#I think it's called the communicator badge now

[theologicalphysics]

Some people (albeit not nearly enough people) write fic where Mike communicates with Robin or Julian via the lights or a laptop.

Nobody ever makes use of Fanny appearing in photos. I want a fic where Mike buys a Ring doorbell and hangs a copy of this cheatsheet near the front door so he can talk to the sensible ghosts for a change...

[mecachrome]

notes from nicole piastri's interview on red flags pod

oscar started playing monopoly and chess when he was 4-5 but he was too good at chess (relative to nicole) that she boycotted it

nicole opened her twitter account because oscar wasn't replying to her at boarding school and she needed a place to chastise him ("can you not answer... i KNOW you're on your phone") (it worked because he started replying to her there)

instead of unflappable she calls him "conservative"

even during christmas and birthdays he was never super excited, one time they went with a group of 5 mums and 5 kids to a hi-5 concert (popular australian kids' musical group) and while all the kids were "going nuts" oscar just sat there "focused the whole time" and didn't smile or move lmfao. they were like 3 years old

didn't know what she was doing with oscar as a baby because he was her first child and her mothers' group was her only reference and they went "isn't the best part of the day when you wake up and go to their crib and they smile at you?" and she was like ??? because oscar would wake up and just SCREAM every single day needing to be out of there immediately and she thought that was just normal... then she had the girls and went "ahhhh... so that's what they're talking about"

when he was younger than 2 he needed them to read car magazines to him and was already obsessed with all things automotive and while they were driving would just name off and point out car brands by their badges

for a long period of time he behaved like he was a car and would "spin" his wheels and pretend to accelerate and run like a car lol

did a big burnout the first time he was on a bike (it had training wheels but he still learned very early)

as a mum she wishes he'd chosen golf or tennis since it's much safer than f1 and sometimes people tell her that she technically had a say in that when he was a kid and she said "but i didn't! it was just in him!!!"

won an academic award when he was 13 and she was president of the parents' community so she presented it to him, normally these events are super formal and you simply shake hands but she gave him a big kiss and instead of acting embarrassed or spluttering he looked at the crowd, nodded silently, and walked off

came back for the summer a few years ago and they were biking on the beach together when she had to brake hard to avoid a kid and went over, when she recovered and got back on he went "are you all right?" very deadpan but after they got home they checked his heart rate monitor and saw that he was totally steady the whole time except for when she crashed and his heart rate went through the roof, told him "ah so you do have a heart... we just don't see it"

"there's no sibling that can piss him off?" "well he's a boy with three girls so he just doesn't go there because he's never going to win"

met lily in person for the first time when he came home for the melbourne grand prix (was still alpine reserve), at midnight oscar was like "hey mum you know the dts film crew are coming tomorrow morning right?" and she was like WHAT... and he was like yeah it'll be chill they just want to film us having breakfast like a normal family or whatever and she was like Mate you haven't lived here for 5 years now do you know what breakfast looks like. it looks like your sisters storming downstairs and grabbing an inappropriate breakfast and storming out the door giving me the finger!!! and then the next morning lily comes down and nicole is like "oh is oscar up?" and lily is like no... i think he's still in bed... (many such cases) and then mae refused to be in it so she got dressed and ran off to school 2 hours early to escape them. and then the mclaren fiasco happened and the whole thing got cut out of dts anyway

when she said "oh my god you met matt damon!" he was just like (shrugs) "yeah... yeah..."

they communicate by facetiming and he's Always lying in bed. one time in bahrain he was leaning back on an ornate tapestry and she asked what hotel he was staying at and he was like oh i'm at the royal palace i'm like a guest of the crown prince. she freaked out and was like "oh my god!!! get your head off the tapestry!!!" and he just looked back like ? no it's fine it looks pretty old lol

called her to tell her that he signed his f1 contract and when he said mclaren she Realized and was like oh no i love daniel!! and he straight up deadpanned "yeah everyone loves daniel. that's going to be a problem..." and said verbatim "of all the f1 drivers ever daniel is the worst one to be replacing"

one time in f4 chris couldn't go to a race and billy monger had just had his crash so she flew to the uk for the weekend to support him and when she was driving him back to boarding school she was happy because she had 2 hours to spend with him and she wasn't sure when she'd see him again but instead he slept the whole way through and the moment they got back to school he went "ahhhh... home sweet home" and she wanted to slap him lmfao

first day of primary school when he was 5 years old he said he didn't need her to walk him to school and she was like "well i actually do mate" so he forced her to walk behind him the whole way and the moment they got there he turned to her and went "all right i'm here you can go now" 😭

the chinese & italian & yugoslavian is on chris's side of the family while nicole's is scottish & irish ("that's where the pasty skin comes from")

red flags pod sent her a shirt with oscar's face composed of His Tweet and she showed it to him and he immediately said he wanted it

he gave her a small warning before he posted the tweet but it was just like "mum so this is going to happen just don't worry about it. it's all under control. it'll be fine" and was very calm the whole time

"we just had to trust that his personality would come through at some point, because the way he came across was not at all what he's like. people will work out who the real you is so just continue to do what you do" 🥺

all of the kids were obsessed with Cars (2006)

likes his mum's golden syrup dumplings and grandmother's rumballs

AT THE SINGAPORE GP IN 2023 HATTIE DISAPPEARED FOR HOURS TO GO SEE A K-POP CONCERT 😭😭😭😭 i think it was p1h lmfao (nicole was asked for her favorite group and went "i have no idea. five boys") ((it's txt)) meanwhile oscar is only into house music and she thinks everything he plays is the same song

did pilates when he went home but never with her and thinks it's a lot harder than it looks

takes him minimum 24 hours to respond to anything she sends

she had an exact conversation with oscar where she asked who he wanted to be teammates with and he said "well if i go up against lando i don't even have to get close the first year because everyone knows how good he is" 😭

oscar you are so you 🧡

[pastryfication]

an oscar x deaf reader, maybe she’s friends w someone working in mclaren and visits. the reader almost gets into an accident and oscar saves her, mad that she wasn’t paying attention and yells at her only to realize she’s deaf. he apologizes and he starts talking to her after that day.

close save | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x deaf reader note: i know close to nothing about lip reading and deafness, all info used in this is something i’ve googled, so feel free to correct me if something is wrong!! also, i’ve tried something new with writing it mostly from oscar’s perspective, so let me know if you like it xx

the midday sun beats down on the mclaren garage, casting long shadows over the bustling crew. it’s been a long morning of prep work, but oscar doesn’t mind—he thrives in the intensity, in the noise, in the hum of engines that fill his ears.

as he turns to grab a drink of water, something catches his eye. a young woman is standing just outside the garage, looking around with a distracted expression. you’re not wearing any of the usual gear or badges that indicate you’re part of the team, but there’s something familiar about you. oscar narrows his eyes, trying to place your face, when he notices something alarming—a forklift is backing up, and you’re right in its path.

without thinking, oscar drops the bottle and sprints toward you. his heart pounds as he closes the distance, yelling for you to move, but you don’t react. panic grips him as he reaches out, grabbing your arm and yanking you out of the way just in time. the forklift lumbers past, the driver oblivious to the close call.

oscar’s chest heaves as he turns to face you, adrenaline coursing through his veins. “what the hell were you thinking? you could’ve been—” he stops mid-sentence, noticing your startled expression. your eyes are widened, but not in fear of the near-miss. it’s something else.

you blink at him, your mouth moving soundlessly, and suddenly oscar realizes what’s wrong. you can’t hear him. the realization hits him like a punch to the gut, and the anger he felt a moment ago is instantly replaced by guilt. his face softens, and he steps back, his hand dropping from your arm.

“i’m- i’m sorry,” he stammers, his voice suddenly quiet, as if lowering it might somehow make up for his outburst. “i didn’t know . . .”

you tilt your head slightly, as if trying to read his lips, and oscar feels a wave of helplessness wash over him. he raises his hands, fumbling awkwardly as he tries to communicate. he doesn’t know any sign language—he’s never needed to—but he gestures toward the forklift, then back at you, hoping you understand that he was just worried.

to his relief, you nod, giving him a small, understanding smile. you point to your ear, then shake your head, confirming what he’s already guessed. you’re deaf.

oscar takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. he feels terrible, not just for yelling at you, but for assuming you were ignoring him when you couldn’t even hear him in the first place. “i’m sorry,” he repeats, mouthing the words more deliberately this time. he hopes you can read his lips.

you nod again, your expression kind, and motion that it’s okay. oscar feels a strange warmth in his chest at your forgiveness. he still feels like an idiot, but at least you don’t seem to hold it against him.

at that moment, lando appears from the other side of the garage, waving enthusiastically as he approaches. “hey, mate! you met jon’s sister yet?” he calls out, clearly unaware of what just happened. he jogs over, grinning broadly. “oscar, this is-”

“jon’s sister?” oscar repeats, cutting him off. the pieces fall into place—jon, lando’s personal trainer, had mentioned his sister visiting today. he hadn’t put two and two together until now. “right. i didn’t realize . . .”

lando’s grin falters as he notices the awkward tension. “oh. uh, yeah . . . she’s deaf, by the way. did i forget to mention that?”

oscar shoots him a look, but lando just shrugs, mouthing an exaggerated “sorry!” before turning back to you. “i see you’ve met oscar, then,” he says, switching to a more careful, lip-readable pace. he introduces you properly, and oscar watches as you sign something back to lando.

lando nods and translates, “she says thank you for saving her back there.”

oscar feels his face heat up a little, embarrassed but also strangely proud. “no problem,” he says, and then, after a pause, he adds, “i should’ve been more careful. i’m sorry if i scared you.”

lando relays the message, and you just smile, giving oscar a thumbs up.

over the next few hours, oscar finds himself glancing over at you more than once. he feels a strange pull, unable to tear his eyes away as you move through the garage, interacting with your brother and some of the crew, completely at ease despite the noise and chaos around you.

at one point, you catch him looking and wave. oscar waves back, feeling a bit foolish. when the day winds down and most of the team starts packing up, oscar spots you sitting on one of the low walls outside the garage, watching the track.

he hesitates for a moment, then walks over and sits down next to you, keeping a respectful distance. you look over and give him a welcoming smile, and for the first time, oscar doesn’t feel nervous. he doesn’t know how to sign, but he doesn’t need to. you sit there together, quietly watching as the sun dips lower in the sky, painting the track in shades of gold.

finally, oscar turns to you. his phone is open in his notes app, and in there he’s written: would you like to get a coffee sometime? maybe you could teach me some sign language.

you raise an eyebrow, then nod, your smile widening as you sign something to him. oscar doesn’t understand it yet, but he knows one thing: he’s definitely looking forward to learning.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Return to office and dying on the job

Denise Prudhomme's bosses at Wells Fargo insisted that the in-person camaraderie of their offices warranted a mandatory return-to-office policy, but when she died at her desk in her Tempe, AZ office, no one noticed for four days.

That was in August. Now, Wells Fargo United has published a statement on her death, one that vibrates with anger at the callously selective surveillance that Wells Fargo inflicts on its workforce:

https://www.reddit.com/r/WellsFargoUnited/comments/1fnp9fa/please_print_and_take_to_your_managersite_leader/

The union points out that Wells Fargo workers are subjected to continuous, fine-grained on-the-job surveillance from a variety of bossware tools that count their keystrokes and create tables of the distancess their mice cross each day:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Wells Fargo's message to its workforce is, "You can't be trusted," a policy that Wells Fargo doubled down on with its Return to Office mandate. Return to Office is often pitched as a chance to improve teamwork, communication, and human connection with your co-workers, and there's no arguing with the idea that spending some time in person with people can help improve working relationships (I attended a week-long, all-hands, staff retreat for EFF earlier this month and it was fantastic, primarily due to its in-person nature).

