your legs and ass tremble as you ride him. Doing your best not to be too loud, but oh, Toji wants you loud. He wants you to let him know he's making you mewl and shriek, not giving a damn if the whole world knows as well. "Haaah—Ahhh!! T-Toji, please...I'm gonna cum, if you keep—Ohhh!"

Hearing you, kissing you, holding you, all of it. All of you. If he could have you close to him, he'd be as swift as a blink of an eye.

But again, he preferred this way. Less trouble, more work.

And it was going pretty alright.

Well, until you start going on missions with other hitmen.

Although your diligent work ethic and astute experience led you to the top, you've also gained respect and admiration from your colleagues, especially your junior subordinates.

And now that you seemed to stop associating yourself with Toji, some of the other guys tried to use this to their advantage to get closer to you and request your aid for some of their tasks.

And who are you to say no to helping others who wish to improve? There's no wrong in doing so.

Except there is a wrong. Its name is Toji Fushiguro, and the last straw was when he saw one of the juniors try to take you out to dinner (to which you declined, of course). He needed to stop this before some poor rookie's head decorated some walls.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Another day goes by, and you go down the hallway from a meeting with your handler, only to see Toji leaning on a wall. You've done this dance several times now. Just keep walking. You walk past him like nothing, easy peasy. Now onto the next task and go see-

"Y/n."

You stop in your tracks when someone calls out to you. No, you know who it was that said your name. It's been a while since you've heard his husky voice. You sigh and continue walking.

Toji's brows furrow. Unless you were seeing things he wasn't, you two were obviously the only people in this hall. Stopping at the sound of his voice is evidence that you're aware of his existence. Yet you move right along.

That's strike one.

He gets up from the wall and follows behind you. Toji stares at your figure, and he knows you can sense him. He huffs, cursing you that you got him following you like some lovestruck schoolboy.

"Y/n." He tries it again.

You didn't stop this time, your face in the direction you were heading.

That's strike two.

Toji sucks his teeth. Now this is getting annoying. He takes five giant steps and places his hand on your shoulder, gripping it so you can stop at that spot. "Yo!!" He doesn't bother hiding his irritation.

"Hey!"

You free your shoulder from his hand in a swift motion, smacking his arm away. It was a small action, but it gave you enough leeway to hop a few extra meters away from him.

However, Toji was way quicker than that.

He grabs and pins you onto the wall of the hallway corner. You wince as the pain is slight, yet nothing too life-threatening. But that can't be said for the look Toji was giving you. Black brows are pulled down, and his forest-green eyes affirm that he's livid.

Strike three it is.

"I fucking dare you to try and get yourself out of this one," His rough hands are now on your shoulders, but they're keeping you in one place this time. "Try it."

A displeased frown paints your face. "Oh? Are you challenging me? I thought you'd have half the brain to know that's not a good idea."

He sneers at your attempt at sounding threatening. It always worked with others, but never with him. He found you adorable for always trying. "Hmph, your sassy mouth loves to spit out venom," Toji leans his face in, his nose almost touching yours. "Thought I fucked that attitude right out of ya."

You bring a knee to his groin, but again, Toji is one step ahead. Grabbing your leg and pulling it up with one hand while he uses the other to hold your wrists above your head.

Your eyes widen. This position, the memories, it's all coming back to you.

Pull yourself together, damn it!

"Tch, what is this about now, you reckless bear?" You glare at the man, trying to stay calm in this predicament.

"I'm fine playing the avoiding game—"

"You don't seem fine about it now." You cut him off.

"I wonder who's to blame for that."

"What the hell did I do? I carried on with my work and left you alone. Everything was going back to how it used to—"

"I don't think you avoiding me and going on other missions with other guys used to happen."

How you fought the urge to roll your eyes amazed you. "What are you, an elementary schooler? Why does it matter to you what I do with my time?"

"Shut up. You know I've been in this field longer than you have, and when you came into the picture, you always chose to be alone."

"Again," your patience wears thin by the second. "Why does it matter to you?"

Silence. He just stares at you as anger dwindles out bit by bit, but he's in his thoughts as his eyes hone in on yours.

"Well?" You press on while he's stumped. "Why?"

No answer, averting his eyes to the side like he'd find the answer there. Then, they come back to your face. Or rather, your lips.

Your breath hitches. "Fushiguro?"

His emerald eyes return to yours, yet his irritation is clouded in a softer tone. Those eyes now express the hooded look from that night. Toji places your leg onto his shoulder and leans closer to you.

"Fushigu—"

"Shhh," His deep voice sounded more demanding when hushed. "Let me have this. Have you."

His lips press onto yours before you deny him. Toji finally frees your hands to cup your face, and his tongue runs through your teeth, waiting for permission to enter. You should be fighting this. You have to fight it. But your mouth opens for him, and your hands grab his shoulders for stability.

You moan sweetly when he slides his tongue into yours, your balance starting to fail you. "I'm still on one leg, you asshole." You manage to say in-between kisses.

Toji laughs a bit before changing your position, pressing your back against the wall with your legs wrapped around him. Once you're comfortable, he's back on attacking your lips. It gets rougher and more passionate, teeth clashing and biting your bottom lip.

He groans when a hand pulls on his hair, his hands grope on your ass lovingly. He breaks up the kiss, you two catching your breath. He gazes at you, "You too, huh?"

Your lips quiver when you turn away from him and nod. He snickers. "Look at you being all shy. You were talking with a lot of sass not too long ago, and now you can barely look at me." He draws his face closer to your neck, giving it sweet kisses and tiny bites that cause you to gasp. And Toji was enjoying your reactions. "Knowing that I'm the one that can make you like this — Mmmph, makes me want to fuck you here and now."

And that's what you want. You won't admit it, but he already knows that. The cooperation with him at this very moment proves it. You want him just as much as he does you.

"Y/n! Where are you?"

The two of you freeze when another voice comes from the other side of the hall. Then you remember a rookie who needed help with a mission today, and you were headed to see him right after your meeting. And now you're pressed between a wall and Toji fucking Fushiguro with your legs wrapped around his waist.

If he sees me like this with Fushiguro, I'm finished!

"T-Toji," your whisper grabs the older man's attention. "You have to put me down. They're waiting for me."

Toji squints at you and then a look of realization. The grin that creeps on his face alerts something in your brain, and you don't know if you like it or not. There's little time for you to come to a proper answer because Toji moves away from the wall and brings you along for the ride. Your arms hold around his neck so you don't fall off as he enters a room and locks the door.

You're now in a tiny conference room with the lights off, only the sunlight peeking through the blinds of the sole window in front of the round table.

"What are you doing, Fushigur—Ack!" Toji throws you onto the table. The pain from your head distracts you from the fact that he's pulling your pants off in immediate haste.

His chuckles sound dangerously low. "So you thought I'd just let you go on some mission when I already have you right where I want you?" Toji spreads your legs for your undergarments to be displayed, whistling at the lewd image of a damp spot on the piece of clothing. "Oh, sweetheart, not with these cute lil' panties of yours."

You were about to get up and grab for his neck, but a finger pushed into your pussy through the cloth. A squeal slips out, and you're quick to cover your mouth.

"Careful, princess," his big hands pull your panties off you, and they meet the cold floor. His middle and forefinger slide up and down between slick-coated cunt has you biting your lip, and Toji likes the determination. "Don't want whoever lookin' for you to walk in on us. This pussy is for my eyes to see only."

"Haaaah...You're such a bastard, Fushiguro—Ooohh!!" Toji pushes his finger into your clothed opening, his free hand coming in the clutch to cover your voice.

Toji leans close to your face with the vibrations of your mewls rippling through his palm while his thick digit plays with your slit. "I mean it, kid. Don't play with me." You nod meekly, and he kisses your forehead for your obedience.

"Hmm, I wonder where y/n went. Hopefully, they didn't forget..." You can hear the voice of your subordinate on the other side of the door as if he's directly in front of it.

Another finger is added into the mix, and tears start to form as you wince through the pain of your nether lips being stretched. You try calling out to Toji, yet it's no use with his big warm hand dwarfing your sobs.

He does remove it, though, using it to maneuver your head so he can lay kisses on your neck. Your choked hiccups sound like sweet notes to his ears. "So good fr' me, sweetie. You smell so fuckin' good. Who're you trying to pull?"

"No-No one...Ahhhh..." You answer in gasps while his digits scrape your inner walls, your mind turning to mush. "I'm not trying anything— Oh fuck..."

"Bullshit." Toji groans and bites your collarbone, and a sharp gasp leaves you. "All this attention, all these rookies gawkin' at you like you're their prize."

"Why? You jealous, Fushiguro?" It wasn't meant to be a snarky comment, yet there was some spice. The glare he gives you sends a chill down your spine. One is sent back to show that you're standing your ground despite the humiliation you're going through.

You're about to say some more; however, you hear the doorknob jolt, and the clench of your velvety walls around Toji's fingers doesn't go past him.

"Huh? Why's the door locked?"

The shock on your face lights a lightbulb for Toji as a big grin takes over him. "Yeah? This space is occupied." He calls out to the person behind the door, the petrified look on your face only fueling his mischievous fire.

"Oh shit, Mr. Fushiguro!?" He snickers at the other's response. "S-Sorry! I didn't mean to disrupt you! I was just looking for someone."

A brow is raised when Toji turns his head to the door. "Who?"

You send your knife-piercing eyes his way, but he still doesn't face you. This motherfucker...

"Y/n," the rookie replies sheepishly. "They said they'd help me and a partner of mine with a mission. But I haven't seen them for a while..."

Please don't ask where I am. Just go somewhere else—Oh God!!

Toji's fingers fasten the pace, and you quickly cover your mouth before the person, oblivious to your absence, gets any inclination of where you are. And it gets worse when Toji's thumb flicks your clit prompting a choked cry. Oh, he's such a cruel man.

Toji hums with a sly smile as he peers at your writhing figure. "Oh, really? Didn't know that."

"By any chance, do you know where they went?"

You can't vocally tell him anything, so you rely on your eyes to convey your anxious pleas, orbs begging him through streamed tears and hooded with shame.

But Toji won't let you off that easily because the fun has just started. He whispers, "Say my name, baby." You blink with scrunched brows. "Say my name like you did that night."

This is too fucking much for me! Your mind is going through waves of turbulence. Of all people to be in this situation with, it has to be the fucker getting a kick out of this!!

Before you think up another sentence, a stinging sensation jolts your body upwards to him. Toji sneers playfully as his fingers leave your soaked folds and pinch your clitoris, your reaction too adorable for him to not stop tormenting you. "C'mon, sweetheart, say my name with your cute ass voice."

Your mind is clouded in this euphoric atmosphere that you can feel the climax inching closer and closer. Your lips are now swollen from having to bite them constantly. Another pinch has you screaming in silence, and you're pushed to accept your fate and give him what he wants: your submission.

"Hic-T-Toji, please," eyes hooded in a fuzzy haze, you reach out for his face. He obliges as you caress his cheeks. "Too much, 's too —hic... too much..."

