#acknowledging it doesn’t really make it better

[not-available-for-comment]

THANK YOU SO MUCH. The attempted rehabilitation of Mrs. Bennet by fandom drives me bananas. My own mother occasionally lacked the awareness to make things easy for me socially but she was NOT a horrible selfish grasping shrew. There is a HUGE DIFFERENCE. The text is clearly and explicitly portraying a bad mother, and showing how her own irresponsible choices make everything worse.

My own mother had a different kind of bad mother herself, so it has always bothered me the degree to which people want to make excuses for mothers specifically, as though bad fathers are the only kind of bad parent that exists. Mothers can also be bad parents and it’s ok and in fact important to acknowledge that. Yeah our parents (even at times our fathers!) have pressures on them that aren’t obvious to us as kids, and I’m extremely aware from personal experience of what those pressures can be. But even people who are making bad parenting decisions for understandable reasons are bad parents. In an IRL situation it is ok to say well clearly you were a bad parent during this period but as an adult I’ve decided to forgive you and continue having a relationship with you and that’s ok too! That’s allowed and is a rough approximation of how I’ve chosen to approach my relationship with my own most difficult parent.

But Mrs. Bennet is fictional. You’re not gonna hurt her feelings by failing to show up for Christmas dinner. She is trapped in amber during the period in her daughters’ lives when she was probably least nurturing and most difficult to deal with, and acknowledging that is honest and hurts no one. A lot of defenses of her boil down to “yeah she was awful but you have to understand that she was worried for her daughters’ future”. To which I have 2 things to say:

Clearly not fucking worried enough, since she chose living vicariously through Lydia and indulging her own tastes over her daughters’s material benefit with incredible consistency.

This argument makes my skin crawl due to how often I see it applied to similarly selfish mothers IRL. We have a wider culture of excusing unhealthy maternal behavior because “her heart’s in the right place”. You know what after a certain point the placement of your goddamn heart doesn’t matter anymore. If you’ve gotta fake good behavior then just do that and leave your hazy grasp of anatomy out of it.

I know this is ranty and less articulate than the posts above, but I think you could argue that this conversation highlights a maybe under appreciated way that Austen is still relevant in the modern era. Yeah there are a lot of differences in culture between her time and ours, and the process of looking for a partner is typically pretty different. But this book also asks the questions “what is a ‘good’ marriage, and what are ‘good’ parents in the context of looking for a spouse?” And provides a really interesting gallery of options in response to both questions. Is Darcy a good ‘parent’ to Georgiana? Who is a better parent to Lydia, Darcy or her own parents? Is Charlotte’s financially advantageous marriage a ‘good’ one? Should her parents have allowed it? What about Mr. and Mrs. Bennett’s? And while Charlotte’s choice is I think probably viewed a lot less sympathetically now than it would’ve been at the time, I’d be fascinated to know how this conversation compares to Mrs. Bennett’s reception at the time of publication. A good marriage looks different now, but good parents? Oh now that conversation is as old as the hills…

For the past several years (and perhaps longer) in the P&P fandom I've seen a lot of people who want to rehabilitate Mrs. Bennet: like, sure, she's uncouth and seems greedy, but it's because she cares so much about her daughters' futures; her situation is actually really stressful and uncertain and she's powerless to change it and her husband makes fun of her, and so it's natural that it would cause her to be anxious all the time; maybe she doesn't have the intelligence or social awareness to understand that her behaviour is actually harming her daughters' prospects, but at least her heart is in the right place.

I'm usually not the type of person who argues that fandom is actually being too nice to a female character, but in this case I don't buy the counter-narrative (which I think is popular enough at this point to be fanon / a narrative in itself) about Mrs. Bennet.

For one thing, she was never really powerless in this situation. These people are rich even for gentry. Mr. Bennet's income was always good, at 2,000 pounds per annum (even though I can't believe he isn't neglecting some practices that could raise it higher). Mrs. Bennet had 4,000 pounds from her parents and a further 1,000 from Mr. Bennet. Invested in the 4 per cents (for example), this is 200 pounds per year in pin money that Mrs. Bennet could spend without touching the principle of her dowry, and without affecting Mr. Bennet's income. This is more than some people's entire yearly incomes.

The picture of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet that we get in P&P is not of people who are helpless against their circumstances, but of people who are extraordinarily neglectful. We're told that:

Mr. Bennet had very often wished, before this period of his life, that, instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum, for the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived him. [...] When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly useless; for, of course, they were to have a son. This son was to join in cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the widow and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters successively entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet, for many years after Lydia’s birth, had been certain that he would. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then too late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy; and her husband’s love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding their income.

We also know that the "continual presents in money which passed to [Lydia] through her mother’s hands," plus her allowance and food, amount to about 90 pounds per year. Rather than saving up from the beginning in case the entail is not broken, rather than beginning to save once it's clear a son will not arrive, rather than making Jane's dowry the full 5,000 from her mother (which would be something) and saving up for the younger girls' dowries thereafter—which is what would be typical, and that's why Lady Catherine was so shocked that all the girls were out at once—Mrs. Bennet's housekeeping, dress, the girls' allowance, presents of money over and above their allowance, plus whatever Mr. Bennet is spending money on (and other expenses relating to servants, carriages, maintenance &c. which are unavoidable), add up to their entire income. The only reason why Mrs. Bennet doesn't overspend even that is that that's where Mr. Bennet puts his foot down.

Mrs. Bennet is actively harming her daughters' prospects, not even of marriage, but of living respectably if they don't marry, because she doesn't have the temperance not to spend all of the income that is allotted to her. It is the role of the woman in a marriage to take charge of the housekeeping, servants, cooking, furniture, and all expenses relating thereto (plus certain attentions to her tenants and any living in genteel poverty in the area, though presumably this will depend on her income and whether there's a parish church with a parson's wife who's doing some of these things). She's an adult who should be competent to manage these things in a reasoned way without needing to be dictated to.

It is supposed to be the role of the woman in a marriage to take charge of her daughters' education—and yet Mrs. Bennet did not hire a governess, and Elizabeth says that she didn't spend much time teaching her daughters anything (it's not clear to what degree she's educated herself). Granted, the girls did have masters—but, from the sounds of things, that was only if they requested them. No one was required to learn much of anything, which will probably further harm the marriage prospects of the girls who "chose to be idle."

I think the "point" of Mrs. Bennet is that she is one half of one type of bad marriage which the novel illustrates, in contrast with the Gardiners' marriage. These marriages are two possible models for the Bennet daughters to look to. At one point, Elizabeth's prospective marriage is explicitly compared to her parents', with her in the role of her father: Mr. Bennet says "My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life" (emphasis original).