But our bosses don't want us back in the office because they enjoy our company, nor because they're so excited about having hired such a swell bunch of folks and can't wait to see how we all get along together. As John Quiggin writes, the biggest reason to force us back to the office is to get a bunch of us to quit:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/sep/26/in-their-plaintive-call-for-a-return-to-the-office-ceos-reveal-how-little-they-are-needed

As one of Musk's toadies put it in a private message before the Twitter takeover, "Sharpen your blades boys. 2 day a week Office requirement = 20% voluntary departures":

https://techcrunch.com/2022/09/29/elon-musk-texts-discovery-twitter/

The other reason to spy on us is because they don't trust us. Remember all the panic about "quiet quitting" and "no one wants to work"? Bosses' hypothesis was that eking out a bare minimum living on from a couple of small-dollar covid stimulus checks was preferable to working for them for a full paycheck.

Every accusation is a a confession. When your boss tells you that he thinks that you can't be trusted to do a good job without total, constant surveillance, he's really saying, "I only bother to do my CEO job when I'm afraid of getting fired':

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

As Wells Fargo United notes, Wells Fargo employees like Denise Prudhomme are spied on from the moment they set foot in the building until the moment they clock out (and sometimes the spying continues when you're off the clock):

Wells Fargo monitors our every move and keystroke using remote, electronic technologies—purportedly to evaluate our productivity—and will fire us if we are caught not making enough keystrokes on our computers.

The Arizona Republic coverage notes further that Prudhomme had to log her comings and goings from the Wells Fargo offices with a badge, so Wells Fargo could see that Prudhomme had entered the premises four days before, but hadn't left:

https://www.azcentral.com/story/news/local/tempe-breaking/2024/09/23/wells-fargo-employees-union-responds-death-tempe-woman/75352015007/

Wells Fargo has mandated in-person working, even when that means crossing a state line to be closer to the office. They've created "hub cities" where workers are supposed to turn up. This may sound convivial, but Prudhomme was the only member of her team working out of the Tempe hub, so she was being asked to leave her home, travel long distances, and spend her days in a distant corner of the building where no one ventured for periods of (at least) four days at a time.

Bosses are so convinced that they themselves would goof off if they could that they fixate on forcing employees to spend their days in the office, no matter what the cost. Back in March 2020, Charter CEO Tom Rutledge – then the highest-paid CEO in America – instituted a policy that every back office staffer had to work in person at his call centers. This was the most deadly phase of the pandemic, there was no PPE to speak of, we didn't understand transmission very well, and vaccines didn't exist yet. Charter is a telecommunications company and it was booming as workers across America upgraded their broadband so they could work from home, and the CEO's response was to ban remote work. His customer service centers were superspreading charnel houses:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/18/diy-tp/#sociopathy

That Wells Fargo would leave a dead employee at her desk for four days is par for the course for the third-largest commercial bank in America. This is Wells Fargo, remember, the company that forced its low-level bank staff to open two million fake accounts in order to steal from their customers and defraud their shareholders, then fired and blackballed staff who complained:

https://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2016/09/26/495454165/ex-wells-fargo-employees-sue-allege-they-were-punished-for-not-breaking-law

The executive who ran that swindle got a $125 million bonus:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2016/09/wells-fargo-ceos-teflon-don-act-backfires-at-senate-hearing-i-take-full-responsibility-means-anything-but.html

And the CEO got $200 million:

https://money.cnn.com/2016/09/21/investing/wells-fargo-fired-workers-retaliation-fake-accounts/index.html

It's not like Wells Fargo treats its workers badly but does well by everyone else. Remember, those fake accounts existed as part of a fraud on the company's investors. The company went on to steal $76m from its customers on currency conversions. They also foreclosed on customers who were up to date on their mortgages, seizing and selling off all their possessions. They argued that when bosses pressured tellers into forging customers on fraudulent account-opening paperwork, that those customers had lost their right to sue, since the fraudulent paperwork had a binding arbitration clause. When they finally agreed to pay restitution to their victims, they made the payments opt-in, ensuring that most of the millions of people they stole from would never get their money back.

They stole millions with fraudulent "home warranties." They stole millions from small businesses with fake credit-card fees. They defrauded 800,000 customers through an insurance scam, and stole 25,000 customers' cars with illegal repos. They led the pre-2008 pack on mis-selling deceptive mortgages that blew up and triggered the foreclosure epidemic. They loaned vast sums to Trump, who slashed their taxes, and then they fired 26.000 workers and did a $40.6B stock buyback. They stole 525 homes from mortgage borrowers and blamed it on a "computer glitch":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#too-big-to-jail

Given all this, two things are obvious: first, if anyone is going to be monitored for crimes, fraud and scams, it should be Wells Fargo, not its workers. Second, Wells Fargo's surveillance system exists solely to terrorize workers, not to help them. As Wells Fargo United writes:

We demand improved safety precautions that are not punitive or cause further stress for employees. The solution is not more monitoring, but ensuring that we are all connected to a supportive work environment instead of warehoused away in a back office.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/27/sharpen-your-blades-boys/#disciplinary-technology

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2023

Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!

COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

And this years playlist can be found here.

There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!

We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”

Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”

Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”

Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”

Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”

No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”

Matches | Scars | “Let me see”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”

Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”

Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Alternatives List:

Betrayal

Aftermath of Failure

Brass Knuckles

Decoy

Body Modification

Playing Cards

Examination

Hunting

Drugging

Shaking

Panic

Broken

Miscommunication

Lab Rat

Reluctant Whumper

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.

The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)

#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?

You can create something based on:

The overall theme/lyric of the day

Prompt 1, 2 or 3

One or several of the alternative prompts

A combination of the above

Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?

When in doubt: JUST DO IT!

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.

Q. Will you reblog my post?

Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:

tag your post properly

post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.

Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes.

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.

Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?

No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.  

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine.  The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit.

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?

Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What is whump?

Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?

If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want. 

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord or come into our ask box.

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

[hitchyboi]

Dating Havik Headcanons #1

Y'ALL OKAY THIS IS FOR MEEEEEEE XD I NEED MORE HAVIK AND GOD DAMNIT I'LL PROVIDE IT IF NO ONE ELSE WILL!

Oki thank you~

Content Warning- It's Havik. Gore, Blood, Violance, Self Mutilation, one small NSFW bit, Swearing (That's just me)

Cuteness aggression to the max. He can't help it, his partner is so precious when he's hugging them all he can imagine is squeezing them until their ribs break and pierce their lungs. If he's caressing their face, they can feel the way his fingers twitch, itching to dig his nails into their soft flesh.

He chews and bites. A lot. After Scorpion burned his face off he realized his ability to just straight bite things got easier without skin in the way. Will hug his partner from behind and chew on their hair cause he likes the texture. Cuddling? Random bites the entire time and they range from light and playful to you think he's genuinely trying to eat you sometimes. He isn't, kinda. Just likes biting.... Sometimes he may be trying to take an actual bite. Romantic Cannibalism.

His name has become a confusing mix of a disgust and comfort. If anyone ever calls him Dairou he gets insanely mad, remembering his life in Seido in the lowest caste and all the dictatorship over his life. Yet when his partner calls him his name... its almost like a comforting blanket he's never felt being wrapped around him. He doesn't have to be Havik, Cleric of chaos and symbol of anarchy. He can let himself relax for a moment, his worries can drift away for another day. With his partner... he can just be Dairou.

Surprisingly he is a good cook. Now his method of cooking may be a bit... unorthodox. You don't really know what he's cooking with. Or how he even got it in the first place. But give him some meat, herbs and spices and a fire. He'll be able to roast up a good tasting meal.

Has issues with monogamy. Not being faithful part but more the idea of having fidelity forced onto him? He doesn't like the idea of rules or societal norms re-shackling him after he's gained his freedom. If his partner is fine with polyamory or having an open relationship, great. If his partner isn't comfortable, communicating it as a personal preference and comfort level would gain more an understanding reaction from him rather than telling him he needs too.

Man's comfortable as hell in his relationship and partner. Would never tell his partner what they can or can't do or wear cause fuck that shit. You wanna go to a club wearing a sexy ass outfit and show yourself off? He's your hype man. Go out nude, he'd support it.

Will kill a man if someone messed with his partner.

Has killed a man for messing with his partner.

Has a habit of mutilating himself at the most random of times. Almost like the habit of cracking one's knuckles he starts to feel stiff and really uncomfortable if he hasn't snapped or torn a part of his body for a while.

His partner will have to force this man to put on a shirt if they are going out in Earthrealm. He doesn't understand the social norms of Earthrealm and frankly... he doesn't give a shit to learn. He'll eventually put on a shirt if his partner insists for their own comfort

Has tried to fight police officers, many times.

Getting this man to properly bath himself is a hassle on its own. He grew up in a way where bathing was a luxury few could afford so self care isn't something he's well versed or keen on. If his partner insists that they'd join him in the bath or shower then eventually they'll be able to pull his grimy ass into the water. Once he is in the water however, good luck getting him back out.

Lil NSFW~ Any marks his partner makes on his body during night time fun will always be saved on his body. He'll never fully heal them up, scars are like a badge on honor to this man. Now he gets to walk around with more scars and scars that his partner placed on his body from how well he was fucking their brains out.

[wisteria-lodge]

And now for a HP fandom question - do you have any thoughts on queercoding in the series and if JKR ever actually intended it, and then backtracked, or if it was always completely unintentional? I'm thinking specifically about Lupin and Tonks (as individuals, not as a ship) Inspired by your post about the intention vs how fans perceived Draco Malfoy. Thanks!

So the first thing I want to do is make a distinction between femme-coding and queer-coding. They're tropes with very similar histories, and a lot of works treat them as the same thing. But Harry Potter doesn’t, and I think we can chalk this one up to JK Rowling’s habit of grabbing aesthetics and visuals without really thinking through the history behind them. 

(Like - the goblins. She says she didn’t mean to write an antisemitic thing, and I actually do believe her. But did she use a lot of tropes and images with a long history of being tied to antisemitism? yes.)

So when I say “femme” I mean giving a male character traits stereotypically associated with femininity. Heightened sensitivity/emotionality, an interest in hair, clothes and being attractive, a love of lace/pink/frills, a dislike of violence and physical confrontation, and a preference for the soft power of manipulation, character assassination and poison - versus the hard power of direct confrontation and physical prowess. Are these things super stereotypical? Yes. But they’re ALSO traits you see all the time on male villains, especially ones that you don’t want to seem that threatening. Femme-coded villains show up a lot in children’s media, or as the Big Bad’s #2. They’re not meant to be heroic or sympathetic (since all these feminine traits are not desirable, especially for guys.) But they also aren’t scary, and you can pretty much always play them for comedy. 

For example: see almost every male Disney villain. And JKR was writing children’s literature in the 90s, so of course she’s pulling from the same zeitgeist as the Disney Renaissance. 

JKR loves herself a femme villain. The absolute gold standard is of course Lockhart - who wears pink, wants to start his own line of hair care products, is self-centered, vain, obsessed with popularity… but he sucks in a fight. His entire MO involves manipulating people into thinking he has these traditional masculine qualities when he just doesn’t. But there’s also fussy, prissy Percy wearing his prefect badge on his pajamas. Bitchy, emotional mean-girl poisoners Draco and Snape (especially early book Snape - which is Snape at his most villainous.) Draco, Percy and Snape are also unusual for being male characters who we see crying for reasons other than grief (apparently the only truly acceptable reason for masculine crying). 

Lucius Malfoy is an interesting case because he starts off quite masc. He’s threatening to curse people, the governors are scared of him, etc. But, as the books go on… and he gets less powerful… he also gets more femme. When we meet him in Book 5 he’s no longer threatening people, but bribing them, spreading rumors, and giving interviews to the Prophet casting Arthur Weasley in a negative light. He's also getting really into peacocks. In Book 2 he was a major threat, but as he gets recast as Voldemort’s #2 he becomes a more femme, soft-power villain. When he leads the attack on the Department of Mysteries, he absolutely bungles it, which defines his character (and relationship with Voldemort) for the rest of the series. And it makes sense that Lucius is given this kind of treatment! It’s a way of communicating that there's a new villain in town, a real villain. 