His jade orbs focus on your dazed expression. A smile pushes his scar up for his teeth to peek through. "There she is. That's my good girl." He draws in to kiss you, his body weight pushing you down on the cold table surface. However, a knock from the door behind him halts him from moving any further. Toji clicks his teeth. Fuckin' brat.

And he removes himself from you, especially his fingers that were warm inside your cunt. The sudden subtraction of them have you exclaiming in soft whimpers. The orgasm you were so close to achieving is ignored and slowly depletes. You feel as though you could cry through the sensitive.

Toji whispers a quick apology and licks his digits marinated with your fluid. Then he marches to the door and opens it enough for half of his body to be visible. The rookie jumps at the tall man looking at the other with the most terrifying scowl. "What?" His gruff voice carries authority, and your pussy throbs as you watch him handle the younger hitman.

"S-Sorry, sir! I asked if you've seen—"

"No, I haven't seen them. Why not ask their handler since they just had a meeting together."

"Oh, okay...Well, excuse me!" Your junior quickly bows at the intimidating senior and scampers out of the scene.

A heavy sigh leaves Toji as he closes and locks the door, "Fuckin' finally." The exasperated tone of his tone falters when he turns to you, replaced with the returning lust. "Now, where were we..." His hands undo the knot around his pants and loosen the hold around his hips.

When his dick is set free, you can't help but gawk at such a thing. Seeing it for the second time is just as — if not more — menacing as the first. The girth and size alone has your mind in a whirlwind, questioning how that even fit inside you in the first place.

Nevertheless, it's no use thinking about such matters because Toji aligns his cock around your folds. When he feels you tense at his veiny organ, he rubs your thighs tenderly to coax you. "Relax fr' me, angel." Hesitation is shown as you nod, but you even your breathing and prepare for him.

Toji pushes his length into you with every breath you take, and it's difficult to adjust to the foreign organ intruding into your poor hole. You grimace every time the tip is shoved against you. Tears finally fall down your face which are wiped by Toji's calloused fingers. "I know, honey, I know."

It feels like forever just having the tip of Toji's dick enter you, and when it does, oh, it does. A loud gasp exits your lips from the intrusion, and inaudible babbles fly out as he pushes his length, stretching your vulva as it ventures deep within you.

Toji, on the other hand, shivers as your inner walls clamp around his cock. "Jesus...This pussy is still so fuckin' tight." He hisses through gnashed teeth. Once the base of his member reaches your opening, you two take a moment to recollect yourselves.

"Hmmm, damn, I missed this." He grinds his hips into you, his hands posted on your hips to savor the clenching feeling of your pussy. "Heh, bet that brat of a subordinate wouldn't know how to handle you like I do."

Even with your mind foggy and senses at an all-time high, you give the older man a look of annoyance. You make your cunt squeeze hard on him, the unexpected action catching him by surprise as he lowers himself to you, using all his willpower not to cum so early.

Before he can curse you out for the unforeseen kegel, you cup his face to have him look at you. "For God's sake, can you not mention him while you're fucking me, Toji?" Your voice hushed for him to pay close attention, but your beautiful dazed expression distracts him. "I'm not thinking about anyone besides you."

You don't even give him a chance to his answer because you pull him into a kiss and moan sweetly into his mouth. He groans and slowly rocks his hips into a stable rhythm.

His thrusts gradually get faster and faster, rearranging your legs around his waist so you don't go sliding on the table surface. Your pants get sporadic, and your cries are a little louder than earlier. But not too loud for the whole building to hear, only for him.

The slap of his balls hitting your ass is so vulgar to the ears that you hide your face. "Cut that out, sweetheart," Toji wastes no time removing your hands and holds them down with his. A feeling of deja vu blossoms in the air. "Don't try hidin' away from me, baby. I want to see all of you."

A sudden burst of confidence fuels your sentence. "Then fuck me like you deserve all of me."

A fire is ignited in Toji, and a sudden deep thrust is thrown at you out of nowhere. Your sobs only propel him to continue piston his length into the deepest parts of your gummy walls.

The conference room is filled with nothing but the sound of your sexes smacking together, skin slapping against each other, and groans and moans in heavy puffs and pants.

"Haahh! Haaaaah!! Tojiii, Tojiiii," you whimper as his pumps go erratically fast, shivering beneath him as your legs cage him.

"Oh fuckin' shit," Toji curses with eyes shut, removing one hand from yours and snaking it down to your clit, using his fingers to press down on the sensitive bud.

Your orgasm climbs back up, and you want to claim it this time. "Toji, 'm gonna, gonna c—Ohhh!!"

"Yeah? Gonna cum for me, sweet thing? Gonna cum on my dick like the good girl you are?" You nod lazily. Toji doesn't buy it. "Use your words, baby. Is that what you want?"

"Yes, Toji, yes!! Please, I want it!!"

And he gives it to you as the pads of his fingers swipe on your bud rapidly. Your release comes crashing down on you when your cunt spasms around the girthy length. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and your body jolts with every wave of pleasure.

Toji isn't far from his peak, so he doesn't stop pounding into you for a few seconds. The hilt of his cock slams into your slick-covered opening, and you cry from the impact on your aching chasm. He fills you up with his own come and rests his body on you. His heaving figure feels pleasant on top of you.

The two of you begin to calm down as you finish each other's climax. Toji breathes on the crook of your neck and leaves a trail of kisses. "Fuck, pussy felt way too fuckin' good —kiss— Don't think I'd like the idea of sharin' you with the rest."

You shake your head and chuckle at him, placing your hands behind his neck and playing with his hair. "Whatever you say, you possessive loser."

Toji lifts his head and kisses your forehead before your lips, the two of you indulging in this tender moment as if nothing outside this space matters to you.

That is, until another knock on the door alerts you both, and Toji has to resist the urge to break the table you're lying on. Withdrawing from your embrace, he shouts at the person ruining his time with you. "Look here, brat! I told you this space is occupied!"

"I'm aware. That's why I came to get you." The different voice has Toji realize it wasn't the junior from before but his handler. Shiu Kong? "I was told by some rookie that you were in this room."

Toji groans as he puts his pants back on. For your sake, you keep your mouth shut and let the two men converse through the door between them. "What's up?"

"I just got you into a big operation. The client wants to meet with you to discuss plans and all that fun jazz. So meet with me outside the building whenever you're ready." And with that, Shiu's footsteps falter away from the room.

You finally get up from the table and grab your panties. Or, at least, look in the direction of where your panties should be. Looking to the left? Nope. To the right? Nada. Where did they go?

You hear the click of the door opening, and you run behind an office chair to hide your bare lower body. The culprit was Toji leaving to meet his handler, but what caught your eye was the familiar piece of clothing swirling around his finger. His childish smirk was plastered on his face. "Mind I borrow these for the rest of the day?"

Your face goes hot with unease. "Quit it, Fushiguro! I can feel your cum going down my legs, so hand it over!"

But he doesn't, stuffing the undergarments in his pocket, to your immediate horror. "Nah, I think I'll need 'em, ya know. A lil' motivation for me while I'm gone."

His dumb laugh fills his ego, but it stops when he sees you pick the chair up and throw it at him. He barely escapes as the furniture loudly bangs on the closed door, running away from the scene to meet up with Shiu.

"FUSHIGURO, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!"

It's the first time you lose your cool with Toji, and all you can think about in this room of shame and humiliation is why did you get yourself tangled up with the older man again!?

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

"I'm sorry for the sudden disappearance. Something came up on my end, and I had to take care of it immediately."

You found that subordinate later that day and apologized for your abrupt disappearance. They were accepted by the other, who nervously chuckled at your politeness.

"Oh, it's fine, y/n," he scratches his neck and looks to the ground. "I was just worried something happened with you, but I'm sure that wasn't the case since you're so good at what you do!"

You offer a small smile for his compliments, maintaining a calm composure so he doesn't see through the tiny nervous part of yourself. Oh, you don't even know the half of it, junior.

Your smile makes the younger hitman blush, but something catches his eye from behind you. "Huh? Oh, Mr. Fushiguro is back from his mission!"

You perk up at what your peer said, looking in the same direction he was. Shiu Kong was walking up with Toji tailing behind him. You greet Shiu with a brief bow, and he mirrors the action in return.

Once your eyes land on Toji, he's already grinning like a child with a hand rustling in a pocket, and you know what's inside it. "Hey, y/n." His patronizing tone doesn't go overlooked, causing your cheeks to heat up.

Your gaze averts from his cocky demeanor, yet you greet him. "Welcome back, Toji."

The look on the younger hitman across from you displays nothing but perplexity. Even Shiu Kong's brows shoot up with what you said. The junior is the first to say something. "Y/n, y-you just called Mr. Fushiguro by his first name!"

"Yeah, that's a first." Shiu agrees as the cigarette between his lips bounces at every word. "You only refer to him by his last name."

You blink once. You blink twice. And then it finally hits you. Oh shit.

The heat in your cheeks spreads across your face, and your lips lightly tremble as you try to explain yourself. But Toji beats you to the punch as he snakes an arm on your shoulder and brings you close to his chest, resulting in a squeak that your lips fail to suppress. He sneers at the younger man staring at the interaction.

"That's right, y/n and I have gotten pretty close, as you can tell." The grin on his face has a harmless glow, but those sharp emerald eyes of his are shadowed with a dangerous connotation. "After all, she is my special girl." Your subordinate gulps.

Toji snickers, satisfied with the younger hitman taking the hint. He then turns to you, and you do the same. "And as for you, darlin'," He leans in to whisper something in your ear. Something only for you to make your eyes wide and your breath still.

"Next time I see you with this brat, don't think I won't fuck the shit out of you with him watchin'. Show him just how special and good you are fr' me."

[fictoculus]

౨ৎ they're crying, but why?

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FEAT... cyno, venti (w/ diluc), gorou

A/N... aaand the results are in! this is the result of the poll i posted yesterday, thank you to everyone who submitted their vote ♡ (sorry these got a bit long! i got a bit carried away...)

WARNINGS... death/injury (gorou), mentions of alcohol/drinking (venti)

✧ cyno.

when you really put some thought into it, you don't think you've ever actually seen cyno cry. he is quite a solitary person, after all, and tends to take matters into his own hands; hating when other people get involved in his problems, especially those most dear to him.

being general mahamatra comes with a lot of responsibilty, and it's only reasonable for things to become stressful from time to time, maybe even too much too handle. that's why when you come home to a seemingly empty house, the snack you left for him on the kitchen table remaining untouched, you begin to worry. cyno has plenty of unhealthy habits, one of which being avoiding food when mentally conflicted, convinced that it acts as a catalyst to his emotions.

your first thought is to check the bedroom, expecting your beloved to be lying in bed, hopefully asleep and not silently shedding tears. however, as you near the doorway, you soon notice that the door is open... cyno never leaves the door open.

"love? are you home?"

you call out, half expecting a response, yet one was not given. instead, you were met by an eerie silence...

