#I was not up for that folks even though it's coming!

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

What's more is, I'm not sure about anyone else, but my school started enforcing this in 6th grade. I mean enforce.

Beginning in the 6th grade, history class required us every Friday to bring in some news article of a current event, and we began our classes with each student presenting a summary of their event.

Our English class required us to write a periodical weekly on a current event.

Our science teacher required every student to bring in articles each week regarding scientific current events, whether about disease, discovery, developments, etc.

If there was a huge event happening, our teachers loaded the live stream on every classroom computer but kept it silent, just so we could watch as we learned.

And every teacher repeatedly told us, especially our history teacher, it was our responsibility as US citizens to keep up with the worldwide news. No exception. He forced it down our throats that we had to morally throw ourselves into the worldwide happenings daily and that we should all watch multiple news sources. Our English teacher did the same.

And for every single year following until graduation, it was enforced in our curriculum to keep up with worldwide news without any exception unless we wanted to fail and repeat the year since the majority of our grades relied on the homework which, again, was always based on current events.

That fucking term. "Current events". It sickens me. It's legitimately traumatic.

Because you know what happened to every single student in my school by junior year?

We were depressed as fuck without reprieve, unable to even focus in class with half the kids falling asleep at their desks, no one was happy, and literally all of us hated our lives. Many were admitted to mental hospitals for anxiety and depression issues, and it wasn't unusual to see someone gone for days or weeks at a time and for others to forget about them existing entirely because it's a very small school with less than 1,000 kids and you just let shit slide there. And that missing kid was always in a mental health crisis of some sort.

As an adult who's been out of school for 7 years now, I'm trying my damnedest to break the habit of burying myself in the news that my school enforced.

I don't know what's going on at all anymore. I don't pay attention because I need to focus on myself, my health physically and mentally, I need to take care of my sick mother and my father who is getting a hip replacement next month, I have to work and pay off my car repair, I have a life to fucking live.

And that life is not obligated to impart itself entirely unto the worldly events that drain my will to live and cause nothing but depression, despair, and immense sorrow.

People have called me selfish for this. They've called me careless and ignorant, said I'm looking at the world through rose colored lenses.

But you know what isn't selfish? Helping my homeless friend by cooking her meals and offering a place to stay. Translating Spanish to English at the store for customers and workers who don't understand each other even though I don't work there I'm just shopping. Standing by my best friend whose dog just passed tragically from cancer this week. Helping my neighbors clean the fallen branches in their yards because they're elderly and can't do that. Stopping when I see a car broken down to ask if they need a cable jump or tools for repair.

The point is there are countless other ways to be morally and ethically good that aren't dependent on burnout and enthralling yourself in world news. There are ways to help that don't require money and donations, too. I'm disabled on very limited income, and I still do my part without being able to donate.

Give your neighbor a hand. Help that stranger with their car. Give some food to the homeless. Put your old books in the little free library. Be genuinely kind and understanding to folks you come across whether daily or just once in a lifetime. Donate clothes you dislike or no longer wear to the local foundations and drives.

But for fucks sake, stop burning yourselves to the point you're melted wax in the glass jar with no wick to reignite you.

the social norm of “its your ethical responsibility to be constantly aware of, and angry about, every bad thing happening in the world at all times, even if you can’t possibly do anything about it” is possibly the best way I can imagine to create burnout and cynicism and depression in a population, so good job guys

[pedroscurls]

touch starved (one-shot)

summary: logan agreed to go out with wade, having been promised a low-key night, but he should've known than to trust wade for his word. he didn't agree to spend his night at a strip club and he's just about ready to leave until he sees you. pairing: worst!wolverine x fem!reader content warnings: explicit smut (18+, mdni), porn without plot, lap dance, grinding / humping, striptease, one night stand (you take logan back to your apartment), unprotected p in v (be safe folks!), cowgirl, reader takes charge (and logan's more than happy to let you take the lead), oral - m receiving, swallowing logan's release. basically this story is all about catering to logan and his needs 🙂‍↕️, reader description (only clothes and hair), no use of y/n. word count: 3k a/n: coming at ya with yet another one-shot of logan filth lol. my own headcanon is that logan / worst!wolverine is touch starved (just as much as he craves to be part of something bigger than himself). anyway, hope y'all enjoy - it's a spicy one 🤭 song: closer by nine inch nails

“You promised a quiet night out, Wade,” Logan snarls at the other man, hand gripping his glass of whiskey. It’s too loud in here, the music blaring from the speakers, the flashing dark red lights illuminating mainly the stage where women are performing. There are plenty of men surrounding the stage, alcohol in one hand and dollar bills in the other.

“I promised no such thing,” Wade grins. “I said let’s go out and you agreed.”

Logan’s jaw tightens and he looks at Wade with narrowed eyes. “You’re a fuckin’ liar.” 

Wade laughs. “Come on, peanut! Have some fun. Let loose. Just sit back and relax–”

“I’m leavin’,” Logan interrupts, downing his entire glass before slamming it on the table. He stands up and gets ready to turn on his heel when he catches a glimpse of you at the corner of his eye. He turns slightly and watches the way your smile meets your eyes. You don’t look like you belong in a place like this, the other women wearing too much make up and revealing so much that it leaves little to the imagination. But you… You look absolutely breathtaking and Logan feels like he can’t move, can’t tear his eyes away from you.

Your hair cascades past your shoulders, your make up remaining light and natural. You’re dressed in an all black sheer robe with a lace cuff and satin waist belt. The robe is loosely wrapped around your frame, giving Logan a glimpse of your sheer mesh bra, the top of your bra trimmed with lace and when you undo the belt of your robe to reveal your lower half, he feels his breath catch in his throat. Your panties – or rather, your thong – matches the same style of your bra. 

It’s so innocent in comparison to the other women in the strip club, and yet, Logan can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. It’s only when he hears Wade’s voice that he finally looks away, even though he’s yearning to just look at you again.

“Oh, someone’s caught your eye,” Wade grins, swaying in his seat. “Want a private dance, Mr. Wolverine?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan says. “Like I said, I was leavin’–”

“So soon?” you interrupt and glance between both men. You flash a smile in Wade’s direction who looks like he’s about ready to combust with excitement. He’s sipping his drink with a straw, grinning in your direction. Then, you glance over at Logan whose eyes stare directly into your own. 

“Actually,” Wade says. “How much for a private dance…” he trails, staring up at you as he waits for you to say your name.

“Kitty,” you finish for him. “You can call me Kitty.”

“Very fitting,” Wade winks. “Well, Kitty, it’s my friend’s first night out in a very long time and I figured I can treat him to a private dance.”

“That’s very nice of you,” you respond, but your eyes never leave Logan’s. You can see his eyes flit over your frame, lingering on your exposed skin.

“Listen, you ain’t have to and–”

“How about the first one’s on me?” you interject. 

“Sweetheart,” Logan mumbles. 

You bite your lower lip and gently reach up to rest a hand on his arm. You can feel the muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, can feel him flex it underneath your fingertips. Logan inhales sharply as he looks down at your hand, clearing his throat at your soft touch. 

“His name’s Logan, by the way,” Wade chimes in, cutting through the tension with a quiet giggle. 

“But only if you want to, Logan,” you whisper, moving your hand down his arm and to his forearm. You bat your eyelashes up at him, trying to ignore the obvious attraction you feel towards him. Truthfully, you’d rather spend the rest of your night with him rather than give dances to other men in the club – men who didn’t look like Logan. 

Logan feels his resolve diminishing, but when he hears his name leave your lips, he nods slowly. “Y– Yeah, sure.” 

“Great, come with me.” You smile and gently take his hand in yours. He looks down at it, taking notice of the way his large hand encompasses yours and he allows you to lead him towards the back of the club and into a much more private room. 

Once inside, Logan hears the door shut and he turns to face you, his eyes lingering on your frame. He watches you walk towards him, hips swaying to the muffled sound of the music until he feels your hands rest firmly on his chest. 

“You’re a shy one,” you point out, tongue darting out to lick your lower lip. 

“Not shy,” Logan mumbles. “Just bein’ respectful, sweetheart.” 

“Sexy and a gentleman?” you smile. “Mind if I keep you for the rest of the night?” you tease.

Logan feels a blush rise in his cheeks and lets out a quiet grunt when he feels you push him back against the large sofa. He stares up at you, eyes obviously now trailing your frame. He keeps his hands on his lap, though he yearns to reach out to touch you. 

“Logan,” you whisper, moving your hands to rest on the backs of the couch as you lean in until your lips are mere inches from one another. You’re slightly bent over to be at eye level with him and you smile, catching the way he clears his throat. “If you don’t want to do this, all you have to do is say so, okay?” 

“Okay,” he responds quietly. 

You smile and gently press a soft kiss on his cheek, slowly pulling away to see that his eyes had fallen shut. You turn on your heel and walk over to the speaker to put on a couple of songs that you normally play when you give a private dance. Pressing play on the first song, you then turn around to face him once more. He looks so large in this room – his legs spread open on the sofa, broad shoulders and chiseled muscle beneath the fabric of the flannel he’s wearing. This was only ever a job to you, never finding anyone all that interesting or attractive, but Logan – well, you’d risk your entire job if it meant you can have him for one night. 