We might wonder whether Elizabeth saw herself potentially in the role of her father, in a marriage that was very intellectually unequal, when she rejected Mr. Collins; or whether she also saw herself in the role of her mother, married to a man who insults and doesn't respect her, when she rejected Mr. Darcy. Ultimately, she accepts Mr. Darcy after she realises that he is nothing like her father; that he is diligent in attending to his responsibilities, and that he does evidently respect her mind.

This isn't me defending Mr. Bennet, who is also a bad parent and a bad spouse. I do, however, find it a little disturbing when people suggest that Mr. Bennet is at fault for not controlling or curtailing his wife. His wife is a grown woman. Surely we don't actually believe that a situation where a man is legally in complete control over his wife, merely because he is a man and she is a woman, is in any way natural, moral, or just? (This also goes for people who suggest that Mr. Bingley needs to get his sister 'in line' 😬😬😬.)

Mrs. Bennet should be competent to manage her household and her daughters. Given that she's not, yes, Mr. Bennet, according to Georgian and Victorian ideas of the role of a man in a marriage, "should" have stepped in and started dictating to her. But I don't really think that's what Austen is suggesting went wrong here. The models of good marriages we have—the Gardiners, the Bingleys and Darcys after their weddings—are all ones in which the women were basically sensible people to begin with. In the latter two cases, we are told of particular ways in which the men stand to benefit from some mental quality of their future spouse (Elizabeth's good humour and ease in company; Jane's steadiness and determination).

The ideal which some Georgians had of a husband's role being to shape his wife's intellect doesn't seem to be what's being advocated here. If Mr. Bennet made a mistake, it was in marrying a silly, selfish, ill-tempered woman to begin with, not in failing to browbeat her into submission once he found out that she was silly, selfish, and ill-tempered. The idea is that you should choose your spouse carefully. But that message doesn't work if Mrs. Bennet is just a woman in a difficult situation who has her heart in the right place.

[puckinghischier]

Dogtooth

jack hughes x fem!reader

WARNING - SMUT!!! minors, DNI. 18+. oral!female receiving, face riding

summary: just a lil jack thot inspired by the song dogtooth by tyler, the creator

notes: this is just a repost of the little jack blurb i posted last night, i just wanted to reformat it so it’d fit in my masterlist better. but!! this is probably my favorite jack thing i’ve ever written and i’m obsessed with this song so, hope you enjoy!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[2.3k]

dogtooth by tyler, the creator?? that song is soooooo jack coded.

it’s the right kind of cocky but also the perfect amount of loving his woman, which is exactly how i picture jack to be in a relationship.

he’s a pretty private guy, not enjoying being in the media too much and revealing a ton about his personal life. he hates media because he doesn’t like the feeling of people assuming they know everything about him. but his girl? she knows everything about this man and he basks in the fact she knows him better than anyone else.

and when he’s down for someone? oh he’s down baddddd. i mean, pining level shit. he always wants to be around her. always calling her. always texting her. he just wants her attention 24/7, no matter what he has to do to get it.

he loves to pleasure his girl. and that’s it, really. he loves any second he can spend making her feel good, any way she wants. he doesn’t even care about the reciprocation (though he does love when she returns the favor) because knowing he’s the one to satisfy her needs is enough to put him on cloud nine all by itself.

and the second jack hears this song for the first time? oh he’s got big plans for it. (and you)

you’d be sitting on the couch, waiting on jack to get home from a mid-day skate. he sent you a text telling you he was leaving the rink around thirty minutes ago, expecting him to walk through the door any second.

no sooner than the thought entered your mind, you heard the lock click, signaling his arrival. calling out a greeting, you’re met with silence. you turn your body to see why he’s ignoring you, noticing the small white ear buds stuck in each ear.

he sets his bag down at the door, no doubt filled with his sweat soiled clothes he wants you to wash. waiting on him to look up and acknowledge you, you lay your head on the plush cushions resting against the back of the couch. you watch him, never missing an opportunity to admire how pretty he is.

finally, he looks up and meets your gaze, smiling at your love-filled eyes. he pops one headphone out while walking towards you, rolling it around in his hand.

“hey, sweets,” he leans down to place a small kiss on your waiting lips.

you savor the taste of his lips, always loving their soft feel.

“tried to say hi when you walked in, but guess you couldn’t hear me,” you gesture to the one earbud still lodged in one of his ears.

he gives you a small, apologetic look. “sorry, found a new song i really like. think you will too, actually. made me think about you.”

grabbing his phone from his pocket with his free hand, the one that’s holding the small bluetooth device brushes your hair away from your own ear, comfortably resting the earbud there.

“here’s the thing though….i want you to ride my face while we listen,” he just casually tells you, not even looking up at your face, still fiddling with his phone.

you perk up, surprised at his casualness. “i- what?”

“you heard me, before i press play i want you to ride my face.”

said face in question is dead serious, not an ounce of mischief to be found.

“you…literally just walked through the front door. what happened to asking each other about our days? or discussing what we’re gonna eat for dinner?” you ask him, not knowing how to react to the sudden proposal.

he rolls his eyes playfully. “is this your way of telling me you don’t want to? because you don’t have to. just think it’d really add to the experience, s’all” he shrugs.

you still don’t know how to react to the pure casualness of it all. by the way he’s acting you’d think he’s suggesting watching a movie, not having you ride his face in the middle of the living room.

“i didn’t say i didn’t want to. it’s just a little wild for that to be one of the first things out of your mouth when you get home.”

jack snickers at your words, walking around the large sectional to occupy the spot next to you.

“not really. not for me, at least. been thinking about it all day,” he plops down beside of you, making himself comfortable.

his words shoot excitement down to your core. he’s been thinking about it all day?

before you can think of a response, you feel shuffling next to you on the plush couch. you look over to see jack laying flat on his back, head only slightly raised to look over at you expectantly.

“so, you gonna get rid of those shorts or what?” he asks, referencing your thin, cotton pajama bottoms.

“i swear to god, if i wasn’t turned on right now i’d slap you,” you grumble, standing and removing all clothing below your waist.

jack laughs a real, out loud, laugh this time, prideful in the fact that you’ve never really been able to (or wanted to) resist any of his offers.

he burrows his body further into the couch, making sure he’s in the middle of the large surface, ensuring there’s room for your knees to rest on either side of his head.

you climb to hover over his body, looking down at his hungry eyes that are glued to your bare pussy, following every movement of your body from that landmark.

“shirt off or on?” you ask him, sitting on his toned abdomen.

“off. wanna be able to play with your boobs, please,” he flicks his eyes up to your face, an innocent smile on his own as he bats his eyelashes.

“of course you do,” you remove your (his) t-shirt from your body, now completely bare as you sit on top of him.

“swear they get bigger every time i see them,” he says in awe, bringing a hand up to massage one of your full breasts. you moan as he kneads the flesh, stomach turning flips in anticipation of what’s about to take place.

“gonna press play so we can get started or you just gonna play with my tits all night?” you huff out, loving the feeling but growing needier by the second.

it takes jack a second to register what you’re saying, too lost in the feeling of the heavy skin in his hand.

