#TODAYS SPECIAL IS DOUBLE STANDARD?

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Carmy is a hypocrite

Like most cowards are

But unlike most cowards, he had a point.

Carmy was quick to judge his brother and get out of the family household to "show him".

But he didn't take this into account:

Michael Berzatto is immortal

Carmy expects Syd to be legally obligated to push him and let herself be pushed, but when he's pushed he can't handle it:

Carmy wants to change the menu every day but when Syd wants to make changes, he prefers to go his way:

Granted there is a valid explanation for that I already went over

Here → Yeah, right.

And Syd can easily put an end to it by signing the agreement and exercising her rights as a partner. But she's avoiding it and delaying it and making things worse as time goes by, so it's a 50% / 50% here.

But in terms of Carmy's discourse, it's nothing but hypocrisy, no matter how unconscious his behavior is and what reasons he has to justify it.

Carmy wants Richie to accept his apologies because he loves him but he won't accept Donna's who clearly wants to reconnect with her strange son, while he avoids her:

And the list can go on and on and ooooonnnnnn...

Because he is a HYPOCRITE and as with all hypocrisy, it's rooted in what in essence can be labeled as a "lack of balls".

He's clearly not the kinda guy who avoids conflict, as a matter of fact, he's the opposite because he's → Donna's son and → reactive in nature.

But he's scared shitless of true mature behavior, he's not ready for that, as I explained here. And if we dig deeper, we can clearly see that part of his fear has to do with his mommy issues, which I mentioned here. And of course, also with his many psychological conditions that remain untreated, which I elaborated on in previous posts such as:

Let's put the ship in partnership

Carmy Berzatto and his erotic transfer

Or are being incorrectly treated, because the AA meetings are like trying to put out a wildfire with a glass of water, in his case. He needs a whole team of professionals who develop a personalized healthcare plan for him and follow up regularly with him to help him stick to it. Especially since changing his surroundings is not an option.

So summing up, he's a hypocrite.

BUT

He has a point, which is, that if he stops being a hypocrite, he will have to change his ways, which requires courage, and balls, sure, but most importantly, he will have to face the truth about his feelings for Syd, face the C person and act like a man and go on an apology tour, which is something that requires something he doesn't have yet:

MADURITY

He's a kid trapped in a 30-31 year old body. And that's exactly what happens to abuse/trauma victims. There's this arrested development that mentally freezes them up in the time of their lives when the abuse began. And they can look like very adjusted people for most of us, they can look like accomplished chefs, like wannabes who are really into their artistic hobbies that are actually nothing but escapism, like people who "just want to do what's right", perfectionists even, etc... but in their case, that's nothing but a mask that hides their level of immaturity. They can ONLY HANDLE getting their asses kissed all the time, anything else is something they just can't take. Imagine a toddler: if you go and say (in a baby voice, ofc): "Oh you're soooo cute, I love your drawings! Wow! Did you make this? I love this! OMG! It's soooo cute! Awwww" the kid will be all smiley and over the moon, right? They will love it.

But try telling a 5-year-old:

Don't yell.

Stop.

Drop that.

No, you're not right.

Etc.

They will always find a problem with accepting limits and behaving BECAUSE THEY ARE TODDLERS. They will probably even throw a TANTRUM, even in public sometimes... They won't care how it looks. They are not above making a scene. All parents have to deal with that for a few years, no matter how well-adjusted and healthy their kiddo is. It's normal behavior IN A TODDLER.

Well, adults can be toddlers too (mentally). And that leads to HYPOCRISY. Like in Carmy's case.

Fortunately, maturity levels and development are dynamic. Hardly ever static. So Carmy is not a hopeless case.

I'm confident that S4 will be the season in which he will FINALLY GROW THE FUCK UP.

Because he has already reached his breakthrough.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs

[intersectionalpraxis]

X/Formerly known as Twitter user states: I was walking around Tokyo today and an old Japanese man was wearing a Palestine flag with "stop genocide in Gaza." He was handing out a newspaper article that called out Israel's occupation and how it's against humanitarian law. I took one and he asked if I understood Japanese…" [this person later clarifies in the next post that they do not, but they accepted it and they provided an image of this newspaper article they recieved, which I attached, with a Google translation of the document, which I will add English translations for that were provided by this user on X/Twitter: @ fumiyafilm

Newspaper article piece states (Google rough translation: Japanese to English):

Rather than making human rights and democracy a double standard, we should put "life and livelihood at the centre of politics." Gaza : no one stands above international humanitarian law for an immediate humanitarian ceasefire. As Israel's occupation and blockade of the Gaza Strip intensifies, an emergency special session of the United Nations General Assembly passed a resolution co-sponsored by Jordan and others calling for "humanitarian" measures with 121 votes in favor and 1444 votes against [I believe the translation captured this incorrectly -I believe they mean 144?)] (Japan is). Canada's amendment did not recieve two-thirds majority required for adoption. The difference between the two resolutions is whether or not they specify resposibility for Hamas's terrorist acts. Jordan's proposal does not name Hamas, calling the increase in violence since the October 7th attack and "act of terrorism." You could say that, Jordan's plan is supported not only by Middle Eastern countries but also countries in the so-called Global South, such as Brazil, Malaysia, and South Africa (India is in favor and France is in favor of the G7). Protecting civillains does not mean ordering more than a million people to evacuate to a place with no shelter, food, water, medicine, or fuel. What we are seeing in Gaza is a clear intentional -This is a violation of humanitarian law, and I am deeply concerned about it. No party, no matter what, stands above international humanitarian law. As UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres asserts, international public opinion (cut off on document) "war," "Arab vs. Israel," Pro-Israel is not pro-Barres," but rather a international movement calling for (unsure part of this document here) "stop the humanitarian crisis…"

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ see me through the morning glow | gojo satoru

wc: 1.0k summary: you and gojo have a slow morning.  contains: f!reader in mind, suggestive if you squint, food descriptions. a/n: unedited, i honestly dk what this is i just really needed to get this out of my system! this is how i cope with 236.

re-uploaded because i accidentally deleted!

You slip out of bed faced with the promise of sunlight. 

The curtains in your bedroom radiate a glow that bounces off the man lying next to you; it’s soft, near-white, almost ethereal, the color of his skin, hair, and bones. His back is exposed, arm reaching out over the (now) empty space beside him—the crinkles and folds where you once were. 

You’ve always thought your bedroom had good lighting, and now you can confirm why: in the shadows, deepening the line that runs down his spine; in the highlights, guiding your eyes to the pockets of muscle behind his shoulders. 

You look away, trying your best not to stare; the only reason he’s undressed is because of a cold sweat, from the nightmares—and the very need for skin-to-skin, to ground him in your touch. 

On mornings like this, you let Gojo sleep in. 

(Because you’re lucky if he can fall back asleep again). 

It’s slow today—no work, no missions that need you or him. It’s your favorite kind of day, and Gojo’s too (once he wakes up and smells the waffles you’ve prepared, double topped with whipped cream and maple syrup—his special, of course). 

A steady stream of warmth flows through the window to your kitchen countertop, the marble glimmering as light hits. The material was his choice; you don’t care much for glamor but Gojo likes pretty things—you especially, he likes to say. 

The batter is quick to prepare, a recipe you’ve done many times before, so you ladle it into the waffle maker before letting it set on its own. Then, you grab a pan to heat up, spooning in last night’s leftover rice, some soy sauce, and mirin, adding salt to taste, as needed. A standard fried rice breakfast, with a yolk to mix in later. 

The sound of his footsteps are concealed by the sizzles of the pan in front of you, but you’re caught off guard by arms wrapped around your waist, and his chin nestling itself into your shoulder as he nuzzles you. 

He’s still shirtless, you notice, so you inch backwards in case of any oil spatter. 

“Good sleep?” you mumble, certain that he heard you. 

He hums, before whispering, lips tickling the edges of your ear on purpose, pouting, “Not anymore when you left.” 

This man—a giant baby, puffed cheeks with long limbs hunched over you. 

Your big baby. 

Despite his whines, he’s telling the truth, you know, and you feel warm because of it, affection seeping in the cracks between his arms and the kitchen stove. 

You blow on a spoonful of rice before lifting it up to his lips. Gojo’s breakfasts are always sweet, but every time you cook, he looks forward to this: waiting right behind you to be fed over your shoulder.

His review will always be the same, of course, everything you touch turns out good. 

He reaches for the waffle maker with one hand while the other keeps you close, and you plate his little breakfast for him, whipped cream with little hearts drawn in maple syrup. 

You grab a bowl for your rice and sit by the counter, Gojo sitting thigh-to-thigh beside you despite the abundance of space around you. 

You realize then, that Gojo tends to hover. 

Not necessarily in a bad way, just that, he does it all the time—always wanting to be near.  

And for someone so perceiving, practically all-seeing, he doesn’t really have to for him to know what you’re up to, but with every opportunity he has, he never misses a moment to be close to you.

When you wash the dishes by the sink, he stays beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder, even when the sink is wide enough to accommodate him a few inches farther. 

Even the walk to the bathroom has him tailing you, following your footsteps as he traces the footprints of slow mornings with you. 

Your bathroom counter has two sinks, but of course, today, he chooses to stay by yours. 

“Skincare?” you raise a tub of face mask. 

He doesn’t need it, but you love pampering him, so he nods, whatever you want. 

You struggle for a bit (he’s just too tall), so he picks you up by the waist and rests you on the bathroom counter, against the mirror.

He stays in the space between your legs, hands flat against your thighs. His thumb kneads your skin gently, and any other time, this position would end very differently, but there’s a look he’s giving you—all words without speaking. 

And—

“Quit staring,” you mumble, turning shy. You’re about to rub the product onto his cheeks, under his eyes. 

“What, I can’t look at you?” he moves closer, keeping his eyes locked on you as he rubs circles on your thighs. 

“No, you can, but,” you swallow, “you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” his brows furrow. 

“Like that.” you sigh, gesturing to his face. 

“Like I love you?” 

And it is like that. Like he loves you. That’s why he says it so casually. 

Because he does. 

You stay quiet, stunned, before you clear your throat and finish up the final area on his face. 

“Yeah.” you mumble, reaching over to wash your hands on the sink. 

Gojo waits for you to finish before he takes a small towel to dry your hands with it. 

“As if you don’t know.” he scoffs, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. 

He’s right—it’s been said before, but there’s something else in his eyes right now, shiny and devoted, as if this is all he could ever want. As if you, on this slow morning, in this too-big bathroom is all he could ever need. 

But he doesn’t say anything. At least, not what he really means. 

“Not my fault you’re so pretty today,” he adds on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

It should be funny, that he’s telling you all this with a mask slathered all over his face, but his compliments always speak to the depths of you, even when you don’t expect them to. 

His fingers mold against your cheek, to your ears, down to the back of your head, bringing you closer until he kisses you softly, a gentle peck. 

Bits of the face mask transfer to your nose and you giggle, wiping it off. 

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say.” you joke.

Gojo smiles, that look on his face, “Good for you then, you’re the only one I see.”

re-uploaded because i accidentally deleted!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[wutheringcaterpillar]

18 years

Summary: After 18 years of marriage Thomas plans a special day just for you that he wants to be perfect even if that means keeping his kids out of trouble.

Warnings: Slight misogynistic Thomas, talk of termination.

Side Note: This is my first fic in awhile since I stopped writing two years ago on a different account, I hope it's okay! :)

The Shelby household was anything but perfect but for today Thomas was going out of his way to ensure that it was. Being a housewife and a mother was by far not an easy job.Thomas and you had been married for eighteen years. Did it get ugly sometimes? Absolutely. That didn’t change the adoration and love you shared for each other.

While you were out running some errands with Ada, Thomas has quite a few helping hands in cleaning up the house, and decorating it to the 10s. “Well brother, how’s it lookin’ eh?”