So, are any of these femme-coded villains additionally queer-coded? I’m actually going to say no. Queer-coding is (like it says on the tin) finding ways to imply that your character is specifically gay. Like maybe giving them a same-sex relationship that is written romantically, but not explicitly called out by the text. Or pairing up all of the characters except them. Maybe have other characters joke about them being gay, and use that as a way to talk about the subject with some plausible deniability. Or they could just play suggestively with a cigar, or a walking stick. There are different strategies.  

But Lockhart doesn't get any of that. Honestly, I think that if JKR actually thought of him as gay, she would have been a lot more wary about a scene where he keeps Harry alone with him in his office for way longer than he’s supposed to. And she might have skipped this joke: 

“Harry was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf (...) “Nice loud howl, Harry — exactly — and then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced — like this — slammed him to the floor — thus — with one hand, I managed to hold him down — with my other, I put my wand to his throat (...) he let out a piteous moan — go on, Harry — higher than that — good —” 

Like. At least she would have picked a different word than “moan,” right? Which unfortunately has slightly sexual connotations. Especially if she wanted to keep Lockhart a buffoon, to properly set up the twist at the end. 

Slughorn also gets femme-coded in a similar way: he loves his candy, his parties, his smoking jackets, his lilac silk pajamas, his web of connections he can use to get stuff (Lucius style.) We are introduced to him squatting in specifically a “fussy old lady’s” house. He’s also unusually emotional, getting weepy at Aragog‘s funeral. But I don’t think we’re meant to read him as actually gay, or else his relationship with Tom Riddle might’ve read a little too close to Tom seducing/trying to seduce him. Which is a beat JKR does subtly play out with Hepzibah Smith, but idk. by that point at least Tom is a legal adult.

(As a side note - the Harry Potter series got so lucky that all of its adult characters are played by absolutely top-shelf actors who are aware of the connotations and history behind various symbols, and do consider these things in their performances. Kenneth Brannagh and Jim Broadbent are good enough to make sure there’s not even a hint of iffy subtext when they play Lockhart and Slughorn. Also, Emma Thompson took the potentially very problematic character of Trelawney and made her cute and sympathetic… and not Romani in the slightest.) 

Draco, Snape, and Percy all have a case of the not-gays. Percy has a girlfriend (we don’t really see her or anything, but we’re told she’s there.) Snape of course gets his whole thing with Lily, and Draco… after one too many beats where it’s clear that Pansy is into him, but he’s not into Pansy…  gets a scene where he’s talking to his buddies with his head in her lap. (JKR uses “no one‘s good enough for me” beats with Blaise, Draco and Sirius, and the idea there seems to be more that they have undeservedly high opinions of themselves, and less that they don’t like girls.)

But, I do agree that a lot of JKR's characters do come across as a little more queer than intended. It boils down, I think, to the general lack of any kind of romance in the Harry Potter books and JKR being generally bad at/uncomfortable with writing male attraction directed at women, BUT being perfectly happy writing attraction directed at pretty guys. And because of that… yeah, it can sometimes feel like maybe Harry has a thing for Cedric. Especially when Dudley goes on to tease him about Cedric being his boyfriend, which I believe is the only actual mention of gay people in the entire series.  

So is there any intentional queer-coding in the book? It’s really subtle, but yes. I think Dumbledore is queer-coded. He is unusually emotional/cries unusually often for a Rowling guy. He is also given a scene which emphasizes his “flamboyantly” cut plum-velvet suit, and his relationship with Grindelwald is implied to be romantic for one book and two movies before being actually confirmed in Fantastic Beasts 3. (With the line of dialogue “I was in love with you.” Big step up from “We were closer than brothers.” which is an odd thing to say about someone you are interested in romantically.) 

But you brought up Tonks and Lupin, two characters very commonly interpreted as queer. So let’s get into that. JKR has said that she considers Lupin’s lycanthropy to be a metaphor for stigmatized diseases like AIDS. And… as incredible as it is to say… I actually do not think that she made the jump from there to thinking that maybe the character suffering from AIDS should be gay.

Because the narrative places so much weight on Lupin being bitten young and then on maybe not being allowed to attend school, I’m pretty sure that he’s not intended to be queer so much as he’s meant to be Ryan White, the literal poster child for AIDS activism who got infected via blood transfusion when he was two. Tragic, absolutely. But not gay. Honestly, I hope JKR was thinking of ‘lycanthropy’ as a metaphor for stigmatized illness in the abstract and not as a comment on gay people specifically. Because otherwise, Greyback’s thing about biting children becomes a mash-up of two of the biggest homophobic boogeymen from the 80s: gay men infecting people with AIDS on purpose because… idk, they hate the world or something. And the influence of gay men somehow “turning” children gay. Both absolutely real, if ridiculous, moral panics.

On top of that, Remus and Sirius do get a pretty clear case of the not-gays early on (“He embraced Black like a brother.”) Buuuut Alfonso Cuarón did think through those implications for Movie 3, absolutely saw Lupin as gay, and directed David Thewlis to play him accordingly. No reports confirming or denying whether Alfonso Cuarón ships Wolfstar, but I think that if I’m an actor trying to make sense of Lupin’s motivations… and I know he didn’t show Dumbledore the Marauders’ Map and didn’t tell anyone Sirius was an animagus… and then I’m told my character is gay… well. Anyway, I think there are absolutely hints of Wolfstar in that performance. 

And there's Tonks. Tonks is introduced during a very spooky segment in Book 5: Harry has been going through it, been left alone at the Dursleys while having what sounds like a depressive episode. It’s dark, he hears intruders. It's a really good piece of writing. But JKR knows that it’s the good guys who are coming and thinks, okay. Let’s make that as clear as possible from the word go. And so the first thing Harry sees is Tonks' pink hair. And what kind of person has pink hair? A young adult. A punky young adult. And what power would a teenager think was cool? Well, the ability to change the color of their hair at will. That, by itself, would have worked perfectly fine for this character.

But then (for reasons best known to herself) JKR goes further. Even though Tonk’s hair changing color is easily 90% of the transformations we see and there is no plot reason her appearance needs to change more than that, we see her drastically change her age and body type. When you think about this power for more than five seconds, it becomes kind of OP. For worldbuilding reasons alone, my instinct would’ve been to tone it down a bit. 

But no, we have this counterculture character who seems interested in her career and not in a relationship, who can easily change anything about her body, and (if her ability works anything like Polyjuice) that means she should definitely be able to change her gender. Cool.

Then, in everyone’s least favorite romance, Tonks and Lupin are paired up. I have heard the argument that this was meant to walk back queer-coding, or to punish people who thought they were queer... but I don’t think that’s the case. I don’t think JKR expected these two to be fan favorites, and then was kind of surprised when everyone wanted to hear about their continuing adventures. 

(There are a handful of characters who JKR clearly really enjoys - and really enjoys writing - that fandom honestly could not care less about. Mundungus Fletcher and Ludo Bagman spring to mind. But the reverse is also true. She had one story for Lupin and people wanted to see more. Tonks is probably supposed to be her comment on immature young adults: she is loud, in your face, causes mild destruction and is “a little annoying at times.” But the fans fell in love with her.) 

So JKR has these two fan favorite characters and nothing for them to do. A romance is something for them to do. JKR also has a kind of weird pattern where good people need to either have kids or take care of kids. It’s not good to be a woman who isn’t involved with taking care of children in some fashion: see Rita Skeeter, Dolores Umbridge, Bellatrix Lestrange. This is also (I think) why Harry names his kids specifically after Severus, Sirius, and Albus. Since they’re good men, JKR had to find a way to give them kids after the fact. 

So yeah. I think we were meant to read Tonks and Lupin having a kid as kind of a reward, or at least as proof of their intrinsic goodness. There also just isn’t another guy in the right age range to ship Tonks with. The only other option is Sirius. 

(Harry in the books and Lupin on Pottermore both suspect that Tonks/Sirius is a thing. Completely forgetting, I guess, that they're cousins.)

[muldermuse]

Guardian Angel (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

this was based on a prompt i recieved!

18+ only!! mdni!! warning: reader is briefly knocked unconscious in the fic! not by Gator but by an anonymous male who is never named/identified. mentions of bad childhood/abusive parents. mentions of police brutality. mentions of smut. being in a hospital/back of an ambulance. Gator and Roy are threatening in this and mean about reader. Angst!!! lil bit of fluff! more angst?? Unhappy ending (no character deaths tho do not worry)

I’m sorry :/

Part of the two sinners works! Read more here!

Gator Tillman had no choice but to become a Sheriff, he idolised his Father and saw the respect that surrounded him. No one ever questions Roy Tillman; at least, not if they value their own life. Gator had witnessed firsthand the brutality that his father inflicted on his community when wearing the badge. One of Gator’s happiest childhood memories was his daddy letting him wear his cowboy hat and his Sheriff’s badge. Roy Tillman’s eyes were full of pride as he looked as his young son, “you’ll make a fantastic Sheriff one day, boy”. Any other dreams that young Gator were quashed in that moment, ever since that day when his Father looked at him and saw the potential Gator could grow up to have- he knew he had to be a Sheriff. 

Unfortunately, Gator Tillman never wanted to be a good Sheriff. He didn’t actually care about helping people or being a beacon of hope for his community. Gator, like his Father, loved the power that came with the badge. Without it, he was some loser daddy’s boy but with it; he felt he was unstoppable. As much as Roy Tillman ignored his son, he knew him too well and he knew what little ability Gator actually had. So, Gator was always on the quietest shifts and he was always paired with an older colleague who could actually do the job. In his father’s eyes; Gator was still a little kid playing dress up. So here he is, browsing the disposable vape collection in his local gas station to fill the time until he can clock out. The clerk looks away and Gator slips a watermelon mango flavour into his pocket. He throws a few dollars on the counter and takes a bag of Takis before heading back to the patrol car. Maybe he can convince his patrol partner to drive him to a diner to get a coffee to kill a few more hours or maybe he’ll have an uncomfortable nap across the back seat.

Then a call comes in. 

“Dispatch, please respond. We have a call for assistance at The Outpost Bar about 4 minutes from your current location. Seems that an altercation between two men has escalated and a young lady has got hurt, ambulance is nearly there as she’s knocked out”.

Gator picks up the radio as his colleague starts speeding to the bar, “Heard- name of victim?”. 

Bile rises in his throat and he feels his stomach drop. 

It’s your name.

Before he can even process what has happened; the patrol car arrives on the scene and sees the ambulance outside the front of the bar. 

He knows his job is to find the guy who’s done this and get him in the back of the car. He knows the ambulance and the paramedics are there to help you. But he also knows that you’re currently unconscious on the floor of a shitty dive bar and that’s all he can focus on. His heart is thundering in his ears as he runs into the bar, his colleague is shouting his name after him to try and discuss a plan before entering the bar. He needs to see you, what if the call was wrong? You never mentioned that you’d be heading out tonight. You never really tell him anywhere you’re going though. He wishes you would but he can’t think about that now. 

The inside of the bar is nearly empty, the lights are up and there’s a group of women stood around someone lying on the floor. The shoes he can see are a pair of black boots- has he ever seen you wear those? Would you wear something like that? The thought in his head are moving too quick for him to comprehend. He tries to make his way over to the huddle of women on the floor but he sees a familiar face first. It’s Jenson Ackerley, the guy you brought to the church pot luck, the guy that you’d told Gator you never planned on seeing again after blowing him off for him. Gator had seen a few texts from Jenson pop up on your phone but you were seemingly quick to ignore them. He’s stood at the bar, he’s holding his head in his hands and looks relieved when he sees law enforcement come in.