“oh! yeah, almost forgot,” he reaches up to the back of the couch where he left his phone, picking it up long enough to press play.

you scoot yourself farther up his body, resting your eager core right above his chin. all you’d have to do is relax your thighs the slightest amount to make contact with his mouth. 

suddenly you hear a smooth beat ring out in one ear, assuming jack’s hearing the same.

the second you hear the lyrics “she could ride my face i don’t want nothing in return” pour out of the earbud, jack inched his face up, licking a long, deep stripe through your folds.

you allow yourself to relax, sliding your slick pussy back and forth gently, not wanting to rush.

jack’s nose brushes your clit with every movement. you sigh at the feeling, not realizing how much you needed the friction until now.

the melody in your ear continues, but none of the lyrics are registering anymore. the feeling of jack’s tongue working through you takes every ounce of your attention.

“god, fuck! jack, best idea ever,” you moan out, picking up your pace slightly.

jack groans, letting his tongue still for a moment, allowing you to work yourself over it as you please.

fighting through the bliss radiating throughout your body, you try to focus on the lyrics at least a little bit. the chorus starts repeating, but the lyrics that follow make your head fuzzy in the best way.

“she could ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, except for some her time and all her love, that’s my concern” is what you focus on, the words squeezing your heart and your cunt.

jack smirks into your pussy when he hears you moan, knowing exactly which lyrics elicited the reaction from your body. you’ve always been the type to get off on the sweet nothings he whispers in your ear while he fucks into you, so he knew that line in particular would be especially helpful while his mouth is otherwise occupied.

your pace increases again as the song continues on, already halfway to your release.

jack brings his hands up to hold you still, your hole mere centimeters from his waiting tongue. he guides you to lower yourself onto the muscle, encouraging a slight bobbing motion of your body.

with every depression of your cunt onto his tongue, your clit bumps onto the tip of his nose. the pressure is a delicious form of teasing, the sensation gone nearly as soon as it’s felt each time.

“please, touch me. need you to touch me, jack. so so close,” you pant out, feeling the familiar swirl of your climax forming already.

jack grunts in response, the vibrations sending waves all throughout your body and you’re convinced you can feel it in your toes.

his hands leave your hips, traveling up your body until they find your sensitive buds, pinching and playing with each pink, taut nipple.

you jolt a bit, the motion causing your clit to slam against his nose this time. you cry out at all of the various sensations all at once. full with his tongue, rough hands on your tits, and round nose scraping against your clit.

the pure stimulation of it all forces your orgasm out of you, slamming into your body with the force of a train.

“fuck!” you scream, quickly shooting a hand out to grip the back of the couch, trying to stop yourself from collapsing on jack’s face completely.

you can barely hear the words “she can ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, and will i ever fall in love again? i can’t confirm,” ring through your ear, the soundtrack to your release, literally.

jack continues to work his tongue in and out of your hole while you shake and convulse above him, having to chase your entrance as you move. he continues to knead your sensitive breasts, each squeeze sending small volts through your already spent nerves.

he can feel your release dripping onto his cheeks, chin, and nose. he tries to lap up as much as he can, not wanting to miss a drop of your liquid pleasure.

your taste alone was enough to form the wet spot on his grey sweats, not embarrassed in the slightest he’s literally leaking from how turned on he is. but when he looks up at you above him, skin damp and eyes half rolled into the back of your head, mixed with the feeling of your body tightening around his tongue so harshly he can’t even pull it out, he blows his load right then and there.

he can feel the last flutters of your walls around his tongue, not stopping his movements until you pull back, having half a mind to keep going and work another orgasm out of your sensitive state. he moans through his own unprompted release, the only thing keeping him from following his sudden impulse to overstimulate you.

once the tired muscles in your thighs stop shaking, and your breath evens out, you can hear the fading of the music in your ear, signaling the end of the song. you push up slightly on your knees, detaching yourself from jack’s mouth as he chases your now swollen cunt, a small whine escaping him at the action.

“jack…the song’s over,” you manage the words somehow, in awe that he made you come in only a single song’s length.

“i can hit replay,” he rushes out, already reaching to grab his phone again.

you squeak out a slightly panicked “no,” while shaking your head, worried if he started again you might actually explode. you let yourself relax fully, scooting back so you can rest yourself on his lower abdomen once again, but the feeling of something wet stops you.

jerking back up, you turn and look down, spotting the large, wet stain on his sweatpants. you can’t stop staring at it, wondering if you’re really looking at what you think you’re looking at.

“jack…did you…” you trail off, turning back around to look at him.

he smirks as he leans himself up on his elbows. “sure did, sweets. you have no clue how much i enjoyed that.”

you laugh at his pride filled face. “pretty sure i do, seeing as i just sat on the evidence.”

he simply shrugs, patting your bare ass lightly to signal you to stand. you swing your legs over his body, standing and bending over to pick up your discarded underwear and slide it back up your legs.

“so….about that dinner conversation,” you ask him as he stands, suddenly way hungrier than you were when he first got home.

it’s his turn to laugh at you, walking over and removing the now silent earbud from your ear.

“whatever you want is fine with me. i already ate,” he gives you a kiss on the forehead then turns to walk towards the bedroom.

“oh…not even right, you dick,” you huff, following it with telling him you’re ordering his least favorite take out, a punishment for his sass.

making your way to the kitchen to dig through the different take out menus, you hear jack shout your name once again.

“i was thinking, how do you feel about that being our wedding song?” he asks, poking his now shirtless, but clean sweats clad, figure out of the bedroom door.

“jack!” you shout, scolding him as his loud cackle rings out around you, causing your own amused smile to break out on your face.

[toxicanonymity]

Hey Boo,

I've been seeing Joelkemons making the rounds being the best kind of dude to have around when you're crying.

Is Stepdad is having very strong feelings about all of this too? I imagine of Raider (LOML) and NW are being so soft with us, something in stepdad might respond to our hopelessly impotent rage.

I'd love to see how he reacts.

Boy howdy, tho, if I could slip into the brothel and have a big ol' Joel-pile, that shit would fix me all the way.

Thank you so much for everything you do and are.

I hope you're taking care of yourself too.

-- Cupquake <3

black tuesday

JOEL x f!READER | 1000 words

WARNINGS: 18+. Election Night. ANGST. Tears. Fears. This is intended to be a cathartic fic with some comfort but please don't read if it could be traumatic. Allusions to reproductive rights, etc. Reader is angry, esp. at men, takes it out on joel a little. Joel is supportive. Reader dacryphilia, brief smut. STEPDAD AU but you don't need to know it, and the stepcest doesn't come up.