As the first song plays and filters the room, your eyes meet Logan’s who is staring at you with an anticipated look on his face. His eyes move along your legs, up to your midsection and then up to your breasts and back down. Slowly, you remove your robe and let it pool around your ankles as you strut towards him. Your hips sway with each forward step and Logan lets out a shaky breath. 

Once you’re standing in front of him, between his legs, you lean down and gently brush your lips against the corner of his lips. His facial hair tickles your lips and you pull back enough to stare into his eyes, lips slowly grazing his own. “You can touch me,” you whisper and move your hands onto his strong shoulders, slowly straddling his hips. “To be honest, I’d let you do anything you’d want to me,” you say quietly into his ear. 

Logan’s large hands immediately move to your hips, gripping it tightly as you sit firmly on his lap. He’s so hard and he feels so embarrassed, but the look on your face when you feel him alleviates some of the uncertainty he’s feeling. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve felt a man’s erection while giving them a lap dance, but it is the first time that you actually let out a quiet moan as you slowly roll your hips against his own, to the beat of the song. The tension between you thickens in the air and you stare deeply into his eyes as you try to remember the routine that you normally do for this song. 

You let me violate you 

You let me desecrate you 

You let me penetrate you 

You let me complicate you

Logan’s hands slowly move from your hips to your thighs, his fingertips digging into the meat of your flesh as your hips roll against his. He clears his throat and watches as your eyes flutter with each movement. He has to wonder if this is all part of your act, that maybe you’re just acting like you’re enjoying this. 

“Logan,” you whisper, moving to slightly lean back in his lap. You move one hand from his shoulder to reach behind you and rest on his knee as you lift your hips before coming back down on his lap. Logan groans quietly, almost inaudibly, as he moves a hand to splay on your abdomen, slowly moving it upwards towards your breasts. 

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to God

When his thumb brushes against your nipple, feeling it peak beneath the sheer fabric of your bra, he has to wonder if maybe he crossed a line. Logan moves his hand away from you but you grab his wrist and move it back over your breasts. He smirks and wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he leans forward. 

You let out a quiet moan and feel a wetness settle between your legs that you have to lift your hips off of him, not wanting to stain his dark jeans with your arousal. Slowly, you stand back up and hear him let out a quiet, disapproving groan. You stand between his legs, moving one hand in your hair as you use the other to run along your body, grazing your own breasts and down between the valley of your thighs as your hips sway to each beat of the song.

You tear down my reason

(Help me) it's your sex I can smell

(Help me) you make me perfect

Help me become somebody else

Logan can smell your arousal, can smell just how excited you are and the uncertainty he felt earlier is now completely gone. His hands move up your legs, fingertips hooking into the thin waistband of your thong, but he feels your hands move to rest over his. 

“Logan,” you say quietly. Even through the music, he can hear your voice, can hear the desire and yearning in your tone. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“I want to take you home,” you admit, moving to sit back on his lap. “I know it’s very unprofessional, but–”

Logan grins. “Then take me home.” 

—

Logan had told Wade what happened, the other man all too excited for him. He hadn’t expected this night to turn the way it did and there’s some part of him that doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but when he sees you step out of the club with that same sweet smile that meets your eyes, he pushes those feelings out of his mind. Because all he can think about is what’s going to happen next. 

The drive to your apartment was short and the moment you step out of the car, Logan’s quick to follow you. He steps inside of the apartment with you and you shut the door behind him before you’re on him almost instantly. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and Logan’s hands move to rest on your hips. You stare up at him before you lean up to press your lips firmly against his. 

Logan groans instantly against your lips, eyes falling shut as he follows your lead. You move one hand down his chest to his abdomen until it reaches the waistband of his jeans. He feels your tongue slide past his lips and he whimpers against you – he fucking whimpers. Logan’s used to being the one in charge that it takes him by surprise when you’re more than willing to take control. 

When you undo the button and zipper of his jeans, you pull away. Your gaze darkens at the sight of him and you bring him further into your apartment, once more pushing him against your couch as he sits down with a grunt. Standing in front of him, you pull down your shorts and panties in one motion, grabbing the ends of your shirt to lift over your head. You stand in front of him, completely bare and exposed for him that Logan doesn’t know where to look first. 

You’re so fucking breathtaking that he feels his manhood strain against the fabric of his jeans. Logan slowly pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs, catching the way your eyes widen at the sight of his erected length. He smirks to himself and undoes the buttons of his flannel, pushing it off his shoulders. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper under your breath. “You’re so fucking hot, Logan.” 

Logan bites his lower lip. He doesn’t have time to respond, to tell you that you’re the one who’s so fucking hot because you straddle his hips and take hold of length. He groans at the feel of your hand wrapped around him, lining him up to your opening. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to last – it had been such a long time since anyone’s wanted him like this, since anyone looked at him the way you did. 

In his universe, everyone hated him. 

But in this one – Logan has a second chance at living life the way he should have in the first place. 

When you slide down his length, Logan’s hands move to your hips. He groans loudly, your walls surrounding his length – so warm, so wet, so tight. Your walls slide down every inch of his length until you’re seated fully on his lap. He looks up at you, sees the way your eyes flutter. 

“God, you’re so deep,” you point out with a quiet moan, moving your hands to his shoulders. Holding onto him, you slowly begin to lift yourself before you slide back down. You can feel every inch of his throbbing manhood within your depths and he fills you so fully in a way that you’ve never felt before. 

He shifts to lie on his back on your couch, staring up at you. Your hands move to rest on his chest, rolling your hips forward and backward. You can feel the hair at his base brush against your bundle of nerves with each movement, quiet moans escaping your lips. 

Logan moans in surprise when you reach for his hands, lacing your fingers together as you press them above his head. He knows that he’s so much stronger than you, but he finds that he likes being at your mercy. You’re gripping his hands so tightly, pressing your joined hands further into your couch as you begin to bounce along his length. You lift yourself until his tip is the only part of him that’s within your depths before you slide back down, your tight walls sliding down each inch of him.

“Sweetheart, fuck,” Logan groans, squirming slightly against your grip. He feels your walls begin to tremble around him, can feel you tightening even further around his manhood. 

“Lo– Logan!” you exclaim, moaning loudly as you slam down onto him. You shut your eyes tightly, slowly moving your hips forward and backward to ride out your high. You release his hands to brace yourself on his chest, the feeling of his hair at his base providing just the right amount of friction. 

Logan feels a tightness building in the pit of his stomach and he gently lifts you off of him. You gasp, whimpering at the sudden loss of him before you realize that he’s close. You move down the couch and settle yourself between his legs as you take hold of his length, stroking him with a firm grip as your lips wrap around his tip. 

“Fuck!” he groans, not expecting you to fucking suck him off. Logan moves a hand in your hair, tangling his fingers in your locks as he guides you along his length. Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t and when you hollow your cheeks to apply more pressure around him, Logan tosses his head back against the couch. 

It’s sloppy, spit trickling down your chin as you keep your eyes focused on him. You move along his length, flattening your tongue on the underside of him as you feel each throbbing vein against you. Logan’s grip around your hair tightens and he lifts his hips slightly off the couch to push himself further into your mouth, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat as you gag around him.

Slowly, you pull away from him and smile. “Come for me, Logan.” Then, you wrap your mouth around him once more and bob your head rapidly, stroking his base. Logan shuts his eyes tightly, the tightness building once more as he lets out a loud moan. He gently pushes your hand away as he grips himself, using his free hand to pull you back from your hair as he releases into your mouth. He opens his eyes to look down at you, his seed filling your mouth and you eagerly swallow. 

Logan groans, stroking himself to release every last drop of his spend into your mouth. You smile against him – you fucking smile with his cock in your mouth – and it’s an image that Logan will never forget. When you pull away and lick your lips, swallowing every last drop, you lean up on your knees and stare at him.

“Yum,” you grin. 

Logan’s breathing heavily, moving one hand to rest behind his head as he looks at you with a small smile. “Didn’t expect this to happen tonight,” he admits. “But I’m glad it did.” 

“Stay the night?” you ask. 

Logan nods and sits up, gently pushing you onto your back as he settles himself between your legs. “Oh, sweetheart, I ain’t even done with you yet.”

[littlespoonevan]

your hand in my pocket to keep us both warm

post 8x08 because i'm SAD in a way that can only be eased with buddie hurt/comfort 💔 title from abstract (psychopomp) by hozier

-

Buck is the one to drive him to the airport because who else would it be?

It feels a lot like deja vu as he approaches the glass doors of Departures but his step only falters for a moment before Eddie’s hand is catching his sleeve at the elbow and leading him through them. It’s further than Abby ever let him get.

Eddie lets him go as far the security line and he almost looks regretful when he turns to face Buck.