“Thank god you’re here, they fuckin’ ran off after they shoved her. She hit her head and then they fuckin’ ran off. She’s breathin’ fine so sh-“ he sounds relieved as he speaks, the words tumbling out of his mouth as if he’s a concerned partner. You’re not his partner, Gator isn’t either but he’s closer to it than this fucking guy. A rage flushes across his face as Gator grabs Jenson’s plaid shirt in his fists and pushes him against the concrete wall of the bar. He spits at Jenson’s feet before speaking to him, “What the fuck happened? Why the fuck didn’t you step in? Some fuckin’ quarterback huh?” He shoves him harder; feeling rejoice in the nerves filling Jenson’s eyes "Lettin’ her get hit while you just fuckin’ stand there holdin’ your fuckin' dick?”. Jenson’s face contorts in confusion, he tries to respond before Gator punches him hard in his lower stomach. He grabs Jenson’s cheeks and pushes his head further into the cold, hard concrete of the wall as he whispers low in his ear “I fuckin’ swear on my fuckin’ Dad’s life- if something happens to her, I’ll fuckin’ kill you”. The hard grip of his hand gets tighter on Jenson’s face, Jenson’s face would be flushing red if it were not for the fact that all blood seems to have drained from his face with nerves. Gator’s smirk is predatory, “‘m a fuckin’ Sheriff y’know- I can make it look like an accident”.

He can hear your voice, it’s mumbled and strained- but it is distinctly you.

Gator turns that quick he feels a bout of nausea hit him, it’s doubled when he sees you being moved out of the dingy bar on a stretcher. You look confused but a flash of recognition and reassurance flutters through your expression when you realise it’s him.

“Gator?” Your voice is slow as if your wading through thick molasses to whisper his two syllable name. He grabs your hand, it’s ice cold and he knows that it’s the shock your poor body has been through this evening. Your hand meekly trembles in his and it occurs to Gator that he’s never seen you as vulnerable as this. 

“Yeah-yeah it’s me, hi” His voice is the softest it’s ever been with you as he tenderly presses a hand to your face. This isn’t the same man who two days ago called you a whore as you rode his cock in his Daddy’s bed and this certainly isn’t the man who’s last text simply told you to fuck off and leave him alone. This isn’t your Gator. But right now, this isn’t you. When you look back, you both won’t recognise the other in this moment.

But fiercely, you’ll both take the tenderness right now. You both desperately need it.

Gator will come to always crave it.

*** 

He insisted to his colleague that he’d go with you in the ambulance. The paramedic was too preoccupied with checking your vitals to notice that Gator held your hand the entire way. When tears filled your eyes due to pure confusion about your current situation, he’d press a soft kiss to your under eyes and mumble to you that it was going to be okay. He wasn’t leaving your side until it was all okay- he promised.

“I swear on it, okay baby. Me and you” he brings your hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to it. Tenderly, he moves your hair out of your face as you nod in agreement. You wanted to believe him with every ounce of your body and soul but your mouth is too dry to beg him to stay; you’re not sure if you’re asking for tonight or for forever.

Gator’s watching you intently, he’s memorising the different parts of your face- just in case. Of course nothing’s going to happen to you, he’s sure of it. But just in case, he’s logging to his memory the soft curve of your lips, always a little pouty and so fucking pretty when you wear that lip gloss that drives him wild. The little furrow in your brow, always more prominent when you’re worried or plotting how you can try and fuck up Gator’s week by saying something calculating.

Your eyes flicker shut as the paramedic rests a hand on Gator’s shoulder, “you’re a good boyfriend. Half the guys don’t even want to come in the back and the others usually try to calm themselves rather than their partners. You’re a good man”. The irony isn’t missed on him, he is someone’s boyfriend but he’s not yours. His girlfriend has never received this tenderness from him. Gator Tillman is a lot of things but he is definitely not a good man. In this moment, however, he is trying to be. 

He doesn’t thank the paramedic, he just nods and keeps your small hand in his. He doesn’t want his mind to wander and consider how things would be if you were in a relationship. You’d drive him mad, he’s sure of it but with Glenda; he feels nothing. He considers that at least anger is an emotion. Better than an emotionally vacant relationship. 

The ambulance comes to a sudden stop and he feels your hand grip his tighter, your eyes are open and as the paramedic works to open the door; Gator is reassuring you that everything’s going to be okay. 

“Promise that you’ll stay?” your voice is hesitant and soft. You feel emotionally exposed right now and it’s a deeply uncomfortable feeling.

Gator presses a kiss to your forward quickly, conscious of the paramedic trying to get your stretcher out of the vehicle and onto a ward. “Of course baby, as soon as they find you a room- I’ll be there. Okay? I swear it”. You begin to cry as you nod and Gator desperately wants to kiss you more to console you but you’re wheeled out before he gets the chance.

Your hands are pulled apart as your stretcher gets wheeled into the hospital. He’s lost in his thoughts until a familiar authoritative voice booms behind him.

“Gator?”

It’s his father.

Gator feels the blood drain from his body and he tries to stop his hands trembling before he turns around.

Roy’s hands are on his hips as he glares at Gator. He’s dressed in his usual cowboy hat and denim jacket. His father’s presence always makes Gator nervous. With one look from Roy Tillman, Gator is transported back to being a four year old meek child who had accidentally broken a vase, terrified of his father’s reaction but simultaneously in awe of the authoritarian berating him for his mistake. He’d seen them holding hands, Gator takes a second to thank the lord that that is all his father had seen.

His mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, he can’t speak and if he could; he doesn’t even know what he would say. There’s no reason for it. Why would he be holding your hand? Why would he travel in the back of the ambulance with you? It isn’t protocol and, for all Roy knows, Gator does not like you. He isn’t even supposed to know you. His father had warned Gator about you from the first time he had seen you. 

“She’s a sinner that girl- I don’t want her corrupting you. Showing you her worldly ways, you are not to speak to her- y’hear me?” What Roy didn’t know is by that time, you’d already started sleeping together. Both of you taking the time to learn each other’s bodies intimately. You made Gator feel things he never had before but that didn’t matter- you were a dirty sinner. It never crosses Gator’s mind that he could be a sinner too.

The paramedic reemerges from the hospital and before Gator can intercept, she tells him that ‘his girlfriend’ is on ward 6. 

“I’ve told her that you’ll be up soon to see her. She’s still a bit upset so maybe head up after you’ve finished speaking with the Sheriff” the paramedic is kind. Her words are soft and considered and her eyes look up at Gator as if he’s a great man. He hopes that this paramedic will keep Gator in her mind as an attentive and considerate partner. She may be the only person who would ever think of Gator Tillman in that way. Roy smiles at the paramedic but it doesn’t meet his eyes; Gator realises that his smile never does. 

After she leaves, there’s a moment of silence. It feels too long and uncomfortable.

***

“I don’t know what’s happenin’ with you and that girl b-“

“Dad” Gator scoffs, as if the idea is ridiculous “nothin’s happenin’. I answered the call so I was there and y’know, I’m the Sheriff- it’s my job to make sure she’s safe. Well, not ju-“

Roy takes Gator’s shirt in his fists and slams him against the wall of the hospital. The thud of Gator’s head hitting the concrete echoes across the vacant space. Roy spits in Gator’s face as he whispers sternly, “Do not fuckin’ lie to me. You’re a worse fuckin’ liar than your fuckin’ mother”.

He can’t speak, as hard as Gator’s mouth tries to form words, it lets him down and makes him look weak in front of his father. Just as he did when he was younger; Gator takes the emotional beating from his father.

“You got a good christian woman at home and I don’t think that Glenda would want to hear about you in the back of an ambulance with her- agree?”

He nods, his mind is empty as all he feels is blind panic. Will Roy tell Glenda? As soon as he loses her, he loses his father’s approval- something he’s spent years cultivating. He can’t lose her; it’s not a choice. Roy robs him of the chance to speak.

Roy’s hand is firm on Gator’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the flesh. “What have I told you from day one about that girl, son?”. His eyes are unwavering on his son’s, Gator realises he has not seen his dad blink throughout this entire interaction.

“That she’s a sinner” it comes out too easy and Roy smirks in response. He’s made his father happy and he feels he can speak again. His chest not as tight as it felt a few moments ago.

Roy’s hand gets tighter on Gator’s shoulder and it begins to feel uncomfortable. “Tell me what you think of her” he nods to prompt Gator to speak. Gator briefly imagines if he could tell him the truth, how would he describe what he thinks of you? He’s unsure if he even allows himself to think about you when you’re apart. The thought of you living unfiltered in his mind is far too much. You need to be a box locked away in Gator’s depraved mind. There’s no key because it never needs opening.

He stutters as he goes to speak, “well…we all know what she’s like right? She’s a fuckin’ whore” Roy nods in encouragement as a shy smile breaks across Gator’s face. “Yeah, I mean, she’s probably dating about 10 different guys- right? I mean, I saw her with Jenson and then with some other fuckin’ guy like two days later. Glenda doesn’t like ‘er- thinks the same as me”.

Roy is content, his grip on his son’s shoulder eases as he smiles brightly at Gator. “We’re not gonna look for the guys that did this- didn’t happen. You were doin’ a routine check at the bar and that’s it. I’ve already told Williams that that’s what’s happened- I’ve sorted it for you, son”

Son.

That one syllable word is a warm blanket on a cold night. A ice cold glass of water in the hottest desert. A three course meal after a day of raw hunger.

Roy leads Gator away from you, he sits him in the patrol car and drives him home to Glenda. Glenda kisses his cheek softly at the doorway. She’s made a home cooked meal for her hardworking man. The meal tastes like ash on Gator’s tongue. He drinks whiskey to help him sleeps more than usual.

Meanwhile, you are laid alone in a hospital bed. Holding out hope that Gator will return, hopefully with the affection from the ambulance. But of course, Gator doesn’t come back to your room.

You don’t see him again whilst you're in the hospital.

He doesn’t text you for two weeks.

He turns up one late night when you’re back home, he asks if you’re ‘all good’ and you reply that you’ll be fine. You have sex that night and never acknowledge how tender he was to you in your time of need. You’re both rougher than usual, both craving to dominate the other and fuck them into submission. You have to make up for the unjustified kindness.

***

You never see how Gator spends his time off work. When he’s not with you, or with Glenda, or working- he’s trying to find out who did this to you.

He won’t stop searching until the person who did this is found in a ditch.

But you will never know.

[thezombieprostitute]

Unwanted - Part 2

Summary: Your life is no longer yours. You've been forced into becoming a different species of human. Bought and paid for, what can you do but follow orders and obey your Alpha?

Warnings: Allusions to surgery, human trafficking, kidnapping; Angst; Depression; Suicidal thoughts. Let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is described as big & tall, is female. No other descriptors required.

Part 1 -- Part 3

Levinson leads you to car but you pause for a few moments. You haven't seen outside in so long. Tears start streaming down your face as you look at the sky.

"Omega!" Levinson barks. You duck your head in fear and quickly climb into the car. He gets in on the other side and knocks the partition, signalling the driver he's ready to go. "Buckle up," he tells you.

You're quick to comply. You can't do anything else because you feel so dead inside. Kidnapped, tortured, and rejected. What was the point of all of it? Why did you have to suffer so much for someone who doesn't want you? Why did he ask for someone like you? It doesn't matter anymore. All you can do is follow orders and try to shut your brain down. Like post-surgery healing and recovery, the training they put you through. Just shut up, shut down and comply. You don't even bother looking out the window, it would only further remind you of what you missed. What you're never allowed to do again.

Levinson keeps working on his phone. You can only tell because of the sounds. You can't remember the last time you held a phone. But it's not your place to think about it, now is it? You take a breath and catch hints of the driver's scent. He also smells like fire, but more controlled. Like a large bonfire at the beach instead of the wildfire next to you.

You hear the partition roll down. The driver says, "we're far enough away, Ari."

"Thanks, Johnny." Levinson puts his phone in his pocket and turns to you. "I'm Ari Levinson, with the Department of Defense." He pulls out his wallet and puts it on your lap, making sure you see his badge and ID. "They weren't supposed to actually find a candidate. It was a ploy to buy us time until we could get more intelligence on the operation."

You blink, whispering, "I...I was mistake?"

"We're going to take you to a community of others of our kind where you can get proper care."

"I was a mistake?" you say louder. The tears start pouring. You can't hold them back any further. It was bad enough when you weren't wanted but have your entire existence upended for a mistake? It was too much. You collapse into a sobbing pile.

