#adult drivels

[maretriarch]

nothing like a 100,000 note post to tell you how deeply deeply unradical and uncontroversial something is

[upmala]

i think i could call myself a high-functioning autistic person. like, i’m extremely capable, but i also have a lot of limitations/discomforts to work around. i have to be capable to manage every hypersensitivity, anxiety, sensory issue. i have to be able to communicate extremely well about my discomforts and triggers. otherwise? i’d be in an institution, probably. which sometimes seems like it would be nice, but there are no nice institutions in this country. you get disrespected, infantilised, essentially imprisoned. when all you need is someone to listen and care and help. so i have no viable options other than being aggressively self-sufficient and surrounding myself with friends around whom i don’t have to.

[caffeinated-bibliophile]

Ew

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Force in Nature | Platonic Yandere Trey Clover x Toddler Reader

Part 2

Being a child, in your experience sucked. Even with a developing mind there were constant reminders of all your faults. Short, weak, disadvantaged and constantly at the whim of adults. Most children wouldn’t mind so much, considering that the adults in their life mean well but not you. Never you.

“(Y/n) don’t give those fat brats anymore then that. They’re already eating us out of house and home.”

The drivel of your mother rings like a bell in your head. Always chastizing, always negative. It had gotten better now that she had found your father but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. In her mind she figured his children were the only obstacle left between her ‘happily ever after’ with your father. 

“Ace! Deuce! Did you break into this pantry again?!”

It didn’t help that the twins were rambunctious spitfires that were prone to trouble anyway. Which meant they were often forced to reach out their hands to suffer the wrath of the ruler. Their father was a popular man, often more focused on updating the town’s bulletin boards than disciplining his children but it was clear he loved them. 

But love was never enough to save the duo from your mother’s accusations.

At least once a day, your mother would report the twins for doing or saying something awful. It would always lead to an exhausted sigh before stomping over to the children to give another lecture and dish out some chore as punishment.

“This so unfair, we didn’t even do anything this time.”

“Well I know I didn’t. Maybe you did something Ace.”

“What!? How dare you blame me! Don’t you believe me, (Y/n)?”

You usually were a witness to their innocence, often spending your time with them anyway. But for whatever reason not being able to speak meant your written testimonies were invalid. No matter how many times you wrote in you’re book and presented it to your father it never seemed to work. 

“You’re so sweet (Y/n). Trying to save your big brothers; you know that lying doesn’t help their case anymore.”

It was fine when it was only that. Baseless accusations and then the punishment of simple chores. Every now and then a prank in return for their suffering but then the chilly warning of Autmn came around. While the likeness that the snow would pile too high was low, the scarcity of food was a guarantee. Already aware of the set portions you’d receive suddenly decreasing and the way your father didn’t dare eat with you all any more spoke volumes.Unfortunately your mother wasn’t all too fond of cutting material costs.

“Cater I’m telling you, we’ll never get to eat if we have those kids in the house.”

“But love (Y/n) would never survive the trip into town.”

“Not them you idiot! They hardly eat more than a rat! It’s those boys of yours! They’re so big they ought to be hunting for their own by now.”

“The boys…not them they are still children too.”

“Stop whining. I’m going to take them out tomorrow, to learn how to hunt.”

“You?! But you’ve never—”

“Shut-up! Maybe then I can get those kids to do something worth the wasted meal.”

Reporting to your brothers the plan for the day felt like being the espionage detail for a secret operation. It made you proud when they used their information to concoct their own plan. They deduced that she planned to ‘lose’ them during her hunting lesson. Thus Deuce’s genius-plan to leave stones leading to the house was born. It was a shame that this plan didn’t involve you in any way but you were happy to see Deuce leaving stones behind as your mother led him into the forest. 

Trying to comfort your father for a decision he didn’t protest felt odd. Of course, you wouldn’t understand the emotional struggle of his love life and the love of his trouble-causing twins. You are a kid, you aren’t supposed to know. Still, you let him hold you, mumbling curses to himself about cowardice as your mother opened the door. She huffed and puffed about him not greeting her before going off to prepare dinner. 

Unable to resist the urge you settled on the chair beneath the window. Watching the opening into the forest being led to by the stones. Sure enough, before the sun had set and the fourth time your mother had called you for dinner they were there. Appearing slightly dirty but determined they came just in time, much to your mother’s dismay.

Of course, what followed was a new plan for tomorrow.

“I’ll take them deeper in! And I’ll make sure to kick all those pebbles away”

“Please let’s just–”

“Starve!? We’ll barely have enough for dinner tomorrow! They must go!”

“But it’s so cruel.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

The silence from your father was telling and like before you reported to your brothers. They took your notes with just as much urgency as the last, instead trading their stones for crumbs from the sliver of bread they’d be given for lunch. At the time it sounded like a great idea.