"where in teyvat is he?!"

you searched high and low but to no avail, you're beloved was nowhere to be seen; it was like the two of you were running in circles. little did you know, he was searching for you too...

normally, cyno would seek a quiet, secluded place to be alone with his thoughts, desperately trying to come up with a solution but his mind often wanders off to you; how you would deal with the situation, how he would manage it if it were you feeling this way. sometimes it works, other times it's completely and utterly useless; he fails to picture someone as kind-hearted and loving as you committing such violent deeds. he imagines your warmth, how gentle you are with him, how soft yet meaningful your kisses are, and finally comes to the realisation: the last thing he wants is to be alone. it had all become too much for him to handle by himself, and as guilty a he'd feel dumping it all on you, it felt as if he had no other choice.

at this point, you're breaking into a sprint, the daunting realisation that the sun was beginning to set urging you to go onwards. the thought of cyno being alone in the desert at night sent chills down your spine, even though you knew he could probably handle himself.

you pass by villagers, adventurers, and even narrowly avoid a group of hermits, all but one of them fast asleep around a campfire. a flaming ache shoots down your legs, only causing you to become more desperate as you throw your head from side to side, scouring your surroundings for any signs of him. you stop in your tracks, frozen as a silohuette in the distance catches your eye. it has ears, just like cyno's, pointing up to the sky, and you're convinced it's him. you feel your heart pounding in your chest, whether it be from the running or from nervousness you didn't know but in tha-

[THUD!]

all of a sudden, you're sent toppling to the ground, a figure falling right ontop of you, but managing to catch themselves with their hands, placed on either side of your head.

"what the..."

they had ears, just like cyno's, pointing up to the sky... was it the silohuette from earlier? it can't be, they must've been a mile away.. then who on teyvat is it?!

"cyno?!"

relief washes over you as you pull him down ontop of you, wrapping him in a tight embrace. he squirms at first, puzzled as to why a stranger was holding onto him so tightly. only when he realises its you underneath him does he finally loosen up, letting your comforting warmth envelop him and save him from the harsh cold of the desert's night.

you kiss his forehead lovingly before slowly repositioning the two of you so that he's sat upright on your lap, your back pressed against the cold cliff face behind you. it felt... strange having him on top of you like this, it wasn't often you in control, and you'd never imagined cyno of all people being on your lap, or anyone's lap for that matter. his eyes lock with yours and he immediately breaks, his eyes welling up as he crashes onto you, wrapping his arms securely around your waist and hiding his face in the crook of your neck. he cries. he cries and cries and cries, but you remain patient with him; rubbing his back slowly and shushing him every so often.

"you're ok... shhh, you're alright. i love you, cyno, and i'll always be right by your side, no matter what"

"even when i hurt innocent people?"

you're taken aback by this statement. never in your life had anyone challenged cyno's judgment, and the last person you thought you'd hear it from was the man himself.

"you don't, love... those people deserved their punishment, don't doubt your judgement"

you feel him shift, pulling his away from your shoulder, his face mere inches from yours.

"i love you..."

he murmers, letting out a shakey breath, the warm air hitting your face and bringing a soft, rosey tint to your cheeks.

"i love you too"

you close the gap, kissing him tenderly, conveying everything you feel for him in that intimate moment, showing him how much you love him, how much you care...

✧ venti.

at first, you think venti is drunk, slumped over the bar in angel's share, seemingly groggy and, honestly, looking absolutely exhausted (but cute nontheless). you admire him from afar, taking in how his cape wraps around his figure perfectly.

"ah, [name], i was wondering when you'd turn up"

diluc, the owner of the tavern, has quite the tough exterior, though once you get to know him, his wall begins to crack, revealing his slightly softer interior.

you sigh; yes, you're used to picking venti up from the tavern by now, but you wished he could at least be a bit more responsible for things like his tab.

"don't worry, i'll pay"

approaching the two of them, you reach into your pocket, feeling around for your bag of mora, only to be interrupted by diluc's monotonous yet somehow expressive voice.

"he hasn't had anything"

even diluc seems surprised, causing you stop in your tracks; he hasn't been drinking? the feeling of disappointment quickly leaves you and is instantaneously replaced by a feeling of pure concern. your lover, still lying on the counter, is yet to even move since you walked in, and didn't respond when the redhead called his name. instinctively, you place your hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him, urging him to get up.

"love?"

he doesn't respond, you and diluc sharing a look; you can tell from his eyes that does, in fact, care for venti. your eyebrows furrow as you stop shaking him and rest your hand on his back, only to realise he is still trembling. as quietly as you can, you pull up a stool and take a seat next to him, diluc taking this as his hint to leave and wondering into the storage room.

all it takes is a few sniffles for you to realise exactly what was going on.

"darling... venti, look at me"

reaching out your hand to hold his, your realise how sweaty his palms are, pulling them away from his face to reveal his puffy, red eyes staring up at you, though he quickly diverts his gaze once the two of you make eye contact. in that exact moment, you can feel your heart breaking, each tear rolling down his cheek forming a new crack. without hesitation, you hug him. it's an awkward hug, his upper half still resting on the counter, your right arm reaching over his back and rubbing his shoulder, your left snaking around his waist and pulling him closer.

"this isn't very comfortable..."

you chuckle, even through sadness, venti's... strong personality never fails to show through. his breath hitches every so often as he tries to hold back his sobs, but, archons, was it good to hear his voice again, no matter how broken it may sound. you feel him shift under your arms and so you remove them from around him, allowing him the capacity to move into a more comfortable position; which happened to be lifting you up and pulling you onto his lap, the small of your back pressed against the edge of the counter.

"what's got you so down in the dumps, hm?"

you question, reaching up a hand to tilt his chin up while the other ruffles his hair. he doesn't respond, but instead pulls his face away from your touch and buries it in your chest, finding the rise and fall of your breathing comforting. you both just sit in silence, appreciating eachother's presence more than anything. still in venti's arms, you reach into your bag and grab a notepad and pen, scribbling down a note, thanking diluc for letting your partner stay and watching over him. venti simply watches, slightly confused when you leave a scrappy looking piece of paper on the stool next to you... that is until he reads "dear diluc", and everything seems to click.

venti never does explain what had upset him so much, but you trust him; you trust that when he needs you, he'll come find you, for you can hide from many things, but never the wind...

(unbeknownst to the two of you, diluc had been listening in to your conversation the entire time, a foreign sense of worry prevented him from leaving, curious to know what had gotten his most loyal patron friend in such a state...)

✧ gorou.

gorou doesn't know how long he's been stood at the front door, trembling as waves upon waves of guilt flood over him. an impossible challenge had approached him, one he could never have been prepared for.

it was an ambush.

manslaughter. hundreds of his men, brave warriors, slain. defeated. gone. the hope he had, the passion, dissapated within an instant, crashing to the ground just like him when he heard the news. he fell silent, but kokomi could tell by the way he slumped over that his heart shattered. she told him not to lose hope, that the resistance still has a chance of overpowering the vision hunt decree, but that isn't what got him on his knees. he wasn't there. he couldn't save them. it was his fault.

he wondered for hours, aimlessly following paths but straying off them once he neared the home of a fallen soldier. somehow, as if by miracle, he found himself at the front door of your shared home, hours after his usual return, leaving you worried sick. weakly, he lifted his hand and rested it on the door handle, but he couldn't bring himself to walk in... he was ashamed. hundreds of his men died on his watch, how could he possibly return home carrying that on his shoulders? it must've been 20 minutes after he arrived before you finally decided to go out looking for him, despite him making you promise that you'd never go searching for him if he didn't return home; how could you not knowing your beloved could be in danger?

"gorou? archons, i was worried sick! how long have you been standing out here its so- cold... love?"

you practically exploded on him, not giving him a chance to speak, which in some ways he is grateful for, the last thing he wanted was to have to confess. so instead he just stood there, motionless, his feet stiff on the ground, as if held in place by glue. he couldn't bare to look you in the eye, avoiding your gaze at all costs.

"sweetheart... please look at me? did something happen? are you hurt?"

scanning him over, you see no signs of external injury, but you notice how he's gently shaking, his hands fidgeting with the tip of his tail which seemed slightly damp. immediatey you knew; he'd been crying. what for, you don't know, but in that moment, you didn't need to.

you know gorou well enough to have memorised his habits, one of which being him cuddling his tail when he cries, especially when you're not there to hold and console him. how do you know this? you've walked in on him before; hidden under the covers and whimpering softly as he tried his best to muffle his cries.

seeing him upset is like a dagger to the heart, and you can't stand watching him fall apart right in front of you.

"let's get you inside, hm?"

he nods meekly, forcing a smile as he steps past you and into the warmth, instantly feeling a sense of comfort at the familiar smells and sensations of your home.

you have your back turned from him, purposefully taking longer than usual to lock the door, trying to come up with a way to cheer up your partner.

the very instant you turned back around to face him, solid plan in mid, he crashes into your arms, desperately clawing at the back of your shirt, searching for something to ground himself. you feel his face nuzzle into your chest, his tears wetting your shirt, but you didn't mind. infact, you opted to bring him even closer, your hand at the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his hair and gently scratching his scalp.

"i- i'm sorry..."

his voice wavered, as if he forced the words out. he breaks down after his apology, knowing just how the hard the news was going to hit you.

"don't apologise, dear, i'm just glad you're back with me, safe and sound"

you squeeze him tighter, wanting to pull him in even more, but knowing he could only be so close until he literally couldn't breathe. once the trembling stops, and his sobs turn to sniffles, you pull away, moving your hands to cup his cheeks and tilt his head to face yours. smiling, you lean down ever so slightly and plant a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

"now, let's get a warm cup of tea and you can tell me all about it, ok? i'll fix you up a little something to eat too"

hand in hand, the two of you relocate to the kitchen, gorou sat timidly at the table whilst you prepare him some tricolour dango. you both take deep breaths together before he slowly guides you through his day, attempting to explain what had happened. his nerves were spiking, knowing you'd be distraught at what had happened on the battlefield, scared that you'd become angry at him and tell him he's to blame.

to say you were heartbroken was an understatement, some of those who were lost were friends of yours, that was a fact that couldn't be dismissed, and so you did shed a few tears; but you would never blame any of it on gorou.

over the course of the next couple hours, you cried together, you laughed together, you ate together, only to cry once more, but you found comfort in doing it together. rising from your seat to get a glass of water, you catch sight of the time, letting gorou know and suggesting the pair of you head to bed. you tell him to go ahead and get comfortable while you stay and clean the dishes, giving him a few minutes to recollect his thoughts and calm himself down.

the two of you stay in bed from that point onwards, holding each other close, reminiscing on the memories you had shared with those who had unfortunately passed; you knew it was hard for him to talk about such things, and it was hard for you too, but if not now, when? there were moments where he'd begin to tear up again, but you'd be there to calm him, rubbing his back and whispering sweet nothings in his ear...

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you'd like me to write next!