"Told you to be gentler on her, Alpha," you hear Johnny say.

"Not much that I could do to soften the blow," Ari retorts. "Let her cry it out, she definitely needs it. Might want to get some food, too. I can hear her stomach growling from here and I'm sure it's making things worse for her."

"Okay," Johnny shakes his head. He pulls out his own phone and calls someone telling them to have some food prepped for your arrival in a half hour or so.

You're all cried out by the time you reach the gate. It looks like you're entering an army base. That fits with the Department of Defense stuff Ari said. Both men show their credentials and the car is allowed inside.

"We're going to get you some food before we catch our flight," Ari tells you. "Do not speak until after the plane lands. Understand?"

You nod and he accepts that. What choice do you have?

"For what it's worth, I know the guy who works the commissary here," Johnny offers. "He's an amazing cook!" Again, all you can do is nod.

You're let out of the car and walk between the men towards what is labelled as the Mess Hall. Levinson gestures for you and Johnny to sit at one of the long tables. While you do, he goes to the kitchen and comes out with a few trays of food. The entire time you've sat, Johnny's kept a hand on your shoulder, likely as a way to try to comfort you while also keeping others away.

Every so often, as you're eating, someone either brave, stupid or dared into it, tries to approach your little group. But either Johnny or Levinson gives them a look that has them think twice and move along. You don't know if there's some special Alpha power or if they're just that intimidating. You also can't bring yourself to care. At least the food is good, best you've had in ages.

Levinson checks his phone, "time to get moving. Flight is ready for us." Johnny helps you off of the bench and you assume your position between the two men.

When you're seated on the plane between them, you try to buckle up. It's definitely not a commercial flight and you're unsure of all the straps. Ari sees you having trouble and helps you out. Before he buckles himself in he whispers in your ear, "when we land, you will be properly taken care of by a real community. I owe you at least that."

Part 1 -- Part 3

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @startcarvingdarling

[thecircularsystem]

I cannot recommend enough the abandonment of syscourse labels.

In system spaces, it often feels necessary to label oneself to be a certain syscourse stance. Pro-endo, anti-endo — I even said and popularized, “coined,” endo-neutral (I was the first to say it that I saw, at the very least). I endorsed and wore “syscourse-unaligned” as a badge.

But the core of all of these are that they are non-nuanced labels that could mean such varied things that… at this rate, they’re largely simply virtue signaling. After all, labeling yourself as anti or pro allows all syscoursers to immediately be able to make a judgement call on the “type of person you are” — are you The Good Guy or The Bad Guy?

Endo-neutrals had a difficult path as well, because the point of it was originally to be that you didn’t have an opinion, or had mixed feelings about the tumblr community of pro-endos — and now it’s spiraled into something else entirely.

Syscourse unaligned also branched out; I’ve seen apathetic used a lot too, and I’m certain people have found fault with that too.

It seems that, for many in these spaces, if you aren’t labeling yourself as explicitly for something, then clearly, you’re against it. And to some degree, I get it with the label endo-neutral. I worded it that way due to the discourse stances being centered on endogenic systemhood.

And that, ultimately, shows the problem with the labels to me. I am not an endogenic system; it is not my place to even have an opinion on that. I do, but I would much rather focus my blog around… me? Not what they’re doing over there. I only want to discuss it in regards to how it affects CDDs, and my own recovery; and THAT is the syscourse I like.

You do not need to have your syscourse label. You don’t need to share one publicly, or even waste the time thinking of what label might fit you best. If you find solace in the label, please, use one! But never feel you must.

Anyone who says you must have a label is trying to force you to debate with them, or else is trying to assess your safety for their wellbeing.

You do not owe people debates. You can just ignore.

If someone feels unsafe, it is their job to moderate themselves.

There are ways to show your safety and care and kindness without adding an arbitrary label onto your blog that could mean anything at this point.

These communities — anti, pro, neutral — all of syscourse has harmed people. The communities have distinct problems, and shared problems.

Don’t feel like you must participate, and don’t let people force you to. Step back if you’re already entrenched and take a good look at yourself.

Is this the person you want to be right now?

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

Starlo's personality (in-depth)

Okay, this one took a LOT of thinking to decide on. Mainly because we see Starlo 100% in his persona for the majority of the time we spend with him. But now, I think I've had my boy figured out.

For a while now, I thought that he's either an ENTP or an ESTP with well-developed Fe, but eventually realized I had been looking at the image he put on, not the real him.

But before dwelling deeper into what his way of thinking actually is, I'd like to discuss why I don't think he's either ENTP or ESTP.

For ESTP, it's more obvious. Starlo… doesn't use Se at all, let alone as his dominant function. He lives in fantasy. He can come up with goofy ideas, and doesn't pay much attention to the "real world" (tries to escape from the real world instead)

fantasy, not reality (Ceroba is a true realist though)

Starlo only pretends to be this 'tough guy,' his recklessness (I always call it carelessness) is part of the persona. And while I do think some part of him enjoys the fake adventures, it's mostly for show, to lift himself and others around him up, particularly Ceroba, and to feel like someone else.

Now... the conclusion I came to was that Star had both Ne and Fe somewhere. The only question I had to ask myself was the order of these functions. In other words, is he dominant Ne/tertiary Fe or dominant Fe/tertiary Ne

The most important question here is: "What is his main motivation?"

Starlo cares a whole bunch about everyone around him. I feel like I've spoken about this so many times already, but he really is the 'papa bear' of the whole group. He makes sure to remind Mooch how they're not bandits, he gave the Four their own nap time, he organizes events, and overall tries to make the Wild East a comfortable place for everyone. Starlo really, REALLY wants to see everyone get along well with each other, and when that doesn't happen... he's deeply bothered by it.

he hates it when there's no harmony and good vibes

Put bluntly, Starlo wants to contribute to his community. He most definitely thought something like this: "If I'm just a farmer, then I can't do anything to help myself feel less worthless, and I can't help other monsters have more hope, either. So, the only thing left for me to do is change most of my personality and be more 'flashy' and 'cool."

Sure, he comes up with creative ideas, but it isn't his main motivation or how he normally acts when he's not 'North Star'. Being all 'extravagent' is the dominant trait of the character Starlo plays (and personally, I think it is a part of Starlo himself, the part he's too afraid to let out if he's his true nerdy self, without the costume and badge and all)

--------------------

ESFJ: thinks in terms of group dynamics, motivates others to get things done, makes decisions that benefit the largest number of people, natural ability to process and deal with their feelings. On the negative side, they can place so much emphasis on social dynamics / emotions that they find it hard to step back and analyze their motives and feelings; thus they can lack self-understanding and/or pressure others into social norms. They use their Ne to brainstorm and for humor purposes; often to entertain others, to think up solutions, and to hypothesize, but their natural ability is not competently and accurately reading between the lines.

--------------------

I'd like to break this down carefully because, holy hell, this is Starlo from A to Z

thinks in terms of group dynamics/makes decisions that benefit the largest number of people - clear as day, that's why he has his posse (although I think this trait of his was underdeveloped during the events of UTY as Star probably made most of the decisions himself without asking the others)

motivates others to get things done

pressure others into social norms - technically his own social norms, also the dress conditions he never used to overlook (I also heard ESFJs have style and care about how they appear to others, ENTPs don't; but maybe this is generalization)

find it hard to step back and analyze their motives and feelings - Star turns to the outside world instead, not inwards at all. That's what makes him an extrovert, NOT because he's friendly and social (although he is)

They use their Ne to brainstorm and for humor purposes; often to entertain others - when I read ENTERTAIN OTHERS it all became clear to me

their natural ability is not competently and accurately reading between the lines - he can't even do it and has to directly ask ⬇️

Extra thoughts

What I've also heard about the ESFJ type is that they really REALLY care about their social status/standing when unhealthy, which Star 120% did

It might seem weird that he's a sensor while also being super creative and into ideas, but that's his high tertiary Ne speaking (no wonder it's so high when he's been using it for years)

ESFJs are super charming too, but in a less 'agressive' way like ESTPs (I thought about Dina and Mo, I think they both share this type), or 'witty' way like ENTPs (Sans comes to mind). In others words, Starlo is the 'sweet nerd' kind of charming

ESFJs are bad at dealing with criticism

Can become workaholics (ESTPs and ENTPs are more procastinators; again, I don't mean to generalize)

They're clumsy, too (because of the tertiary Ne; unlike ESTPs, who are grounded in reality and most often aren't clumsy thanks to the dominant Se)

Popular people in leadership positions

Excellent planners (I know Star seems like a percieving type, but as I mentioned above, he actually organizes EVERYTHING)

this makes me think Star has a certain routine (judging over percieving)

He remembers little details about things that happened last month (in the past), making me think of his auxiliary Si (and he also remembers what Ed had said about Clover "being the problem")

So, what makes Starlo inferior Ti? The guy refuses to go inwards to solve his problems. He doesn't think that the most logical solution to the 'whole gang splitting up' situation is a simple apology, and is extremely self critical. Ti has the potential to disrupt or shatter one’s ego-image. Therefore, unhealthy or immature Fe-doms do their utmost to reject Ti in order to protect their ego-image. What this means for Starlo is that he wants to protect his persona in favor of what makes sense for him to do.

Starlo putting himself down™

Fe will use Ti to construct “rational” explanations to confirm poor judgments about people or relationships. In other words, Fe will develop a maladaptive tendency to misinterpret people’s intentions, see ulterior motives that do not exist, or project their own personal issues onto others. Starlo "logically" thinks that everything was Clover's fault, he's projecting his own insecurities into this situation (playing the victim) and twisting Ed's words (who meant to say that Starlo's favorism OF Clover is the problem, not Clover themself)

Not objective, but Starlo and Clover LOOK to me like the types I gave them (based on the offical trailers AND how Martlet describes them, that kid has this kind of a cute/warm/naive expression, I don't even know how to explain this but I'm throwing it in anyway 😅)

Then there's Starlo

I know the 'North Star' part of him probably wouldn't wanna hear this, but without the persona, Starlo looks and is... pretty normal. No flashiness, no overwhelming charm (it's still there, just more 'humble' & as Ed said, he can make his own fun in the little things). As much as Star might think otherwise thanks to those insecurities, this doesn't mean he ain't special, we all know he is

P.S. I can totally picture him treating everyone with Feisty Sliders & root beer after a long day, just like this guy (who somehow gives me the same cozy, kind vibe as Starlo???)

but in all seriousness though, these traits fit Star 💯

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Fourteen

Summary: A letter for you.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: Bad words, slight violence, more daddy issues, fluff, mention of sickness, some angst and... did I say fluffl?

Author’s Note: Oof, I really thought about how would I say goodbye to this story. There's so much I want to say, but for now I hope the words I wrote here makes some difference in what we build as a small community of mutual interest in writing and appreciating what we had of Carrillo.

Quite a journey to get here, right? And I should thank everyone for each conversation, each comment and appreciation towards this. As a non-English speaker, bring all of this here had been a challenge, but one I accepted with love.

As always, I hope I could give a good end for this love story. See ya!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

******

I wish I had done it differently, yes, but I don't think you should forgive me anyway. You don't know me and, by extension, you have every right to doubt my nature. Honestly, I recognize that that letter changed my life, as it reaffirmed that even though I’m in front of bullets or knives or big violent men every day, I’m still my father's daughter, which makes me a coward.

The Sun was burning your scalp a little, so you scratched the top of your head now and again because the heat was bothering you. From afar, you saw the small commotion in front of the building: people going out and about, fuzzing over each other. He didn’t exactly tell you where he was staying (you didn’t ask either), but the badge could do some convincing, such as your name. At least you hoped so. 

You looked at both sides of the street before crossing and, when you did, you ended up bumping into a girl – you apologized, even if a little bewildered, and she said everything was fine with a smile that you hadn't seen in those surroundings for a long time. That caught you a little by surprise, so you watched her go with a dumb expression in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Permiso,” Excuse me, You said, approaching the doorman who was sitting in the empty lobby with his arms crossed.