NOTES: Sweet Cupquake, you're welcome and thank you for always being so supportive. Poor stepdad, he's normally the one needing comforting, isn't he? Yes, he has strong feelings about all this. This doesn't fit neatly in the AU timeline just roll with it. My brief post on the election is here. This will most likely be my only fic that overtly acknowledges the u.s. election. DO NOT INTERACT: TRUMP VOTERS, ANTI-CHOICE PEOPLE, MINORS.

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment watching the news while Joel makes dinner and a huge mess in the kitchen. When the early votes are counted, we’ll see a lot more blue, they said. No, actually. Not really. You turn the volume way down so you can barely hear it. 

“Pasta’s ready,” Joel announces in a weak, sing-song voice. 

You remain on the floor. Your breathing is shallow, and it doesn’t feel real. 

Joel comes into the living room but doesn’t sit down. He stands with his arms crossed. His neck veins are bulging, his biceps are tense, his jaw clenches as he watches the screen. He’s pissed, he’s so angry watching this happen. He’s embarrassed to be a Texan. He thinks about all the women he knows. Embarrassed to be a man. 

He looks back and forth between the tv and you, and he sees your eyes are watery. He brings your glass of water from the kitchen, but you refuse it. He puts it down on the coffee table. Then, he picks up the remote control and turns off the tv. 

“Why’d you do that?” you snap. 

“It’s only makin’ ya sad,” Joel replies. “It’s still early, there’s time.” 

“Sad?? You think I’m sad?” Heat rises to your face. Your chest tightens.  

“Okay,” Joel acknowledges softly. “I can see you’re not just sad.” 

He sits down and tries to put his arm around you but you scoot over to face him. 

“All you men just go around blowing your loads everywhere and we’re the ones who have to deal with it, and you have the nerve to tell us how.” 

“I’d never tell you how to--you know that.”

“--I am so fucking tired of men talking.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and sits quietly next to you for a minute. It’s hard knowing there’s nothing he can do or say, but he’s not going to leave you unless you tell him to. 

He clears his throat and asks softly, “Would anything make ya feel better?”

“Only waking up from this nightmare.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledges. 

“I don’t wanna feel better,” you begin to cry. “I want it to not happen….Like, is this real life?” 

None of it feels real. Months ago, people in stupid red hats were carrying around actual sperm cups. The highest-profile rapist in the country called himself the father of fertility, and crowds of people cheered. He said “mass deportation” and people cheered more. And then half the country voted for these sick, twisted buffoons. 

“You want some space?” Joel asks. 

“No,” you protest tearfully.

He hesitantly brushes the back of your neck with his thumb. This time, you let him put his arm around you. 

You whisper, “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Sweetheart, it ain’t over. We got time.” 

You shake your head no, ‘cause you can feel it in your gut. 

Joel sits in silence for a moment, and you can’t see it, but he’s tearing up because he can feel you burning and he’s powerless. 

He holds you and strokes your back while you bury your face in his chest. He discreetly checks his new york times app and tries not to react out loud- it’s only getting worse. 

After a few minutes of silence, he whispers your name, and you respond, “mm?”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. 

You look up to see his cheeks wet, his hair messy. Your heart swells with affection. Affection and… gratitude? God, the bar is in hell. But to be fair, you really love him. You’re grateful for the man he is, not the one he isn’t. 

Desire begins to stir in your chest.

Joel presses a kiss onto your forehead, then lifts your chin, and you look at each other. He brushes away a tear from your cheek. With his own cheeks still wet, he swallows, and the emotional bob of his Adam’s apple sends a rush of arousal to your core. You put your hand on the back of his neck and pull him toward you for a kiss. 

Affection and relief floods your body. It’s temporary, of course, but you let yourself have this. You let the nightmare fade into a spicy dream. 

You straddle him and he pulls you close and moans into your mouth. You kiss him desperately and feel him harden under you. He hesitates and mutters, “sorry,” trying to read the room. He pushes your thighs back, trying to put some distance between you and his hard-on. 

“Stop,” you reply, then latch onto his mouth again. He breaks away and says, “Just don’t want ya to feel like I–” 

“Shut up,” you tell him, then scoot yourself closer, your crotch firmly planted on the warm, stiffening shape in his sweatpants. You grind your hips into him. He kisses you back with increased fervor, and moans into your mouth. Kissing passionately, your loins throb warmly together and your hips move in rhythm. 

You reach between the two of you and slide your hand down his sweatpants. You palm his leaking manhood. Pressing it against his tummy, you gently move the skin on his shaft, and  He groans.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and thrusts against your hand. 

You stand up to urgently take off your pj pants. 

His man-guilt is still eating at him. Squeezing his aching hard shaft, he lets out a moan, then weakly offers, “Are you sure you wanna…”

In response, you straddle him, hot and dripping against his bare arousal.  You slide against him, throbbing and ready. Then, as you slide his tip to your entrance, you warn him, “Get it while it’s on the table.” You sink down on him and he shudders. Then he thrusts upward and moans as he bottoms out.  

“My legs’ll be closed for business soon,”  you explain. 

He closes his eyes and breathes deep as your body accommodates his.  “Fair enough,” he answers thoughtfully, then opens his eyes. “Wait. Even if my face is the customer?” 

------

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NOTES: I actually wrote three Stepdad things, and chronologically, this is no. 2 of 3. The others aren't posted yet. The first one is a standalone pregnancy scare, nothing about the election (would've been before it). And the second one is a post-election talk about contraception.

My brief post on the election is here.

Thank you for reading. Please remember to take care of yourselves <33

[foodtruckery]

I left a comment on Combat Baby because that fic is so awesome, but I’m here because I’m thinking about Stan in short short again. Ford would go insane, especially if Stan was wearing them *in public* where everyone can see what’s *his*. I think it’s even funnier if they’re both aware of their feelings but think the other isn’t into them/aware, so Ford is gripping his hands trying to act like normal brother and like he doesn’t want to rail Stan 10 ways to Sunday so everyone knows he’s taken. Meanwhile Stan is like “God I’m such a freak for wanting Ford to think I’m hot-“

I REMEMBER YOU GUEST ANON! and omg thank you so much for the kind words again, truly!! and this is. lol. maybe not exactly what you asked for, and i'm sorry for that, but i HAVE been thinking about the damn short shorts since you first commented and this is what we ended up with hahaha! i wrote this with either 30's stan & ford in mind or 30's stan and 60's ford, but hey, y'all read whatever you wanna read!

"Oh, hey, I couldn't find the exact coffee you mentioned on the list, but I grabbed something that seemed close? Got a small bag, so if it's shitty, we won't have too much of it to get through, but I figured somethin' was better than nothin' on the coffee front."

Ford was certain that in any other circumstances, he would be annoyed by that. There were complaints swimming up in the back of his mind - Did you even look? Did you bother to ask an associate? - but they slid away before he'd even tried to form any words. That was probably for the best. His tongue felt leaden and too thick in his mouth, and he wasn't sure he would be able to make it cooperate enough to speak if he'd tried. Even getting a short sound of acknowledgement out was more difficult than it should have been. 