© FICTOCULUS 2023; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own

[edandstede]

i found ofmd not long after i’d come out as a gay trans man. i came out after years of knowing i was and deliberately repressing it, refusing to poke it or acknowledge it, terrified of it. i didn’t want to see it. couldn’t be me, if i ignored it it would go away. like stede, i would cry when i thought nobody could hear me. it was so lonely, shutting that part of myself off, and coming out just to my own close circle (not family at this point) was the scariest thing i’ve ever done.

this show… fucking hell, this show. it held me gently but firmly and told me in no uncertain terms that everything i knew about being a man was wrong, that i could be who i wanted to be and it was never too late to grab it with both hands. it helped me work through things in my head, consider myself in new ways, forced me to reflect. yes, i could be authentic, i could be flamboyant, i could wear what i want, i could be tough, vulnerable, effeminate, silly, a bit of a loser even. i could cry, i could try and fail and try again. i could be messy and human and deserve happiness and love. i could shape my life into something that truly makes me happy, and i could do it all with a family of my own choosing. i could be free.

it took this new and fragile existence for me, something i was still bricking it about, and reminded me of the utter joy of being queer and stepping into yourself properly. of community, belonging, expression, self-actualisation. i didn’t even realise how much i needed ofmd until i had it, and i could scarcely believe it was real! this brilliant gem, full of eccentricity and poignancy and just brimming with love, so much love, from every single direction. it was a breath of fresh air, just like it was for so many others. there’s never been anything quite like it and any future queer media like it has big shoes to fill.

i just turned 28, i’m finally out to my family as trans, i’m ready to send off my deed poll to change my name, i’m crowdfunding for top surgery and i’m in the process of being referred to a GIC. this show’s kindness, its unwavering love towards people like me, it bolstered my courage and bravery SO MUCH and i’ve taken steps towards getting the life i truly want that i never dared i’d take. i want to be myself, i want to stop holding myself back, i want to do things i’ve never been brave enough to chase before. isn’t that amazing? my life is finally an adventure i can’t wait for. and i’ve received so much love and support from all of you too - you’ve donated to my surgery fund, you’ve sent kind messages, you’ve connected with me about being trans. for all the negative stuff i’ve come across in this fandom, there’s double the amount of love and i’ve felt it first-hand.

i truly am not the same person i was before ofmd and that is so fucking brilliant, i couldn’t be more grateful. i’m heartbroken that, as of now, ofmd won’t be returning to us. but it has touched my life in such a special way, written on me in permanent ink, you might say. and i just think it’s a really lovely thing nobody can take away, this lasting impression. i’ll always carry ed and stede and the crew in my heart, even when the revenge is nothing more than scrap wood and old fabric.

:•) 🏴‍☠️❤️

[the-perfect-wagnerite-again]

Is homosexuality a boon or a curse?

I think in the grand scheme of things historically, it's probably more of a curse. But in this isolated instance of modernity, it's probably more of a boon.

I'm not the kind of guy who could ever bury his sexuality and endure a heterosexual lifestyle for the sake of a family, because I don't think that's honest. I'd be doing a disservice to my wife especially, who would deserve a partner that could cross the divide between the sexes and join with her in full complimentarity. I can't do that, so I'd never try to just "make it work" with a woman.

That said, I think in the particular context of our present cultural and political moment, (male) homosexuality is undeniably a boon. The economy of meaningful sexual relationships (and the norms informing it) is heavily weighted against men. With every passing year, women are given more and more license to act out of pure self-interest, no matter how short-sighted or destructive that self-interest might be. Men are expected to not only stomach this childishness but also enthusiastically celebrate it, all while being reminded from all angles and at all times that any dissatisfaction they experience is entirely the result of their own inadequacy. This effeminization is felt at nearly all social stratas, such that even the most earnest of self-proclaimed "trad" girls of today will still empathize with their own personal Edna Pontelliers and Nora Helmers, and men who find that distasteful just have to man-up more.

At least once a week, I have heterosexual male friends approach me to vent and seek advice for the seemingly nonsensical behaviors they encounter from their partners, girlfriends, and potential love interests. Complaints of female vapidness, shallowness, self-centeredness, and incapacity for introspection are common, and I'm at least honest enough to let my friends know when they're being stupid or immature themselves. But overwhelmingly, the dysfunction between the sexes is entirely the fault of women. Emotional outbursts, asymmetrical expectations of propriety, and episodes of impatience and selfishness are commonplace behaviors in modern women, all of which are buttressed by the ridiculous and astroturfed assumption that women are somehow more "emotionally mature" than men, that men are stupider and less-developed by default.

There is a sense of entitlement that penetrates all interpersonal interactions with women. A woman is entitled to the respect of her partner, both in word and deed, though her respect must be earned. A woman is entitled to her feelings, no matter how insipid, and questioning their validity is a form of emotional assault. A woman is entitled to full arbitership of a relationship's trajectory; if her partner disagrees, then she's entitled to leave because she can do better. A woman is entitled to know what she's "worth," and at the same time cast judgment on any man who dares not meet her expectations. And let's not forget that illuminating AITA poll from a while back, and all of the moral prescriptions the girlies were pronouncing on the evils of honesty and the "nuance" of cheating and lying.

The (sane) male homosexual observes all of this with a mixture of amusement and sadness. We're a safe distance from the blast radius of female behavior, but our male companions toil away at its center, trying to deduce the correct wire to cut. It's impossible to not sympathize with my male friends as they struggle to make heads or tails of women's behavior, because so much of the dysfunction they experience would be incomprehensible with another man (though gays bring plenty of their own dysfunction, to be sure). I can't count the number of times my guy friends have said some variation of the phrase "I almost envy the fact that you're gay, you don't have to deal with XYZ."

If I was given the power to snap my fingers and become straight right now, I would not do it. Roll us back 100 years or so, and my answer would likely be different.

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 4 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N: i don't particularly want to post on mother's day, so I'm updating a day early so I can get this out here to you all. Go check out my poll please :) I'm about to write some Abe content and I'm SO excited to get him in the story haha! As always, let me know what you all think and enjoy!

Early June 1943

Ruth glanced between the sweating private, the ticked major, and the way that Colonel Huglin shifted in his seat uncomfortably.  The court martial had continued on through the morning with both the private and the major pleading their cases and defending their decisions.  Currently though, it seemed both she and Huglin were suffering from headaches at the way that the major wanted Private Weston to be punished. 

It was unreasonable punishment to dock a month’s pay in addition to cleaning in the kitchens and assisting the ground crew with some repairs.  It was a gross exaggeration to the crime that had been committed—though Ruth was starting to understand why Weston had first punched Major Monson in the first place.  

Never one to condone violence lightly, as far as Ruth could tell, Monson had been the aggressor in the situation and Weston had responded in kind.  God, these military types were all the same with their egos and the way that they were just asking to get punched in the face . 

There was only one time where Ruth had punched a man, and it had been in her freshman year of law school at Brooklyn Law.  She was one of three girls in her class and upon entry into the class shared with Robby Rosenthal, one of the other students began to make some demeaning comments about the way that the girls should have been at home and trying to take care of the kids and the families or something. 

Rosenthal—being the bleeding heart that he was—had verbally defended the girls.  But Ruth didn’t need him defending her and she certainly didn’t want or appreciate his help.  Women had always stood on their own and the best way to get back at jackasses like this guy was to simply prove him wrong. 

Her moral high ground had gone out the door the minute that he had mentioned how he wanted to sink himself in her breasts.  That had been when Ruth had punched him square in the nose and broken it .  And considering it was all before the professor had entered the classroom and her warning him that no one would ever believe him, Ruth had spent the rest of the year in quiet infamy for her deed.  

Rising to her feet and contemplating further punching Monson, Ruth knew that an act like that would only end in disaster.  And her nails were perfectly painted in Victory Red at the moment, so chipping them over someone like him wasn’t really worth her time. 

“Weston will take kitchen duty and assist the ground crews for a month.  But docking a man a month’s pay when he’s got a wife back home seems especially cruel for something that didn’t end in any permanent damage,” Ruth said coolly.  “A more serious infraction such as destruction of United States Military property might warrant such an act, but I don’t believe this does.  Colonel?” 

Colonel Huglin seemed pleased with the way she had weaved her words, leaving Monson stuttering and jaw nearly dropped.  “I agree.  Case dismissed.” 

Ruth gave a cold smirk in Monson’s direction.  “And I’d be a bit more careful about your alcohol intake, Major.  All sorts of mistakes and infractions can happen when one is inebriated.” With that, she gave a salute and waited for Huglin’s dismissal of the other men. 

Once Monson and a grateful Weston were gone, Huglin just leaned back in his chair, giving a deep sigh.  “I wish all of our cases were as quick as that.” 

“Oh give it a week, sir,” Ruth insisted.  “Once they’re more familiar with my breed of court martialing, I doubt they’ll want to spend long with me.” 

A dry smile quirked at Huglin’s lips.  “I’m sure.  I heard you already made an impression at the pubs concerning the fraternization rule?” 

“I’m working on it, sir,” Ruth assured him.  “Things like that tend to be a little more under the rug than other infractions.” 

“I’m assuming you have experience?” 

“Too much, given my time in Aldbourne, sir.” From her bag, Ruth withdrew a packet and handed it over to him.  “And these are my disciplinary recommendations for the other men who are undergoing court martials.” 

“All of them?” 

“There were only seven cases and I’m a quick reader.” 

Huglin stared at her for a moment, taking in the efficiency and zeal with which she exacted justice.  Lieutenant Sharpe was nothing if not a credit to her profession and clearly someone who he could use to whip this base into the best shape it could be.  He had half a mind to have her infiltrate the ranks of those instigators and those who faithfully kept on gaining infractions.  

If only to see their faces when they realized that she was catching them in the act of infractions and had the authority to order them to court martials herself. 

“I’m sure we’ll find more for you to do once the new recruits arrive,” Huglin finally stated. “You’re dismissed.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“And Sharpe?” 

“Yes?” 

“Good work today.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Ruth made her way into the mess hall for a late breakfast, she found that there were a scattering of people around the room, only a few of which she knew the names of.  Ruth hadn’t gotten very far with her tray of toast and oatmeal—finding her way to an empty table, she was quiet as she sat down, hoping for some peace and quiet after her eventful court case this morning. 

Before she could so much as pray over her food, Bucky Egan had slid up onto the bench across from her.  “You’re up late,” he remarked pointedly. 

Ruth just placed her napkin in her lap and gave him a stare of annoyance.  “I’ve been up since everyone else has.  Huglin and I had a case.” 

“Wow, you’re really great at making friends,” Bucky said dryly.  

“I’m not here to make friends, Egan,” Ruth retorted, stabbing her spoon into the oatmeal.  “If I wanted to make friends, I would have stayed back in New York and joined a sewing circle.  Is there a reason why you’re here to bother me?” 

“Actually yes,” Bucky said, tearing off a piece of her toast before she could swat his hand away.  He grinned triumphantly at her, an almost smug expression on his face.  “I’m here because my boys are flying in this morning and I’m hoping you’ll cut them some slack on their first day.” 

“And you thought that stealing my toast was a good winning point?” Ruth raised a brow. 

He abruptly dropped the piece he had been in the process of stealing, a slight show of guilt crossing his features.  “I hadn’t considered that portion, no.” 

“Well unfortunately for you, Egan,” Ruth said pointedly.  “It’s not up to me.  But I will give you a slight warning.  Huglin wants to do surprise inspections upon their arrival so I hope that your boys are as up to shape as you think that they are.” 

“They will be,” Bucky replied evenly.  “They’re the best of the best and that’s just a fact.” 

“Is it?” 

“It is,” Bucky said proudly, leaning back in his chair.  “They’re the best damn pilots and men that I’ve ever known. You’ll see.” 