Buck would like to think he’s handled this well so far. He’s been supportive, helped Eddie choose his new home, listened to his fears about his parents, reassured him about Christopher, promised to oversee the shipping of the rest of Eddie’s stuff next week. He’s done everything right.

It hasn’t made any of this feel less wrong.

They look at each other now, awkward in a way they never are, until Eddie drops his bag and pulls him into a hug without saying anything.

Maybe because there’s nothing to say. Buck’s heart has been lodged in his throat since he parked the car; he’s not even sure he could say anything if he wanted to.

Eddie’s arms around him are a familiar weight though so Buck allows himself to sink into them. To tuck his chin into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder and to fist his hands in the back of his jacket like if he holds on tight enough he might be able to convince Eddie to stay.

When Eddie does pull back he makes no attempt to leave the circle of Buck’s arms. Instead one of his hands goes to that same spot at the juncture of Buck’s neck – always the same spot – and when his thumb makes contact with the divot in Buck’s throat he seeks out Buck’s gaze.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Buck croaks, the tell-tale burn behind his eyes becoming more pronounced by the second.

“Like I’m Abby,” Eddie sighs. “Or Ali. Or Tommy. I’m not leaving you, Buck.”

Buck tries to laugh but it comes out too hysterical and Eddie’s hand tightens on his neck.

“I’m leaving,” he allows. “But I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you,” Buck says, the words wobbling in the middle. His hands are still twisted in Eddie’s jacket.

“And you think I do?” Eddie asks with a half-laugh. “Who am I gonna talk to when my folks are driving me crazy? Who am I gonna talk to when I do anything? Besides, you think Chris will accept you not visiting at least once a month?”

Truthfully, Buck has no idea what Chris wants right now but he clings to Eddie’s words anyway.

“Everyone at work is gonna find me insufferable. It was bad enough that last time you weren’t there.”

Eddie laughs again, thumb brushing Buck’s neck seemingly absentmindedly. “No they won’t. And I’ll be on Facetime so much it’ll be like I never left.”

Buck ducks his head but nods anyway, gathering up the courage to say what he wants to say next. “I know you have to go,” he starts, steeling himself as he makes himself meet Eddie’s gaze. “But please don’t go forever.”

Eddie’s expression blanks, his mouth parting over nothing. Buck can only stare back, hoping that just this once it might be different. That he won’t get a, ‘Take care of yourself, Buck,’ and a hand to the cheek before the person in front of him disappears forever.

Eddie doesn’t touch his cheek. Instead he presses their foreheads together hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make Buck’s breath catch and rush out of him on a shaky exhale.

“I won’t. I promise,” Eddie breathes and his hand moves from Buck’s neck to the back of Buck’s head and Buck can’t help wondering for a moment what would happen if he closed the distance between them. If Eddie would kiss him back.

It’s not a thought he’s ever entertained before but he’s thinking it now and it feels…like it makes sense. Like an inevitability.

And what a time to have a realisation like that.

Eddie leans back then and Buck forces himself to unclench his hands, attempting to smooth out the back of Eddie’s jacket with trembling hands.

“You should go,” he says because Eddie won’t.

Eddie nods faintly in agreement and it looks like it takes every ounce of effort for him to take a step back. Buck picks up his bag for him, offers it to him, and tries for a weak smile so Eddie will know it’s okay. That he can go and Buck won’t cause a scene.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get to my parents place.”

Buck nods. “Give Chris a hug for me.”

“I will.”

Eddie starts looking towards the security line again and Buck blurts out, “Tell him I love him.”

Eddie looks back to him, a devastating smile of understanding on his face. “He knows already. But I will.”

Buck nods again and then there’s nothing left to say. Eddie turns to go and Buck does the same because he can’t watch until he’s out of sight. It hurts too much already and he can barely hold his tears back as it is.

He doesn’t need to watch himself get left behind again.

~

He’s just unlocking his car when his phone rings. He doesn’t check who it is as he climbs in, just shoves the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he reaches for his seatbelt.

“Keep me company while I wait for my flight?”

He straightens so quickly the phone almost falls into his lap but he catches it just in time. And he tries to laugh but he thinks it might come out more like a sob. “Keep me company on the drive home?”

“Always,” Eddie says like they’re driving home from work after a long shift.

Buck switches his phone to speaker mode and looks down at the keys in his hand, at the keys to the loft, Maddie’s place and Eddie’s house respectively, considering his options before turning on the ignition.

“So there’s the guy at the gate-“ Eddie starts and Buck lets the sound of his voice wash over him. Allows himself just one singular moment where he closes his eyes and holds his hand to his chest before he pulls himself together and drives out of his space.

Eddie is offering him a play by play of the guy at the gate who’s insisting his luggage is not chirping and Buck gets his breath back enough to make a quip about how that made it through the security scanner.

When he reaches the freeway it takes hardly any thought at all for him to take the exit that’ll get him to the Diaz house fastest.

He’s going home after all.

~

[quarterlifekitty]

Read buttermilk today and now @ceilidho got me on that babysitter grindset… but what if I freaked it up a little.

cw: age gap (reader is around 21 and Soap is like 29ish), something sorta flirting with/on the edge of fauxcest due to a sibling-like bond, so I’m gonna tag it as such just in case.

Before Johnny enlisted, he’d only ever had one paying job.

Taking care of you.

About eight years your senior, your mom decided to go back to working when you were around 4 and he was on the cusp of 13. And for 5 years (an eternity to a kid like you) he was your best friend in the world. Would get out of school, walk to the elementary school to get you, bring you home, and hang out until whenever your parents got off of work.

And the boy was devoted. Didn’t mind that he had to put off hanging with his friends till the weekend. Didn’t mind making your snacks or watching silly kids movies. Didn’t mind when you asked him to play pretend veterinarian with you, and he had to lay down and act like a really sick horse. And you loved him.

The first time your parents took you on a vacation and you realized he wouldn’t be there? You were so mad. As mad as a 4 year old can be.

You’re embarrassed when you cry at the news that he’s enlisting— at age 10 you’re not supposed to cry anymore, you’re a big girl. He hugs you so tight, early in the morning before he has to go.

His folks move during his first tour. There isn’t an anchor to bring him back to you for a very long time. Over a decade, as it turns out.

He’s getting ready to go on leave when he gets a call— his mum buzzing with some kind of gossip as usual.

“You’ll never guess who I saw down at Sainsbury’s—“

Your university happens to be in the town his family moved to. He has his own place now of course, but he likes to keep close to them.

His first night back and his mum is beside herself— trying to get the place nice, because you’re joining them for dinner. Johnny never even considers that when you come to the door, you’re not the little girl he left tearing up on her parents porch.

He has to remember to close his mouth at the sight of you. His dad offers you a beer for fuck’s sake. He’s amazed at how much has changed— but also, how much is the same. The curve of your nose, and bubble of your laughter, the way your eyes widen with interest.

You happen to be on break right now. So of course, he ends up unwittingly spending all of his leave with you. You were always a funny kid— you’re a lot funnier now that you can swear. And you were always cute but now you’re so… pretty.

And he is not a fucking fan of the kind of attention it gets you. The way guys look at you when you’re sitting alone, waiting for him at a coffee shop. How your phone goes off at least once every 20 minutes, and it’s almost always ‘this guy from your class’. He tells himself that it’s just because he was responsible for you for so long— that he’s just having trouble shaking that off. He just remembers when you were so innocent— he doesn’t wanna see you get chewed up and spit out by college boys.

And he keeps finding himself falling into old patterns. Making you stay still so he can wipe your mouth after having a bit of a messy danish. Holding your hand tight when you’re in a busy place, crossing any streets. Having you tell him what you want so he can order things for you. Picking you up so he can hear you giggle and tell him to put you down.

He tells himself that when he touches himself later that it’s just because being away for work has left him touch starved and sensitive. It’s only natural to get turned on by a pretty girl who leans into him… especially when you get along so famously.

(Even though he remembers playing I spy while he held your hand and walked you home from school, your little backpack slung over his shoulder, even though he had his own to carry. )

Before he knows it, it’s his last night at home, ending it off with another of his mum’s dinners. At the table you casually mention the graduate schools you’re thinking of going to— some close by, some not. He almost chokes when you mention that there’s a really nice school in Canada you were considering.

That’s when he knows he’s fucked. Because he doesn’t think of that as you getting on with your life. Of a girl getting her education. He thinks of that as losing you, and after the bliss of the past couple of weeks he’s had with you, he’s not sure he’ll take being separated from you nearly as long as he did the last time. Not to mention all of the guys at your school trying to get their hands on you.

So he’s gonna have to find a way to get you too invested to travel far. And figure out how to protect you from those assholes when he’s not around.

Making you a part of his family and putting his ring on your finger should be enough, right?