When Ford didn't throw a fit over the coffee, Stan continued on, describing some additional adjustments he'd made to the shopping list and what he was planning to cook for dinner. Ford didn't really hear any of it. Hell, he couldn't even remember why he'd come upstairs in the first place. A question, probably, considering the sound of Stan coming back to the cabin and putting away groceries had drawn him to the kitchen in the first place. 

But he'd walked in, caught sight of his brother stashing jars and cans in an overhead cabinet, and his brain had started slowly filling with static. 

The crop top was bad enough. He'd seen it several times at this point –  enough times that he should be well used to the damn thing by now. But it was hard not to be distracted by the soft, exposed stretch of Stan's midsection or the way the hair on his stomach tapered down into the band of his pants. 

Jeans usually. It was usually jeans. Stan  had a tendency to spend the evenings around the cabin in his boxers, but Ford had only ever seen him pair the too-short t-shirt with jeans. 

He was not wearing jeans today. He was wearing a pair of shorts. 

A pair of shorts that pinched around his full waist and made his stomach spill over the elastic. 

A pair of shorts that stopped alarmingly high on Stan's thighs, exposing nearly every inch of hair and skin on his legs. 

A pair of shorts that fit just a shade too tight around Stan's ass, and were borderline indecent when he bent over to put something in the fridge. 

A pair of shorts that belonged to Ford. 

The realization hit him with all the subtlety of a taser, burning across his skin and threatening the stability of his knees. 

"Do you already have a place where you're keepin' shit like–"

"Where did you find those?" 

Ford wasn't sure if it was the fact that he hadn't spoken at all since he'd come into the kitchen, or if it was the raggedness of his voice, but Stan jerked his head up from the bag he'd been pulling non-perishables from. 

"What?" 

"Your–" Ford's voice stuck on the back of his tongue, and he worked his throat until he managed to swallow, curling his fingers over the back of the nearest chair to make sure he stayed upright. "Those shorts. Are those mine?" 

Stan frowned at him, confused, before glancing down at himself. "Oh! Yeah, I think so? I mean, I found 'em in the back of a drawer upstairs. It's like a hundred goddamn degrees out there, and all I got on me is denim right now."

Ford felt like someone was holding a livewire to his hypothalamus. 

"You– You wore those, my shorts, out? In public?" 

Stan squinted at him. "Yeah. Isn't that what I said?" and then, when Ford didn't respond right away, Stan shifted uncomfortably. "Uhh....shit. I'm sorry? I hadn't seen you wearing 'em or anything, so I didn't think you'd care if I borrowed them."

Ford could feel where his nails were digging impressions into the chair's finish, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from the shadow of Stan's bulge, entirely too apparent in those little green shorts. He'd been outside in those. In town, even. He'd gone grocery shopping in half of a shirt and shorts that had been snug on Ford before he'd even gotten his second PhD. 

Who had he run into? Even if the store had been completely empty otherwise, there would at least have been a cashier to see his brother parading around like an exhibitionist. And the odds were entirely too high that other patrons would have been present. 

Since Stan had arrived in Gravity Falls, he had better inundated himself with the townsfolk over several weeks than Ford had ever managed (or tried to manage) over several years. It made sense, Stan had always been the "people person" between them. But Ford also noticed the way Susan Wentworth always found a reason to nudge Stan's arm or pat his shoulder when they stopped by the diner. He saw the way Greg Valentino stole too many lingering glances when he thought he wasn't being observed in turn. 

Had either of them been there? Would Greg have seen him crouching down to puruse a lower shelf? If so, it would be impossible not to see the full shape of Stan's ass and the impression of his sack squeezed into so little material. Had Susan been shopping at the same time? Would she have devised a reason to put her hand against the exposed skin on Stan's waist to shuffle past him?

"Jesus Christ, are you havin' a stroke over there or what, Sixer?" 

Stan's voice snapped Ford out of the lurid green hypotheticals, and he cleared his throat. "I'm fine."

"Fine? You sure about that?" Stan said, sounding unconvinced and unimpressed. "Look, I said I was sorry about wearing your dumb shorts. Can I at least finish putting the damn groceries away, or are you gonna stand there scowling until I change?"

"No!" Ford said, entirely too quickly if the single eyebrow creeping up Stan's forehead was anything to go by. "I mean, you don't have to change. I was just...surprised."

"Yeah, I'll say," Stan snorted, turning back to the last bag of groceries. "Dinner plans all right at least?"

Ford ran his tongue out over his lips when Stan turned to the cupboard. He watched the green material shift with his stretching, the white piped hem hiking up just a hair too close to the curve of his ass. 

"Yes, sure." 

"And ya don't care about the coffee?" Stan asked, and Ford swallowed down hard on whatever noise tried to crawl up his throat when Stan adjusted the waistband of the shorts, pulling the material briefly higher and tighter.

"Hmm? No, I don't believe so..."

Ford very nearly had to reach down and adjust himself in the confines of his own pants when Stan leaned over and reached for something on the kitchen counter, giving Ford almost enough room to peek under the hem of those god forsaken shorts. It was a miracle he hadn't pulled up curls of varnish with his nails already. 

"You gettin' a good look back there?" Stan asked, shifting his weight between his feet in a way that made the shorts creep up between his thighs. 

"Yes, of course I– Stan!" Ford choked when the question caught up to him, and he could feel heat burning up his throat and across his face. 

Stan was smirking at him from over his shoulder now, giving his ass a much more deliberate wiggle. "Christ, Sixer, you are not subtle at all." 

Ford stammered, trying to think beyond the curl of Stan's lips and the crease at the top of his thighs that he could just make out. 

"...Jesus, you're also thick," Stan muttered to himself before reaching back and plucking pointedly at the waistband of the shorts. "You gonna come over here and see what's under them, or what?" 

"Oh..oh!" Ford realized, clearing his throat, though it did little to help how rough his voice felt when he finally rounded the chair. "God, yes." 

[puck-luck]

"Your hand feels so much better than mine", requested by @sidcrobsimp <3 luv u boss

Warnings: service kink, praise kink, handjob, mention of fingering WC: 707

You might have a bit of a service kink. You’ve been writing it off by saying that your love language is Acts of Service. It wasn’t always. Honestly, it’s not your fault that you’ve grown to love showing your affection through service, considering the way Cole praises you whenever you do something for him. It’s like you’ve been conditioned: you want to give and give and give until Cole says something that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

Like now: you and Cole are watching a movie before bed and his hand had drifted to the front of his boxers absentmindedly, holding himself comfortably the way you do when you’re close to falling asleep and your hand finds your boob. It’s a natural shelf, like how it’s easy to put your hands on your hips when you’re standing and waiting for something. 