But as the sun set and the critters of the forest picked at the crumbs left behind, it dawned on you. 

This was a terrible idea.

With a quickly scribbled note left on the window sill, you took a ball of yarn tying it to the bush near the forest opening. Following the disappearing trail of critters, you were walking in the direction your brothers went finding that it stopped in a clearing. From there the moon could no longer illuminate the crumbs still left and the critters weren’t leading you accurately anymore. 

It was getting colder. The woolen sweater and mitts are your only comfort. With a rumbly tummy and the heaviness on your eyelids increasing, you settled into the dirt. Promising you’ll find your brothers when you wake, staving off the fear from your shrunken spool of wool.

When the sun rose again you woke with renewed vigor. The pain of hunger leaving you for the time being you set your gaze to the ground. Of course, the crumbs were gone but vague indents in the dirt gave you enough of a guide. During your tracking you start the game of letting your smaller shoes take a fraction of their tracks following along as you replay a song your father would sing.

Eventually, the tracks stopped at a paved pathway, it smelled sweet like a candy you’d seen the twins eat. It made you curious but you trusted your judgment to ignore your hungry thoughts. The tracks didn’t continue past the pavement and knowing your brothers they’d certainly gave the brightly colored path a try.

The grumbling desires of your stomach weren’t spoiling your resolve— or that’s what you were telling yourself. Going down the hill the path led over it’s destination led you to a place you swore shouldn’t have existed. In a clearing, the candied path led to a gingerbread house, decorated with various frosting, gumdrops, and red vines. The fence around it was peppermint canes surrounding the sugary house invitingly. A perfect garnishment for an already delectable house. Your stomach agreeing you found yourself closing in on the gingerbread foundation perfectly level with your small mouth. 

Before you could dive in, you stopped. Thinking back to nicer days in the forest you remembered thanking the squirrels buried in the trees surrounding your cottage. Instead of burrowing inside your warm, inviting home they kept to their holes in the nearby trees. Of course, your young mindset wouldn’t have comprehended why animals that wanted to survive avoided the cottage. But that was beside the point. 

Your manners for the owner of the candy house would not be affected. Even though your stomach churned almost painfully at your denial. To make it easier you turned away from it crouching down to hold the grumbling organ. Repeating that you could eat when you returned with your brothers to share—no matter how little was left. 

“You are allowed to eat you know.”

The sultry voice of a man stopped your internal thoughts, peeking your head over your shoulder to look at the interruption. In the doorway of the house was a tall and handsome man, he reminded you of the young bachelor in town. Wearing a tight black long-armed shirt lined with rhinestones, your mother would envy. The dangling sparkles matched his pants which were long and wide at the ankles. His attire was interesting because you’d never seen it before, the man’s face was just as alarming. Hair as green as the surrounding trees was flowing to his waist contrasting his black outfit in a ragged but neat look. It was like a halo of green against his pale skin, golden eyes, and pink lips.

“You look hungry, why don’t you take a bite?”

The way he said it was hypnotic. An inviting and comfortable thrum of a voice that started to pinprick into your morale. You shook your head as if that would expel the greedy thoughts threatening to take hold. You hurriedly pulled out your notepad writing as neatly as you could. Holding up your notepad, you hoped he could read.

'It’s your house…that’d be mean.'

He leaned in to see what you wrote, retreating back to the arch of the gingerbread door.

“I was the one who chose a candy house. It just comes with the territory.”

He flashed a smile, white as milk. You licked your teeth beneath your mouth, feeling the plaque build-up that you’re sure makes your teeth yellow. Thinking of brushing, your memories trickled the moments you’d had with your brothers. The excitement that came with using your toothpaste for anything but. It reminded you of your real objective.

'Have you seen my brothers?'

The man tilts his head. You proceed to draw them to the best of your ability; trying to use the charcoal to detail the colors of their hair, and their height compared to your own. It’s hard to tell if he knows anything as his small smile hasn’t waivered. But as you scribble and point you worried he’d stopped listening.

“How about you come inside, have a bite, and I can help you find your brothers. That sound like a plan?”

You nodded. Standing up, you rushed to his side to grab his extended hand letting him lead you inside.

'My name’s (Y/n), what’s you’re name?'

“Trey. You can call me: Trey."

'Nice to meet you, Trey!'

“Likewise.”

______________________________________________________________

Trey Clover loved to eat children. It was in his nature to come from a long line of baking witches. It wasn’t a trade secret that children extend your life and beauty; the real secret was how to craft the potions with the children to make delicious desserts. Forest animals and pesky adults were fine ingredients but nothing was more fulfilling than a child’s soul. They were also much nicer to have as victims. They cried sure but they were dumber, more gullible, and so much easier to fatten up. But for all the children he’d consumed over the past century, there was something Trey could definitively say was the truth.