[warping-realities]

All For The Family - Part I

That was the only part of his job that Brian dislike, even though it was necessary. To justify what he had to do, he told himself those folks deserved it, that they should’ve been more careful with their own bills and the loans they took out, and paid their mortgage right. It wasn’t his fault. He was just there to deliver the truth they were probably expecting anyway. He tried to adopt a “don’t shoot the messenger” attitude while also showing he felt for their situation, even though he still had to do his job. That rarely worked in the two years he’d been doing that gig, and this time was no different. The blonde 24 years old man, rockin' a sharp suit that fit him like a glove on his skinny frame paired with his glasses, he was supposed to look classy and confident. Which clearly didn’t have the intended effect on the crowd he was facing. Standing in front of him with his arms crossed and a look on his face like he just sucked on a lemon was the biggest man Brian had ever seen in his life.

“You gotta understand, Mr. Abernathy, that the promissory note’s overdue again. If you don’t cough up the cash, the bank won’t have any choice but to foreclose and take your land to auction.”

“I get it, kid, but it seems like you’re the one refusing to understand. Tomorrow, I’m getting another hand to help with the harvest, and we’ll pay up all the back dues and even get ahead on a few!”

“Mr. Abernathy�� Roy, can I call you Roy?” Brian asked with a smile he hoped was friendly and not showing the frustration he felt at that moment.

“My friends call me Roy, kid; you ain’t my friend.”

Brian let out a sigh at that response and decided to drop the pleasantries, taking a more hard-nosed approach.

“Well, Mr. Abernathy, I hate to break it to you, but if that promise of yours doesn’t pan out, I’m afraid that come the first of next month, you and your family are gonna have to vacate this property.”

“Save your worries for yourself, kid, while you hightail it off my land, ‘cause for now, I’m the one who decides who comes and goes around here.”

“If you weren’t planning on negotiating at all, why’d you make me drive all the way out here?”

“‘Cause there are some things that need to be said and done face-to-face, son.”

“Well, next time, just call me if you got something important to say!”

With a huff, Brian turned his back on the older, muscular man and headed toward the sports car parked behind the big barn that flanked the simple but well-kept farmhouse.

As he watched the kid walk away, unaware of the wave of golden sparks emanating from him, Roy murmured to himself, “Next time we talk, you’ll take whatever I say as important, boy!” He said, flashing a wide grin before turning to a figure that was approaching. “Is it done?” he asked, his smile widening at the answer.

That spat with the Abernathy family patriarch left Brian pissed off. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought that it might be through his work that those folks would lose everything. At the same time, he knew that if it were his older brother knocking on that door, dressed in his cop uniform, the treatment would’ve been a whole lot different. Of course, he could never pull off Lucas's job. Lost in those gloomy thoughts, he took a while to realize that the gas tank he filled up that very morning was nearly empty, and it was only when a beeping alert rang out that he noticed.

“Damn, how is this possible?” he exclaimed to the empty car as he pulled over to the side of the road and weighed his options. Looking at his cell, he found he was out of signal. The nearest town was miles away. The only option left...

“Damn!” he yelled again, getting out of the car and shrugging off his suit jacket, heading toward the Abernathy’s place, wondering what kind of reception he was gonna get. No matter how much empathy he might have started to feel for those folks, it surely wouldn’t be mutual. Halfway to the farm, the already bad situation took a turn for the worse when rain started pouring down, soaking Brian's expensive clothes.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he was being punished by some higher power for doing that job, and he was sure of it when he ran smack into the person he needed but didn’t want to see: Roy Abernathy in all his bulk! He was standing in front of an old Ford pickup, arms crossed again, but this time with a grin that Brian would’ve usually taken for some petty celebration, but at that moment it seemed to him to have more sincerity than he was used to seeing from “clients.” The man was with someone who could only be his son, given the huge resemblance between the two. Those behemoths made for a frightening sight for Brian, leaving him speechless. However, he didn’t even get a chance to speak, as Roy started the conversation for him.

“Looks like you need a little help, son. Where’s your fancy car?”

“I… the gas…”

“Oh, I get it; it’s real reckless to be out here with an empty tank.” The man said, still grinning, and Brian initially felt like he was just saying that to mess with him. But quickly, a small voice in the back of his mind disagreed; the Abernathys weren’t stingy like that. That new, dissenting voice made him hold his tongue and respond more calmly than expected.

“I don’t know what happened; I left town with a full tank. And… I… um… I’ll need some help, yeah.”

“Sorry, son, what was that?”

“I said I need help, if you could… please?!” He replied louder, though he was pretty sure the man heard him.

“Of course I can help, son. Out here, we all pitch in, no matter who you are.” Another jab, and once again something made Brian hold back; he deserved that treatment, the little voice said, and he would take it like a man, like the man he was. Roy smiled again, apparently noticing that the young man was holding back from snapping back.

“Thanks, sir. Now, if you could just follow me to the car and get me some gas…”

“No, son, you’re soaked through. Let RJ and me take care of that; you go to my house and talk to my wife; she’ll get you some dry clothes and a hot meal.”

“I’d rather go to my car…”

“No arguments, kid; do what I said!” Roy replied, his face turning serious.

“I… I… fine!” Brian said, biting back his anger and trudging down the road.

“That one’s a bit rough around the edges.” RJ commented to his dad as he watched Brian walk away.

“Oh, but he’s starting to behave, and there’s nothing wrong with him being a little rough, son, as long as he uses that attitude in the right way…”

“Dad, are you sure? This mumbo jumbo sounds crazy… and the risk we took, messing with that guy’s car. What if he noticed?”

“What are the odds a guy like that knows how to handle a car, Junior? At least for now.”

“Dad, what you’re talking about doing… it’s impossible…”

“Son, you’re gonna have to trust me on this; believe me, it’s already started. Tomorrow at this time, we’ll have the help we need and one heartless drone less in the world.”

“But how? How can you be sure? Have you done this before?” The young man asked.

“No, Junior, I haven’t.” Roy replied, looking quite uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact with his son. “But since you apparently doubt your old man’s word, maybe you should trust your own eyes; take a quick look now, and you’ll see something unique.”

“What the hell? What is that, Dad?” The boy asked, seeing the golden sparks surrounding the man who walked, seemingly unaware of anything strange.

“That, my boy, is the solution to our problems; now hurry up.”

As father and son climbed into the old pickup, an oblivious Brian, unaware of their plans for him, arrived at the farmhouse door. The moment he raised a hand to knock, the door swung open suddenly, and he found himself facing a beautiful woman with bronzed skin and black hair streaked with gray, whose age he couldn’t quite pin down, though he knew she was Abernathy’s wife. The woman looked at him with a warm face that, for some unknown reason, sent a shiver down his spine.

“Well, well, what do we have here? A lost kitten? How can I help you, sugar?”

“Um… I’m sorry, ma’am. I… Mr. Abernathy told me to come here and… hum… change clothes while he looks at my car.”

“You’re soaked, poor thing! Come on in, come on in. I’ll ask Debra to get you some of RJ’s clothes. Be a good boy and wait right here; I don’t want my carpet all wet!” The woman said in a whirlwind, pulling him inside the house and leaving him standing at the threshold. Brian, for his part, had to control himself not to run back out into the rain, as something urged him to get out of that place as fast as possible. Holding himself back, he waited until the woman returned with a young girl about his age, just as pretty as the mother, in a floral dress.

“Debra will take you to RJ’s room; you can dry off and wear some of his clothes until the boys bring your car back. Meanwhile, I’ll whip up some dinner; a big boy like you must eat as much as my husband and son!”

“I… actually…” Brian started, but he gave up announcing his intention to leave as fast as possible upon receiving a look from Mrs. Abernathy that simultaneously showed expectation and reprimand. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Great, now let’s go, let’s go! You’re soaking my carpet!”

Brian followed Debra up to one of the rooms on the second floor of the house. Upon entering, he was surprised to find it was a double room. Did the Abernathy kids, brother and sister, share the same room?

“I’ve set aside some of RJ’s clothes for you; they might be a bit big, but at least they’re dry.” The girl said, smiling between the two beds in the room. Brian couldn’t help but ask.

“You sleep here with your brother?”

“God, no, eww! That bed’s for my other brother!”

“I didn’t know that… wait… there’s no record of the Abernathys having another kid in the paperwork given to the bank!”

“Shhh… relax; there’s no need to stress about that, it’s not important. You city folks with your data, your records, your… contracts. Life is so much more than that, you know? So why don’t you chill for a bit, dry off, and head down? Dad’s gonna want to talk to you.” The girl replied and left the room, leaving a very confused Brian behind. He was still pondering the family’s strange behavior as he undressed and wondered what the hell Roy Abernathy would want to talk to him about. He wasn’t fooling himself thinking it could be something good for his job, not after the confrontation they had just had.

After drying off and getting ready to put on RJ's much larger clothes, the little intrusive voice invaded his mind again. Whatever Roy had to say was important, and he should listen and obey, just like he always had. Before his mind could fight back against that, a beam of golden sparks emanated from his body, and both the intrusive voice and the need to resist it vanished from Brian's mind. In fact, all thoughts disappeared. He couldn't tell how long he stood there, just breathing, with his mind blank of thoughts or worries.

He only returned to reality when someone caught his attention.