The silver chandelier presented the dining room with a warm glow that made the silver set table look ever so inviting. All the rooms were vacuumed and mopped, not a crumb in site. The floors glistened beautifully to his high standard. “Never did I think that my incompetent brothers would use their brains for a day and the outcome be satisfactory.” Arthur laughed in response, before giving Thomas a playful nudge. “Alright, that’s enough out of you.” Thomas rushed to the kitchen once he remembered he left the kids in there unattended. They were being not very helpful to say the least.

Annabeth, and Edward were now teenagers full of hormones and outbursts. It seemed like they would argue every day about the smallest things but today Thomas wasn’t allowing there behavior especially today.

“Does dad know about Jackson?” Annabeth scoffed at him with a disgusted face. Thomas did not allow her to date unless he appointed the young man to her. The same could not be said for Edward’s late night shenanigans that Thomas was aware of and Annabeth despised the double standard. “No, and I’d appreciate if you kept your fucking mouth sh-“

“Now, now. No need for bickering on a day that’s about your mother and all she has done for you.” Thomas entered the room dressed in a black and white suit and tie that fit him snuggly, giving off his normal professional sense. “I wanted to have a word with the both of you before your mother arrives which should be-“ He pulled his watch out of his suit to get a glimps of the time. “In ten minutes precisely.” Edward opened his mouth to speak but Thomas raised his hand to stop him. “I don’t want any interruptions I want you both to listen to the words that are about to come out of my mouth and I highly suggest you take them seriously or you will not enjoy the consequences. Eh?” He eyed them both with his eyebrows raised, both of them stayed quiet as they lightly cowered in there seats to there father’s stature. “Stand up. Both of you.” Without hesitations the teenagers stood up, not slouching but standing to s perfect straight line.

“No. Fucking. Fighting.” Thomas walked around them in a circle menacingly never taking his eyes off of them while they stared at the ground and listened to their fathers words. “I don’t care, if you don’t like the food. I don’t care if you don’t like sitting next to each other. More importantly I don’t care how either of you feel today. Today is about your mother. There will be no games, no arguments, no sports. More importantly-“ He stopped in his tracks now in front of them, hands on his knees as he leaned down so they had no choice but to look in his demeaning eyes. “No. Fucking. Fighting.”

There was a brief silence, as if to let the air settle and for what he said to soak into them. “We’re clear eh?” They both nodded and Thomas dismissed them. “Great now, go get formally dressed.” He watched as they both walked out of the kitchen. He greatly appreciated how much time and effort you spent in taking care of them and it’s time they return the favor for at the least one singular night.

Edward shoved his sister playfully into a wall, just around the corner to where they thought Thomas wouldn’t hear. Annabeth shoved him back and pointed up at him. “If you say one thing about-“

“Who your late night squeeze?” Edward began to laugh and Annabeth shoved him again.

Thomas heard from the kitchen and raised his hands in the air, disposing of his cigarette before he spoke to himself, annoyed. “What did I just say?” Thomas was going to let it go until he heard something break that sounded expensive.

In a quick pace to the hallway, he saw the both of you attempting to round the corner to the next room but they should know who their father is by now that nothing goes uncaught. “Eh! Over here now!” The siblings shamefully turned awaiting for all hell to break loose. Thomas was the strict parent, and that frightened them, which is what he wanted.

Glancing to the ground, an expensive, rare crystal dish was shattered on the floor, and he was going to be damned if Frances was going to clean it up. For Thomas’s sake he just hope you wouldn’t notice until after his surprise. “I said three, fucking words to you.”

“No. Fucking. Fighting.” He hit the both of them on the back of their heads. “Yes I’m aware of Jackson, I was hoping to avoid the subject today but I have ears so I suppose this will be addressed right fucking now to clear the fucking air. I pay close attention to anyone and anything around me and my family. You both should know that more than anyone. Seeing Jackson stops now. I don’t approve of him, my daughter will not be marrying some useless sack of shit like that. See him again. You will never leave this house again, got it?” Annabeth nodded with her heated cheeks. Edward began to quietly laugh to himself while his sister was being reprimanded.

That’s when Thomas was quick to call him out too. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re giggling at like I don’t know what you do with the little whores from school, sneaking them into my fucking house.” All grins from Edward diminished immediately.

“What you do is your business but in my fucking house. That’s my fucking business. Clearly your mother and I have given both of you too much privilege. I don’t care who you fuck but I’d be careful if I were you because the first girl you get pregnant, you’re marrying whether you love her or not. You know why? Because I say so. As for sneaking them in my house. Good luck with that from now on I’m sure you haven’t noticed but maybe you should take a look at the new people I hired if you could find them to watch the house whilst your mother and I are away for our anniversary.” Both of them were speechless and Thomas sent them up to their room. Thomas may be older than them but he wasn’t born yesterday. After all he spent plenty of those nights sneaking in and out of your house when you first started dating. He knows all the ins and outs of scheming.

The sound of car door closing grabbed his attention and panic mode slightly set in for him. Thomas Shelby didn’t panic but in the event of there being a chance that something may not be to your standard, he panicked. “Hurry on, your mother is here! Get dressed in proper clothes and not some skimpy, raggedy mess for once!” He yelled after his children.

The weather was chilly as winter was approaching in Birmingham. The snow was falling delicately from the sky once you pulled in with Ava and to say you were freezing was an understatement but the new brown wool blanket, she has gotten you should do more than help. “Ada you didn’t have to buy me anything. I have money.”

“Oh being married to my brother, believe me I know you have money, just wanted to treat you today is that so bad?” You shrugged, smiling at your sister. “C’mon let’s get inside.”

“Oh I hope Thomas was okay with the kids today, I know he’s hardly taking care of them alone without needing my help.” Ada set a comforting hand on your shoulder before reaching for the door handle. “Y/N if Thomas can’t handle them for a few hours, I don’t know how you’ve gotten this far.” You both laughed and once the door opened, you were met with a warm embrace there must’ve been a fire lit in the living room. Thomas came abruptly from around the corner after yelling something at Arthur that you weren’t able to make out. “Y/N! My dear loving wife!” Thomas pulled you to his side, and had Ada remove your jacket.

He was freshly shaven, and showered, smelling of mint and tobacco. His smile pierced your eyes, and he leaned down to kiss you softly. “How was your day out with Ada love?”

“Wonderful, was nice to get away from all the testosterone for a bit.” You giggled and then started noticing your surroundings. The floor was sparkling, not a sign of dirt or mud. The laundry basket was empty, the kitchen spotless, you went to turn into the dining room but Thomas quickly placed his hands over your eyes. “Thomas, what’s going on the house looks-“

“Happy anniversary sweetheart.” He removed his hands and the sight of the dining room was absolutely breathtaking. The curtains looked brand new, a dark cherry red colored that allowed the sun to poke through in a welcoming manner. The chairs were painted black and with gold patted seats to sit on. The food arrangements looked more than delicious and most importantly your whole family was there. Annabeth dressed in a a beautiful gold gown and Edward dressed in a suit and tie matching his father. Even the Shelby brothers looked showered and dressed to the tens. “Thomas I-“

He guided you to your seat, pulling out the chair for you. “Don’t say anything love, just enjoy dinner and don’t even think about doing dishes or cleaning up after this. We’ve got it.” Thomas winked at you as he took his seat beside you, the glowing of your smile and surprise leaving him just as happy as the day you said yes to marrying him.

18 years, and he still found time to manage to make it feel like the first day you fell in love with him. “I just want to take a moment to thank Frances who will also be joining us for this lovely meal. I couldn’t have put today together without any of you. Thank you for taking them time to assist me in doing this for Y/N, my beautiful wife whom I adore and admire more and more every day. Thank you for being such a wonderful mother to our kids and dealing with me. Not sure how you quite do it but I’m glad you’ve stayed and put up with me.” Thomas raised his glass of whiskey in honor of everyone.

Your eyes began to water to which he’d caught your tear of joy with his free finger. You mouthed a thank you to him and an I love you and dinner began. Once dinner was over Thomas made a final announcement. “Tonight Y/N and I will be leaving for Bali for our anniversary.” You gasped, hand covering your mouth in disbelief. You’d never gone and you had never found the time. Thomas wasn’t giving you an option to not have time. “We’ll return Wednesday afternoon and I’d just like to take a minute to thank Pol and Frances for watching the kids. Thank you all for coming, and I appreciate every one of you bastards.” Laughs filled the room while Thomas extended his hand for you to take and help you out of your seat.

Once upstairs you stared at your body in the mirror, just getting the feeling that something was off but putting it off your mind. “You didn’t have to do all this Thomas.” He came up behind you in the mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist, snuggling his head into the crook of your neck. “I did love. You do so much and never take time for yourself, always putting I and the children first. You need to be put first too.” Swinging around, you stared into your husband’s crystal blue eyes.

It has been a long, long ride for the two of you together, that will keep going. But this soft, sentiment man had taken awhile to appear and you’re not sure how you got him to come out but you were glad you did. “I love you Mr. Shelby.”

“And I love you Mrs. Shelby.” You giggled as he smiled down at you in awe, before placing his lips on yours, connecting them in a chaste, delicate kiss. “Mom, Dad the cab’s here!” Annabeth called.

“Would you shut up you idiot, dad probably already knew that.”

“Eh! No fighting, right?” There was a silence before they both responded in unison. “Sorry dad!”

“I don’t know how you managed to get them along for dinner but kahoots to you my dear husband because that’s something I could never do.” Thomas wrapped his arm around you, as you walked down the stairs together. “I’m Thomas Shelby. The name alone fucking scares anyone.”

“Well I guess I’m not anyone then am I?” Thomas shook his head smiling. “No, no you’re not. You weren’t even frightened of me when I screamed at some whore, for thinking she could seduce me.”

“Fuck no, if you hadn’t I wouldn’t be Mrs. Shelby now would I?” Thomas laughed once more before opening the car door for you. The snow covered ground glistened from the bright night sky as you scooted into the cab.

The ride was quiet whilst you rested in Thomas’s arms which he thought was rather odd, that usually meant something was on your mind. “Are you alright love?” Breaking a part from, you took his hand in yours. “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Worry etched over Thomas’s face but it didn’t compete with the level of anxiety you were feeling. “Whatever it is you can tell me Y/N, we’re celebrating eighteen years of marriage nothing is going to run me off now I can assure you that.” You stared down at the seat, eyebrows etched together in concern of his reaction. Patting his hand you looked up at him slowly, paying close attention to his eyes. “Thomas I think I might be pregnant. I know it's a big age gap for Edward and Annbeth to be close with them but I still want to have this baby." Thomas didn't hesitate to speak as he did not want to worry you. "Sweetheart, how long have you known?"

"I think I've known for about a week and I know it sounds silly that I was nervous to tell you but I didn't know if you'd want me to get rid of it because I know we didn't plan for this."

"Darling we didn't plan for the first two." You laughed and Thomas pulled you into his arms, resting his hands on your stomach. "I'd never ever want you to think I'd want you to get rid of our child besides, I love when you're pregnant, your swollen tits, your glowing smile and glowing tummy. I love every part of you Y/N nothing is going to change that. Okay?" You couldn't help the tears that began to stream down your cheeks, that Tommy once again wiped away, and he smiled lovingly at you. You nodded and leaned into his chest. You were going to be okay, and today was more than amazing. It was perfect.

[nomiqbomi]

Updated designs for Fophid and Lepignito commissioned by my friend @plus-sizedscribe! Plus a new middle form, Impodster, and 4 distinct formes that Lepignito can take, based on the environment it evolves in.

More info under the tab!

Fophid are timid creatures with many predators. Their carapace has evolved to blend in perfectly with an arboreal environment. When provoked, it wields the branch-like appendage on its abdomen like a lance. It has no venom, it's quite sharp!