Most of the time, Cole’s not really touching himself when he touches himself. However, you’re always itching to get your hands, or mouth, or dripping wet cunt on him. You’ve become distracted, eyes on his hand and imagining what’s underneath it.

“Can I help you?” Cole asks with a snorted laugh. 

Well, there’s no use denying that you were looking. Your mouth is probably slack with want, eyes only a bit darker than they normally are. Cole knows your tells too well. You give him a look that’s a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation, yet it still conveys your desire. You move closer to him, batting your eyelashes ad you near him.

Cole laughs again. “Alright, go ahead,” he says, moving his hand and making himself available to you. He returns his attention to the television for now, letting you do your thing without impeding.

You shift his shorts down, then dig him out of his underwear. He’s soft, but it doesn’t take long for him to grow hard under your circled fingers. You consider getting your mouth on him, biting your lip as you watch precum bubble up from his tip.

“Pay attention to the show, babe,” Cole murmurs. “You’re missing everything.”

Eager to please, you lift your head and return to the television. Your hand is pumping Cole’s length the whole time. 

He reaches behind you, resting his arm along the pillows behind you like he would if you were on the couch. As you twist your wrist, just to change things up, Cole’s head falls back.

“Your hand feels so much better than my own,” Cole says. He doesn’t say it to get you to increase your pace or change anything. It’s just an acknowledgement. “Love it when you touch me, baby.”

The praise is excellent, making you want to push him over the edge. Your pace increases, squeezing just a bit tighter as you stroke him. You cuddle into Cole’s side, resting your head on his shoulder. With a brush of a kiss to the freckles that have faded into his skin, you refocus your attention on making him come. As much as you want to watch the movie with your boyfriend, you care more about the show that you’re putting on for yourself. 

Cole lets out a low grown when you bring your head down and let a line of spit fall onto his cock, making it easier for you to move your hand. Your spit mixes with his precum, slicking him up. Before you return your head to his shoulder, you kiss the crown of his cock. You just wanted a taste.

Without words, you know Cole’s ready to come. He rolls his hips into your hand and kisses your head, leaning against you after the sweet peck. He always makes a choked whimper in the back of his throat when he comes, and today is no different. You watch him spill over your hand and paint your knuckles white. His chest seizes with a stuttered breath as you continue to stroke him through the orgasm, then he kisses your head again when you bring your hand up to your mouth and taste his cum. 

He tucks himself away and you finish the last twenty minutes of the movie. When you get to your shared bedroom, Cole will insist on returning the favor and fingering you to completion.

[methinmycoffee]

Season 6 rankings!

From Best to Worst:

A Ladder To Heaven (Ep. 12)

Free Hat (Ep. 9)

Professor Chaos (Ep. 6)

The Simpsons Already Did It (Ep. 7)

Child Abduction is Not Funny (Ep. 11)

Red Hot Catholic Love (Ep. 8)

Bebe’s Boobs Destroy Society (Ep. 10)

The Return of the Fellowship of the Ring to the Two Towers (Ep. 13)

The Death Camp of Tolerance (Ep. 14)

My Future Self ‘N’ Me (Ep. 16)

Fun With Veal (Ep. 4)

The Biggest Douche in the Universe (Ep. 15)

Red Sleigh Down (Ep. 17)

Freak Strike (Ep. 3)

Asspen (Ep. 2)

The New Terrance and Phillip Movie Trailer (Ep. 5)

Jared has Aides (Ep. 1)

[aesops-boy]

Yeah, no kidding it’s not healthy. The idea that others want you to die or just don’t care is incredibly depressing. Depressing is not healthy.

Truthfully, I don’t actually think most people want me to die. The point of this post is to get out/explain those icky emotions, those feelings.

But what’s hard is to be met with seeming callousness. What’s hard is to be met with sentiments again and again that a person would rather “make a point” than care about the real, living, breathing people around them. The idea that someone would be complicit in othering the people like you or even people not at all like you but who do face the threat of losing everything.

Those are what hurt.

And I already know a lot of it is social media. Like I said, it’s probably the algorithm pushing stuff to me to make me feel bad. That’s what it does. But that doesn’t stop the feelings. Acknowledging that helps to do things to prevent those posts that elicit those feelings, actual actions that I can think about rather than just be stuck feeling, like blocking accounts or interacting more with the stuff I do like.

And I’m lucky enough that I can literally go outside and touch grass all I want.

It doesn’t change the fact that I have to come back inside eventually to family and friends (now ex-friends, thankfully) that actually do feel how I described. Who don’t give a shit except to “make a point” and have actively chosen again and again to vote for people who say the absolute worst about others, including the people like me.

And no, they probably don’t actually want me to die. But there’s something about saying one thing but doing another that really makes a person feel that maybe that’s not true, feel hurt and betrayed and unsafe.

And I’m sure there are people who would say the same about me. They have the freedom to say what they want. They can feel just as hurt. I hated all the major candidates because it felt like no matter what, ideologically, I’d be hurting good people with a vote. And not voting didn’t feel better.

It’s not a happy situation. Of course social media doesn’t help. My physical situation doesn’t help.

It’s worse when people are nice about it. “No, I don’t want people like you to die. I just think your inherent existence is deviant and a threat to children and unhealthy, and I’m going to pretend that you’re not like that so that I can reconcile the fact that otherwise I’d be saying and thinking all those things about you. I refuse to acknowledge that treating you this way is killing you except when I feel too guilty about it and then call you overdramatic and tell you that of course I don’t think you’re like that. Then, I’m going to change absolutely nothing about how I choose to think or act.” That is an explicitly spelled out version of the thoughts of people I can’t escape by touching grass, at least not right now. Some of it has been told directly to me, and the rest is the obvious unspoken.

So it’s a good thing my original post was about how things feel rather than how things may or may not actually be. I really hope that things are as you say, and that people really don’t want people like me to die. That’s just not how it feels to me.

I will hurt now. I will act to change my situation when I can.

(Also, if you think I complain too much and need to go touch grass, I kindly suggest that you block my blog. I do a lot of complaining and expressing hurt that doesn’t make sense or line up all the time. It’s what my blog is for. And usually, touching grass doesn’t help.)

Everyone has probably already said and read all there is to say about the US election, but I need to get some things off my chest, so here we go:

I’ve seen a lot of blame from blue toward people who voted green. We knew it would split the party… is what blue would normally say. But this time, it really looks like it didn’t. Jill Stein hasn’t gotten any significant portion (read: not even 1%) of the vote in any given area, except apparently one place in Michigan? (As of writing this, at least.)

And to their credit, I’ve seen a lot of blue actually point this out, too. A lot of blue have acknowledged that as easy as it normally would be to blame a third party splitting the blue vote, it simply does not add up here.

However, I’m a bit disappointed with green. Maybe it’s just my algorithm, which would make sense given that social media gets a lot of success from trying to make you upset and therefore engage, but the responses from green have been troubling. It seems like every one that I see is… celebrating? That they made the “right” choice? The “ethical” choice? That they didn’t vote for genocide?