She nearly rolled her eyes.  “If only every leader had that kind of faith in their men, maybe this war would actually be over.” 

“Was that a compliment?” 

“No.  Your faith is accompanied by ego and it’s off-putting.” 

“You’re a cold woman, Sharpe.” 

“That’s Lieutenant to you,” Ruth retorted.  “Good day, Air Executive Egan.” With that, Ruth rose from her spot and made a beeline towards the garbage cans.   

“I’m gonna wear you down!” Bucky called in an insistent tone.  “We’ll be friends in no time!” 

Ruth just shook her head as she walked away.  She’d sooner be framed for murder than spend time actually making unnecessary friends. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unwilling to part with his drink of the morning and trying to put on a good impression, Bucky exited his chair, pushing it back in lazily and whistling Blue Skies under his breath. He lazily made his way out of the office and to the jeep, that seemed like it was just waiting for him anyway.

He was still burping up some of the alcohol from the night before— it was too early for shit like writing letters to families anyway. He could push that off on the other Air Execs, seeing as how he didn’t intend to be an Air Exec for long anyhow.  

Giving a wave to the men that had given him the bikes, Bucky grinned as his eyes landed on his boys in the skies above. All in a nice and neat line, tucking in from a long day of flying from Greenland. Everyone had gathered for the occasion and he passed dozens of children as he drove on the runway.

Pulling to a stop, Bucky’s eyes landed on Buck’s plane—where DeMarco was depositing a dog. A dog was certainly against regulation—but he couldn’t see even Sharpe being able to say no to a dog like this.  He couldn’t help the grin on his face as he climbed out of the car. “DeMarco!” He called, an energetic pep filling his tone.

“Hey, Major!” DeMarco grinned, dog-leash in hand.

“Where’d you get that dog, Benny?”

“I won him in a game of Craps!” DeMarco explained.

Bucky had always wanted a dog growing up. Somethin’ about it being man’s best friend or whatever had always struck him as endearing. His ma had always told him no, he was the family dog. So at the sight of the dog, he leaned down and gave him a good pat behind the ears. 

“You took this baby above 10000 feet?” Bucky questioned.

“He’s got a mask!” DeMarco promised, patting at his jacket. “Cost me $3 but boy, he loved to fly!”

“He wouldn’t stop howling!” Buck chimed in, appearing in their vision.

“That’s because he’s part wolf!”

“That wolf is part dog,” Buck corrected.

“Well, does he have a name?” Bucky demanded.

“Meatball!” DeMarco answered, a grin on his face.

“Welcome to the Hundredth, Meatball!” With that done, DeMarco took off towards the barracks to get Meatball and himself settled.  He had only been walking for a little bit before Meatball decided to take a turn of his own, going straight over to the woman sitting and writing in a bound leather journal. 

“Meatball, no—” 

Ruth’s head perked up as the dog, presumably known as Meatball, decided to nuzzle into her leg.  Stopping her notations, Ruth took a moment to pet the dog.  “I wasn’t aware the air base had a mascot,” Ruth said, glancing towards the probable owner—a man in shades and looking a little embarrassed about the entire thing. 

“He’s new!  Meatball’s his name.” 

Ruth had a small soft spot when it came to animals.  And though it certainly wasn’t regulation, she had no problem with them .  A small smile spread across her face as she ran her fingers through Meatball’s mane.  “Well if I get you the paperwork for this sweet dog, do you think you can fill it out and get it back to me before the end of the day?” 

“I-uh—” 

“Meatball’s against regulation and while I don’t have a problem with dogs, I have a feeling Huglin will,” Ruth explained.  

“I can do that.  Uh—Ma’am—” 

“Lieutenant Ruth Sharpe of the JAG-Corp,” Ruth extended a hand, a genuine smile on her face.  

“Captain Benny DeMarco,” Benny said, shaking her hand with a small smile of his own. “You’re the one that terrorized Egan a few weeks back?”

“Oh, I’ve made it into the letters.  My sole goal in life,” Ruth retorted dryly. 

“Ah no, we all thought it was pretty funny,” Benny admitted.  “Sometimes, he could use a good knock on the head.” 

“Noted.  Well I’ll do my best to not disappoint and continue to knock him on the head when occasion calls for it. And you didn’t hear it from me,” Ruth continued. “But Huglin’s allergic to dogs.  I’d hide him in the nurses barracks for now.” 

“Noted,” Benny replied, a grin spreading across his features.  “Let me know if you ever need someone’s help with Egan’s ego!  I’m in!”

[canichangemyblogname]

People need to realize the label "terrorist" is, more often than not, a political label. When you point this out, people often accuse you of terrorism apologia, but it's actually quite the opposite.

If we were to- say- define a "terrorist group" as "a non-governmental organization that violently targets civilian populations as a tactic to score political points, often relying on 'propaganda by deed,'" many more people and groups would be included under this definition. It would rightfully exclude the Ukrainian military as it engages directly with the Russian military, in direct contrast to Russia's rhetoric, while it would rightfully include groups like the KKK, which has been excluded from official terrorist organization lists.

It is not a perfect definition, but it is one of many working definitions proposed to counteract current political labeling. Current political definitions and usage often result in organizations like the PLO being included on the list for a year before the US government waived it or non-violent protesters in Georgia, USA, being hit with the label. It also leaves out several groups of violent extremists, providing them with more of an air of legitimacy and more discretion in their operations than those groups with the label.

Labeling a group as a "terrorist" group often legally allows a government, like the US government, to heavily surveil the group's members, freeze group and member assets, imprison group members, and engage with the group militarily. The label also often serves to justify any treatment of group members under a government's authority, like denying them due process. Some will argue it is a necessary evil. Others will point out how many men have been released from places like Guantanamo without charge. Or how the US "No-Fly" list appears to racially profile people and primarily target Muslims.

As long as labeling a group "terrorist" allows a government to legally circumvent certain rights, like that of a free and speedy trial, it will be used politically and ideologically, often against civilian separatists and opposition to the state, as we see in Georgia's Stop Cop City protests. But the US is not the only country that does this. Nor is it the only country primarily focusing on Islamic Extremism to the detriment of National security and democracy.

"Terrorism" is the pretext, but involvement in "terror"-related occupation has objectives other than stamping out terrorism. Just as there are socio-political gains in labeling common Georgian protesters as "terrorists," there are geo-political gains in the primary focus on Islamic fundamentalism and violence, like an unwavering international gaze on the Islamic world and multiple different military occupations in the Islamic world. If people's gut assumption is that Muslim = terrorist, they won't think twice about something like US military strategies in the Islamic world. It has led to 30% of Republicans and 19% of Democrats supporting things like the bombing of the fictional nation of Agrabah in polls. It has also led to US militarized counterterrorism in 85 countries worldwide with limited Congressional oversight and next to no public knowledge.

When I point this out, most people like to straw-man my argument to assume my goal is to let listed terrorist organizations prance around and kill people indiscriminately. The goal is not the absence of justice, but strengthening protections for the accused so a label is not an automatic guilty sentence. No government or military should simply be able to invade another to play judge, jury, and executioner on the people of that country. Morally. They also shouldn't be able to justify suspending due process for anyone. It sets a precedent.

Additionally, the goal is not to let a terrorist organization operate without impunity, but to admit that the "War on Terror" was a failure, in large part due to its violent and indiscriminate strategies. That is the second thing people need to realize.

This theoretical war against this nebulous force has been nasty, brutish, and long. It has also been ineffective. The "War on Terror" has only contributed to more violence and extremism worldwide. In fact, terror-related incidents have increased fivefold worldwide since 2001. The number of existing terror groups is at the highest level since 1980, and they've seen their numbers swell. And they have become increasingly transnational.

We've learned that it is impossible to win any terror-related "conflict" without destabilizing a nation or region. It is impossible to win any terror-related "conflict" without inflicting a tremendous number of civilian casualties, especially due to modern governments' aggressive military strategies. It is also impossible to win. Period. You cannot defeat terrorism. An organization, sure (although only about 7% of terror organizations have been quelled by military action). Terrorism itself? No. Mostly due to the diversity, scope, and decentralization of the threat. It is simply not possible to eliminate armed terror groups through the use of force and armies. It's quite literally counterintuitive.

The Hot War on Terror replaced the Cold War on Communism. And leading powers in the Global North are repeating the same failed tactics they used between 1950-1990. An overemphasis on military force to achieve state goals (most terror planning *does not* take place in a dedicated physical location, which military force primarily addresses). Neglecting non-military instruments of statecraft (terrorism is a tactic, not an ideology, so you can't "war" against a tactic). Focusing so narrowly on military action, you practically ignore other foreign-policy goals (like economic and political stability, anti-corruption, and nation-building because terrorist groups thrive in instability and disaffection). Creating the state's enemies of the future (see: arming Afghan rebels to fight the Soviets). And disowning and contradicting their country's own stated moral values to achieve its goals abroad.

Declaring war on terror is nothing short of a forever war. It ends only when counterterrorism measures stretch governments so thin they collapse.

[bilightningwhumper]

Had a dream and thought up a new story idea. Whoops, lol. Poll at the end if you're interested.

Basically, it's a thought for an original story inspired by haunted houses/mansions. The mother of a family received the deed/ownership to an old mansion. In the process, she becomes possessed by the spirits of the house and ends up killing most of her family.

Jump to the present, one daughter and one son are left. The daughter has no memory of what happened, but the son remembers it all. [Edit: They reunite right after college for the start of this instead of high school ending.] However, throughout their school years, any friends they've grown close to and any bullies they've had both disappear. Everyone else has them erased from their memories, except for the boy's. He can't convince anyone to remember, so eventually gives up, making private notes in journals to keep the memories of the lost at least acknowledged.

They go on one last road trip with two of their mutual friends left and end up stumbling across the mansion, overgrown in the middle of nowhere. Lured into the mansion, all of them end up separated.

Not sure how to explain the rest without giving away the whole idea, but basically the story is told from the PoVs of the brother and sister. Non-human whumpees as well as human ones. Though it is also some experimentation whump mixed with supernatural whump, so humans turned into animal/human hybrids kind of thing. Like, a whumper moved into the mansion secretly and has been contributing/taking advantage of the disappearing characters. It was a very detailed dream for one night, lol. Of course, lgbt and neurodivergent MCs, as well as the side characters, too.

I'm still working on the October writing events stuff first. Basically this whole ramble was to keep the idea from disappearing in my head, plus what I'm writing on some scrap paper. Everything else I've shared so far for ideas has been re-tellings or fanfics, but I've noticed a lot I've read for the whump community and enjoyed has been folks orgiginal works a whole lot more. And I'm working on not being so paranoid and cagy about writing origninal stuff myself and sharing it with more than just a few choice friends. So I'm nervous to share this idea, but excited to see if anyone would actually want to read it.

[ironwoodprotectionsquad]

Okay so I wanted to talk more about the poll listing Hero as a villain song and how little sense it makes to me. Admittedly Les Poissons also doesn't make a ton of sense as Louis is more of an antagonist not a villain but at least Sebastian sees him as a villain so it kind of works. But Hero is called well Hero for a reason, and classifying it as a villain song is strange to put it mildly.