Impodster attaches itself firmly to tree limbs, disguising itself as a small branch. Once it has done this, it is impossible to detach until it evolves. (It would be much easier to take the entire branch with it!) It does not budge, even after being discovered. Individuals who have camouflaged themselves poorly can often be found with leaves full of holes, made by bird Pokemon that attempted to carry them away.

When Impodster evolves into Lepignito, it takes on a perfect likeness of its immediate environment. Four unique patternings, based the biomes it occurs in naturally, have been officially recorded; however, it is believed that new patterns could be created by evolving the pokemon in a unique environment.

Even when their immediate environment does not match the markings on their wings, they somehow still manage to obscure themselves from view. Many theories have been pose as to how they are able to do this, but none have been proven, as this behavior is quite difficult to observe.

It prefers to sit motionlessly and evade detection, but when provoked, it uses its stealth to confound opponents and catch them unawares. Once the opponent has become disoriented, it flies off into the shadows, never to be seen again.

---

The line is based on the Peppered Moth, which are a famous example of natural selection that has actually been observed and recorded in real-time. The moth originally evolved to camouflage against lightly-colored trees, but a melanic mutation became more genetically favorable during the industrial revolution, when the trees became blackened with soot. After environmental standards were introduced, the white variant became common again. Today both variations can be found, and they are often mistaken for different species!

Plussized-Scribe helped conceptually with the variations/typing, with his own rom-hack in mind. I may add more variations for my own fan project.

I had originally designed Fophid to camouflage with the forest floor, but during my redesign I found out that the peppered caterpillar camouflages itself as a tree branch. I thought that was neat, to I went with that angle instead.

I also added a middle form to make it a better counterpart for the Pareyeva line who use the opposite form of self defense!

Edit: @plus-sizedscribe wrote some really great Pokedex entries for his hack that he allowed me to share here as well:

"Unlike Sewaddle, the leafy bits Fophid sport are not fashion statements, but specialized organs for camouflage. In autumn, their bodies release chemicals to redden the organs and match the foliage.

The base of the headcrest pulls double duty as a third mandible. Thus, Fophid can chew better while also maintaining camouflage, as the shaking of the crest resembles a leaf trembling in the breeze."

"Having secured themselves on a sturdy tree trunk, Impodster steadfastly await evolution. Very little can dislodge these Pokémon, which are nearly helpless if they happen to end up on the ground.

Impodster with poor camouflage are often found with leaves full of holes. These are made by naïve bird Pokémon attempting to carry them away, only to realize they picked almost the worst prey they could."

"Some people claim to have fallen for a person who always wore a long coat, only for their lover to turn out to be a Lepignito. The veracity of these bizarre anecdotes is suspect, to say the least.

Lepignito live in trees whose bark match their wing patterns. They boast different patterns to blend in with the available types of trees in the regions they inhabit. At least 25 different varieties are known."

[writereleaserepeat]

Hear No Evil - Chapter 1

Rowan is an activist with the Pet Liberation Front. He has spent the better part of a decade assisting the cause as a multimedia specialist, but never spends much time with the victims he is so intent on saving. After going undercover as a buyer to capture systemic abuse on camera, he finds a broken boy that steals his heart. Before Rowan knows it, he has a rescue pet at home. Both Rowan and his new houseguest must take steps to heal and adjust to their new normal.

Masterlist

// Chapter 2 (tbd)

CW: bbu, bbu-typical institutional slavery, mention of noncon, noncon touch, sexual and nonsexual nudity, it/its pronouns used to dehumanize

“ID, please.”

Rowan handed over his driver’s license with a smile to the woman behind the counter. Marie, her name tag said, with a smaller typeface beneath that read she/her/hers. A faded cartoon sun sticker was wrapped halfway around the edge of the badge, almost completely covering the familiar WRU logo.

“Mr. Bailey,” she said with a soft smile in return, “welcome to today’s Opportunity Sale. Is this your first time attending one of WRU’s most special events?”

“No, I’ve been before.” 

It was hard to keep his voice level, especially at first. He’d been to dozens of these events around the country, and each was proving to be harder on his spirit than the last. The weight of the phone in his shirt pocket, already recording, weighed him down as much as his words.

Opportunity Sale. He loathed the euphemism. It was a liquidation, a fire sale, a last chance for the souls the institution had broken beyond repair. These so-called pets up for sale today were what WRU considered damaged goods, defective products. These are pets who don’t live up to WRU standards of excellence, they’d say, so we’re offering them at a discount, each sold as-is.

The “defects” varied. Some were marred by years of physical abuse, no longer able to perform the tasks they were trained for as their bodies failed. Others had simply lost their minds, slipped into catatonia, a permanent dissociation that rendered them a husk of the person they’d once been. Sometimes, albeit rarely, there were victims that WRU couldn’t fully break and bend to their whims, pets who were marked by attitude and defiance that no typical buyer would tolerate. Some were simply old, the incessant labor and abuse having weakened their bodies, unable to fulfill their purpose with the grace and ease that was expected.

They called it an opportunity, but It was nothing more than a last-ditch effort to recoup the costs that went into each “product.” Fully breaking a person’s mind took considerable time and money, and a broken pet sold for pennies on the dollar was still better for WRU’s books than a total loss. 

Those pets that weren’t sold before the close of business would be unceremoniously euthanized before the next sunrise. 

“If you’re familiar, then I’ll spare you the usual spiel about how this works,” Marie continued as she ran his ID through the desktop scanner. If she noticed the edge to his voice, she didn’t show it. “But I’ll give you a few reminders, just to refresh your memory. WRU salespersons will be stationed throughout the sales floor, wearing yellow shirts and WRU name tags just like mine. They’re available to answer any questions about merchandise or to help close any sales. We also ask that you refrain from live video or photographs for the privacy of our staff.”

“Got it.” Rowan felt the lie sticky on his tongue. The staff present today would be afforded no privacy, not if he could help it. Their atrocities, their complicity in this system, would soon be aired to the growing world of people who cared. Even this interaction at this front desk would be on tape, ready to share with the world in a matter of days. 

“Wonderful,” Marie said as she handed his ID back with a pamphlet tucked beneath it. “You can find the map of our sales floor in this brochure. Domestic will be in the front right through the double doors, Platonic towards the center, Romantics and all other classifications behind the black curtain on the left. I will say that we’re particularly low on Platonic inventory for this event, so if that’s what you’re after, I’d recommend coming back for next month’s Opportunity Sale. If you’re looking for anything specific, a WRU salesperson would be happy to assist.”

Rowan retrieved his ID and the map out of her hands, and he silently hoped she wouldn’t notice his fingers shaking. 

“Got it, thanks for your help.”

A final smile was all he afforded her before turning to the heavy double doors beyond the entryway. 

As he stepped closer to the threshold of purgatory, a familiar memory rose from the back of his mind. It always did at these places, the familiar sensation overwhelming him as his subconscious dragged him back nearly fifteen years.

---

“Hey, prof, are we there yet?”

Benny’s familiar voice cut sharp through the otherwise low murmur of conversation on the bus. 

“Benny, please,” Professor Engelhardt groaned, exasperation obvious in both her face and her voice. “I would appreciate it if all of our volunteers could act their age. You’ll know when we get there, I promise. In the meantime, try and exercise even a modicum of patience”

Rowan felt Grey squeeze his knee, and when he looked over the other young man gave him a toothy smile.

“For once, the loud-mouth has a point,” Grey said as he stifled a giggle.

“I have to agree,” Rowan agreed as he swallowed a laugh of his own. “It feels like we’ve been staring at nothing but cornfields for the last two hours. Where could we possibly be going this far out of the city?”

“Professor Engelhardt did say it was essential to our training as PLF volunteers, and I know that it’s a requirement for anyone who wants to do investigative work for the PLF. But as far as I know, there’s no WRU facilities out west of the city like this.”

“You’d be correct.”

Rowan looked up as his ears burned in embarrassment, the tired professor looking down at both him and Grey from the aisle. She continued, seemingly unaware of the blush that also tinged Grey’s cheeks. 

“This is a required journey for all volunteers who are looking to take the next step in their PLF activism. We’d rather you each know now whether this kind of environment will be too much for a sensitive stomach. And you’re also correct on a second count, Greyson. We’re not going to any WRU facility, at least not yet. You each have a considerable amount of training ahead of you before you go quite so far.”

By now, Professor Engelhardt’s voice had grabbed the attention of the other volunteers squeezed into the rattling and repurposed school bus. Faces of all ages, from the hopeful university students to the equally tired retirees, were rapt as their chaperone continued. Rowan’s stomach felt like it was doing somersaults as she spoke.

“We’re going to a cattle slaughterhouse. It’s time that you all experience for yourselves what it’s like when blood soaks the floor and all you can hear is screaming and heavy machinery. You need to see what happens when a collection of personal choices and systems meant to harm come together to determine whether something lives, or whether it dies. These aren’t humans, and they can’t speak to you to share their stories, but you’ll have plenty of time to see those horrors with your own eyes as you continue as volunteers. For now, let’s get you accustomed to keeping a straight face amidst the suffering and bloodshed. Given some of your aspirations, that shouldn't be much to ask.”

This time, Grey grabbed Rowan’s hand. Rowan gripped it back until his knuckles turned white.

--- 

That same smell followed Rowan now, the acrid stench he first experienced in the slaughterhouse on that humid August day. It was a lingering copper heavy in the air, a whisper of blood among festering wounds and fluids. WRU certainly tried to cover their tracks, make this place seem welcoming and inviting to the public, hide the litany of abuse that propped the system up. But to Rowan, and to anyone who knew better, there was no hiding the stench of ammonia and waste that clung to skin as much as sweat. These were sins that neither Pine Sol nor bleach could cover.

Rowan pushed through the double doors and entered the sales floor. It was showtime. 

The repurposed warehouse was milling with bodies. There were throngs of buyers meandering between yellow-clad WRU salespeople and black-clad Handlers, some chatting cheerfully while they contemplated buying a living being, others already busying their hands with prodding the “merchandise.” 

Opportunistic buyers hoping to get a pet at a discount came in a few standard flavors. There would be the middle-class families, unable to afford a brand-new pet, but still hoping to score a Domestic that was good enough to help around the house. There were the desperate perverts who were looking to try out a Romantic, see if flesh was better than silicone to get their kicks. And then there were the truly depraved, those hoping that they can find a legal way to torture - and likely murder - a living being without the threat incarceration hanging over their heads.

Rowan was posing as a long-curious buyer who might finally cave and get a Romantic all for himself. He wanted to be charismatic and sure of himself, but prove to be a bit more hesitant when it came to the “merchandise” itself. He was dressed smart, like he had money, but erred towards frugality. This would drum up the sales people, get them to incriminate WRU and its horrors under the guise of a sales pitch, the very thing that would generate sound bytes perfect for the pro liberation materials. 

He started with the Domestics, he always did. They were typically positioned at the entryway, intentionally so, as both the most in-demand and publicly palatable part of the system. Most families and prospective buyers wouldn’t wander past this point of the warehouse, not needing to look any further. 

A few of the victims were kept in cages, others on long leashes for handlers to parade around. It all depended on the state they were in, how well they’d be able to sell themselves as much as the salespeople did. 

“You look like a busy man,” a woman clad in WRU-issued yellow said with a smile in Rowan’s direction. “What do you say about never having to cook for yourself again? What about coming home to clean laundry every day without needing to think about it?” 

“That does sound tempting,” Rowan answered as he slowed to a halt. 

He looked at the man attached to the saleswoman’s lead, a tall and gangly thing, hunched shoulders with a distant look in his eyes. The defect was readily apparent: he was standing and leaning on a pair of forearm crutches, rather than the expected kneeling, because he was missing most of his left leg.