He was cooperative and friendly, but said he wasn't sure if there would be anyone with that name there because the Americans were already leaving. Still, he called the hamal in apartment 15 (you saw him do it over his shoulder) and, shortly after, said that you were lucky and could come up.

Your father was already at the door when the elevator arrived and, for a moment, the two of you stood there for almost a minute just staring at each other without saying anything, as if you were meeting for the first time. He knew there was something you wanted to say that was unconventional, at least by the way he looked you up and down suspiciously, but he didn't give in to asking the question. With a gesture of his head, your father suggested (not offered, suggested) for you to come closer and you did so, just like when you were a child and had to ask permission to sit at the dinner table to eat. 

The apartment itself was already empty, except for a few pieces of furniture that were still scattered around and would probably be collected later. The floor creaked a little because it was made of parquet and the walls were obviously old – weird for someone with so much 'caliber', but you understood that maybe it was just a disguise for the neighbors.

“I still have a bottle of whiskey around here somewhere,” He said, even if not moving a muscle to reach for the said thing. 

“I’m good,” You shook your head, in time to see him agreeing silently. 

An awkward silence followed the decline. With that, you gave yourself another chance to look around and find something to comment on before going straight to the point. 

“When is your flight?” 

“In about three hours,” He shrugged. “I believe that the Embassy didn’t ask you to give me a ride like the first time.”

“You would know if they did,” You smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He saw that and responded the same way, even pulling a chair out of the small table in the living room to make himself comfortable for a confrontation. 

“What is it then? Did I forget to file some paperwork or something? Because if that's the case, I have to let you know that I-” 

“Were you the one who killed Juan Marcos?”

The question caught him off guard, but not in a harsh way – he probably felt more outrage for the fact that you interrupted him, something he never took quite well. For a moment, then, your father just stared back at you, then scoffed as if you were stupid. 

“Thinking about leaving flowers on his grave before you leave?” 

“I don't think your moral compass is adjusted enough for you to remember which ditch you used to dispose of his body,” You crossed your arms over your chest, not failing for a moment to spit out your thoughts. 

“Don't be moralistic.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve just been in this hell for so long, right? Catching criminals, doing the dirty work… that’s enough for you to give me some answers.” 

Again, a bit of quietness, but a contemplative one. He had that easy expression on his face, as if you two were discussing the weather, one that always put you on the edge of pure rage. You waited patiently, tho.

“... I did.”

“How.”

“You saw him, you know how.”

“Is this the kind of thing you would do for a daughter?” 

“It is, because I did,” He said calmly. “Is this some kind of intervention? This is what you want? Resolve all the frustrations you have with me now, hours before I, what’s that you said? Disappear from your life?” 

You looked at him with pursed lips, feet tapping on that stupid floor to prevent any more unwanted feelings. It felt like the Sun was burning your scalp again, so you unconsciously scratched that area again before rolling your shoulders and staring at him with a stone cold expression – one you certainly got from his side of the family. The question was there, burning in your lungs and throat, ready to leave your mouth and make him lose that sarcastic smile on his face. 

“... Would you do that for a son?”

The decline in his comfort was gradual, progressive, millimetric. The corners of his mouth lowered into a straight line, his jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened intensely. You flexed your fingers discreetly, trying to hide your defensive posture with the possibility of another aggressive approach on his part, but all he did was access you cautiously while looking for the justification for your question in the way you stood there, in front of him.

“What did you do?” He frowned, probably not sure of the end of that topic. 

“Me? Nothing,” You shrugged, head shaking. “Your son did.”

Your father rose from his seat with a harsh scrape of the chair but you kept still, glaring back at him. He could come closer, could do what he did in the office; it wouldn’t happen, though. You both knew, somehow, that someone was his weak point, the thing that couldn’t make him have good nights of sleeping for a reason you’ll never understand. 

That made you scoff a laugh before averting your gaze. 

“Now you know how it is.”

“Oh, so that’s what it is? Revenge?” His voice was so harsh, so taken by reticence and rage, that it made him static in a certain type of fury. 

“I think my best revenge was knowing that you got what you wanted most and he was nothing like what you expected,” You took one step closer, then another, and you two stood there, eye to eye. “Can you imagine? Being your son and having decency?”

“You better-”

“I better what? What, dad? Shut my mouth? Stop talking about Jorge? Or should I wait until you give me the first blow?”

Nothing. He stood there like a bull, fuming and grinding his teeth – no hand raised, no closed fists. 

“You asked what I want with all this, with this drama… I never expected anything I discovered about your life to be ethical or clean. You do whatever you want,” You shrugged again, this time going full exaggerated with a fake coy expression. “What I want is for you to take that plane, go back to the States and spend the rest of your days thinking of how your beloved son couldn’t be any more different than you in anything, better than you in anything and a man you’ll never be even closer to be. All that while being raised by a whore.” 

The slap was a familiar feeling, like that specific side of your face had a shape to fit his open hand like a glove. Even the movement of your head, the mixing of your insides, it had a natural way to flow, to go this way or another. Still, you’d been caught by surprise, so next thing you knew, your gum was bleeding – you could taste blood on the tip of your tongue, see it on the tip of your fingers when you assessed the small damage. It had the sting, the sharp pain, but that didn’t get a rise out of you. 

“That’s what you told him? That I’m your bad father who didn't beat you enough to give you good manners?”

“... Why would I need good manners? I’m a whore, right? Good manners wouldn’t make me fuck Carrillo like I wanted to and you couldn’t do shit to stop it,” That came out with such a force. “In all my life, nothing made me more happy than to trespass your limits as much as I could, to make you show your true colors and still put that scary expression on your face.”

With this, you took a few steps back, adjusting your clothes and smiling, the inside of your mouth and your teeth probably red from the blood. 

“Take that plane, go back home. I know that you’ll lie in your bed tonight knowing that you’ll have the same future as that damned Juan Marcos, alone in a grave that no one’ll visit.” 

It was as if thousands of years and hurt had finally created the courage to leave your shoulders, as if all the suffering he put your mother through had transformed into a controlled and punctual fury in your heart. A return. An end. And you left there knowing that, with that, you closed a cycle that gave you a happiness more sincere than Escobar's dead body on that roof.

******

Two days before…

You weren’t with your work clothes, so the heat was more bearable with the tank top. The worn out jeans were still there, just as the old boots, and just as the gun and badge. Habits. Carrillo looked at you beside him in the car, arms crossed with the stance of that old self, full Colonel mood of his. 

“Are you sure the info is relatable? Safe?”

“I am. Do you want me to bring all of the Colombian Army to this when you all should be celebrating something out there?” You turned to him with a teasing smile, seeing the frown on his face getting even more deeper. “Horacio-”

“Some of them are still out there. You should at least let Trujillo do a-”

“You’re already here with me, Horacio, and this is already too much. There’s people who need you right now.”

Instead of answering, he let you hold his toned arms, then both sides of his neck to melt some of his stubbornness in avert your gaze. Not getting a reaction, you tilted your head to get a better look of his face, jaw tightening in insistence, which made you sigh and let him go. 

“You don’t know him,” He said. 

“I’m aware.”

“And we’ve been through enough to be suspicious.”

“I’m aware,” You insisted, brows raised. “To be honest, I don’t know if I wanna do this but… If it’s him, if… I need to be sure.” 

“Why?” 

For a moment you just stared at his confused expression, not knowing the right answer to that – not sure if you had one. Then you pursed your lips, shook your head and averted his eyes to look through the window, where you could see the small house from afar. 

“... When my father left, my mother kind of disappeared. Mentally. It was as if the lights were on but no one was home,” Your tone was recoiled, way too low for someone so confident about their decisions. “He said some things to her, said this country was hell but even some cheap pussy could give him what he wanted. I honestly didn’t even know why he needed so much to have a son.”

You could feel Carrillo watching you carefully while you used that false calmness to explain what you wanted to say clearly.

“This made me spend time with my paternal grandparents because she couldn't bear to see me. I was a very complicated, restless child, so when my grandfather started using the old methods he used with my father and uncles when I messed up, I understood why he wanted a boy.”

You felt a weight on your chest, one that almost made you cry.

“At least I think I understand. He wanted to take out the frustrations of what he went through on someone and I was a girl, so naturally I couldn't handle punishment or fits of rage. I would have marks like my mother had and that would make things more complicated for his conscience. A boy could be molded to be strong, resilient. I was always too emotional for him.” 

Like the perpetuation of the species to whom he could transfer descendants or something like that. Bullshit. 

“I understand. Well, at least I think I would be that kind of person if things weren't different.”

“I don't think it's the same thing,” You shook your head. “You're here, that's more than he's ever done.”

“Because I love you.”

“And if you had children, you would love them too.”

Carrillo didn’t say anything. The idea of ​​children only crossed his mind when he was younger, as soon as he married Juliana, and it seemed so distant that he forgot what it would be like to imagine a life with children. You didn't want that, that's for sure; Given the life you two had, it would even be selfish to bring a child into the world. And even if the car was so quiet, so… calm, Carrilo always had the feeling that someone was lurking, and he felt bad for thinking that, in another time, he would be the same type of father as your father was.

You could feel, little by little, how his hand sneaked closer to yours, the tip of his fingers carefully passing through your knuckles before going up to your wrist. It was so soft, the way he touched you to test the water, to not invade your space, that when his hand reached for your forearm, pulling you just enough to make you turn to him, nothing could stop you from hugging him as if your life depended on it, pressing against his body fiercely. 

He didn't say anything because he didn't know how to say anything, because it wasn't like hearing the news that your father was coming to Colombia. Horacio was never good with soothing words. He knew how to act, that's for sure; in that case, if it were possible, if that sliver of humanity were to come away from him once and for all, your father would become a ghost like everyone else.

Well, but you already knew that – he had told you that when he recovered you from another low blow from your father. Selfishly, Horacio would always do his best to create miles of distance between the things he truly loved and those who risked any trace of peace he had achieved. And maybe you didn't know this, but he had made this promise to himself.

I'm not going to lose anymore, Horacio pressed you tighter against him, staring at the wall with the coldness of his decision. I don’t accept that.

“Let’s do this.”

******

I imagine to this day that you would never like Horacio. You always seemed too ‘communist’, progressive enough, but you would laugh until your stomach hurt at how stubborn he was. Still, I don't want to convince you to like him; I just want to tell you that it wasn't him who told me to leave before I could see you that day. You were fine, you were beautiful (I still know you are) and you were holding a baby in your lap, which I later realized was that of one of the patients you saved during an emergency birth. I was only there for 30 minutes and I heard people say more good things about you than they could ever say about me in my entire life. That's when I knew I had to leave you alone.

I cried in his arms later; I would cry a lot more in the years that followed, but I reserved every minute of my future life, the life I never planned for myself, to gather all the memories of what I could tell you one day. No, I'm not dying, at least not from my health, because you know that everyone dies one day, but I've been writing to you because I want you to know that you don't deserve the family you have because you're too good for us.

I want to tell you about Horacio. I want to tell you what we did and how I miss some things in life. I want to tell you this because I know he could be a solid bridge between the two of us, the person who would interpret you for me and interpret me for you. My mother would never be able to do it because of resentment, our father because of disregard and we because of ignorance.

Horacio, however, was my surprise during the time I spent in Medellín. If I want you to know me, I want to be able to reveal my best side, what I truly achieved when I decided I would love him.

******

It was strange not having plans, but you got on the plane alone. Horacio couldn't go with you, not at that moment; there was love between you, yes, but there was also responsibility, and he would never leave his own country behind. You understood. During the time you spent in Bogotá (not in Medellín), the two of you did things together: went out to dinner, visited places, had sex… Things that couples did. When you got on the plane, it was with the uncertainty that things would one day be okay, and that you would be able to reconcile life in Los Angeles with what had happened to the two of you in Colombia.

This was our father's fault and I'm completely sure of that. I was disallowed from having any further contact with the case, which I understood as private revenge for what I did, as if he wanted to take away more of the happiness you could have had if you were to work with Peña and Horacio later. I always resented him for that, I still do. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing he had done and today I know it wasn't, but it was as if every minute of my life, he took away a little of my happiness.