The first lines from Hero that most fans heard where:

I would die Without regret, I'd offer up my life With zero reservations I would fly Into the sun, if that would keep our dream alive

I say most fans heard as those are the lines the song starts on in R/WBY during the Gravity fight. The first lines of the song are:

Take my hand I'm here to protect you Nothing will stop me Understand There's no sacrifice that I won't make I'll risk it all to keep you safe Trust me to be strong I'll be your hero, just hold on

Now regardless of which lines a fan heard first, both convey that James is willing to die to protect people. He is willing to sacrifice himself to protect people and keep them safe. That is not the mindset of a villain. It doesn't meet any criteria for a villain song. TVtropes describes a villain song as: "The Villain Song is an over-the-top, gloating cackle about their Evil Plan, philosophy of life, or why they do what they do" They also mention a villain song can be someone else singing about the villain and what they've done like Cruella Deville or it can be a villain trying to trick or manipulate someone to do what they want like Friends on the Other Side or Poor Unfortunate Souls.

Now lets take a look at every version of villain songs. Hero doesn't discuss some evil plan or really any plan. It's about James's desire to protect people, which definitely isn't villainous. James isn't singing it so it's not him talking about his philosophy and their is no mention about why he does what he does, only a desire to help people. No one else is even singing the song so its not like Cruella Deville and again their is no villainous deeds being discussed so even if someone else was singing about it, it doesn't work as a villain song.

Now some people might argue that it is James tying to manipulate people but again, James is not singing it, so he can't be manipulating someone when he is silently fighting a known terrorist and trying to stop him form destroying Amity Tower and killing everyone. And again, even if he was singing it, it doesn't make any sense to be "manipulating" Watts as Watts works for Salem and is helping end the world. He is not a hero in any sense so the argument James is manipulating a villain because he is a villain despite his only goal at the moment being to stop a terrorist makes no sense.

So, the song doesn't match any sort of definition of what a villain song is. Furthermore, the lyrics are not those of a villain. RW/BY songs are said to be the characters own inner thoughts. A villain would not think about being willing to die for someone or a greater goal. They would not think about offering comfort and kindness.

Now this goes more into head cannon territory but for me parts of Hero like:

Deliver you from harm Shelter in my arms The fear will surely fade Know right now the plan I made will guide us home We'll survive this storm

or: Hope's not gone, just hold on

Are words James wishes might be said to him. Just look a t how happy he is when he's told Ozpin is back and in Atlas.

Vs how crushed he is when he finds out Ozpin is gone again.

For me personally this always read as someone who is tired but carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders because their isn't anyone else who can carry it. He has to but hopes their is someone who can help him, but when he realizes that isn't the case he continues carrying the burden and continues to stand tall and offer hope and shelter to people the best he can.

Back from head cannon territory, I want to focus on this line here: Hope's not gone, just hold on

Offering assurances that the war is not lost, that they just need to keep holding on and not lose hope. Those are not the inner thoughts of a villain. They're the inner thoughts of a Hero. The very name of the song.

Even if we could convince ourselves that Hero has lyrics of a villain song. James is not yet a villain when the song plays (yet is used vey loosely here as volume 8 is just. So bad. He shouldn't have been a villain ever but that's another post). He is actively fighting Watts, someone who works for Salem, someone who is trying to end the world. He is actively working to keep people alive when this song plays. Trying to apply Hero as a villain song to an arc that happens in a volume the song never plays in makes little sense.

The writers themselves said the ending of volume 7 was supposed to be a trolley problem with no clear right answer. So calling him a villain in volume 7 also just doesn't work based on the writers own words. But again, even if the writers now say James was clearly the villain at the end of volume 7, that doesn't fix the issue of James clearly being the hero in the Gravity fight where the song Hero plays.

I don't know how else to put this, but saying Hero is a villain song is so laughably wrong it's crazy I have to discuss this at all.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

In defense of Deliverism

There are many ways to slice up the coalition that is the Democratic Party, but one important axis are the self-styled adults-in-the-room, who declare themselves to be realists, and the party's left wing, who are dismissed as idealists who don't understand politics: neither how to win elections nor how to wield power.

The "realists" are the ones telling us that we can't have nice things. They say that if the Dems promise bold action - protecting abortion, controlling assault weapons, funding infrastructure, raising the minimum wage, providing health care - they will lose elections. When Dems do win elections, they insist that none of these things are possible: the Supreme Court will strike them down, or the GOP will filibuster them, or the business lobby will subvert them.

For these realists, every negotiation is a grand bargain in which all the grownups meet in smoke-filled rooms where they niggle and cajole and flatter their way into tiny, incremental policy changes, "signature achievements" that are so modest that the enemy can't possibly weaponize them as the deeds of radical socialists who will bring the country to ruin.

To do otherwise, the realists say, is to court catastrophe. Wielding power will destroy the "comity" that makes the legislature effective. It will "delegitimize" the institutions whose trustworthiness is key to enacting sound policy. When they go low, we must go high - not out of a sense of decorum, but to preserve the republic itself.

This kind of politics - the "triangulation" politics beloved of the consultant class - took over the Democratic Party in the Bill Clinton years (see also: UK Labour under Tony Blair). But its foremost practitioner - the Triangulation GOAT - was Barack Obama.

Obama's inside/outside game was indeed remarkable. He assembled and steered a massive, grassroots get-out-the-vote campaign that leveraged his skills as a once-in-a-generation orator to inspire huge numbers of historical nonvoters to show up and cast their ballot (recall that nearly every US election is won by "none of the above," so GOTV is a winning strategy, if you can pull it off).

Then, after the election, he switched off that grassroots.

Literally.

At the time, Obama's grassroots was the most successful netroots in history. Talented coders and digital strategists figured out how to leverage the internet to identify, mobilize and coordinate volunteers across the country. And while netroots activists did their work across the whole internet, their home base was a server the Obama campaign controlled. Once Obama won, they switched that server off.

You see, the rabble is useful when you're out there, trying to turn voters out to the polls. But if you plan to spend your term in office playing eleven dimensional chess, you don't want the mob jostling your elbow and shouting in your ear.

If FDR's (possibly apocryphal) motto was "I want to do it, now make me do it"; Obama's was "I want to do it, now go away." Rather than surrounding himself with the great unwashed, Obama created a cabinet of technocrats, grownups from the upper ranks of industry and the consultant class.

Think of Tim Geithner, Obama's Treasury Secretary, who counseled that the banks should be bailed out with no strings attached, not even a requirement that they halt the seizure and liquidation of swathes of Americans' family homes. When Geithner told Obama he had to "foam the runway" for the crashing banks with the roofs over everyday Americans' heads, there were no grassroots organizers foaming at the mouth in outrage. Thus did Obama end the Great Financial Crisis - by creating the Great Foreclosure Crisis:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/06/personnel-are-policy/#janice-eberly

But Obama's signature achievement wasn't his economic policy - it was his healthcare policy. The Affordable Care Act was a carefully triangulated compromise, one that guaranteed a massive flow of public cash to America's wildly profitable health insurance monopoly and steered clear of any socialist whiff that Americans would get their care from the government.

The ACA was an technocrat's iron-clad dream policy. It would work! After all, it "aligned the incentives" of healthcare investors and "harnessed markets" to drive efficiency. No one could accuse this policy - which was copypasted from former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney's RomneyCare - of being "socialist." It was invented by a Bain Capital consultant!

Sure, the left would carp about Medicare For All and whine about the unjust enrichment of insurance barons. And sure, the right would try to convince "low information voter" lumpenproles that the individual mandate was an imposition on their Freedumb (TM), but in the end, more of us would get covered, prices would come down, and America would flourish.

That's not how it worked out. Prior to ACA's passage, 85% of Americans had health insurance. Today, it's 90%. That's not nothing! 5% of the US is more than 16m people. But what about the 85% - 282m people - who were insured before the ACA? Their insurance costs have doubled - from an average of $15,609 for a family of four in 2009 to $30,260 today. Obama promised that ACA would lower the average family's insurance bill by $2,500/year - but instead, insurance costs increased by some $15,000.

ACA wasn't just about cost, though: it was supposed to end discrimination, by forcing insurers to take on customers without regard to their "pre-existing conditions." On this score, too, Obamacare has failed: thanks to the ACA's tolerance for high-deductible plans, the number of Americans enrolled in plans that force them to pay for their chronic care out of pocket has skyrocketed from 7% to 32%. Yes, your insurer can't discriminate against you for having diabetes, but they can make you pay an extra $2,000 in deductibles every year before covering any of your diabetes care.

Now, maybe business-as-usual would have been even worse. Perhaps not passing the ACA would have left Americans poorer and sicker. But we're not comparing ACA with doing nothing - we're comparing ACA with more muscular, direct programs, like M4A. What if Obama had enlisted his grassroots, summoning up a left-wing answer to the Tea Party that turned the GOP into the party of no (including no compromises)? What if he'd jettisoned comity, appointed new judges, sent every executive order the Supreme Court rejected back to the court to be struck down again?

What if he'd governed like Lincoln, or FDR:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/20/judicial-equilibria/#pack-the-court

There's a name for this kind of politics: it's called deliverism:

https://prospect.org/politics/case-for-deliverism/

Deliverism is the idea that if you promise things to the voters, they will vote for you. It's the idea that if you deliver things to the electorate, that they will re-elect you.

Deliverism is a subject of hot debate in the Democratic Party, because Biden is an empty vessel that gets filled by different party factions, which means that his policy is incoherent, but includes some of the muscular, get-stuff-done politics of the Dems' Warren-Sanders wing, but that agenda is often undermined by the "responsible grownup" do-nothing Schumer wing.

The responsible grownups say that deliverism is dead, because voters mostly respond to hot-button cultural issues, while material improvements in their lives barely move the needle:

https://democracyjournal.org/arguments/the-death-of-deliverism/

In support of this proposition, deliverism's critics point to Obamacare, lauding it as a policy that made Americans better off, but still failed to win enough support for the Dems to defeat Trump at the end of Obama's second term.

In their rebuttal in The American Prospect, David Dayen and Matt Stoller point out that for most Americans, Obamacare didn't produce any improvement to their health care. The ACA made their care far more expensive, and the ensuing concentration across the sector (mergers between insurers, and between insurers and pharmacy benefit managers and pharmacies) made their care worse, too:

https://prospect.org/politics/2023-06-27-moving-past-neoliberalism-policy-project/

The rise in health care costs is no mystery: monopolies have taken over healthcare. In particular, healthcare is now the domain of private equity rollups, where a fund buys and merges dozens or hundreds of small businesses:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/18/wages-for-housework/#low-wage-workers-vs-poor-consumers

Every layer of the healthcare stack is has grown steadily more concentrated since the Obama years: "Hospitals, doctor’s practices, health insurance, pharmaceuticals, ambulances, nursing homes, rehab facilities." As Stoller and Dayen put it:

> Every part of our health care world is increasingly controlled by greedy bankers who kill people for money.

The same corporate concentration has eroded wages, meaning that workers are paying for higher healthcare cost out of smaller paychecks.