“This is one of our best deals of the day,” she continued her pitch with practiced ease, “I can guarantee you that. A flawless all-around Domestic, with great command responsiveness and attentiveness. It’s perfect for a busy working man or a family with a few kids. We’ve got it marked down today due to an obvious defect with its legs, which means it moves much slower than we’d expect from one of our model Domestics. Likewise, it can’t assume many of the expected kneeling positions, and struggles to move from position to position otherwise. This pet requires a patient owner, but the reward for that patience is a model that otherwise works as expected.”

This man would likely live another day. Rowan couldn’t see many other physical signs of damage beyond the amputation, and so long as this one ended up with someone who kept up with his medical equipment and any other treatments, he’d likely have many more years of service ahead of him. Maybe he’d even live long enough to see the whole damn system dismantled.

Still, it was Rowan’s job today to get incriminating sound bytes and video, so he pressed back. 

“I don’t like how tall it is,” he said, staring at the man who’d tower over him if he wasn’t slouched over his crutches. “I’d hate someone to think it has any kind of authority or power over me. It would be embarrassing in front of guests.”

“Rest assured, this model is fully obedient and appropriately subservient. After nearly a decade of service, there have been zero complaints of defiance or insubordination. Its last owners simply couldn’t bear the aesthetics of a Domestic like this. They’ve left glowing reviews of its service, and had it receive additional training in hand washing and minor repairs of delicate clothes. Really, this is a steal, and it’s more than discounted for the cost of a leg.”

“I understand,” Rowan said. “Still, I’m not a very tall man, and this one is just too much for me to handle. Your pitch is good, though, I’m sure you’ll have someone take it off your hands.”

“Of course, we want to make sure that each customer gets a pet that’s best suited for their needs, even if it is at an Opportunity Sale like this. If you’re interested in a shorter Domestic designation, we’ve got one over there with my colleague Dominic.” She pointed to the far end of the Domestic zone, to a tall man in yellow with a pet in a cage beside him. Rowan swallowed disgust once more.

“I’ll go check it out, thanks.”

And he did. He walked slowly, moving deliberately from side to side so his camera captured everything. This included the sight of a Platonic falling to their knees as an electric collar went off around their neck. The would-be purchaser gave a lecherous smile and ran her hand through the panting pet’s hair once the crackle of electricity faded. There would be no fairy tale ending for that unfortunate soul. 

“I saw my colleague Debbie point you over here,” the WRU employee said as Rowan came within earshot of the cage tied to the warehouse floor. “Do you mind if I give you the sales pitch while you look the merchandise over?”

“Well, the fact you’ve got this one in a crate while the others are out and about isn’t promising,” Rowan tried to lament as he gazed through the bars of the cage.  

“Ah, but that’s part of the story.” Already the salesman was working to weave a tale, and it was one Rowan would listen to with well-practiced feigned interest. The man gestured at the crate with an expression of false sorrow before he continued. 

“This one isn’t in a crate because it’s a danger to you. No, it’s a danger to itself, and only then because it’s so stricken by grief. You see, this pet is from our very first Domestic-Care line of products, the latest from WRU in home-care solutions. Its extended training made it perfect for older buyers looking to have a Domestic with a bit of extra training in handling low-complexity medical equipment like wheelchairs, walkers, shower chairs, stair lifts, and more. It was paired with a loving owner, carried out its tasks dutifully, and went years with a perfect record. All check-ins from WRU were met with glowing reviews. 

“Given the opportunity, it follows routines to a degree of meticulousness few of our pets have a predisposition for. Genuinely, this pet has always been one-of-a-kind. However, its owner passed away from circumstances entirely beyond this pet’s control. It went out of its mind with grief, and no matter how many new homes we’ve placed it in, and no matter the attempts we’ve made to re-train it, it escapes and runs right back to its old master’s home.” 

Even now, Rowan could see the pet searching for the door, their eyes following the flow of people in and out of the sales room. The human feelings were there. They always had been, and Rowan could all but feel the grief himself. That panicked searching for a way out, that desire to run into the arms to the person that this human felt they belonged to. A desperation for a door to an old life, a familiar voice, an expected touch. Grief as manifest through complete brainwashed devotion. 

Rowan knew better by now than to let his emotions seep through onto his face.  

“So, it’s a runaway risk. A certain runaway, in fact.” 

“I wouldn’t say anything with certainty,” the employee said with a nerve-tinged laugh. “In fact, the reason this particular model is on the floor today is with the hopes it connects with someone as deeply as it connected with its first owner. There’s no guarantee of that, we know, but it’s worth the shot. We’re hoping the right person will come along today and help them find peace. In the meantime, we’d recommend a home outfitted with windows that lock, and doors that are equipped with biometric verification that the pet can’t bypass.” 

The only peace this pet would find would be its death later this evening. No one in their right mind would take a runaway, not a casual purchaser, and not even a liberation group. The risk of a successful escape was just far too great.

The pet wouldn’t meet Rowan’s eyes even now, as it returned hunting, searching for the familiar face it was expecting. A face that would never come. There was no solace in knowing that soon, for the faithful at least, pet and owner would be reunited. 

“Unfortunately, I’m not equipped to handle a runaway,” Rowan said as he looked up from the crate with a sigh. “Honestly, I feel like these Domestics have just sidetracked me. I was here to look at the Romantics, really.” 

“Then you’ll want to head right behind that curtain over there,” the man said with a gesture to the tall velvet curtains that cordoned off nearly a third of the warehouse. “There are plenty of additional WRU employees there to help you find a model that’s suitable to your needs.” 

With a nod, Rowan turned to walk towards the curtains. He lingered for a moment, just long enough to stick his fingers through the bars of the cage at his side, a chance to let the pet seek out comfort if they wanted. No touch came, and Rowan walked away with a familiar pang in his heart. He knew by now that he was never going to save them all, not yet, but it didn’t ease the pain. 

Another flash of his ID was all it took to get him through the foreboding curtains. WRU absolutely didn’t want families and reporters seeing this side of the system, after all. The Romantics division might have been the second best-selling of all the WRU models, but it was also the most secretive. There was good reason for that. 

As soon as Rowan passed the threshold he was hit with the thick aroma of sex and fear. There was a more sinister atmosphere in the rooms that existed behind the curtain, air heavy with that adrenaline-twinged sweat of broken pets who were fighting for their lives, some being used live for demonstrations on the sales floor. Even after all this time, Rowan’s stomach wasn’t quite accustomed to it. 

He kept his chest forward and shoulders out. That was the best way for his camera to capture the sights and the sounds, because after all, that was the reason he was here. He wasn’t here to save these victims, as much as he wished that was the case. He was here in the hopes that their suffering would give those that came after them a fighting chance, that airing these atrocities to the world would bring the system to its knees one day.

The first sight that drew his attention was a man cinched to a table, an unusual arrangement for even the most “defective” Romantics. There were already two potential buyers there, hands on the naked pet, touching his body and fondling his genitals. The pet was unflinching, his chest rising and falling steadily, lips giving out soft sighs and moans in a practiced rhythm. 

“I didn’t expect this one to be so popular,” the WRU employee said with feigned exclamation as Rowan meandered over. “But young man, you certainly have good taste. This model is one many once would have believed was unsalable, but here, at the Opportunity Sale, it’s being given a second chance. Not only that, but it’s proving to be the center of attention.” 

‘What’s wrong with it?” Rowan asked bluntly, still surveying the scene. Something had to be wrong, and even his own seasoned eyes hadn’t figured it out yet. The pet’s gaze was unfocused, its body still, just as a Romantic was trained to be unless given the command to engage. 

“Another tragedy, I’m afraid.” The salesperson didn’t sound saddened at all. “There was an incident during its training that left it paralyzed from the mid-back down. This means that, as a Romantic, its functions are limited. It can’t sustain an erection anymore, and it can’t engage in certain types of play. However, it's still just as tight as our standard buyers would expect, and its mouth is an absolute dream. You’d be responsible for the additional care costs of a paralyzed pet, but for someone with limited sexual needs of their own, this model will more than fulfill.” 

At least once each Opportunity Sale, Rowan swore to himself that this was finally the time he was going to be sick on the job. He’d see something so horrific that there was no answer except to choke up bile and spit there on the sales floor. He’d likely out himself as a PLF agent in that same breath - after all, who else would be so concerned about the well being of pets? - but it almost didn’t matter. These horrors were too much to witness, much less bear as the victim was bearing them now. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat. At least that sales pitch would make a great sound byte for the pet liberation materials. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s not what I’m looking for. I’d definitely want one that’s younger and, uh, more mobile.”

“Understandable,” the salesperson said with a nod. “There are plenty of other options here today that might suit your fancy. Feel free to keep browsing, and as always, you’re welcome to ask a WRU employee for any assistance or further direction.”

“Thanks.”

And Rowan did keep browsing. He browsed carefully, angling his chest to capture all of the angles he could, kneeling down to “inspect” pets that were sprawled naked on the floor. The path he took around the Romantics section was methodical. The disabled pets, the catatonic pets, the ones with abuse written on their skin, Rowan tried to capture them all. When he could he gave their hands what he hoped was a squeeze of comfort - possibly the last they’d receive in their too-short lives. 

He was nearly to the back corner, at which point he’d loop around to the front and make a graceful exit, when he saw another Romantic in a crate.

Unlike all the others, this one made Rowan stop in his tracks.

The man in the crate was young, possibly ten or so years younger than Rowan himself. He had a thick hair of black curls and he was looking through the bars of the crate with searching, hopeful eyes. It was almost like he was waiting for something, someone, to notice him. Most of the pets here were defeated, on their last chance at redemption, already chewed up and spit out. Their spirits had been dampened. Somehow, some way, this one was still fighting. 

It was like a thread in his chest pulled Rowan up to the crate. His feet were moving without him commanding them, unlike anything he’d experienced at a sale like this before. He was caught up in something special, something different, about this victim. 

“You have a good eye,” the saleswoman said with a warm smile. “This is possibly one of the best deals we have on the floor today, so long as you’re willing to be a little patient.”

“What’s wrong with this one?” Rowan asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy kneeling almost eagerly behind the bars. 

“Let me start off by saying that this pet is in great physical condition. Not only is it one of the youngest we have here today, it has passed almost all of our physical examinations with flying colors. Its strength, speed, and tactile abilities are within or exceeding our typical parameters. Not only that, but this particular pet has something that is typically reserved for only our most exclusive customers: it has dual training, and is classified as both a Romantic and a Domestic.” 

“That’s not something you typically see at an Opportunity Sale, I suppose,” Rowan pretended to muse. He already knew that what she had said was the truth. Dual-classification pets took many more months of training than single-classification, and it often showed in both the abuses and expenses associated with keeping one. A Dual-classification pet could easily cost as much as a down payment on a house. 

“Exactly why this is such a great opportunity,” the saleswoman beamed. “As a Domestic, it even has specialty training in French cuisine. You’ll be eating like royalty every night if you so please. As a Romantic, its skills and abilities are considered quite standard, with experience in training for light bondage.” 

“So, why aren’t you telling me what’s wrong with it?” 

A sigh. Dramatic, almost despairing. It was an act of practiced sympathy that soured Rowan’s stomach even further. 

“Unfortunately, this one seems incredibly selective with the orders it follows, if it follows them at all. No amount of effort from our most experienced WRU handlers have been able to adequately refurbish it. As I said, its behaviors and capabilities are within or exceeding WRU standards, and it certainly seems eager to please its keepers, but I can make no promises on its compliance with specific commands.”

The boy looked up at Rowan for just a moment before turning his gaze back down. From that brief glance, Rowan wouldn’t have put him a day over twenty-five. But God, he just looked so lost. He didn’t seem lost in the way that many others at the sale today did, that catatonic, too-far-gone glaze over their eyes, the will to live entirely sapped out of them. Instead, it looked like this boy was hunting for something, someone who would notice him, give him attention in return.