“What are you doing just standing there, brother?” A deep voice asked, startling him awake. Turning quickly, Brian found himself face to face with Abernathy’s son, RJ. He’d only seen him briefly on the road, but now he was just a few inches away. RJ lacked the bulk of his father, but that didn’t mean he was small. On the contrary, he was a strong guy, a year or two older than Brian, with a muscular, hairy chest on display. Looking at that figure, Brian felt a strange sensation wash over him, a kind of bond between him and this stranger; it wasn’t sexual, it was something… brotherly, maybe? He knew he’d felt that before, but couldn’t remember when or with whom. As absurd as it was, it was like this guy in front of him was someone very important.

“Earth to you, bro! Get some clothes on and let’s eat; Dad’s waiting.”

“I… uh… yeah.” Brian replied, hurrying to put on the clothes that were lying next to him.

“You coming?” He asked, wanting to stretch the time spent with the other man, even though he didn’t know why.

“Nah, I already ate; I’m gonna crash here. We’ll talk later and figure out how to fix your car!”

“Car?”

“Dude, you really are in another dimension, eat your food, talk to dad, I’ll be waiting!”

Brian headed downstairs and made his way to the kitchen, not even questioning how he knew which way to go, while trying to pin down that feeling of connection to someone he’d just met. As he reached the kitchen door, he found Roy Abernathy sitting alone at a large dining table piled high with food, looking serious and pensive. Brian instinctively stopped at the door, watching the older man. Strangely, all the animosity he’d felt toward the man had vanished, and revisiting his feelings, even the fear he refused to admit existed was different now; it wasn’t fear of violence, but a hefty dose of respect, with a healthy hint of dread. He didn’t even have time to try to figure out what had changed, as Abernathy spotted him and broke into a smile.

“Come on in and grab a bite, son, don’t just stand there like a deer in headlights!” The man said, and while part of Brian’s mind told him he should be anger by that comment, a now dominant part made him smile shyly and head over to the table.

“Excuse me, sir!” He said politely and respectfully.

“Sure thing, son, make yourself at home; things here are simple but done right.”

“Thanks, sir.” Brian replied, serving himself a bit of everything on the table, ending up with a plate piled high, which seemed to please his host.

“That’s a plate fit for a real man!”

“Sorry, Mr. Abernathy; it all looks so good and…”

“No need to apologize, son; that’s a compliment you’re giving my wife’s cooking. And you can call me Roy. That’s what my friends call me.”

Hearing that sparked something in Brian’s mind, some kind of half-forgotten memory, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall it… if he can’t remember it must not be important, right? So, he opted to eat all that delicious food, smiling, again oblivious to the shower of golden sparks surrounding him. But Roy Abernathy couldn’t help but notice, making his smile grow even wider.

Brian devoured the food like he hadn’t eaten in days, time slipping by without him realizing it. He only stopped eating when his belly stretched the elastic of RJ’s shorts, which was no small feat since the man was much stronger than him. Satisfied, he let out a loud burp.

“Burrrpp… sorry, Mr. Abernathy.”

“Once again, that’s a compliment to my wife’s fine cooking, kid; and I already told you, my friends call me Roy.”

“Thanks, Roy… you… you all didn’t have to do this for me, not after… after…”

“After what, son?” Roy asked, with an apparently innocent look.

“After… after…” after what? What did I do to Abernathy? I can’t remember… something about work… my job. “… my job.” Brian mumbled.

“Kid, just ‘cause you’re gonna work for me doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop treating you like a guest.” Roy replied with a smile, sending a shock through Brian’s mind. That information couldn’t be true… or could it? He tried to remember his job, but nothing came to mind; he had gone to college and studied… what? He couldn’t recall. But he knew his job had given him the means to buy the clothes he liked and the car… yeah, his car! There was something about his car.

“And my car…?”

“Oh, right, tomorrow you and RJ can figure out how to fix it. But I gotta tell you, son, there’s only so much an old car can take!”

“Old…? no, no!”

“Oh, I know young folks prefer the term classic, but still… anyway… if I were you, I’d save up for a good reliable pickup, kid! Now head on up; I’m sure you and RJ will want to talk before bed, but tomorrow the day starts bright and early around here.”

“I… I… Roy… there’s something… something…” Brian started as he stood up and headed for the door, unable to finish. He wanted to say there was something weird, something wrong, but he couldn’t.

“Something you wanna tell me, son?”

“Yeah… Mr. Abernathy… Roy…” He struggled to find the right words to express how he felt. “… thanks again!” That was what he finally said, with a fresh wave of golden sparks surrounding him, and any doubt about what he was doing there vanished.

“Thank me with hard work, son; now go to your room.”

Feeling a bit dazed, Brian climbed the stairs and reached the room he shared with RJ. The other man was lying down, apparently asleep, which left Brian feeling a bit down.

He couldn't say why, but he felt the urge to talk to RJ; somehow, he felt like the other man was a special friend he hadn't spoken to in a long time, though that didn't make any sense. He hardly knew the guy; they had barely exchanged words since they met that day... or was it the day his father hired Brian? And when was that? Brian sat on the bed, trying to sort out his thoughts and calm the strange feeling that had taken over him since his car broke down on the road. And why was he on the road if he had gone to the Abernathys to work? He couldn't get very far with those thoughts, as apparently, his movements had woken RJ, who quickly sat up in bed.

“Hey, brother, why didn’t you let me know you were in the room?”

“I didn’t want to wake you; didn’t wanna bother you…”

“Man, it ain’t no bother! We gotta talk about your car, figure out what we’re gonna do!”

“Your dad thinks I should sell it and save up for a pickup!”

“Bro, no way! Dad’s a great guy, but for him, if something ain’t useful for work, it ain’t worth a damn. He’s forgotten what it’s like being a guy our age. And selling a 1969 Ford Mustang? The king of American muscle cars? Only if you’re crazy! I figured with a car like that, you’d know how to appreciate a classic!”

“I… uh… I just didn’t wanna offend your dad, with him being my boss and all…”

“Dude, just be straight with him, and he’ll get it… and forget about the boss stuff… you’re sleeping in his son’s room; you can bet he sees you as more than just an employee.”

“Thanks…” Brian replied awkwardly.

“Come on, enough of that; you’re gonna work with me, hell, you’re sharing a room with me, brother! No need for all that formal junk.” RJ said, grinning before giving Brian a scrutinizing look and asking, “Bro, do you lift?”

“Uh, no… I’ve never been much for working out…”

“So how you ended up working on a farm??”

“Uh… I… went to college… I think, and… I don’t remember…”

“Chill out, brother, I’m just teasing you!But seriously, if you wanna work around here, you gotta pack on some serious muscle.” RJ said, casually scratching his powerful pecs and biceps, making Brian, who had never cared about that kind of thing, feel mesmerized.

“You think… you think I can get as big as you or your dad?” Why was he asking that???

“Ha, dude, nobody’s as big as my dad, and getting to my size is a good journey, but the beauty of the thing is just that, brother; you never settle for the size you are, and I bet with the right training and all the farm work, soon you won’t even recognize yourself.” Hearing that reply filled Brian with a level of contentment he never thought possible.

But before he could try to understand why, RJ went back to talking about cars, and soon the two were discussing their favorite classic models and what they’d do with Brian’s old Mustang. Their conversation flowed like they’d known each other for years and was only interrupted when a very serious Roy Abernathy opened the bedroom door and told the two to hit the hay already, like a couple of mischievous kids being schooled by their dad. Somehow, that thought was comforting to Brian, who quickly fell asleep after Roy turned off the lights and left the room.

He was in a strange place; it looked like a gym. There was a young, skinny but strong guy, as blonde as he was, staring at him. After a few seconds, he realized he was standing in front of a mirror and smiled.

As he dreamed of that, Brian smiled in his sleep on the bed in Roy Junior’s room, his shirt pulled off during the night without him realizing, and golden sparks surrounding him as he moved around happily, unaware that someone was watching him.

“Sleep tight, little brother, ‘cause tomorrow’s when things are really gonna get interesting!”

[moirindeclermont]

Bridgerton folks, you asked... There it is. Daddy!Colin in all his glory.

While I can't predict exactly where this fic is going to go (as I write on the spot) the premise in this case is that consent is assumed where not explicitly stated. Also, I'd like to be more psychological than physical, bit that's more for the characters to develop the story in the way it needs to be told. I'm merely a vessel.

Title is to be defined but I accept suggestions. Have fun!! 🥵 😈 🫠

---

Second Episode | Third Episode | Fourth Episode | Fifth Episode | Sixth Episode

---

"Why?"

Well, that was the crux of the problem.

Why did Pen asked her boyfriend and long time friend Colin Bridgerton to try "the daddy thing" as she presented it to him?

Knowing that honesty must be the requisite if this was going to turn into reality, she decided to go for total vulnerability.

"Because I need this. Because there is no one I love more than you and you're the only one with whom I can think of letting go like that."

That last bit got into Colin.

He want sure of the whole thing, but if it was something she needed, he would give it a try, for her.

"I'm willing to try. I have some research to do."