I mean, sure, I guess technically they didn’t vote “for” genocide… but… there is simply no world where an individual could reasonably believe that for this election specifically, all those blue votes were going to flip green. In fact, it might have even required red votes to flip green.

And it hurts because in deciding to vote to… ease their conscience? No, they didn’t split the vote per se, but it still hurts. “I decided to toss my vote! And I’m glad that blue didn’t get elected because it shows that voters will not stand for blue not supporting Palestine!” is what it sounds like. And what are the Palestinians supposed to do in the next four years with someone who is Hell-bent and has explicitly stated that he wants to wipe them out?

And I don’t want to make everything about me or about people in this country who clearly are not being bombed. But it also hurts personally because you can basically substitute Palestinians for any given minority in that sentence, and it will ring true.

No, green didn’t split the vote. But… can green only act morally superior because blue didn’t win? It feels like some weird version of “owning the libs.” Would it have been different if blue had won? What would it be then? Would green double down on claiming that blue voted for genocide? Would green claim that at least blue realized to not vote red or that even red saw the light and flipped? I don’t know.

And again, it hurts because for every celebratory video I see, every call that claims that green showed blue that they were serious about not voting for genocide and that they will organize and try to get green elected next time…

I hear, “I didn’t care about throwing Palestine under more bombs if it meant I could keep people from voting blue. I didn’t care about Project 2025 if it meant I could keep people from voting blue.”

And no, it’s not fair to blame green for how things turned out. But this is why I at least get so damn hurt seeing these celebrations from green.

I want green to organize. I want green to put a third party that could actually win on the ballot. I want green to put in the work on a large scale between these big elections to get the electoral votes. And I want green to put in the work at the local level to get a third party in from the ground up. I want a third party. I want to never be in this situation again.

As usual, the blame lies with the blue party, red party, and red voters.

The blue politicians alienated their voters. As much as green’s celebrations hurt, what I heard from the blue party was, “We’re willing to compromise with red by giving in to them and getting nothing in return. We’re willing to try to appeal to voters who will never vote for us. We know they won’t. But we’re still going to do this anyway.” Of course I know most of the blue politicians don’t give a damn about me or people I care about. But I was hoping they at least wanted power. This is such an extreme alienation, too; are they really so confident that they can retain their status as the only other option? Maybe. Maybe that’s exactly it. I don’t know. But I know it hurts, too.

And of course, red. Oh, red. Where do I even begin? Red politicians… repulsive. They say the absolute worst about people, especially those who are vulnerable to them. Red voters… I don’t understand. I must assume they truly hate people like me, or at the very least, they simply truly do not care what happens. When their neighbors disappear, when the blood runs in the streets, it will be fine to them. Maybe that extreme makes some of them uncomfortable, so they simply do not believe it will happen.

“Blue is oppressing us!” they say. So they vote for people who have promised to oppress blue harder. But those people are not just oppressing blue. They’re oppressing red who look like blue, who come from the same place, who aren’t the type of red they want.

“I just want things to be normal and prices to be cheaper,” says “more reasonable” red. Then why vote for the ones with an entire plan, a manifesto, laid out on exactly how they’ll make everything very un-normal? The prices won’t be cheaper when you’re unprotected. The big money would rather see people die than live so long as they can make money, so long as they can keep costs to themselves low, so long as they can make prices high. What makes you think they’ll see you as any different?

But I guess if more people like me (and many more who are not like me in the slightest) die, then gas will be cheaper. Certainly less demand.

I guess if more people like me (and many more who are not like me in the slightest) die, then that’s just divine justice for not voting green.

I guess if more people like me (and many more who are not like me in the slightest) die, then that’s just even fewer people blue politicians have to pretend to care about.

Enjoy those eggs.

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

It’s just that “Better Than Revenge” is messy and angry, but also so very human and that’s okay. It’s disappointing to me that she felt the need to rewrite her own history on an album about saying exactly what you feel and water down her very human feelings she once had as a teenager. Her anger should be allowed to exist even though the target of it was misplaced, which was purely a product of society seeing that women were led to see each other as competition when it came to romance. She’s clearly shown that she’s changed her thinking from when she originally penned the song over a decade ago with what she said about “august” during the Long Pond Sessions and all of her work since Speak Now.

[worstloki]

Jujutsu Kaisen asks many important questions such as: mentally healthy daughters that are happy but racist OR son that isn’t racist but is so mentally unwell he rarely smiles and has no will to live

[headfullof-ideas]

I was gonna respond to @httyd-nerd in the reply section of my last Httyd/The Deep post, but it was getting long so I’m just putting it here where I can further elaborate on my frustrations and dilemma.

Part of writing this crossover is figuring out how characters from opposite shows will react and get along with one another. And to the surprise of who knows who else but absolutely not me, Alpheus has been a bit tricky in figuring this out. This might be a tangent on how I view his character, especially in how I write him, but partly to demonstrate how FRUSTRATED he’s making me.

Alpheus is not my favorite character. He’s not my least favorite, not by far. He’s just not my blorbo like I know he is for others. But he is an interesting character to write entirely because of how layered and flawed he is. He’s the epitome of an unreliable narrator, he thinks fairly high of himself and his own abilities, and has a lot of unresolved issues he refuses to resolve because he’s way too paranoid to get help. This makes for interesting relationships with other characters.

Except I’m really struggling with figuring out how he may get along with Dagur. It doesnt’ help that Dagur in this story, specifically the start, is a mix of his later RTTE counterpart, and his early version. He’s still deranged, but he’s enthusiastically optimistic to the point of coming across as insane too, and a bit softer because he grew up with Heather, and started dragon riding WAY earlier than he did in the show. Dagur and Alpheus are a bit similar to me in that they’re both the slightly mentally unbalanced enemy to the main protagonists, who are redeemed later down the line. Unfortunately, to me, I feel that’s where similarities wind up ending. They’ve got different personalities and goals and ways of going about them. They’ve got different backgrounds, and talents. And in some ways I can actually see them clashing. And it’s mostly because of Alpheus’s own flaws, for me at least.

Alpheus is an interesting character, and the few times I’ve written him he’s always been really fun because of how I dive into his psyche and how he perceives things. He’s a dramatic loser who instigates a rivalry with a thirteen year old, naming the thirteen year old his nemesis, and then loses to said thirteen year old hundreds of times. He’s probably wanted for a few felonies because of all the times he’s hacked the WOA and who knows who else, and might not even exist in the name of the law because we don’t know how long he was with the Guardians. This guy might not even have a birth certificate. Alpheus is an interesting character, and I’ve grown to like working with him…thing is he’s got a bit of a stick up his butt in regard to himself. He’s arrogant about his own intelligence, certainly being very intelligent, running his sub and modifying ARIA with little issues from a relatively young age, and evading all authorities for a very long time. But he’s socially stupid because he was raised by the Guardians, and I don’t think he was ever faced with the challenge of learning something from someone smarter than him, let alone interacting with someone as smart as or smarter than him. I think for the longest time Alpheus was the smartest person in the room, and never had to deal with someone actually challenging his own intellect. This isn’t helped with him not having an idea on how to respectfully talk to other people either.