Rowan couldn’t help himself. He saw it as a sign that this victim wanted to live, wanted to make it off this floor alive, wanted to connect with any human being that came by and could give him a chance. It was a spark, and against his better judgment, Rowan hoped that he could one day stoke it into a fire. 

“How much?” 

The words left his mouth before he was able to swallow them down. His heart began to race almost instantly: this wasn’t the plan, it was never the plan. He was supposed to get in, take some footage, and get out. He wasn’t trained for anything else. He wasn’t prepared to engage in rescue activities, especially not like this. 

Yet Rowan had never known anything with a certainty such as this: he could not leave here without saving this boy. 

“Wow, you’re won over already?” The saleswoman’s voice was light, but she was already pulling out a clipboard with a stack of paperwork on it. “I haven’t even given you all of its physical details yet. You can’t see quite how tall it is in the crate, can you? Here, let me get you its height, weight, vaccine record, some of its other statistics-” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Rowan managed, almost breathless from the sudden influx of stress. “I want this one. How much?” 

“Because it’s lacking in one of the most essential features of a WRU product, the ability to listen to owner commands, it’s offered at a significant discount. This one is seven thousand and five hundred dollars before tax, and the seven percent state and local sales tax will be applied at checkout. We also have optional add-ons, like the pet care package that insures all well-being visits, vaccines, and dental care at any WRU-sponsored pet clinics, as well as training class vouchers to impart additional skills.” 

Rowan had already retrieved his wallet from his pocket, fingers trembling as he pulled out his ID and method of payment. That was a lot of money, yes, but who was he to put a price on a life? His car could hang on another few years, probably. Maybe. It was just money, he’d be fine. 

“I’ll take the base package. I don’t need anything else.” 

The rest of the sales floor became distant, dull, and Rowan took the pen into his hand as the saleswoman shoved a pile of paperwork in his direction. Tomorrow morning, she said, this boy would be delivered to his front door. Initial on this line, sign here, what’s today’s date? It was a blur and Rowan was hardly aware of what his own hands were doing. 

He couldn’t hear her over the thundering of blood in his ears, and the rush of adrenaline made it hard to steady the pen in his hand. He penned his signature on the final line and the saleswoman congratulated him with words he could hardly make out. It didn’t feel real, like he was walking through a dream. 

Rowan was going to be a pet owner. 

---

The din of conversation in the massive room almost overcame the incessant ringing in the pet’s ears. Not much was capable of drowning it out these days, not since it had become so loud. It never stopped, anymore. 

It couldn’t hear the words that were exchanged all around it, those busy groups of people moving back and forth, their legs passing its crate by without stopping. It had a hard time hearing words, no matter how hard it tried, and whether it was somewhere busy like this or otherwise. It wanted to be good, it wanted to listen, it wanted to make its master and its handlers pleased. But the pet couldn’t do that anymore, and deep in its gut, it knew that’s why it was here today. It was here with all the other pets that were broken, that were missing things, that cried when they were brought into the room this morning. Those pets were bad, and the handlers had no trouble saying as much.

The pet wanted to believe it wasn’t like those broken pets. That it would go back to Master, or have a new master, and be able to please them like a good pet should. But for that to happen it had to be on its best behavior. Handler Green had said so, that the pet would be thrown out if it didn’t try its very best to listen and be good. Handler Green had shouted this over and over, as though the pet was being disobedient just by existing, rather than unable to hear him. It didn’t want to be disobedient, and it wished that the handlers didn’t have to repeat themselves so much. It wished it could hear right, like the other pets were able to.

A pair of legs stopped beside the crate, toes pointed towards the yellow-shirt woman that wasn’t a handler, but the pet was told to behave for nonetheless. The pet looked up, eager to see who might be interested, perhaps someone who wanted it. The man’s eyes met the pet’s, and it quickly averted its gaze back towards the ground, cheeks burning. It was a novice mistake to make eye contact with a person like that. If it didn’t get itself under control, remember its training and very best manners, the pet knew that it was destined to fail. 

Maybe it was a broken pet after all. It certainly had the bruises and scarring from seemingly endless corrections by handlers, anyway. 

Those legs finally walked away and a blanket was thrown over the top of the pet’s crate. It yelped in spite of itself as the darkness descended. Did this mean that it had failed? Was that single glance enough to seal its fate, destined it to never have another Master to serve, no second chance to prove itself? Was this the end - alone, in the dark, unable to hear anything but the shrill ringing that had become its only companion? 

I want to be good, it thought to itself, tears splashing down from its watering eyes to its knees. Its fists balled up, hands shaking from the sadness and the longing. I just want to be good.

---

Taglist (please ask if you would like to be added or removed, I know it's been a while :))

@honey-is-messi @octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @squishablesunbeam @tragedyinblue

@clairelsonao3 @den-of-evil @cepheusgalaxy @aswallowimprisoned @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

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@dislexiher @cc1010foxy @onlybadendings @panstardalia @tempoghast

@dokidokisadness @anonfromcanada @starfields08000 @bloodredfountainpen @pumpkin-spice-whump

[vixensbrainrotts]

Happy Birthday, lover — Manjiro <Mikey> Sano

Content: specialty post

Tropes: established relationships, it‘s readers birthday, kind of a continuation of the ‚Committed to you‘ series

Summary: it‘s your birthday! Let‘s see what your darling lover has in store for you once you get home…

Vixen‘s two cents: Hello hello hello! This is a special piece because guess what? It’s @anahryal ‘s b-day!!!! Happy birthday moot, hope you‘re treated well, and all the best for the coming year! Anyway, i was a little unhappy with this, i cant do half as much as i usually can cause im like really sick right now (its stunting all my intelligence) so yeah, sorry if this isn’t up to standard… either way, happy birthday and enjoy!!!

Mikey had never really put much effort into anything, things just had a tendency of coming to him. But for this, for today he had planned in and out, checked up and down to make sure that everything was working out.

In terms of gifts he learned to be resourceful. From checking your perfumes to see which ones you were running low, on to crossing the ethical boundary of snooping into your journal to check the “wanted” list of items you fancied.

He double checked with your best friend for your favorite type of flowers and even attended a Mitsuya-special baking course to personally make you a cake.

It was a struggle and a half to try and time the whole thing right, between grocery store runs to get the supplies and decorations to somehow getting you out the house to hopefully set everything up.

Now he sat at the kitchen counter, completely winded and waiting for your arrival back. He had everything done and dusted, and was just eagerly awaiting your arrival.

When he heard your car pull up into the driveway, he snapped out of little phase and brushed off the dress shirt he had put on earlier, breaking into a quick jog towards the living room where he had set everything up.

There were garlands hung across the room, and the coffee table had been turned into a gift display table. A large bouquet was placed in the center, wrapping paper and gift bags coordinated to match the floral display.

The cake was placed on the formal dining table, two sets of dishes, glasses and utensils set out for the both of you to dine on later.

Mikey’s eyes drifted over everything once more, and widened once they spotted an unlit candle on top of the fire place. That’s right, he had bought a specific candle for today, one he had found when shopping for ingredients for the cake. It caught his eye, and when he gave if a big sniff, the scent didn’t seem too bad either.

With a smile on his face, he grabbed the candle and pulled a lighter from his back pocket. The lighter was yours, he noted, looking down at the pretty pink plastic as he lit the ‘birthday cake’ candle. Fitting.

He heard your keys jingle in the lock and caught himself almost giggling as he made a quick pace to meet you at the door.

“Majiro! I’m home!” You called out, voice rather cheerful (seemingly in a good mood, Mikey said a quick prayer thanks). You turned around to face the door when hanging up your coat, unaware of your darling husband creeping up behind you.

Slowly, Mikey approached and waited for the right moment to strike. “Mikey?” You called again, just about to turn around when a pair of hands were clasped across your face, shrouding your vision.

“AHH!”

Your hands flew to your face, grabbing at those that held your eyes shut, a bit more than derailed as your scrambled to gain recognition. You were about to scream again when your fingers found and felt the very familiar ring that donned the left hand over your face.

“Mikey?” You said, entirely confused as you finger the ring again to confirm your suspicions.

“Hey baby.” His voice mumbled into your ear, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Manjiro what are you-?” You started, but felt him push you forward to walk, taking baby steps towards what you thought to be the living room.

“Trust me.” He spoke as he guided you towards somewhere within your shared home. “Alright..” you trailed off, now smiling a little unsurely yourself.

You allowed him to push you towards somewhere, giggling a little as he chose this to be a good moment to place tiny little pecks down your neck and nape.

“Mikey shouldn’t you be focusing on where we’re going or-“ you smiled as you held his hands. “Nah don’t worry baby, we’re here anyway.”

In an instant he pulled his hands away to reveal your living room, decked out and dressed to the nines, a cute display set up, just for you. “Happy birthday sweets!”

“Oh my gosh, Jiro…” you turned around to look at him. “You did this all for me?” You looked at the display, seeing the flowers and the gifts all daintily wrapped.

“Yeah… i mean why wouldn’t I? I had the day off anyway, so I figured I should do something sensical, especially cause it’s your special day, right?”

(That’s a lie, he groveled on his knees to one of his coworkers to switch shifts and spent half of his overtime to get today off.)

“Manjiro…” You turned to look at him again, eyes glossing over with emotion. “Thank you…” you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Anything for you.” He hugs you back and nuzzles into your hair, swaying you lightly from one side to the other. “Now please babes let’s eat the cake, I’ve been resisting it since I got done with it.” He pulled away with a wide grin.

“You made me a cake?!” You gasped in delight as you looked at the beautifully decorated delicacy that sat on the dining table. „Yeah, you dont want to know what i went through to get it right…“ Mikey trailed off remembering the many, many failed attempts at cake that Mitsuya had to coach him through.

„Oh my goodness Mikey… this is, i- thank you so much!“ You preached to him again. „Alright now, how about you open those gifts so that you can thank me more and then eat cake together?“ He had a twinkle in his eye as he pushed you towards the gifts with a hand placed on the small of your back, giving you an encouragement to progress further into the room.

„Open this one first!“ he plucked one of the bags from the display and thrust it in your hands, sitting himself on the couch in neat anticipation. „Alright…“ you smiled at him and pulled the topper paper from the bag, revealing… „Manjiro! How did you know?“ your voice sounded even more cheerful than he had anticipated, and the mini-Mikey inside his head did a celebration dance.

„Well, i know you love those crafty things, especially the knitty gritty things that i cant wrap my head around… You know, i wanted to make you a heart out of those yarns that you always use to decorate that bag, but after trying and failing about a million times, i figured i should leave it to the professionals… also you wouldn‘t shut up about fluffy yarn so…“ he monologued to you as you scanned the insides of the bag, pulling out the colorful yarn.

„And baby, i was thinking, for all my hard work and cause you love me and all such wonderful things that you could maybe, just maybe, and hear me out on this… make me one of those delightful scarves you‘ve been making for all your friends but not me??? Preferably not in pink though, ill take a red one instead.“

You giggled heartily and pulled him into another hug. „Of course i will, it‘s only fair, right? Yarn is like, super expensive so yeah, i wouldn’t mind giving back…“ you smiled at him and pulled away with a quick peck to his cheek, to which he cradled his face with a bashful expression.

All these years that you spent together, as friends, as lovers, as a couple, as fiancée’s and now… married… No matter how much time would pass, Manjiro knew that he had found everything he wanted in you, and he‘d be damned to let it go.