Pen smiled so bright for him that his knees almost dropped. Yeah, that was the right choice.

"Oh, I can do research for you," she offered him, but it wasn't the point of all of this for him to take care of her?

He got closer to her personal space. "Don't worry baby, I'll do my own research. If I think I need some help or some questions, I'll ask."

Pen melted in his arms - kissed him deeply and it was worth a try just for the way she hugged him after that talk, as if just talking about it made her feel better.

Thing is, the more Colin got into it, researching and reading, the more he wanted to try. He still wasnt so sure of "Daddy" was going to be cringe or hot, but the idea of Pen trusting him that much.. that was extremely erotic for him.

They talked a bit about it some more. They decided on a safe word "plant" and that he would call her "babygirl" when he wanted to start a scene.

Pen was being teased and she knew it. They talked and talked and talked with Colin. Everything was set up, they had a procedure for the aftercare (even if she doubt that she would go that deep on their first session) and now it was just a question of waiting. She was never good at waiting.

She didn't want to start this adventure with some brat behavior, but as the day passed it was clear that Colin was not waiting out of fear or insecurity.

He was waiting just to drive her mad.

Pen knew he would be good at it.

It was on the verge of begging him, when after a particular stressful night, she was close molaining with Colin about everything and it was madness how tired she was of even thinking, when she head him saying "come here, babygirl".

Holy fucking shit.

She turned to see him and he was on the sofa, his legs opened. A cushion on the floor.

Did she already said Holy fucking shit?

She moved towards him, knellingon the cushion without instructions. He seemed pleased at that.

"Such a good girl for me," as Colin tilted her chin to kiss her. She was already trembling.

"Unzip me and take me in your mouth."

She looked at him agape, as she could not believe what she was hearing. She took a moment too long to follow his instructions.

"Are you my good girl?"

At that she could only nod. "Then, do as I say."

She thought he was good. But Colin was shooting for the stars.

His entire demeanor was confident and sexy. He embodied security and she knew she was safe in his hands.

She had yet to move though. He looked at her with such intensity that her heart skipped a beat.

"Do not test me, babygirl"

And she shook her head. Pen didn't want to test him.

"Words, love."

"No, I don't want to test you"

"I don't want to test you..."

A lightbulb in her head.

"I don't want to test you, Daddy"

Tbc

[notachair]

I think... this puts to word some of what I felt was kinda of with how handled things. Some anyway. I've been trying to articulate what feels... off. It's rough so bear with me trying to untangle more of it... and I'm so sorry but this is a wall... on your post... tell me if you want me to make my own and just link to this instead.

When it comes to Jayce's little speech there's this line, as an example...

And what got me immediately here is... when have we really been shown that to be true, to "always" be true? I felt like this was an assumption put onto Viktor by the writers. Internalized ableism is a bitch, but I think they're doing a lot here with the implication of "always". Disabled folks all have our own journeys with it, but I don't think moments of falling prey to it- is something that should define his whole historic relationship to his disability. (Also one's allowed to vent about one's experiences with one's disability and the realities of how one's met with in the world, without it being taken as a diminishing of one's own worth.) And as you say, none of that really address the whys of the structural aspects affecting him both physically and mentally. Like (in regards to the internalized ableism) what is it that is constantly trying to make those shards of pain and inadequacy they'd put in him- to expand and consume, despite whatever fight he'd put up against it on either the internal or external front? And then there's also the difference between wanting to manage one's disability and... you know, hoping to cure one's *terminal* illness in fear of death's face.

I won't deny other disabled people feeling any comfort in those words. I do think there's something delicate and meaningful in having someone care for you and remind you of your worth when those shards, unwittingly or not, have spread and festered a wound in your self perception, because people keep saying it should be there and trying to create it if it's not. It's not that it can't be or isn't impactful, but... was that it? The big message? In combination with everything else, it felt more... preachy? And to a certain degree patronizing? The issue is that I felt *talked at* from someone's able-bodied* perspective. *Yes, even if Jayce no longer is non-disabled himself, that current commonality isn't emphasized, and even so- disabilities and disabled experiences aren't 1 = 1 (this applies to me too), never mind the *terminal* aspect, his leg's also an acquired disability.

Okay so what only ever Jayce apparently managed to have Viktor see, was essentially: "only you can show me that perfection perceived is not something worth seeking- an empty reward. There's beauty in imperfections", or something right? And his mode of attack was... that. Idk I am left unimpressed. I understand the point of putting value on perceived "imperfections", and that Viktor (could... actually... I had a whole section on internalized ableism I removed lol. But.)... that his disabilities could be and was perceived as "imperfections" within his new framework (btw, I saw him using the hexcore on his bad leg as a means to test out his chances for curing his terminal illness- 🤔 not really as a "I kinda just really wanted to cure my leg idk", and it would make for the most obvious results if it worked without messing with the vital organs of his torso, though he was only allowed to keep it for so long by that hexcore). But also, the philosophy he presents was more about than just his own disability or actual terminal illness (!!), it's about a flawed perspective on the general human condition, put to the extreme after Viktor became increasingly isolated (despite being surrounded by people mind and body, "we are one") and grew further detached, partly to the nature of his new existence* (*thoughts to be had here though, and also, whatever happened to the build up and clarification of to whatever degree the hexcore itself influenced him?).

Motive: on his desire to help others, emotionality.

A core part of Viktor's character is his desire to help and aid people, particularly those of the Undercity, and with Jayce it becomes about helping people through the science of hextech (a renewable and non-exhaustive energy source, I think there's a Point there) (tho I've gotta say... their presented products in S1Act2... can't say it's impossible for geniuses to be kinda dumb, it wasn't what I expected anyhow lmao). Act 3 Viktor, post-"imperfections of emotions and individual agency leads to pain and strife, as the other inextricably bound side of the coin = humanity's self-corrupting contradiction" conclusion, basically ended up out there trying to calculate himself to solving human suffering on an evolutionary level (truly Singed's apprentice that way), which was just eugenics in the end.

Even if that point of validation, of acceptance, is nice, especially when previously thought something forsaken to you... and despite what some would previously read/portray him within fandom- he DOES care about the interpersonal, like there's a reason he clings onto that goddamn tattered blanket 😭 And he continues to make a point of wanting Jayce by his side again in both act 2 and 3. But I still feel like it misses the "point" when the majority of the focus ends up on "you're doing this because of internalized ableism but I'm telling you that you matter actually, to me". I feel like it simplifies a lot to draw such conclusions of the matter, and make that the most effective point of "attack". I mean- seeing himself and what he was about to make the world into- kinda did after the mask broke a bit. But- other than Viktor's lines of "why do you persist? After everything I've done?", the "you were never broken" ends up defining this important built up scene. And I dislike this focus that completely overrides the structural issues involved, and basically works as a good-feel band-aid. I dislike the way Viktor's character motivation feels reduced to that point, with that "always" in particular, as well as the "only you" when that was the conviction made. Combating ableism 101.

Like I get he's attacking the personal projections that could drive the conviction, but he sorta kinda didn't hit all the marks there. Uh- not to say that I don't know he's just being sincere here as well, in expressing his care and love for Viktor. But I feel like it works as a deflection that shouldn't have been entirely effective on its own (yes the future-vision, but it's not emphasized in a way I'd like), story-wise anyway. I thought maybe they'd emphasize more on the emotional part, of his overall self-perception and of Viktor hurting (and not just in the "internalized ableism" way) despite however unaffected he might or might not seem (def not all gone). I can see Viktor in his state of upset and alienation of his body (and mind?)... see that hurt (grown from affection) as something, on a personal level, that holds or has held him back from actually follow up on those dreams of helping people (which become *that* in result). And with the access to the power that he has... conveniently think to attempt ridding himself of it, distancing himself, rather than process it. There's a certain... distancing happening just from that nature of having access to the experiences of so many people too, through that hivemind even if it's the most intimate thing as well and would stir a lot of emotion within him. And then there's him getting offed by Jayce in act 2 where he has his whole "two sides of the same coin" moment, and in the end, seeing "the glorious revolution" as a final calculated solution to strife (and- perhaps his own internal strife). There's something too to that "the line" sequence after being rejected in episode 8. But yea, there is a point here that could have been made in terms of valuing "imperfections" of the human condition, but it's... not really being made? "They're part of everything that makes you you, and everything that I admired about you" (paraphrasing), sure, but what about some emphasis on other things idk. He's more than that and all that, but I feel like they ironically made everything about his disabilities instead, and I'm dreading the state of readings and depictions🧍

(Btw on that note of "part of what makes you you", I did like that even the herald still had his braces and ect. fused to his body, and even glowing up in the astral plane. I liked that the ones that were "cured", was not left unmarked by the change. Of note- a lot of those people seemed to have had similar conditions to Viktor, in the sense that they affected the limbs. Pretty sure that one kid who led Jayce was the kid in a wheelchair beside Ekko in ep 7 when watching Heimerdinger's performance)

Also, I would... have liked... more of him taking a side with the Undercity though... and agency, non-agency, death, transformation…go rage some my guy 🔥

Motive: on Piltover / Zaun, the structural.