Connected to that, Alpheus kind of brushes off anyone he doesn’t deem worth his time. His main focus was always finding Lemuria and getting the device (as he never actually learns what it is) to control the Monumentials, and also his somewhat one-sided rivalry with Ant. Ant was the only character I really remember him actually acknowledging. When he first met Fontaine, he just brushed off her attempts at breaking into his sub like she were a tiny, pesky fly, and he never really acknowledged her beyond being a nuisance through the rest of the show. I remember when Kaiko was mad about something (i don’t specifically remember the episode) he just commented ‘Mothers. So emotional.’ Didn’t really acknowledge her. I don’t even really remember any interaction he’s had with Will, which just adds to this. When they’re dealing with the Jellyfish Monumential, he brushes off everything Kaiko says, which can be alluded to spending a few months alone and losing his mind trying to escape, but there were other times he doubted her skills and abilities, specifically her piloting maneuvers when it came to escaping the Jellyfish. Even though, with his stalking tendencies, he had to know she was an accomplished submarine pilot. But he couldn’t do anything to escape, so why should she be able to do anything? Whenever Ant or anyone else opposed what Alpheus said was fact, he always kind of dismissed them, because I think in his mind there was no way they knew better than him. He only ever focused on Ant because he said himself that Ant was worthy of being his nemesis, or something along those lines, i don’t remember the specific words. But to me, he just always brushes off anyone he doesn’t see as worth his time and effort, doesn’t take them as seriously.

Which is where it’s hard for me to figure out his dynamic with Dagur. Dagur is an accomplished warrior, and certainly no idiot. He’s smart in his own right, and proved to be a real problem for Berk and the Riders many times. He was no Hiccup in regard to intelligence, but he’s not stupid. He’s got a bit of a temper, an obsession with being obsessed with everything he does, and doesn’t really give up ever. Man hounded Hiccup for four years to be his brother until Hiccup finally accepted the adoption. But he’s got Deranged in his name, and I just can’t help but think that Alpheus might not think too highly of him. Dagur’s plans are a lot more thought on the fly while following a loose rubric he came up with five minutes before hand, with a lot more brute strength, whereas Alpheus plans with his head and ahead of time. I just can’t help but think that Alpheus wouldn’t immediately respect Dagur, thinking he’s a crazy lunatic who doesn’t think anything through (which isn’t entirely wrong), and isn’t smart enough to understand anything Alpheus says. I think he’d just dismiss anything Dagur says about anything going on, especially when it comes to planning, which would drive Dagur insane, as he is quick to rise with a temper sometimes. I see them clashing at first, because Alpheus is still Alpheus and is obsessed with Ant, except by that point Dagur has claimed Ant as his brother, and he was there first(which now that I’m thinking about it, opens up some interesting potential for Alpheus and Viggo interacting. Viggo is essentially an older, more experienced, and grounded Alpheus after all, who also has prior interaction with Ant). I think it would take Dagur coming up with something that forces Alpheus to acknowledge that no, he’s not actually stupid, for things to change, but where they change I don’t know, because Alpheus is filled with pride and an inability to admit he’s wrong, and Dagur is a proud Berserker, in every aspect.

I do see Dagur getting a kick out of messing with Alpheus, which just pisses Alpheus off.

[starbuck]

I remember back when The Mountain Goats No Children was a meme on here seeing a post that went “I hope you live, i hope we both live,” and it making me SO angry…

And this was before I had ever even listened to the song (or anything by TMG for that matter), but now, knowing that John wrote the song, and specifically the line “I hope you die, I hope we both die” in response to radio overplay of the sugary sweet I Hope You Dance, I feel even more vindicated, because like.

Yes. Ultimately my overall life philosophy is that I hope we all live… I would hope that goes without saying. But No Children isn’t a life philosophy. It’s about how sometimes everything sucks and you feel like shit and trapped and hopeless and angry and I HOPE YOU DIE, I HOPE WE BOTH DIE!!!!!!!!! And who can’t relate to that? Who has NEVER felt like that in their lives??????

I feel a little silly accusing what was ultimately just a joke meme post of Toxic Positivity, but that was the vibe I was getting from it, which is why it made me mad. As though it was sticking up its nose at a song it clearly had no understanding of and going “well I hope we both LIVE 😇😇” and like. Fuck you lol. It’s okay to feel negative emotions. It’s okay to be angry.

[gch1995]

Why do you care about Vader's feelings so much? He doesn't deserve dignity. I hope Lucasfilm makes a story where he's captured by the Rebellion and brutally tortured until he's crying for Shmi. They'll use force suppressing devices and make him feel like the worthless slave he is

I care because Star Wars is primarily Anakin’s story, whether you like it or not. I care because Luke’s entire character arc in the OT films is pointless if Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda were always meant to be the perfect mentors, who did nothing wrong. I care, not just about Anakin’s feelings, but the feelings of every other Jedi recruit who had serious issues with the way the old Jedi Order and Republic operated.

I care, because if the Jedi are supposed to be the good guys, in spite of their flaws, then we should ultimately be rooting for them to rise again with Luke Skywalker. Because Anakin’s arc and feelings in the prequels are no longer treated as valid in the Disney era of Star Wars, that means Obi-Wan and Yoda are treated as being completely right all along, and the new Jedi Order cannot grow with Luke Skywalker in the current canon. The same bad choices and mistakes keep being made in the current canon because he follows his blatantly misguided predecessors, which was not implied at the end of the OT movies at all. While I would never agree that mass murder/genocide is the answer to deal with stopping them, because the current canon narrative ignores all the serious issues Anakin and his predecessors had, at least in part, because of the blatant corruption within the Order and Republic they grew up amongst, I’m also not too thrilled that Luke rebuilt the Order because he’s repeating all of their misguided choices and practices in current canon as a result.

[cetoddle]

i love my new therapist so much cause she’s the first person i’ve ever met who takes me seriously when i talk about suicide even though i don’t have a concrete plan and haven’t actually made any attempts yet

[oysters-aint-for-me]

my cat when i get up at 3 am to go to the bathroom and walk by his “empty” food bowl without refilling it

[heartshpedfx]

I support Armand's fanfic

(I think he fucked Lestat but not in that way he described necessarily)

he ABSOLUTELY fucked lestat but i don’t think it was in one of the theatre boxes in front of nicki, to me that just doesn’t seem like lestats style

[hwsforeignrelations]

Everybody learns at their own pace everybody learns in their own time everybody everybody learns at the time best for them everybody-