Stoller and Dayen argue that the polls show that politicians who make material improvement to voters' lives do win popularity. Take the Child Tax Credit, which lifted more American children out of poverty than any initiative in history. The majority of voters who received the credit favored the Democrats. After Joe Manchin killed the credit, that support flipped, and that cohort now supports the GOP by a 15% margin.

Sure, Biden couldn't order Manchin to support the Child Tax Credit. But he could have gone to WV and campaigned for it with Manchin's base. He could have loaded the bill with pork for WV that was linked to the credit, and dared Manchin to vote against it. He could have "fought dirty" (which is what the grownups call "fighting to win").

The grownups say that if Biden had done that, he might have alienated Manchin and lost future votes, or caused Manchin to run as a Republican in his next election - but that presumes that Manchin won't switch sides anyway, and it presumes that failing to deliver the Child Tax Credit wouldn't also jeopardize the Dems' legislative majority.

The grownups in the Democratic party say we can't win by campaigning on economic issues like monopoly, nor on pocketbook issues like M4A. But when Biden slashed the cost of insulin, his approval numbers shot up.

The grownups' claim that they should steer Democratic electoral strategy is grounded in the idea that they can win elections, and without electoral victories, the Dems can't do anything. The grownups' claim that they should steer Democratic governing strategy is that they can win policy victories, and that these will get the Dems re-elected.

But neither of these claims hold water. Far from being pie-in-the-sky idealists with no theory of change, the party's left is incredibly good at getting stuff done. Take the antitrust enforcers Lina Khan and Jonathan Kanter, as well as the recently departed Tim Wu. They aren't mere idealists - they're brilliant tacticians and proceduralists who have figured out how to use their existing authority to do more than decades of their predecessors combined:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

By contrast, the grownups in the party - people like Pete Buttigieg - have notably, repeatedly failed to master the procedural technicalities needed to exercise comparable authority. You can't be a technocrat unless you understand the techniques:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

As for electoral strategy, the consultant class puts all its focus into eking out these incredibly marginal wins - the name of the game is to guarantee a 50.1% win and then move on to the next fight, which ensures that governing will be impossible. Meanwhile, union organizers like Jane McAlevey seek out 97% majorities for strike votes, in the teeth of voter suppression, gerrymandering, dark money and disinformation campaigns that are far worse than anything we see in a general election. And yet it's the party's labor wing that is smeared as unserious about electoral victories:

https://doctorow.medium.com/a-collective-bargain-a48925f944fe

It's true that the right has been scoring electoral wins with appeals to ideology and identity rather than by promising concrete, material improvements for their supporters' lives. You can win elections that way - but only by demonizing half the country as the enemy and then promising to make their lives miserable.

That doesn't invalidate deliverism as a strategy for winning elections. People may not have the time or interest to follow politics in detail. They may not understand how the ACA's internal technical workings are structured. The ACA has a lot of deficits - for example, it doesn't allow people to discover which insurance companies deny the most claims:

https://www.propublica.org/article/how-often-do-health-insurers-deny-patients-claims

But even if that data were out there, there's only so much attention people can or want to pay to their insurance policies. People want health care that works: that takes care of their illnesses and injuries, without bankrupting them. Something like the VA (at its best). Or Medicare (at its best).

Improving peoples' lives isn't merely good governance - it's also good politics. Playing hardball is hard and can be unpleasant, sure, but most of the risk from taking big swings while in office is that the voters won't stand with you and give you the political capital to score big wins.

"I want to do it, now go away" guarantees that there will be no polity at your side, giving you political capital. The politics of grand bargains only produces unimpressive, incremental change.

For all the failings of the GOP's radical wing (and there are many such failings), there is this one virtue: they get stuff done. The GOP has taken massive swings - seizing the courts, dismantling the administrative states, stacking elections, and siphoning off trillions for its donors:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos

The Democrats don't need to copy the GOP's abandonment of material policy for ideological hardlines. Indeed, it shouldn't: when they go low (culture war bullshit), we go high (delivering real benefit to voters). But the Democrats' left wing could sure stand to learn a trick or two from the GOP's right - namely, how to turn "I want to do it, now go away" into "I want to do it, now make me do it."

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/10/thanks-obama/#triangulation

The Clarion Science Fiction Writers’ Workshop (I’m a grad, instructor and board member) is having its fundraiser auction to help defray tuition. I’ve donated a “Tuckerization” — the right to name a character in a future novel:

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/clarion-sf-fantasy-writers-workshop-23-campaign/#/

[Image ID: An old fashioned tickertape parade. In an open-top convertible, surrounded by security, is a kicking Democratic Party donkey colored red, white and blue.]

[itsbenedict]

Previously,

(A tie in the poll- but we have a solve, adding a 2x multiplier to YULECORE RADHA!)

That's right- the root of your problems, right now, is this bizarre brain fog that's taking your free will and gating it behind hallucinations. You don't need a YULECORE RADHA- you need to CLEAR YOUR HEAD!

You know what you always do when you clear your head. You walk to the local park, and spend some time in nature. Somehow, you know where this world's park is- it's north, right?

You head to the park- and you're right on the money, though it's a sight more overgrown than the park you're used to. It seems like some sort of fairy forest- giant mushrooms the size of trees, pink-rimed ivy climbing up and around everything, a faint glittering aura in the air. It's otherworldly, but relaxing. Maybe with a little downtime, you'll be able to make sense of what you're seeing.

You take a seat on a toadstool and breathe in the fresh air. If you can just center yourself, maybe you'll be able to dispel the hallucinations and understand your situation better.

...How long does it take to center yourself, anyway? This is getting boring. And the ring of toadstools you're sitting on seems to contain some strange apparitions...

The mannequin is still following you, its SECRETARY POSTURE effortless and instinctual- not guided by some secret science. It's pretty LOW-THEORY.

Some guy is telling you he can sell you some sort of digital proof-of-purchase title deed to a famous work of art. You've never seen such a BLATANT BILK SCHEME.

Oh, for crying out loud. It's those RACIST THIMBLES again, and they're more offensive than ever. Who drew on these things? Was it your subconscious? Hey, subconscious! Cut it out!

There's an owl. That's... right. There's something incredibly important about that owl. It's your owl. Yeah! This owl is precious to you! YEA, OWL YOURS!

Continued

[lmchaptertitlebracket]

Volume I, book i: The Winners

To give the Volume 1 polls time to run through fully before starting on the next volume, I’ll be cataloging the winning translations/translators as well as some of my favorite observations on the posts!

I.i

Our very first winner! "A Just Man" with 57.1% of the vote. Wraxall, Hapgood, Walton, and Rose's translations have this.

I.i.2

With 50.7% of the vote, Wilbour wins with "M. Myriel Becomes Monseigneur Bienvenu".

I.i.3

The Fahnestock-MacAffee translation of "Good Bishop—Difficult Diocese" won out, but it was a very evenly split race, with FMA's winning 17.4% being only a bit higher than Wilbour, Walton, and Rose's three-way tie for second (14.5%).

I.i.4

26.3% of votes were for Wraxall and Walton' Works Resembling Words, though Donougher's Deeds to Match Words was close behind.

I.i.5

Denny takes this one at 36.6%, with "How Monseigneur Bienvenu Made His Cassocks Last So Long".

Also, as @blatherby noted, it's possible that this title is different in different editions of the Rose translation, or that I made a typo when I was compiling these-- either of which is very possible!

I.i.6

Both Donougher's and Wraxall's translations were very popular here, but Donougher ended up ahead, with her "Under Whose Protection He Placed His House" getting 31.3%, over Wraxall's 29.9% for "By Whom The House Was Guarded".

I.i.8

The winning title, Philosophy After Drinking, appears in the Wraxall, Hapgood, and Walton translations; it got an impressive 51% of the vote!

I.i.9

This is our first tie, between Hapgood's "The Brother As Depicted By The Sister" and Donougher's "The Brother As Described By His Sister"; I'll make a runoff poll to settle this one.

tags from @inmarbleimmobility:

I.i.10

With 58%, Wilbour, Hapgood, and Donougher take it: "The Bishop In The Presence of an Unknown Light". (psst-- this is one of my favorite chapter titles!)

tags from @bardicinspiration-blog:

I.i.11

With 47.2%, it's "A Restriction", from Wraxall and Hapgood.

I.i.12

FMA's "The Solitude of Monseigneur Bienvenu" wins with 47%; Wilbour's, which excluded the "the" but is otherwise the same, also has 28.7%. Some clear favor for the French-esque word order here!

To tally up, the translators have:

Wilbour: 2

Wraxall: 4

Hapgood: 4 + 1 tie

Walton: 3

Denny: 1

FMA: 2

Rose: 1

Donougher: 2 + 1 tie

An interesting spread, certainly! Everybody's got at least one, which is pleasing to me. I wonder how much of Hapgood's popularity is due to familiarity-- not saying it's a bad translation of course! Just that it's very widely known. Also, I'm seeing a trend for favoring literal translations and French word order-- I wonder if this will continue on or change!

[rachi-roo]

------------{ ☆°•○•°☆ }------------

Mairimashita! Iruma-Kun: The Wiggly-Woos!

Weeeee! Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll! 'Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-Kun' has been my recent hyperfixation. XD And I'm just about to start watching season 3! I thought I'd extend this from the HCs I wrote a little while back, this being Asmodeus discovering his love for tiggles!

Summary: Asmodeus discovers his love of being tickled through his buddy, Iruma! With the help of Clara too~

Lee!Asmodeus, Ler!Iruma, Ler!Clara

Tw: None

---------------------☆ ☆------------------------

Finally! Friday had come, no school for the students of Babyls for two days. Time for some well needed relaxation. Asmodeus was well looking forward to his plans. He and Clara had been invited to a sleepover at Irumas house!

A whole day and night with Master Iruma?! What more could Asmodeus possibly ask for!? Although this wasn't their first sleepover, every sleepover was destined to be the best, because of Iruma!

The three sat together in Irumas' room as they waited to be called down for dinner, Opera was making them a feast for all the hard work they'd been putting into their classes and studying.

During their wait, the three were having a playful pillow fight on Irumas bed, all happily bonking and batting each other with their plump weapons.

"Iruma-kiiins! HIIIYAH!" Clara beamed as she tossed a pillow towards Iruma, who immediately was able to dodge it with ease, earning another huff from the green haired grem-girl.

"Aaah, no fair! Iruma-kins is cheating! Gah!"

"Cheating??" Asmodeus countered, hitting Clara over the head with his pillow. "How dare you accuse Master Iruma of such a deed! He would never do something so barbaric and sleazy!"

Iruma chuckled, petting Clara's hair. "Awww, I'm sorry, Clara. I can't help it. Next time, I won't dodge it, I promise!" The blue haired button smiled warmly as he sat with his arms open and his eyes shut, waiting for his sacrificial blow.

"W-What!? Master Iruma, you don't need to take a hit for her! Don't be so foolish, you'll perish for sure!" Over dramatic as ever, Asmodeus protested, trying to snatch the pillow from Clara as she took aim with a cheeky grin.

The pink haired fire wielder fought the pillow away from Clara, sighing with relief, having saved his master from what he saw as an assassination attempt.