[depressopax]

BrBa/BCS characters on Valentine's day

Fandom - Breaking Bad/Better call Saul

Happy valentine's day to everyone that celebrates! Shout out to my single fellows, same bestie 🫶

Pairing: Mike Ehrmantraut - Nacho - Jimmy - Kim - Jesse - x gender neutral reader Genre: Fluff, headcanons Warning(s): Cheesy af lmao. User is gender neutral (they/them and referred to as partner) Words: 900 Summary: How do the BrBa/BCS characters celebrate valentines together with reader? English is not my main language, if I make any spelling mistakes please let me know so I can improve my writing! <3 AO3 link soon

How do the BrBa/BCS characters celebrate valentines together with reader?

Mike

Mike doesn’t really get the idea of valentine's day, when he can be affectionate any other day.

Probably the one who scoffs at couples that exaggerates valentines day with expensive gifts etc (same Mike, same)

Double standard king, he’d do just that, just to see you all happy when he surprises you

Probably cringes at himself, but your reaction to his affection makes it worth it

If you like celebrating valentines, then so does he.

Mike will take you out to a fancy restaurant and make sure you feel special

Also make sure he has the day free so he can spend it with you.

But this is nothing unique, this man treats every day like a valentine's day and takes all opportunities to spoil you. 

When you give him a gift too, he’s rather surprised.

He’s not used to receiving gifts and having someone spend money on him “You didn’t need to” meanwhile he smiles like an idiot

The day is spent with dinner, cinema or maybe both? 

Of course he has more plans for later, too. 🤭

Nacho

Same with Nacho, he’s not that fond of Valentine's Day, especially all the cheesy annoying couples that make such a big deal out of it.

He thinks it’s ridiculous to only show affection and give gifts to his partner once a year, he does so every opportunity he gets (which is often, homeboy got no limits when it comes to you 💀)

But of course, he will make a big deal out of it when it comes to you.

He buys you roses and some gift but feels really awkward about it

Which quickly changes when he sees your happy reaction. 

When you give him a gift too he probably plays it cool

Meanwhile he melts on the inside. 

He loves you and the thought of you spending money on him makes him flustered “What did I do to deserve them?” He thinks as he looks at you in admiration.

He takes you out for a date and then takes you to his place iykwim ;)

Jimmy

Honestly? He has two moods: 1. Planning valentine’s day weeks ahead 2. Forgetting about it and panicking about it when waking up on february 14. 

He spoils you with gifts and dates any other day, but he still likes celebrating valentine's day with you.

So he feels really bad if he forgets about it, which he did today lmao

He woke up early in the morning, feeling like he had forgotten something.

Homeboy rushed out of bed to get to the store early to buy gifts

He doesn’t give a fuck it all fancy restaurants are fully booked for the night, he wants to take you there and wont give up.

Somehow finds a way to get a seat for the two of you at the restaurant

He picks you up and drives to the restaurant, making sure you have the best day ever. 

But knowing him, you can sense he forgot about what day it was.

You don’t mind, though. 

Of course, you give him a gift too, just to watch him blush when he receives it lmao

After a perfect date, he has plans for when you go back to his/your place. He wants to thank you for the valentines gift, after all. 😼

Kim

Kim loves you more than anything, but her job takes up lot of the time which she wants to spend with you

She doesn’t get the opportunity to take you on spontaneous dates, nor does she like it.

Kim wants to plan the perfect dates when it comes to you

Valentine's day is her way to “make it up” to you by really showing her love and affection to you

She plans it months ahead, with booking a table at a fancy restaurant, buying a thoughtful gift, and making sure she has nothing work-related planned, so she can spend the day with you, and only you. 

She buys some thoughtful gift for you, maybe some jewelry, roses or chocolate etc

She doesn’t expect something back but when you hand a gift to her, she feels so appreciated.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a “bad” gift, she’ll love it either way and keep the gift close to her all the time, knowing it’s from you. 

Kim makes sure you have the best date of your life, doing everything to make you smile and enjoying every second with you. 

The valentines celebration ofc continues at her place ;)

Jesse

Though he would never admit it, Jesse LOVES valentines day.

Whenever he goes into stores with valentines decorations and gifts, he gets the urge to buy something

Spoiler alert: His impulse wins.

On February 14, he probably has at least done 10 impulse purchases to give you

“You got something for me?”“Of course, idiot” He smiles as you give him the gift he didn’t expect (but was hoping for)

Jesse looking at you with so much love in his eyes, grateful to have someone like you.

He takes you for a perfect, cheesy date. 

He doesn’t like awkward dinner dates, so he ends up taking you to an amusement park or takes you for a romantic picnic, preferably when it’s dark outside. 

He def dresses up nicely too, even if you guys end up at some amusement park or a not so fancy pizzeria lmao

When back at his place, he’s prepared with lights shut off, lighted scented candles and romantic music, just like he’s seen in cheesy movies

You can probably guess the rest. 🤭

This was cheesy af loll, but I wanted to post something fun and valentine's day inspired!

[ladamedusoif]

Family (Din Djarin x F!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 25

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications!

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count: 1903

Rating: Teen

Warnings: No physical description of reader; no use of Y/N; set after S3 of The Mandalorian; references to illness

Aliit ori’shya tal’din - Family is more than blood (Mandalorian proverb)

***

Din doesn’t get sick. Injured, sure. But sick? Never.

The strange, fuzzy feeling in his head is just a headache, he reasons to himself as he potters around the house, back early from a job and waiting for you to return from collecting Grogu from school in the town. You’ve been helping them out for a few months now, taking care of housekeeping and looking after the little boy when his father is away or busy during the day. 

Din likes having you around. In the beginning, he’d leave almost as soon as you arrived at their cabin, having travelled from the nearby farm you lived on with your widower father. But now, he lingered. He was glad when you suggested coming by on days when he was there, to help show him the basics of managing the household. He would never admit it, but he missed you when you went home in the evenings.

He pours a glass of water and tries to focus, bringing his hand to his forehead and being surprised to find it cold and clammy, even though he feels like he’s on fire. 

He can’t be sick, though. Not him. He sips the water and promptly splutters it back out as his body is racked with a hacking cough.

He can hear you and Grogu chattering as you approach the house. A few deep breaths and sips of water, and his helmet is back on before you’ve even opened the door.

***

It had become a habit to stay after picking Grogu up from school, to help out with preparing the main meal for him and Din. Din appreciates your help - he tells you how much he’s learned from you, and how much he still needs to know. 

Today, you stand side by side at one of the worktops peeling vegetables and chopping them into bite-size chunks to accompany the meat that’s cooking nicely in the oven, filling the little cabin with its aroma. You look over to see how Din is getting on, and are struck by the fact that his chopping is a far cry from its usual even, meticulous standard.

More worryingly, you’re sure you can hear him wheezing through his modulator. He’s leaning heavily on the worktop, as if for fear he’ll fall. 

“Din? Are you okay?”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine. It’s just a headache.”

No sooner has he resumed his work than a horrible, hacking cough has him bent double, gasping under his helmet. Even Grogu is scared - you can see it in his big dark eyes as he drops his toys and runs to comfort his beloved father.

“That’s not a headache, Din. You’re sick.”

The Mandalorian grips the edge of the counter and hauls himself up to his full, imposing height, Grogu still clinging to his leg. “I am not sick. I don’t get sick.”

You toss your knife on the chopping board. “Are Mandalorians somehow special, that they don’t get a simple cold, now and again?”

He does that exasperated sigh you’ve heard too often.

“Alright, Din. You’re not sick. But tell me how your body feels, being not-sick.”

That sigh.

“My head feels a little fuzzy. I have this slight cough. That’s it.”

“No fever?”

He shakes his head again, and you spot him tightening his grip on the counter. “I am fine. Now, can we please make some dinner?”

***

You tend to eat outside, on the veranda, if you’re eating with Din and Grogu. It means he can take off his helmet and eat comfortably, without revealing his face to someone outside his family.

You eat the last of your vegetables and survey the little garden the clan of two have cultivated, with your help. A little pond, a vegetable patch, even some desert flowers that bloom happily in the dry, sandy soil. 

A proper home for the little family, you muse. From what your father and Karga had told you about Din and Grogu’s past, you knew they deserved this little sanctuary.

Your reverie is shattered by the sound of distressed noises coming from inside the cabin - Grogu, babbling in panic and crying out with fear. You drop your bowl and are about to race inside when you stop, remembering that Din may well have his helmet off. 

“I’m coming in. Din? Just giving you fair warning.”

No answer. Just more frightened coos and what sounds like metal scraping on the floor.

“Din?”

Still nothing.

“Grogu? Is it okay for me to come in?”

The door to the cabin opens and the child races out and flings himself into your arms, pointing back into the house and babbling something in his curious mix of Basic and Mando’a about his father.

You understand as soon as you enter. 

There, on the floor of the kitchen, his helmet barely on, lies an unconscious Din Djarin.

***

With the help of Grogu’s powers, you lift Din and move him to his bed, still unresponsive. Din is definitely breathing, thankfully, but there’s a crackling wheeze in his chest that scares you as you manoeuvre his broad body onto the mattress.

If it was anyone else you’d be taking his temperature and preparing cold compresses for his brow. But this is a Mandalorian, one who takes his creed very seriously, and even the prospect of exposing Din’s chest feels like a violation.

When his body starts to tremble, despite the blankets you’ve pulled over him, you take an executive decision.

“Grogu?” He looks up at you from his spot beside his sick father on the bed. “I’m going to open up your dad’s shirt, just a little. I need to hear his breathing and try to cool him down. I’m not going to hurt him.”

With a coo and a nod he confirms that he understands. You expose just enough of Din’s broad chest to assess his temperature, the clammy, hot skin while Din continues to shiver proof of the severity of the fever. 

Grogu places his little hand on his father’s chest, eyes wide with fear and concern. He can heal many injuries, but the Force is no match for whatever virus or infection is raging through Din’s system. 

“We’re going to make your buir all better, I promise. Can you help me with that?”

He nods and hops off the bed, following you into the kitchen where you fill some bowls with cold water and find rags to make cold compresses. Grogu watches attentively as you place the damp cloths on Din’s chest, rising and falling with each shallow breath. 

“Now, you need to stay here and keep the cloths on his chest, okay? I’m going to try to make up some medicine to help make him all better.”

Before she died, your mother had taught you a few simple herbal remedies that could be easily prepared in advance, dried, and carried with you, in case of emergency. “Bacta is a wonderful thing,” she’d counseled, “until you find yourself in the middle of nowhere with a fever.”

You retrieve the little vials of dried herbs from your bag and set some water to boil, ready to make the infusion. The liquid turns an ominous purple colour as the herbs brew, and you can’t help but chuckle as you imagine how Din would react if you presented him with this in the whole of his health.

When the medicine has cooled enough to be administered, you return to Din’s simple, neat bedroom, where Grogu is dutifully pressing the cloths to his father’s chest. You praise him effusively, showing him how to wring out the cloths and make them colder again.

As you prop Din up on the pillows, you realise that you aren’t going to be able to give him the special medicine as you would anyone else. Gingerly, you push back his helmet just enough to expose his mouth.

You pause for a moment as you realise this is the most you’ve ever seen of the Mandalorian. Seeing the open expanse of his golden, battle-scarred chest and the peek of his jaw somehow seems more intimate than if Din was lying here completely naked. His mouth is pink and plush, and you are surprised to realise that Din has a moustache, as well as a patchy beard, of sorts. You push away the temptation to peek further, as well as the desire that’s rising inside you.

“Help me give your buir this medicine, Grogu. Can you keep his helmet at this angle for me?”

The little boy is only too keen to help, and you slowly, steadily, feed Din the mixture you hope will heal him.

***

Other than changing the water and the compresses, you do not move from Din’s side all night. Grogu falls asleep on his father’s chest, and you scoop him up and bring him to bed, placing a little kiss to his fuzzy scalp as you tuck him into his cot. He coos sleepily in appreciation.