The letters you exchanged were always long, which went quite against his personality. It was as if, finally, he said in words everything he thought, did and gave his opinion. On your part, there were important descriptions, such as how much your mother was fond of him and the cases you worked on at the DEA. He, on the other hand, mentioned the well-known day to day life with Peña, what they worked on and how he missed you, above all, which hurt your heart.

“God, you have to put an end to this. I want to see you happy again, my daughter, and I want to meet him.” 

In one of them, which was a call, he told you something that he kept so deeply within himself that he was certain that, one day, he would come back to you for good and that there would be no turning back.

“I want to marry you. I see no other choice and I have no other way out. I need to assure myself that I’ll no longer have to tolerate this ordeal without knowing that I’ll come home and find you.” 

“Don't be so dramatic... I know people who would find our obstacles small compared to what they go through. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“So wait. The next time we see each other, I'll have a ring to put on your finger.” 

You know, I always thought he was a brute, but Horacio never failed to keep his promises. In fact, he came back with a ring, and we actually got married, which was a simple thing that meant enough to both of us. We moved to El Paso. It was close to Peña, in fact, and sometimes we spent holidays together, which I never thought would happen. Maybe, thinking about it now, it's those moments that I miss most.

“Is that white hair?”

“Fuck off, we both know we’re getting old,” You elbowed Javier in the guts, puffing smoke in the Texan hot air. “By the way, you’re getting a belly down there. Don’t come at me.”

“What I gained, you lost. Have you been eating?” 

No was the proper answer. He knew it was, and that was why he asked. Still, you shrugged, taking another drag. 

“... Yes.”

“Hey-”

“I am, Javi, I promise. It's just been different.”  

“I hope so. One of you needs to remain standing.”

It was around the time our father passed away. Well, I can't say for sure if it was too close or too far, especially since he fulfilled his own mission of dying alone. I didn't have the opportunity to talk after he got sick; I didn't even know if he had someone. Today I'm almost the same age as he was when I was in Medellín and I can't see him in myself, while I don't know if I would live my life differently if he asked me for forgiveness. Below I leave exactly where he is buried and, if you want, you can visit him. If you're the praying type, decide if it makes sense to give him the privilege of prayer; God knows I'd like that too.

******

At that point of things, you made fun of Horacio for not actually marrying you like the tradition said, just giving you the ring he promised he would, but you understood that the world didn't survive on big events like that.

When he found out what the diagnosis was, you went straight to the computer and did your research. It wasn't that you didn't believe the doctors, but the first step to acceptance was denial, and you knew how to do that very well. At the time, you had just been promoted to an important position in Mexico. You found a good doctor there who could treat him, and the offer didn't get as much back-up as you thought it would – it was like he thought he was going to die.

It was a very different change than it had been when you went to Colombia years before. There was no urgency, no hustle, just the tranquility of a bureaucratic job with a good house, space for a yard and a good salary. 

“It's in the early stages, so it's a relatively simple treatment. The change in routine and habits will be more severe, so I would be more attentive to that.”

You decided to stop smoking along with him because of this and, deep down, Horacio was a little upset at having to stop this habit.

“I don't know, I just feel embarrassed,” He said one night, you two sitting on the porch because he wanted to take a look at the street. “I didn't imagine that my life would end without emotion.”

“You won't die like this, stop being an idiot.”

“How can you know?”

“Well, because I just know.”

Not every day was easy and, honestly, coming to Mexico was the acid test for many things in my life. Interestingly, I never thought about giving up Horacio, and if I was honest with myself, I also thought that one day I would die from a gunshot or something that would make newspaper headlines. He would never admit it, and neither would I, because it seemed inconceivable, but having that life made us feel grateful and, most of all, lucky.

It was also at this time that I decided to get back in touch with you. He made a promise that if he was cured of cancer, he would include forgiveness for his own past, so we started slowly. I met Juliana (and the three children she had), and I started visiting our father almost religiously every year. We went back to Texas to see Javi, and sometimes we went to Miami to visit Steve. Horacio had reservations about my country, but he could appreciate some things that I think you might like too.

Jorge, I know that our life could have been different and I, as an older sister, feel responsible for being able to give you some glimpses of life with a family up here that loves you, because I would like that too. Along with these letters, I also send tickets to the capital, for you and your husband, if you want to visit us. Horacio is a great tour guide and I, interestingly enough, learned to be a great hostess.

I apologize for having done all this so late. Well, apologies are never enough, but I feel that this phase of my life, the phase of gray hair and wrinkles on my face, terribly nicknamed 'better years', is the right time for the two of us to reconcile for someone who left us behind.

I miss what we didn't have. Even if you don't want to, which I understand, know that my life is only complete because I know that a part of me is also in you.

******

“Appealing to nostalgia?”

Horacio barely raised his head from where he was staring at a box full of old trinkets. Through the mess of the office, he went straight to the memories of Medellín, rooting around and reliving the years in the dust, and he seemed focused enough to barely pay attention to you.

You could say that the guests were already arriving, that he should take a shower soon to welcome them, but the scene seemed so peaceful that you were afraid to interrupt and decided to participate.

“You have that perfume again,” He murmured right when you touched a framed picture of him and Trujillo alongside other stuff. 

“Does that bother you?” You eyed him over your eyeglass lenses, to which he tsked and shook his head. 

“You’re also appealing to nostalgia.”

“Huh, I remember that was the first thing you noticed about me when we met.” 

Horacio then looked back at you and, seeing your mischievous smile, smiled back, leaning back on the chair to give you full attention. 

“You drove me crazy, that's what.”

“I didn't know that was the effect it had on you. In fact, I was sure you hated me.”

“Because I couldn't want you and I wanted you.”

You left the frame in the box and walked over to him, walking around the table to sit on his lap, which he gladly accepted. For a few moments, you stood there, motionless, staring at his face, not knowing exactly what to say, just… admiring him, the grays on his hair and the lazy grin splattered there. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked then, always eager to get inside your head. 

“I always imagine that we wouldn't be here if we didn't live what we lived there,” You pondered, a hand massaging the side of his neck. “And it's weird because people have lost so much. Do you think we deserve it?”

“Is this part of your reconciliation process?”

“Yeah, I guess. I've been thinking about some things... I'm writing you a letter, even.”

“But I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know,” You pecked his lips softly. “Who knows, maybe I can express it with words instead of hiding it on paper.”

Horacio stared at you for a bit, his brow furrowed and the mechanisms moving in his head. You thought it was strange.

“What?”

“I want to read you something.”

You got up so he could look for what he was finding, and when he did, he took a notebook out of a box, accompanied by yellowed sheets of paper.

“I wrote these things while we were in Colombia.”

“And what exactly is it?”

“In the beginning, it was a diary of missions and operations that we carried out. The day you arrived, I ended up writing 'perfume' instead of 'precision', which made me realize that the feeling wouldn't leave my head. I didn't stop thinking about you after that, so I started… I don't know, writing down things about you, what you did, what irritated me and what I liked.”

There was no way to react, more out of shock than offense at him having kept it in for so long. You imagined a Carrillo from the past, a thousand times more stubborn and stubborn, taking the time to write about a woman he couldn't stand. Maybe sitting alone at night in the office, cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other, mumbling swear words while saying he liked something about you, disbelieving his own feelings.

Then he took that photo that Steve had taken, which he stole and caused temporary chaos with your colleagues. You, younger, tired but with a spark of life, an eagerness to do the right things. 

You watched him as he looked at the photo and felt a warm feeling in your heart that seemed more frequent since you started having more moments together.

When he started reading what he wanted, you could barely move.

“I don't know what this woman did to me and I try hard every day not to ruin everything because I think about her so much. The perfume drives me crazy, the defiant eyes impress me and, oh my, lately I've noticed how incredibly mind-blowing those jeans make her. I have no one to express these feelings to, perhaps because I can't say in words what I imagine when I think of her.”

“Today she told me to go fuck myself. I had to suppress my satisfying smile when I saw that fire in her eyes when she spat those words in my face, because I purposely provoked her into being angry with me, thinking I wanted a reason to get her away from me. In the end, I know that that exact reaction was what I wanted, that she will never give up because she is too stubborn to do so. She goes to the end. She is true to what she believes. I'm sure I'm in love.”

“If nothing were as it were, I would ask her to dinner. I would see her eyes light up in the candlelight, I would make all the romantic moves and show a side of me that no one knows. I want to see her confused, I want to surprise her, and then I want to kiss her, make love to her, and feel every inch of that sweaty skin beneath my fingers while I see her sigh with the pleasure I'm going to offer. I want her, I want her so much, and I feel bad for every kind of thought I might have about her.”

“I call these verses, then. Versos de Placer, in my mother tongue, one that she knows how to say and that is even more beautiful when it comes out of her mouth. Verses that I will never be able to recite out loud, not to her, but I will be able to remember as the spark of a good memory of the complicated days we spent hating ourselves because the world we are in is destroying us. Always her, and never anyone who isn't her or who even looks like her.”

“Always her and her perfume and her accent and her presence. Always.” 

******

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

@seaweeden

[vodrae]

Hello! Hope you don't mind me asking/I hope no-one has asked already, how would each one of the batfam react to meeting a cat at their doorstep? :D

Bruce: I think you are looking for Selina buddy, come inside, I'm calling her right away

Selina: Already there

Talia: Fufilled her girlhood desire to dress like a mafia godmother and to be paint with a black cat on her lap.

Barbara: Has PTSD for the rest of her life thinking about how close her wheel was from the cat's tail

Dick: Registers the cat as head of rodents control at BCPD, gives him a badge and a tie

Jason: Become that scary guy in the block with the tiniest kitty on his shoulder, with the softest voice ever to talk to it

Tim: Are you real ? Don't care. Come in.

Steph: MEOW MEOW MEOW

Cass: Puts the cat on her head and makes everyone believes it's in control.

Duke: Check the informations on the collar then proceed to ignore it

Damian: Do you swear to pledge your life to protect our community ? In the name of your new leader Alfred the Cat, you are now a citizen of the Manor.

Harley: hihi 3 kitties in the house

Poison Ivy: In hazmat suit besause she wants to pet the cat but plants are toxic for them

Alfred: Train it to be a service cat. It's impossible, but he did. The cat is now a licencied emotional support pet, he can call 911 or the Justice League.

[det-loki]

I’ve always toyed with the idea of an x reader where you knew Loki in his youth, got split up for whatever reason, and found each other again because you both went into law enforcement :0 If that interests you I think you’d do a great job of fleshing it out :D

love this! thank you, and I'm sorry for the delay. hope you like it 🖤

tw: blood and panic attack mention

Children are born with an innocence, an ignorant imagination and concept of the world. sticky fingers dig through the mud, catching under their fingernails. Dark crescent moons of dirt signified a good day.

Now, the dirt caught under your nails made you physically ill. Hours ago, the frozen ground seemed to be your only life line as you heaved and gasped into the dirt, dried brown grass caressing your palms. Death was a violent lover. It clutched at you and held you until it swallowed you whole. Leaving only an imprint of what was.

You met him when you were a kid. Only innocence never got to be yours. At three years old, you went into foster care for the first time. Floated in and out since then. The facility you frequented the most was nestled right next to the Huntington Boys Home, a chain link fence the only divider. Conyers liked to advertise itself as a quiet community for the perfect family. The poor, lost souls of society were cornered away on the outskirts of town, unseen and unheard.

The year you turned thirteen changed everything for you. You met a boy along the fence line, dark hair overgrown and blue eyes piercing, he introduced himself as David. Parents were no good, he said. Lived with an uncle, didn't work out, he said. The boy smelled like cigarettes, blood long dried and caked over his bruised knuckles, his mouth tasted like whiskey and his eyes were stormy. And you loved it all.