So on another point... a very important aspect here for Viktor IS that initial dream of theirs WITH the sociopolitical circumstances. Before all of the cult stuff, the main tension between Jayce and Viktor is the matter of the Undercity and how they're dealing with the hextech (I've kinda wanted to make a post about it). And similarly with catvi and the story otherwise, that element does not get as acknowledged, and it suffers for it. Their dynamic and history is not removed from its sociopolitical context. And there... is something to that shard of insecurity impacting him more than he'd thought. But what it comes back to- is the structural injustices he has been faced with both as disabled and a Zaunite/someone of the Undercity. Like his terminal illness was literally fucking because of the damn injustices Piltover inflicted upon them, majorly didn't care to fix and would punish people for protesting. And as I said, their common initial dream, was essentially about helping people through the science of hextech, like- people of the Undercity. Something which they failed to follow up on, and then Viktor was dying, accidentally involved Sky in his own risky business that resulted in her death and him getting suicidal, then- died from Jinx's attack- frankensteined in violation of his agency (!!!)- and then Viktor leaves Jayce *after seeing the hextech weapons plans* (double betrayal). And there really is something to Sky's significance here... But yea, Viktor leaves with a totem to those hopeful dreams, in order to try to help or aid people of the Undercity with the new abilities he had. Like he's not wrong for wanting to do that, I get why he'd just up and leave. His philosophy about things resulting into the idea of a "glorious evolution" to solve human strife and the details of those transformation do essentially just become eugenics in the end though (btw, whatever was their choices with "all those willing" to forceful turning...?).

I think there are ways they could have explored further nuances around all of this, but like with the other things, the journey was cut short and simplified. In a sense I'm glad he had more agency than people were speculating, but at the same time... And I think there is a Choice done in making Viktor's "glorious evolution" the bigger bad (together with Ambessa and whatever she was doing all of that for), AND that it served as a way to override majorly every other conflict by presenting a bigger bad for Zaun and Piltover to "unite against a common enemy" for. If they'd emphasized more on him being a reaction to those injustices, with a hexcore boost, to Piltover's structural injustices against the Undercity (which includes that social model of disability), then maybe it could work more. AND with it having a presence in the Viktor-Jayce confrontation/resolution. But it's more "both sides"-ing the issue, with its favour in Piltover's hands despite it all. And like- "I dreamt about giving magic to the people-" yes, but what was the reason why? I'll give him points for the "now" in "now I only want my partner back" anyhow. Idk, I don't see the disregard of the implicit "wanting to help people" part as a win. Though it's presented through the emphasis of "magic" which has been demonstrated as... sinister to a degree, but also... not? Potentially. But the magic was never THE issue.

Even on just the interpersonal level between the too (which it's not restricted to at all)- I, again, dislike this focus that completely overrides the structural issues, and works as a good-feel band-aid. It needs to extend further, and sure it does in a sense on the individual basis with his choice to stay with Viktor even when he gave him an out. But as an important message moment? It doesn't demonstrate enough to extend outside of it, because we don't see it applied in different contexts, like properly addressing his whys. And with Viktor's one line of "why do you persist? after everything I've done" "because I promised you"... it's not that what Viktor did and was about to do wasn't Fucked Up (and he was having a lot of guilt about accidentally having Sky killed, I can see him getting fixated on trying to "make up for" it somewhat after being brought back to life in his alienated body, and in a sense uh... overcompensating), but idk.. I wish there was something that extended Jayce's way too? That addressed those points of tension in their history? I am not a Jayce-hater, but I don't think he's an uncritical "hero" here. Viktor ends up having little voice at this level despite his speeches (we barely hear him talk after the mask fractured some). And the matter of his forceful transformation, is not really brought up other than potentially with "this chain of events, started with you" in that one council room confrontation. "I never asked for this!"- neither did he <3<3<3. Anyway.

THERE IS SO MUCH TO SAY. But I gotta round it up eventually, so I've cutting off all my other things that found its place on this reblog while I've had it in the drafts.

Agency, disability, biomechanics and transhumanism is a TOPIC though. A topic with many fine lines.

Thank you so much for incredible disability representation!! Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess it's okay that there's no acknowledgement of the social model of disability... Oh, our character's feelings about his body and the treatment he faced aren't really discussed in detail? I guess that's alright. 'You were never broken... there's beauty in imperfection... they made you who you are'? That could be appropriate given context, yeah! Oh, no? Not addressing his pain or the discrimination against him or the fact his disabling factors were preventable?

No acknowledgement of how the world should be made better and safer for people who actually have disabilities? Only a message of 'disabilities don't make you inherently broken' that feels aimed at abled folks? ...Okay.

Anyway... thank you for the incredible disability representation.

[makesitprecious]

It's always summer, under the sea

I know, I know, oh, oh, oh

The rain is dry, and the snow falls up

The stones crack open, the water burns

The shadows come to dance, my love

The shadows come to play

The shadows come to stay

hailing from Stonehelm, the daughter of 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍, Larissa travels across the continents through a varieties of roles : originally betrothed to 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊 ( a young loves tragic tale ), noble blooded handmaiden to princesses & queens, avenger , sister & runaway. a contrast to her sister Johanna in Lys ( the black swan ), Larissa is coined the white swan in court and the title shadows her across borders.

while others of 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 made names in court or dying on the battlefield, Amias longed for more than a nobleman's life. after a failed career as a tourney knight, he took to the navy under house banners (and The Tully's) and became a sailor. At times his ship is called to fight and others it is merchanting in calm waters. Not keen on returning home since his father's interest in politicals, Amias lodges at The Stepstones during shore leave (before the wars). he balances on the edge of a knife between royal ships & pirates, but youth grants him a delusion of invulnerability despite of his mortal bones. at seventeen he is transferred to the Valeryn navy on well earned merit & skill. before the Trinity forms years later, Amias sees vast & beautiful places with Corlys as a mentor. younger brothers begin making names for themselves at court in the favors of princesses & kings. Amias does not heed his father's call to represent the house as another face in the capitol. he wants not for personal glory or riches. as Amias is pulled into deep battles against the now allied Trinity, he knows morality does not always lie with the crown & honor is not easily found within family.

pulled together across latitude & longitude lines, can two lovers survive the dances of dragons & merciless tides of war together ? will Larissa dare the odds to bring a doomed lover back to life ? friends & enemies contend with riches, power & myths as two noble houses pen their legacies with ink during a hurricane.

✒️ ɪᴛ's ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴀ ✒️

for the inspo!! ♡ we know we're set in h0td timeline just so I can make heart eyes at @samwilsonns and @kingsroad characters. but these two might appear in a more game of T setting because I love the worlds of @toilandtroubled of @stachedocs ♡ thank you ♡ to @zoyazenik, @prosemoireia, @fleetwoodmcs, @richitozier, @fragilestorm, @elmunson for your beautiful art, persistence in the face of photoshop crashes and stories that keep me reading past my scheduled bed time.

[thepersialionheart]

My first and (probably) only headcanon for haikyuu is that no one can tell if Kageyama and Hinata are dating or not.

This is something which has most likely been said before but I still want to add onto it.

Are they Flirting or fighting? No one knows. There have definitely been fists involved and one time Ennoshita may have hallucinated when he heard Kageyama whisper that he was going to have his way with Hinata once they were alone. Maybe it just meant that they were going to fight more, that Kageyama was furious with Hinata and wanted to give him a piece of his mind, so the team were now all on watch duty until the end of the day, always making sure Hinata and Kageyama were never alone.

At the end of the day, before anyone could say anything, the two bolted out of the door and ran off without more than a quick "bye".

(They ignored the frustrated glares both Kageyama and Hinata gave them during the day. They definitely ignored the suspiciously placed bruises on each of their necks the next day. They must have fought a bit too much.)

A bet has been going round the Volleyball teams about whether or not they are together. A bet which Yachi and Kiyoko started amongst the Karasuno players and then the managers of other teams. Except, the players of their teams caught onto it and it has been going strong, even after Hinata went to Brazil. Especially after the Adlers vs Jackals match where most people decided against it.

(It is suspected that Yachi actually knows whether or not they are dating, but no one has gotten her to crack just yet. From the way she smirks whenever someone asks, no one will anytime soon.)

Oikawa is firmly against it, not because he doesn't believe they could ever be together, but because they are both idiots who don't know anything more than volleyball (and each other). Some agree with him.

Kenma is one of the ones who have put his money (and a lot of it) on them being together. There is too much chemistry between the two idiots that even they couldn't ignore.

There's another bet amongst the ones who bet for them being together. When they got together. Kenma says since the end of first year. He seems to know something the orhers don't know. Bokuto likes to think that they confessed just before Hinata went to Brazil and became long distance star crossed lovers. (Akaashi told him to stop being stupid (and then bet alongside Kenma)).

Surprisingly Tsukki is the one to bet on them being together since after the first training camp.

Yachi stayed out of this one. (She knew. She definitely knew.)