"SUPRISE HUG ATTACK!"

"NO!" Asmodeus was too slow this time, Iruma was doomed for sure as Clara lunged at him, tackling him to the mattress with a flump as she hugged him warmly, kicking her feet in the air, proud of her victory.

"Hehe! I got you that time, Iruma-Kiiins!"

"Haha, you sure did." The victim chuckled before his eyes sparkled with an idea.

Asmodeus turned away in mock defeat, crushed by the fact he couldn't protect his master. "Oh Master Iruma... I have failed you!"

"KYAHAHA!" Clara's sudden, loud and bubbly laughter snapped Asmodeus from his pit of dispare. He turned to see Clara flailing and giggling in Irumas lap, her cheeks were a bright red glow and her tail was wagging furiously.

Oh no. Had Asmodeus missed a joke Iruma told? How awful!

"Uwah! Master! I apologise, tell me the joke! I must've missed it!" He asked, sitting on his knees facing the blue haired boy, who just blinked in return.

"Joke? I didn't say anything, Azz."

"Huh? But, Clara is in hysterics! You must have told one of your fantastic jokes!" He insisted eagerly, leaning forward, giving Iruma his biggest puppy dog eyes.

Iruma thought for a moment, looking down at Clara with a raised brow. She returned the confused expression with a hum.

Then it clicked in Irumas head. "You mean this?" He started poking Clara's sides again, making her squeal and wriggle like a little worm.

Asmodeus stared in shock. "Wh- How are you doing that, Master Iruma? You didn't even have to speak a word!" He was completely dumbfounded by what he was seeing.

Clara sat up with a grin. "Iruma is giving me the wiggly woos!" Wiggly-woos being Clara's family term for tickling.

"What is a wiggly-woo?? Clara you're talking nonsense again!" Asmodeus pouted, folding his arms, irritated that Clara was using her silly words again.

Iruma chuckled, softly tickling Clara's neck, making her shoulders bunch with a snort. "She means tickling, Azz. Haven't you seen it before?"

Tickling? This word was also foreign to Asmodeus. What could that mean? Forcing someone to laugh without telling a joke? What kind of strange behaviour could cause this?

"Uuuh... I'm afraid this isn't something I've come across before, master Iruma." His cheeks puffed in defeat, his pride damaged because he had been left out of the loop.

He looked up, feeling a soft hand resting upon his head. Iruma smiled at him kindly. "Not to worry, Azz! It's not a big deal."

Not a big deal!? But this was clearly something Iruma enjoyed. He was smiling so much when he was 'doing tickling' to Clara. His eyes flashed with determination.

"Master Iruma!" He cupped his friend's hands, looking deeply into his eyes as his own pink opals sparkled. "Show me!"

"Uh, show you?" Iruma was taken back by the sudden change in Asmodeus's demeanour.

"Yes! Please master Iruma, if you'd be so kind!" The demon quickly layed himself on the bed, sprawling out and prepping himself for whatever was going to happen. He needed to know! He needed to learn this from Iruma! For Iruma!

Iruma chuckled at the sight, flexing his fingers playfully. "I mean, if you're sure."

Asmodeus nodded quickly. "I'm certain! Master Iruma! Please, you must show me this tickling at once! I want to know how this spell works so that I may cast it upon you in any hours of darkness that may arise and-GYAHA!" A sudden jolt of electric tingles sent a spasm through Asmodeus body, causing him to immediately curl in on himself, covering his face with his arms in shock.

"Hah! W-What in hell was that?" He asked, his voice trembling slightly as he watched Iruma pull his hands away.

"That was a tickle." He smiled innocently, waiting for Asmodeus to calm himself before he continued. He didn't want to overwhelm him on his first tickle time.

"That was... A tickle?" Asmodeus was shook! He had never felt anything like that before. All Iruma had done was press on his ribs with his fingertips, and it had sent his body into an instant defensive overdrive!

Seeing how instantly reactive Asmodeus was, Iruma thought it best to leave him be for now. "Sorry, Azz. I won't do it again-"

"No!" Asmodeus quickly flattened himself out again. "I-I mean, uh, I can take it. I need to experience more. For um... Training!"

"Haha! If you say so. Here I come~" Iruma wriggled his fingers again, drawing closer to Asmodeus's tummy this time.

The pink haired demon felt his tummy doing cartwheels! His hands instinctively shooting up to try to bat Irumas' hands away as nervous, happy giggles started pouring from his mouth.

"Gehe! W-Wait! No, I'm okay, Iiiieeuah! Haha!" The sounds that were coming from him were less than flattering, but they were oh so cute!

"I haven't even touched you yet!" Iruma giggled with him as Clara watched eagerly, laughing at Asmodeus's strange sounds and expressions.

"Azz-Azz sounds like a little girl!"

"Y-Yohou would knowhow! Gyahaha!" Asmodeus brought his knees to his chest, his feet kicking as Iruma finally managed to dodge Asmodeus's defensive hands and get a good dig at his belly.

"KYAHAHAAAA!" His head flew backwards, pushing into the mattress as his back arched, his eyes squeezing tightly shut as a huge bright, fanged smile spread over his rosy cheeks.

"Oho my gahAHAHA! AHA!" He gasped for air, feeling Irumas tickling fingers shift across his body, finding his sides and starting to pinch and knead at the area.

"WAHAAA! I-IruMAHA!"

"That's my name~" Iruma chirped, happily watching his friend squirm and laugh freely. It wasn't unusual for Asmodeus to laugh around them, but to see him in utter hysterics like this was a real treat.

Asmodeus rolled to one side, half burying his face into the mattress as a hand managed to grab Irumas, only for the back of his ribs to be attacked with a set of digging knuckles instead, immediately making him roll back over.

"BYAHAHA! Ah! HAHAHA! I-IHIHIHEEEEE!"

"Haha, no escaping me, Azz~" Iruma teased playfully, starting to knead his thumbs into Asmodeus's lower ribs.

"AAAAH!"

Clara grinned, she wanted to play too!

"Hehe, time for the peets to get some wiggly-woos!" She chuckled, moving to sit by Asmodeus's feet. He was too distracted by this newfound sensation to realise what she was up to.

"Peets, peets, peets!" She sang, grabbing one of the flailing demons ankles, locking it securely under her arm.

"Huh? C-Clahahara! W-Whahahat are yoAHAHA! OHO DEVI-! HYAHAHA!" He practically screamed with laughter as he felt Clara's claws start to drag up and down his socked foot. His toes curled as he tried to tug his leg free.

"Wooow! Azz-Azz is devi-LOUD! Haha! Looks like his peets like the wiggly-woos the best!"

"You mean you think his feet are the most ticklish?" Iruma asked, just needing a brief translation.

"Yup! His little piggily-peets are very wiggly-woo positive!"

"Right!"

With one foot trapped and his upper half constantly being taken by suprise by Iruma switching tickling positions all the time, Asmodeus was getting the full work.

"Ahahahaaaa! HYAHAHAHA! Eeeheheheeee!" His laughter was loud, using his whole body to project his boyish guffaw. A few droplets of giggly tears pooled in his eyes.

Being such a powerful demon from birth, Asmodeus had never gotten into any tickle fights. He didn't even have any friends who would want to play like this with him. But now he did, and it was... Wonderful!

This full-on tickle fest only lasted about a minute, though it felt like an eternity, when Iruma noticed the tears in Asmodeus's crinkled eyes.

"Haha, okay, okay, ease up Clara."

"Aaawwww, I didn't get to test his other peet!" She chuckled, letting go of Asmodeus's foot.

The dishevelled demon lay there on his back, panting heavily. A lazy hand came up to swipe his tangled pink locks from his forehead. His clothes were wrinkled, and his shirt had ridden up past his abs. Somehow, his other sock had come free from his foot during his thrashing.

"Hah... Hey... Why..."

"Are you alright, Asmodeus?" Iruma asked, tilting his head as he waited for Asmodeus to catch his breath.

"Aww man, did we over do it? I'm-"

"Why'd you stop?"

Clara and Iruma looked at each other in suprise.

"Too many wiggly-woos will make you sleepy, or worse, the hiccy-pups!" Clara nodded.

"Yeah, don't you want us to stop?" Iruma asked, looking at Asmodeus's damp eyes and flushed cheeks.

Asmodeus furrowed his brow, not quite understanding why Iruma would say that. "Am I supposed to want you to stop the wiggly-wo- uh, tickling?"

That's when Iruma and Clara realised. This demon is a Lee! Or, in their terms, very wiggly-woo positive!

"Alright, Azz. Shout 'wiggles' when you want us to stop."

"I doubt I'll be needing a code word to stop you from tiHIHIAHAHA!"

The room was filled with laughter once more as Asmodeus was bombarded with playful tickling. All three of them laughing and joking together. The happy sounds danced out into the hallway, as Opera was on his way to fetch them for food.

He smiled to himself, letting the three play, just for a few minutes more.

"Hm... At least they're building up an appetite."

[dc-polls]

They Would Not Fucking Say That!

Preliminary Poll

Maxwell Lord IV

From: Countdown to Infinite Crisis #1

Context: Before the comic at hand was released, Max had not appeared in dc canon,(aside from in Formerly Known As The Justice League which I'm fairly sure wasn't fully canon?), since 1995 , where he was a cyborg with no powers. Leading up to that he was mostly the manager for the justice league.

It was "revealed" that he had apparently been a criminal mastermind the whole time, who wanted to rid the world of people with super powers and had somehow become the leader of the spy organization Checkmate. Ted Kord,(the second blue beetle and a friend of Max's), found this out and was going to reveal it, so Max used his mind control to keep him from escaping and then shot him in the head, killing him.

It is difficult for me to put into words how many reasons there are that this was an absolutely boneheaded idea with no understanding of Max's character, and it genuinely infuriates me that it is clearly the foundation of his modern characterization. To start with, Max never showed any distaste for people with superpowers. He made himself the manager of the justice league, (admittedly mostly because an evil supercomputer told him he should but we'll get back to that), and worked with them for years! When that league disbanded he even went to the new version to go and see if they would let him be their manager! He clearly thought superpowers were a positive thing!

Also, he is not the kind of person who could stomach committing evil deeds. There is an entire comic( JLA #41, it's very funny please check it out) dedicated to him using his (very limited) mind control powers to make a lady start talking to him instead of him having to break the ice. This makes him feel so guilty that he has a nightmare that ends with all of his friends in the league calling him a bad person and he has to call the league afterwards to make sure it was fake. That doesn't seem like someone willing to shoot people in the face to me, especially people he knows.

SPEAKING of his friends in the league, he cared about the members of the JLI. Remember the evil computer I mentioned? Well, he mostly stopped doing what it told him because he realized he didn't like being under it's thumb and that he didn't like the kind of person he was becoming doing what it said. But that was kick-started by him worrying for the JLI!. And I feel I should mention that the member of the team he was closest to was J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter. J'onn really trusted Max, and believed he was a good person. I would think his judgement would be correct.

Anyway I know this is just a lot of shoddily tossed together information, but I hope it's enough to show you how out of character infinite crisis was for Max. I legitimately don't have it in me to be more put together about this as it makes me so so mad.

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