Time changes things. At 18, you aged out of foster care and entered the world. Once unseen, unheard and unwanted, your soul burned with anger and spite. You were going to be seen, and they were going to hear you. You lost David at 16. One day, he just disappeared without a trace. You heard whisperings of assault charges, military school, and prison. But the story changed weekly. You had accepted his disappearance. He was just gone. And that was that.

You fell into the police academy haphazardly. An old social worker on your case had wormed her way into your head, telling you that you could help people the way you never were. Make a difference. Understand in a way most couldn't. Change things. Ten years later, you think she's full of shit.

Folders were piled high onto your desk, your badge digging into your skin as you were slumped over the paperwork. Eyes bleary and head pounding, David approaches from behind you. His hands tug at your office chair, the wheels screeching as he turns you to face him, "Go home."

"No. I'm busy." You try to turn back towards your desk but David's arms are caging you in, halting the chair from movement.

"You've been here since 4am. The only thing I've seen you eat is one granola bar, and you're doing that thing you used to do when we were kids."

You looked down to see your throbbing bloody thumb, an old habit you hadn't kicked. You picked and picked and picked until it was raw, bloody and infected. You noticed blood smudge on the corner of the papers at your desk and smeared into the fabric of your blouse. Shoving hands into the socket of your aching eyes, "Fine."

A glimmer of satisfaction washed over Loki's eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips, "I'll see you at home."

Home. After finishing the police academy, you were employed by the Conyers Police Department. A year on the job, and David reappeared. A police officer with cropped hair, a stony face, and the same stormy eyes. You two had been partnered together, Captain O’Malley unknowing of the history you two had shared. Not many words were spoken between you two until a close call that ended up with you in the hospital with a gunshot wound. David moved in that night after you were discharged from the hospital.

Years later, you two became the youngest detectives on the force. And the best. But you kept that quiet, the gnawing self doubt ate away at you, berating you constantly.

Unlocking the door to your home, you dropped the duffle bag at the door and toed off your boots. Making your way to the kitchen sink, you plunged your hands into too hot water and scrubbed away the dirt and blood until your skin was red. Your throat was scratchy from crying, your head pounding from exhaustion. The case you were working on was eating you alive. Two missing little girls. The latest lead had been a loss, a house full of scribbled mazes, a sink full of pigs blood and buried mannequins.

Showering did little to ease the tension in your body, the cheap beer and greasy pizza sprawled across the coffee table in front of you staved off the impending collapse another day longer. By the time David came home, your brain was fuzzy from the alcohol and you were falling into his embrace nestled into the couch.

The boy you met at thirteen was your savior, and 16 years later he still was. The world was crumbling around you, this case was consuming you, but David was with you. And tomorrow will always be there.

[pinkpinkmermayyy]

posers in the coquette community remind me of the posers in the punk community, they’re basically the same type of people in different fonts and styles. Punk posers would try to push this narrative that being punk is about being “kind and sweet” when that’s literally the opposite. Do you actually think the word itself, PUNK, which is usually used to describe someone being REBELLIOUS, SNARKY AND ALL AROUND JERK, going to be about BEING KIND AND SUGARY SWEET???? HUH????? And they’d also get mad when they realize that anarchism and being very much against the government is basically integrated into the punk subculture and try to make conservative ideology the “new punk” just makes them look stupid to actual punks. I have a mutual (@punkeropercyjackson) who’s a bit more knowledgeable on the punk subculture so I might need to go to them for more information.

But it’s the same with the coquette posers. They’ll scream that coquette is only for the “correct” type of people (white, skinny, cis, straight and very gender conforming teenage girls) and will harass anyone else who doesn’t fit that category of people who also post coquette stuff. They’ll also restrict what type of styles are and aren’t coquette as if they’ve received an honorary badge to be the new coquette fashion police who will insult anyone who doesn’t fit their strict criteria. And when people call them out on this, and call them the posers they are, those same people will just say to “stop caring so much” and that they should “calm down” to make themselves look rational while making the person calling them out look insane and rude when they aren’t. Also god forbid you call them out for being fatphobic, racist, misogynistic, and/or ped0ph1lic, because now YOU’RE harassing THEM… somehow

[pccyouthleader]

Hedgehog Hodgepodge: A Story of Espionage, Confusion, and an Evil Plan Gone Haywire

Chapter 17: Stricken

“Have you seen the news this evening?” Amy asked Sonic as he returned from a long run on the beach. She was sitting in bed with a multitude of fluffy pillows behind her back. “I’m beginning to get worried.”

It hadn’t even been a whole day since Aurora left with Shadow, and the whole village was coming apart. 

Sonic sat on the edge of the bed unlacing his shoes. “You know I hate watching the news.” The main reason for that was Soar the Eagle. That bird-brained reporter was years past his prime, and needed to hang up his press badge. 

“This is serious, though,” Amy chided. “People all over the village have become ill, and nobody knows why! Just this afternoon, the receptionist at the museum had to leave early.”

“What are the symptoms?” Sonic asked, becoming only mildly interested.

“Feeling drained, loss of appetite, pale appearance,” Amy read from a news crawler on the TV screen. “Some people are complaining of a strange rash.”

“Well, I feel fine,” he said, doing a turn for her benefit. “How about you?”

Amy shrugged. “I’m feeling the drained part, but I think that has more to do with the baby than this mysterious sickness that’s going around. Apparently it started a couple of weeks ago, but now it’s spread all across the village!”

Sonic stared at her in disbelief. How were they just now getting this news? “I’d better check in with Tails,” he said, pressing a few buttons on his wrist communicator. “Hey, Tails!” he said aloud into the receiver. “You doing okay?” There was some garbled noise over the tiny speaker, then the staticky voice of his best friend came through.

“Sonic! I…” *kkkrrrrrrrtttt* “…trying to reach y…” *kkkkrrrrzzzzz* “…not what…”

“Tails! You’re breaking up! Are you okay?” Sonic yelled.

“…fine!…” *kkzzzzzzrrtt* “…weird that it’s not…” *kkkkrrrttt* Then the signal went out.

“He sounded okay, didn’t he?” Sonic asked, his brows knit together in concern. “He’s fine,” he finally determined. 

As he stared at his silent communicator, Amy had another idea. “Why don’t you try Knuckles and Rouge?” 

“Good thinking!” Sonic pressed a few more buttons, then started calling for Knuckles. “Hey Knux! Can you hear me?” But he was greeted with nothing but silence.

After a few minutes of waiting, Amy spoke up. “Well, they did go on a cruise. Maybe they aren’t within a signal range or something.”

“Yeah…,” was all Sonic could say. He didn’t particularly have a terrible feeling concerning his friends; it just would have been nice to know something for sure. But his hands were tied - he didn’t know their exact locations, and he couldn’t risk leaving Amy alone to go track them down. He finally resolved that they must be doing fine and could take good care of themselves. 

After washing up, Sonic joined Amy in the bed to watch the coverage. He had a nagging feeling that everything was connected, but couldn’t begin to determine how.

Suddenly Amy sat up, another look of concern washing over her face. “Has anyone checked on Sticks?”

—

Sonic yawned and stretched as he prepared to trek over to Sticks’ burrow. At least Amy had acquiesced the night before when he explained that it was too late to barge in on someone. But she was anxious for him to check on their friend, and had nearly shoved him out of the bed at daybreak.

“We really should have checked on Sticks before now,” Amy fretted as she readied herself for the day. 

“You know, if she’d wear her communicator, we could have checked on her before now,” Sonic grumbled.

Amy gave Sonic a withering look before continuing. “I can’t even remember the last time we laid eyes on her! What kind of friend ignores another when the outside world is in utter chaos?!”

“It’ll be okay, Ames,” Sonic reassured her. “Sticks is a loner anyway. I can’t imagine her even getting close enough to someone to catch something.”

Amy nodded. “I guess you’re right. I’ll just feel better when you’ve had a chance to talk to her.”

Sonic knew that was his cue, so he brushed Amy’s cheek with a kiss and gently patted her tummy. Then he took off at top speed, going over the placement of Sticks’ booby traps in his mind. The absolute last thing he wanted on this journey was to become a hedgehog kabob.

Upon arrival, Sonic thought Sticks’ burrow had been deserted. Leaves had blown against the door, and weeds had grown up around the various trinkets she had collected and placed in her front yard. There were no birds chirping or insects buzzing.

This is weird, Sonic thought as he moved quickly towards the door. He just missed being impaled by a wooden pole covered in slime.

“Sticks!” he called, rapping loudly at the round wooden door. For a long time, all Sonic heard was silence. Then something fell and clattered within the burrow. 

Sonic immediately spin-dashed and exploded through the door, surveying the mess within. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he searched the rooms of the small home. There in the kitchen lay Sticks, crumpled on the floor by the table.

Sonic wasted no time. He sped over to Sticks, scooping her up in his arms and gently placing her on the sofa. He zipped back to the kitchen to grab a rag and wet it with some cold water to lightly sponge over her forehead. After what seemed like ages, Sticks’ eyes finally fluttered open.

“Sonic?” she croaked, barely above a whisper. Her face was pale and thin, and her hair hung limply on her shoulders. 

“Sticks, what happened to you?” he asked, bewildered. 

Sticks lay silent for a long time, just laboring to breathe. Then she spoke in a raspy voice. “It’s the black smudge.”

“What?” Sonic asked. “You’re going to have to be more clear.” He was well-versed in Sticks’ strange ideas and conspiracy theories.

Sticks mumbled something incoherent. After taking another ragged breath, she clearly said, “Shadow,” before passing out again.

Fear crept over Sonic. Could Shadow have done something to hurt Sticks? He thought of Aurora, alone with him and with no way to contact her family. As his mind began to run wild with the memories he had of Shadow’s early attempts to destroy him and his friends, panic surged through his veins.

Sticks began to stir once again. She tried to speak, but her words dissolved into a coughing fit. Sonic ran to the kitchen for water, then helped her sit up to sip out of a mug. 

“If Shadow’s done something terrible to you, I’ll-” Sonic began, but his words were cut off when Sticks shook her head. After several more body-wracking coughs, she was finally able to explain in a scratchy voice.

“Not Shadow… the black smudge… the trees…” *cough* “Shadow saw it.” 

She then lifted her arm to show Sonic a bubbling black rash. It appeared as if the skin there was in a state of necrosis. He stared in horror at the breakout, then slowly lifted his hand. 

“Don’t touch it!” she screeched, pulling her arm away.

“Sticks…” Sonic began, lost for words. “How long have you been like this?” 

Sticks attempted to shrug her shoulders, but it took too much effort. “A month?” she responded, barely above a whisper. Her energy completely spent, Sticks lay back down and fell asleep.

Guilt ripped through Sonic as he remembered Amy’s words: “What kind of friend ignores another when the outside world is in utter chaos?!” If only she could see Sticks now.

“I’m sorry,” Sonic said with a catch in his voice. Tears began to flood his vision. “I’m going to figure out what’s going on and get you some help.” 

Pushing up from the side of the couch, he took one long, last look at Sticks’ sleeping form before walking out the door. As he headed away from the burrow, his brain was awash with different scenarios, and he breathed a sigh of relief that Shadow wasn’t the miscreant he feared.

Picking his way through the wooded jungle, Sonic went over in his head what Sticks had said. How he wished he could contact Shadow to find out more! What had she even meant by “the trees”? 

Suddenly he stopped. He didn’t want to, but Sonic lifted his face to look at the jungle around him. There, smeared on every tree in sight, was a black substance that looked like liquid metal. The dread that had floated just out of reach since he had found Sticks began to surface. Looking up, Sonic was able to move just before a big blob of the sticky goo dripped onto his head. With great haste, Sonic darted out of the jungle, anxious to tell Amy what he had discovered. 

Bolting through the door, he ran into the house shouting for her, but there was no answer. Sonic sat heavily in a chair at the dining room table and rested his head in his hands. It was just too much to absorb all at once.

An hour later, Sonic barely heard Amy come in the front door. She approached him to give him a big hug from behind, but stopped, a curious look on her face.

“Sonic?” she asked.

“Yeah, Ames,” he answered flatly.

“What’s that black stuff on your shoulder?”