Yet even when Hinata and Kageyama become aware of the bets (actually they have been aware of them for years but they won't mention that just yet) they just shrug their shoulders and tells whoever is asking, "We're partners. Even when we're not on the same team."

Oikawa decided to shift his money to the other side, betting that they got together after the Adlers vs Jackals match.

But it was still unclear.

Even when Kageyama and Hinata moved in together, when people stayed over they thought it was just courtesy that one of them would give up their room and bunk with the other. Even when they touched or fought playfully, the others couldn't tell if that was actual affection or just Kageyama and Hinata being Kageyama and Hinata.

It took winning an olympic gold medal together for the truth to finally come out. After the Japan team won, everyone was on a high. In the heat of the moment, Hinata and Kageyama drew each other in for a bone crushing hug, whispering sweet nothings to each other as tears of joy spilt out of both of their eyes.

Their foreheads touched. Suddenly, it was like the entire court was quiet. It wasn't long before lips met and cheers erupted around them.

In an interview later, the both of them would be asked about their relationship.

"We've always been partners. We just thought it was time the rest of the world knew."

The only problem now was, when asked about when or how they got together, both Kageyama and Hinata would be vague. Perhaps they would mention a detail about how they confessed to each other. Yet, no one could tell when exactly it happened.

What they did let people know was that Oikawa was most definitely wrong about his guess and he could go suck it for thinking they were idiots who would take so long to realise their feelings for each other.

[darlingod]

It’s just… it is everything that Cardan thought Jude would notice his “SO OBVIOUS” exile riddle and thinks Jude to not hesitate to come back. Beside his certainty of her cleverness to piece the riddle together, he believed he was that clear about his feelings toward her; he had thought she absolutely ought to know how he feels for her.

Like oh buddy. BUDDY. Your wife had thought of the answer to your little riddle like you thought she would. But guess what? She has detrimental TRUST ISSUES. (Like… Ur super mean and hot, I can’t blame her.) Anyway.. it’s SUPER adorable of him to so wholeheartedly believe she wouldn’t question his trust. It reveals so much about his pov of thier relationship.

Jude thought Cardan’s (silly) trick was a (vile) trick, when it was simply a: “Im trying to impress/pay you back in kind with our romantic metaphorical sparring and eventually get you out of political drama for a bit,” trick.

I’m fucking laughing wow these delusional ass children I fucking love them.

[ickybby]

the city's such a lonesome place to live. eliss leaves her hometown searching for fulfillment elsewhere. sure, she gets close. and yet she can't quite hit her mark, unlike her days on set. that empty, gluttonous longing that craves and calls out for her attention isn't gone. just settled. crept in, and made itself comfortable while leaving eliss wallowing in her own gloominess; missing something she could not quite pin down. the glamour of being seen by millions could never fill the void of longing to be known. yet eliss couldn't stop trying to fill that vacancy within her even if she knew how. she studies his face, wispy smoke trails slightly distorting his features' clarity. god, he is much more handsome in person. that much is evident, especially now that she can see his face in clear lighting instead of the flashes of red and blue after police arrive at the scene. "uh huh, only two. haven't made many too friends 'round here. mainly just folks i work with." she repeats, rather awkwardly. color burns bright under the splash of freckles on her cheeks while the unspoken implication of her inexperience regarding more carnal matters hangs in the air. she's already tired of the double life she's living; a vixen on the silver screen and a virgin in the sheets. can't even come close to imagining the kind of pressure a superhero faces. though a part of her can certainly start to sympathize with being not much more than a glorified DOLL for all of americana to toy with. ... even if the concern is overridden by the combination of her hummingbird heartbeat furiously thumping in her chest as he nears. an electrifying longing ignites the moment his gloved fingers ghost over her collarbone before they've fully made contact with the warmth of her skin. instead of shying away from the intimacy of their closeness, ellie surprises herself when she leans forward to fully revel in the games he's leading. eliss is all too happy to follow along like a lamb. round eyes blink up at him in surprise, like she still fails to comprehend she's the star of several men's most lurid fantasies. "i– why, thank you. i'll be sure to pass the message along," she takes his direction with a good sense of humor, "to their credit, i'd probably photograph more naturally if i had more... experience."

the minute he steps into her space and the scent of herbs strikes his nose and he’s reminded of how painfully sober he is right now.  he also recognizes her,  hadn’t immediately but now that his laser focus is on her and not the person breaking into her home.  it is very easy for him to place her face.  that horror bullshit he’ll only watch when someone around him decides to put it on. the magazine clippings that he sees posted to just about half the security team at vought’s walls.  would perhaps be on his if he spent more time in one place, but his life is a constant move.  he barely has time to spend at vought tower,  much less his separate downtown loft.  leon much preferred the real person in front of him anyways.

his compliment had rolled off his tongue so easily.  she may not have been the type but he knew how to use his mouth to his advantage.  he’d watched his father do it,  have everyone fooled into thinking he gave any two shits about them,  weasel his way into riches.  while this is not the same outcome, the aim is still to get what he wants.  something he had been deprived of not long prior. his own career had sky-rocketed,  not that he really knew what to label it:   superhero,   soldier,    war hero.  he supposes it doesn’t really matter when he was a man of many talents,   thanks to compound v and the late frederick vought. the southern edge to her voice does not go unnoticed,  neither does the   sir  out of her lips.  eyebrows quirk in response to following words.  “only two huh?”  the perks keep outweighing the downsides to being a supe,  and they haven’t really stopped.  he misses frederick, it’s only been a few years that much is true  ⸻  that he’d outlive those around him and how lonely it would end up being.

he doesn’t need to think about that now, not when a beautiful woman sits before him,  blunt between her fingers,  it’s easy to get lost in the moment.  leon takes a step forward sliding the blunt from her fingers,  to take an inhale himself of it.  looming over her, he exhales;  her supplier is good.  fingerless crimson gloved hand touches to her shoulder,  “well not everyone can have a fucking decent taste in décor.”  he grew up surrounded by it.  taking another drag of the blunt,  hand on her shoulder moves under her chin and he leans down to exhale into her mouth, sliding the blunt back between her fingers.  “you’re more beautiful in person.  your photographers need improvement.”

[alexiethymia]

If I could gif, I would probably gif three scenes. The ‘what rope’ scene where Vash calls Meryl and Roberto his friends so that the townspeople of Jeonora Rock don’t lynch them, and then the scene where Vash says Meryl and Roberto aren’t his friends to Wolfwood when they separate on the Sand Steamer and Wolfwood calls him cold, and finally the scene where Luida definitively calls Meryl, Roberto, and Wolfwood his friends when he first wakes up.

It’s such a nice progression of his bonds in such a few number of episodes. For all that Vash is a nice guy, and has people he helps, and even family in the form of the people in Home, it’s possible Meryl, Roberto, and Wolfwood are his first friends. It’s only when the three stick by him even after Monev and finding out that he’s a Plant, that it really dawns on him that huh in his hundred years alive, he may have finally found his first friends.

Vash isn’t naive. He knows the capacity of people to betray his trust. He’s resigned to it in a way. But he still extends that trust to people. The plan to stop the Sand Steamer wouldn’t have worked without Meryl. But Vash still leaves the task to her without any assurance that she would do her part. At the same time, I get the feeling that he wouldn’t have blamed her if she did decide to run away, same as Roberto was telling her. And it’s such a wonderful thing that through the friendships he formed with Meryl, Wolfwood, and Roberto, the trust that he freely gives is finally reciprocated. (And of course he would always have faith, what with his experiences with Rem, Luida, Brad and the people in Home).

In the same way, Vash saves what was precious to Wolfwood which was the orphanage, Wolfwood eventually gets to return the favor in saving Meryl. Even though it was out of order, you can also look at it as Meryl saving Vash, who saved Wolfwood at the Sand Steamer, who eventually ends up saving Meryl. Even Roberto, cynical as he is, does end up advising Vash on occasion.

People get hurt. People die. It’s a dangerous world they live in. But it’s nice that Vash who always asks if people ‘need a hand’ eventually meets ordinary people who also ask him if he ‘needs a hand’ sometimes too.

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

Me reading the description of episode 30: oh, that's fine! that's not so bad! i can deal with that!

Me after listening to episode 30:

[rosewheresheshouldntbe]

> Rose: Confess to Kanaya!

Rose: I love you.

Kanaya: Y Yo Ati, Rose.

> Rose: Get swallowed by something that looks like Venom.

> Rose: Get sent to super hell!

> Kanaya: Have something very gay and homophobic happen to you.

Kanaya: ...

What an absolute diversity loss. You find yourself thinking "love loses!"

[ichthyorelationships]

an idea i invite anyone else to write about / run with lol....

the premise that The Change gets all messed up for alberto, say it's something that can happen from stress, &/or happens rarely and you just have to wait for it to resolve itself....used as some parallel to struggling through some emotional turbulence / upheaval / questioning / Realizing Things, etc etc

[skrunksthatwunk]

you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.

you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.

so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.

you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.

you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.

you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.

you know you broke the rule by interacting.

but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.