You are waiting for Din’s fever to break, the turning point in any illness like this. If it doesn’t happen tonight, you’ll need to seek a medic in the morning. 

His helmet is still up slightly, and you study the line of his jaw, the little divot in his lower lip, the dark hair of his moustache. You trace the scars on his body, wondering about the stories behind each one, feeling a simultaneous sense of relief that he is still here and dread at the prospect of this man being wounded - or worse - in the future.

In the darkest hours of the night, with Din’s breathing still heavy and laboured, you find yourself reaching for his hand: running your fingertips over his broad palm and thick fingers before holding it gently, willing the herbal mixture to do its work. He is all Grogu has, after all. He is his entire family, and vice versa. 

And what are you?, asks a little voice inside you. Is this your clan, too?

You have pressed your lips to the back of his hand before you realise what you’re doing.

***

His stirring wakes you to the half-light of early morning, your hand still wrapped around his.

“Din?”

He tries to sit up, reaching in panic to adjust his helmet when he realises how much of his face is exposed.

“Din, take it easy…” You press your hand to his chest and sigh with relief as you realise his temperature is normal.

“What…why - what happened?”

“You were sick, had a bad fever - you’ve been out since yesterday afternoon.”

“I don’t get sick.”

You roll your eyes and chuckle. “Yes, you do. Hate to break it to you.”

You swear you can hear a huffed laugh from under his helmet.

“Din, I… I’m sorry for opening your shirt, lifting the helmet - I had to, it was the only way to help. I only saw part of your jaw, but… I’m so sorry.”

To your surprise, he reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m grateful. You didn’t have to stay here.”

I wanted to take care of you. I want to take care of you. I need to take care of you.

“I couldn’t have left you. Anyway, what would we - I mean, what would Grogu do without you?”

Another gentle squeeze of your hand.

“What would I do without you, cyare?” 

[existslikepristin]

Unexpectedly busy week, that was. Except today. Today I got home and ate ice cream

Only two options in the poll this time! Is there a secret reason?! Yes, it's because I didn't have any more ideas The poll is only going to be available for 24 hours, because I should be able to get the next part up tomorrow!

Tags: NSFW, S.M.U.T., genie, microtransactions???

(Story Index)

Anime Girls

"I wish for a harem of anime girls!" you blurt out before you can think.

Joy appears mildly shocked for a moment, but then she gives you a wry smirk. "Look at you, making a wish like that. You perverted weeb."

You frown and put up a finger of protest, but Joy quickly continues, "I know. I know. You're not the first of your kind I've come across, master. Being a weeb is an honored profession nowadays, and you're all special because of your unique waifu and/or husbando selection(s). I know the drill."

The air around you seems to contract and expand simultaneously, and everything in your line of sight briefly tints green. Except, that is, for Joy herself. Even as space bends in front of your very eyes, causing no small amount of queasiness to knot about in the pit of your stomach, Joy remains on the table, sitting up with the same smooth grace she has continuously displayed up to this point and only looking as green as usual, which isn’t all that green, really.

And then it's over. The air feels normal again, and your standard color vision has returned.

"Was that the wish?" you ask.

"Sure was!"

You look around. Nothing has changed. You see no anime girls. Not even your waifu (though, considering Joy told you she can't read your mind, you're not sure how she would have known to pick her). "So, where's the harem?"

"I figured you wouldn't be able to list each and every anime girl you've ever wanted to fuck."

Joy pauses. After a few seconds you say, "That's not a useful explanation."

"Oh. Right. Check your phone."

"My phone?" you inquire, as you reach down to take your phone from the pocket of your discarded shorts.

"Yup! I've noticed that most weebs are very heavily invested in their own tropes, which I appreciate, as you can imagine. And one of the more common tropes in harem anime I've seen is that the protagonist controls some aspect of the world around them with a supernaturally-powered smartphone."

You tap your phone out of sleep mode. "So, I have a phone… harem?"

"No, master. You have a magic app that summons anime girls into your presence, all of which are suspiciously and sexually attracted and devoted to you, of course. This will make your harem as weebly wobbly as you can possibly get!"

You exit your phone's internet browser, where, obviously, you had been reading existslikePristin fanfics, and go to your home screen. A new app does a little inflation animation to let you know of its location. The icon is a silhouette of a lithe woman on a green, circular background, and is not labeled. You tap to open it. There is no waiting on load time. You're immediately taken to a very cluttered generic fantasy town isometric view, with bubbles of text all over the place. You think the text might be Sumerian.

"It's a mobile gacha game!" Joy looks and sounds far too proud of herself. "And with my special djinnfluencer promo code, you get one thousand free shards! And that's not all! You get ten free spins, five billion gold coins, and double daily rewards for the first week!”

Options:

Okay, that was exceptionally dumb. Ask if there’s a way to undo a wish.

Whatever. A harem’s a harem. Figure out this app and summon an anime girl.

[houseofbrat]

Today is 28 February 2024. There is one day left in this month because it's leap year.

William has done less than ten engagements for the year. He's not going to reach double digits by tomorrow. Wimpy William hasn't worked "full time" since last December before the kids got out of school.

It's Wednesday, and as of this writing, The King with cancer has done more work this week than William. Because King Charles met with PM Sunak today while William was at home sucking his thumb.

Did William travel to Namibia last week for the funeral of former President Hage Gottfried Geingob? Nope. Is funeral duty part of the heir to the throne's job? Yup. But we all know that The Will & Kate Cult will tell you it isn't because William is never to blame for anything. Because Princess Anne will take up the slack and do her nephew's job when she should have been attending a rugby match with her husband. Because Anne is a chip off the ol' block, aka Philip, while William is proving himself to be more and more Spencer with every day that goes by.

All you have to do is look at all the excuses made by The Will & Kate Cult when it came to William's comments at the BAFTAs. William admitted he hardly had seen any of the nominated films, even though most if not all were released in theaters and available via streaming before the nominations were announced.

Oh, but then the complaint was that Prince Philip and Princess Anne didn't watch all the nominated films each year when they were presidents of BAFTA either. Guess what? Streaming wasn't available back then. Philip was president from 1959 to 1965 while Anne was president from 1973 to 2001. Guess what? When Philip was president, he would have had to see a movie/film in the theater or by special request at Buckingham Palace. Availability by VHS wasn't necessarily a thing for the first part of Anne's presidency because most films didn't come out on VHS until more than six months after they were out of the theater. When Batman (1989) was released on VHS in the same year of its initial release prior to Christmas, it was a HUGE deal. It was still playing in theaters when it was released on VHS, which was considered a quick release. DVDs didn't start being prominent until the end of Anne's presidency.

But really it brings it back to Anne and Philip being either president or patron of tens or hundreds of organizations, which neither Will nor Kate are. Will and Kate have said that they aren't going to do the ceremonial-type thing and would instead be more "involved" with their patronages, which--if people actually stop and think about it--is why most people assume William has an interest in film beyond meeting Tom Cruise. Except he clearly doesn't.

But then The Will & Kate Cult want William to be judged by the same standard as those who actually work in the film industry. Because they complained that even those who work in the film industry don't see 100% of the movies. Interesting how the standard always changes according to The Will & Kate Cult. There are people within AMPAS, who will be voting for Robert Downey Jr. for Best Supporting Actor for Oppenheimer, who haven't seen that film. And you know what? They're allowed to. Because they may have worked with him in the past. Or they might have voted for him before when he was nominated for Best Actor for Chaplin when he was up against heavy weights such as Denzel or Pacinao. But, you know, AMPAS members actually work in the industry, unlike The Prince of Wales who has a different job that he doesn't seem all that intent on doing.

But we're not supposed to mention that because William puts his "family first." Or whatever the new excuse is. The last one was "personal matter." Uh huh.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

The Storer of Storer & I

Prologue

He rotted my brain in 24 hours, starting on 12-31-23 while I was getting ready to go celebrate New Year's Eve with my friends and keeping The Bear S1 in the background, only really really tuning in for eps 1, 7 and 8. The rest at that point was what I considered great nonetheless, but still just kept it on in the background because I was running late. By the next day, I ended up starting this year with a massive hangover, collapsed on a sofa, and not being able to move, so I had no other choice but to watch the entirety of S2 back to back to back. It was over by then. I was a hopeless case. I had to do a full re-watch right then and there. The first of many. I was not only hooked but also fully and devastatingly BRAINROT.

The Honeymoon phase

I tried to understand him because loving is knowing, right?

This was before S3 happened, so I went all in because I wasn't jaded by his slow-burn tactics, at that point, and because Calo was still our red string of fate that brought us together and kept us together.

So, I plunged into his waters and swam, I swim IRL, so it wasn't hard:

And then some more, right after S3 came out because I was on the fence, the love/hate relationship that I now have with him was starting to bloom and thus, our honeymoon phase was about to come to its end, but not quite so yet, so I defended his name when everyone wanted his head on their wall:

The "Love to hate you" phase (Yes, Erasure is always relevant)

Then I tried to do a full re-watch of S3, and I COULD NOT. I still can't. He broke me. I haven't been able to yet. I could only do a re-watch of the scenes that I consider more crucial, and then cross-reference them with those that IK are related to them, from previous seasons. But that's it. Our honeymoon phase is soooooo over! And Calo is being missed. CALO COME THE FUCK BACK ASAP! YOU MAKE STORER BETTER AT THIS!

BUT

This hell he put me through gave me even more objectivity in analyzing his work. So, OK, I'll take it.

I mean is not like I wasn't objective before, I definitely was and that's how I could predict like 90% of his moves this past season:

Truthers, have mercy

The catch is that, even during this love/hate phase, I still totally understand him, I can see where he comes from and maybe even, guess where he's going.

Just like when I only loved him to pieces, I guess that's because I still admire him and in my book, there can't really be love unless there's admiration. I can do respect - like Richie - I can play nice and even help in whatever way I can, sure! Because for me none of those things require LOVE, that's the bare minimum for me, that's my default behavior unless you REALLY AND UTTERLY FUCK WITH MY PATIENCE. But LOVE, love is a different thing, I can only love those I admire and look up to and inspire me. Storer, even at his worst, checks all those boxes. His basement level is most people's rooftop.

So I guess I still love him and that's why I could appreciate his work even when I hated him at times while he tortured me with it. Mostly because I saw it coming, so I had braced myself for it but also, because beneath that THICK LAYER of hatred, there's still love and admiration for his work.

What are we? Where is this relationship going, Chris?

Neither of us knows for sure because he's basically the Zodiac killer, but what I do know is that by trying to see HIM as he is, which is what he expresses in his body of work, like any artist, obviously, and not trying to see him as I wish he was or project onto him my wishful thinking about his work, I can still understand him, no matter how much I wanna slap him half the time (the other half I wanna french kiss him).

I can still get his symbolism pretty well, I think:

He speaks a legendary, mythological, archetypical language.

I can still maybe get what he's trying to do here I guess:

Carmy's breakthrough

Their crying game

The Sydcarmy crisis

My 3 favest

The Loop

The tree

Purpose, chef!

The trap

BOH vs FOH

The margins

The keepers of the weather

Yeah, right!

C's reverse psychology

His erotic transference

She's been part of the family since Bolognese

Carmy is a hypocrite

Follow the legend NOT the Sonet because Shakespeare is a trap

Fairest Creatures

The Biyi birds

No table YET

Paupiette of Hamachi with blood orange sauce

So I guess that's where we are at right now. I'm still playing his waiting game. I already know his rules. I know what to expect from him. And no matter how much I hate him, I still love him. BUT I WANT CALO BACK ASAP, this is not working out without her.

No intimacy

Imbalance

So... That's our story and it hasn't come to an end yet.

But when it does, I know exactly what that breakup is gonna look like. It's most likely gonna be on good terms:

The Bear's Legacy

Except he plays the Lalaland card: (sorry there's no link for my own RB notes on my own posts bc Tumblr sucks!)

In which case I will get on the first plane to wherever in the world he is and really slap him. Worst breakup of my life.

But I hope it doesn't come to that. I still trust him. Even when I hate him.

IDK...

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs

[rrlexchange]

"HOW ONE PAIR OF RRL DENIM JEANS MAKES IT FROM A COTTON FIELD TO YOUR CLOSET" - by Ikhtier Rustamov

When Ralph Lauren founded Double RL in 1993, he was inspired by the heritage of the American West and the train-hopping, steer-wrangling, gold-panning men who helped to settle it. “It’s not fashion, it’s real stuff,” Ralph has been known to say about the line in the years since. Nothing better embodies that uniquely American quality than a pair of blue jeans (made in the first place for the hard-wearing needs of miners and cowboys). American made jeans have always been a staple in the Double RL wardrobe, but the jeans made with the “East-West” denim, which crosses the globe in pursuit of perfection, just may be the gold standard. Here’s how a single pair comes together.

All denim is made from cotton, but not all cotton is created equal: the material can vary vastly in quality depending on where it’s sourced. RRL’s East-West denim is fabricated using premium grade cotton harvested in the state of Tennessee. The crop that grows there is renowned for its extra long, uneven fibers. When eventually spun and woven, that will translate into denim that’s supremely resilient, with a unique texture that sets it apart from the pack.

From Tennessee, the cotton is flown across the ocean to Japan. To Okayama, specifically, a city that is to denim what Memphis is to the blues. Today, some of the world’s best American denim is made in Japan, where a centuries-old tradition for indigo-dying and fabric weaving is combined with a dedication to maintaining and using vintage narrow shuttle looms which were largely dispensed with half a century ago. In the 1900s, all denim was made on these narrow shuttle looms: slow, noisy, and costly to maintain these looms created a narrow fabric with low-tension, resulting in strong and dynamic denim, rich in texture and finished on either end with a closed selvedge edge. By the 1950s, the fabric had grown so popular that most factories switched to more efficient air-jet looms, creating more product, faster, cheaper and at a lower quality.

To create our East-West denim, we partnered with a small Okayama denim mill that is a standard-bearer in a nearly lost art. The long-staple cotton is deftly ring-spun into a soft, lofty yarn, and rope dyed a red-blue shade of indigo inspired by jeans from the 1930s. Spun and dyed, the yarn is finally woven into bolts of fabric on wooden hanger-style shuttle looms, finished with an iconic red-line of yarn through the selvedge fabric edges. Off the loom, the fabric is then Sanforized, to reduce shrinkage, and finished with a proprietary process that retains the natural “loomstate” characteristics of the denim, creating a true “hand of quality”.

From one denim mecca to the next, the finished bolts are shipped over to California — the state where jeans got their start. Here the product really takes shape: the denim is cut and sewn into finished jeans manually using methods that were common from the 1940s-1960s, but have become rare today: chain-stitching, washer burrs, hidden rivets, and handset pockets and waistbands.

American-made thread and rivets hold it all together, while an open “busted” outseam on the outside of each pant leg leaves the selvedge edge visible as a hallmark of quality. For a finishing touch, the signature RRL leather patch is applied by hand.

Once assembled, the jeans are given a final once-over for detailing and distressing. A team of artisans in Los Angeles fits each individual pair onto a special form and rough them up just a bit. Hand-sanding is one of the best ways to give a patina of age, but that’s just one piece of the tool-kit: a finished pair of pants can undergo up to 50 steps before they head out the door, and that’s without even considering the variety of vintage-inspired washes that change with every season.

With this last step, East-West Denim goes from uniform fabric to a wear-ready pair of RRL jeans.

From field to factory to weekly rotation, East-West Denim comes to life when the jeans take on the life of the wearer, weathered by the elements and the inevitable abrasions that come from daily use. Eventually, whiskers above the legs and “honeycombs” behind the knees appear. The tell-tale “track” on the outer inseam manifests. A phantom outline appears on the pocket where you always put your wallet. And then they’re not just “real stuff.” They’re really yours.

[sevenoctober7]

Who is behind global terrorism?

When injustice is the controlling legal rule - and not anomalies - this heralds the destruction of the world and the coming of resurrection. When the oppressed turns into an oppressor and the criminal into a judge - the world stands before a dangerous slide. It will either struggle against the forces of injustice or disappear and commit collective suicide. It is strange that global Judaism and the powers of European civilization have never tried to recognize truth and justice. For a period of (five centuries and the invasion continues...) this is how Noam Chomsky gives the title of his book... It is a title that clearly indicates that we are confronted in different ways - secret and public - A crusade war several centuries ago... The apparent crusade war did not end until the Europeans - through the writings of orientalists and the vanguards of modern colonialism - rushed to change their plans and start another war of a special nature (!!)... It is a permanent conflict with different methods... annihilation of others and no Something other than this..!! · Britain had the honor of destroying and exterminating millions of Muslims in the Indian subcontinent and Africa. As for France, in Algeria alone it had the honor of exterminating eight million Muslims within one hundred and thirty years. · Thus, we find that the conflict orientation is a continuous, almost constant line in the position of Euro-American civilization towards the Muslim other... and based on the ancient pagan religious thought based on (the struggle of the gods) in Greece, and the philosophical thought based on the sayings of (Nietzsche and Hegel), and the economic thought based on (the class struggle). And (the brutality of capitalism) for the benefit of the rich in order to achieve the rule of the globalization of poverty to annihilate four-fifths of humanity... passing through (the end of history) for the benefit of capitalism according to Fukayama, and (the clash of civilizations) according to (Huntington) and his teacher (Bernard Lewis), the permanent (British-American Jewish) theorist. Because Muslims must be exterminated by all means. Based on this violent racist vision against Muslims, the West always applies double standards in favor of the Jews, constantly obstructs the effectiveness of the United Nations and the Security Council, and creates forms of terrorism through rented, deformed, or ignorant individuals in order to justify its genocide of Islamic peoples in exchange for... Individual mistakes. What is surprising is that he was condemned without a trial or legal procedures. Even today, the events of September 11 are still far from being subject to a fair international court in which the facts are known as they are, not as one party portrayed them.

[blubushie]

the one thing i don't understand is why the nazis fetishizers don't just find a movie or a band or a tv show to obsess over like normal people or make some ocs to fill that void. literally anything other than making thirst posts who people who were more than likely responsible for the suffering of your ancestors and would have killed your ass for not being a pure aryan german if they were still around today.

Iunno people can't really "pick" their interests, this goes double for mental disorders like autism where you can't pick your special interests/hyperfixations. I personally don't much care for the phrase "like normal people" cuz "normal" is extremely subjective and often incredibly ableist. "Why can't you be normal" can be said for anything, any behaviour or any "weird" interest. Autistic kid like trains a bit too much? "God why can't you just have a normal interest that's socially acceptable, like a band or something, and not talk about fucking trains all the time. Why do you have to be autistic, why can't you mask and act normal to meet my standards of what normal is."

My issue isn't with their interest. I know quite a bit about Third Reich-era Germany and about WW2 because it was also a hyperfixation of mine for a long time—see my previous posts for why, but it boils down to "those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it". I'm a history nerd, and WW2 has played a VERY large role in our recent history and the after effects still echo today. And those who don't know their history are doomed to repeat it.

The issue I take is with them romanticising these people. That's where "interest" crosses into "idolisation", which is when you start having problems and start making excuses for the things they've done. That's what breeds white supremacists and makes these people seek out neo-Nazis, and that's what the actual problem is here. If Reichblr was just people geeking out over history and exchanging historical theories or discussing events or something, I wouldn't have an issue with it. What I have an issue with is people woobifying war criminals into kawaii-desu anime boys.

[lgbtqmanga]

New Releases July 9, 2024

Delinquent Daddy and Tender Teacher (manga) vol. 4: Four-Leaf Clovers by Tama Mizuki

Hitsuji and Hatoyama are growing closer than ever. And while Hitsuji may not have been ready to take the leap into cohabitating, he’s determined to support Hatoyama and his son Hinata however he can. And boy, it looks like they’re gonna need it! With Hinata still struggling to form a connection with his new teacher, Samejima, and Hatoyama working himself to the bone to save up money for a bigger place, things are on the stressful side for this little family. It’s up to Hitsuji to lend a hand and find the courage to show Hatoyama just how much he cares for him!

Engage (manga) vol. 2 by Yuu Minaduki

Mei has decided to put a lid on his infatuation with Naru and build a new relationship as nephew and uncle. However, every time Naru speaks fondly of his memories of his older brother—Mei’s late father—he feels a disturbance in his heart. Meanwhile, Hayashida, the freelance writer who’s been snooping around Mei, finally reveals his true nature!

My Dearest Patrolman (manga) vol. 1 by Niyama

When a young patrolman gets assigned to a small town, he runs into an old acquaintance, and a casual comment from the older man leads to a fluttering heart and renewed feelings. Seiji Tajima runs a convenience store in a small town, and thanks to his easygoing attitude toward much of life, he’s still single. Tall, muscular patrolman Shin Nakamoto is a frequent visitor to Seiji’s rather desolate shop, and although the two met ten years earlier, they only recently reconnected after Shin was assigned to the police box nearby. Despite the years apart, they start interacting like nothing has changed—that is, until Seiji offhandedly remarks that maybe he should try his luck with men, unwittingly restoking the flame Shin has held for him for years!

Otherside Picnic: (novel) Omnibus vol. 4 by Iori Miyazawa and shirakaba

Contains the Complete Volumes 7-8 Satsuki Uruma—a young woman of considerable importance to Toriko who disappeared while studying the Otherside. She has menaced Toriko and Sorawo many times as an apparition, but now, she makes her boldest move yet towards the latter. In an act of desperation, Sorawo resolves to use everything she knows about the occult to finally “exorcize” her. Enlisting the help of not just Toriko, but Kozakura, DS Research, and even former cult leader and high schooler Runa Urumi, Sorawo leads the charge on a funeral operation. But once that’s behind them, there’s something else Sorawo must face; a genuine confession of love from Toriko, with only one week to respond. Through a series of conversations with herself and those around her, Sorawo begins to reinterpret their relationship… Sorawo and Toriko’s bizarre tale of exploration and survival is coming to a climax!

Otherside Picnic (manga) vol. 10 by Iori Miyazawa, Eita Mizuno, and Shirakaba

As Toriko and Sorawo face off against a bizarre entity in the form of what appears to be an old woman, this Kano Sannuki may be one of their trickiest challenges yet! Can Sorawo come up with a plan to disarm this strange foe? Meanwhile, the specter of Satsuki Uruma continues to stalk the two girls! And when the name “Lunaurumi” begins to pop up online, it signals the start of the biggest threat they’ve ever had to face!

Thousand Autumns: Qian Qiu Special Editon (novel) volume 5 by Meng Xi Shi

contains the Standard Edition contents, but includes bonus merchandise shrink-wrapped to the book: a set of five postcards, a double-sided bookmark, two folded mini posters, and a sticker sheet.

In the tumultuous Central Plains, power and prestige are fleeting, and today’s friend is tomorrow’s foe—and Shen Qiao is in the eye of the storm. Following a daring rescue in the midst of a coup that marks the end of a dynasty, the mild-mannered Daoist has no time to rest as rumors of a power struggle call him home to Xuandu Mountain. But before he even reaches his destination, another whisper upon the wind cuts into Shen Qiao’s heart: Yan Wushi, not yet fully recovered from his damaged demonic core, has challenged Hulugu of the Göktürks to a battle from which only one will survive. Shen Qiao will need to call upon his martial arts and wits to survive the calamity that surrounds him, but when the dust settles, will what he holds dear still remain? FINAL VOLUME