That Trey Clover loved children. His family ruled him as demented for such a thought but it was the truth. For all the fulfillment he’d have after his rejuvenating meals, there was still a resounding sorrow that nothing he could make would overshadow. Nothing but the shining presence of another child. 

Trey rationalized that he wasn’t crazy, humans had pet pigs all the time. He’s no different in that way. That every now and then the thought of keeping one crossed his mind, diminished at the thought of one thing or another. Whether it was a spark of brattiness that was hidden behind a sunny demeanor or just the undisciplined actions of a bully in the making. It reminded him why he’d never let himself feel too bad as he tossed their belongings into the basement after a satisfying meal. He figured it was natural selection. Like any other predator, he looked for the weakest, the slowest in the pack to pick off and sustain him for another ten years. 

But he’d begun to waiver with such an innocent soul in his grasp.

“How was that? Was it good?”

'But my brothers–'

He'd close the pad before the question was asked.

“Your head is so warm, I think you’re coming down with a fever.”

Cradling the young child, he settled to swaying them to sleep. His usual victims were not so young, often much older and more defiant. That is why it was such a treat to have a well-mannered impressionable little toddler to care for. With a resolve to their mission that was unavoidable, it still was nothing against the bedtime routine he’d been taught long before. He couldn’t remember if it was his mother or one that he’d eaten but she detailed the way to care for small children with such pride. In his heart of hearts, he’d admit to having eaten her out of envy. But now she proved more useful than her bones as he ran a bath for the yawning toddler.

Distracting them with talks of nothing as he gently wiped the grime off their little body. He had to refrain from frowning at the signs of a rash on their back. He was blankly staring at the untreated patch, cursing the adults who’d allow a sick toddler to run through the woods. But from their other children’s stories, they weren’t all that good to begin with.

The sound of a sneeze reminded him of his task.

“Bless you. After your bath I’m just rub a little ointment on your back before you settle down okay?”

They tiredly nodded, Trey resisted the urge to coo.

“You’re doing a good job staying awake. Let’s finish up before you fall asleep, okay?”

His parents were completely right about him. What sane witch would have a room decorated for a toddler already made, already infused with sleeping herbs that’d erase the thoughts of the past? 

“Goodnight, my sugar cube.”

The notepad had been abandoned long ago. The urge to burn it was growing.

“Tomorrow we can look for your brother.” 

The demanding sign of '2 brothers', made him laugh. Not after today you wouldn't.

“Maybe one day sugar cube, sleep tight.”

Kissing (Y/n)’s head and waving as he closed the door, Trey was elated. It was difficult to wipe the smile off his face when he unlocked the basement door.  

It wasn’t just as he left it per his instructions to the bratty boy. Ace was far too skinny to be worth a good meal and from what Trey could tell a decent worker under stress. Trey figured it’d be hard to break his spirit if the other boy was around. Of course there was a chance it'd return with his little one. Trey would bet on fear and duty overwhelming him and he’d fall right into place.

“I see you’re working extra hard. Good.”

______________________________________________________________

Ace stopped sweeping, his little knuckles white as he fought the urge to scream at the witch. He only wanted to see his brother. After the first night, he knew rebelling would get him nothing but trouble. 

“Can I see my brother now?”

Trey hummed closing the door behind him, he didn’t bother to lock it. He knew the boy wouldn’t want to leave. He took the ring of keys from his belt twirling around his lithe finger as he stepped deeper into the basement. Ace stuck close to his side, waiting anxiously to see his brother again. 

The last time he saw him, his face was wet with tears. His hands were still sticky from the treats they’d gorged on, angrily shaking the unmoving metal bars around him. Ace couldn’t sleep if he tried. 

“Before we go in, you two have a younger sibling. (Y/n) was it?”

Ace’s already sped-up heart-rate, went seconds faster. The collection of little papers in his hands with a tattered cover was far too familiar.

“They sound so determined to find you two.”

“What did you do to them!?”

When Trey turned his head over his shoulder the sneer he gave, bore into Ace's soul like a needle. Flashes of the suffocating pain the night before demanding he fix his demeanor immediately. 

“Quiet boy.” The command was like a heat rod, sweltering from such a short distance. He looked away from those golden eyes for his own sake. “I won’t be doing anything to them if you behave.”

The final warning hung in the air with the door now unlocked. The metal door swinging open was a cruel mirror of when they first accepted the invitation to eat some more. There were tables of sweets and pastries along the cracking walls of the room. A table with a checkered tablecloth and a painted chair were placed off to the right side of the room; waiting for someone to enjoy the decorative plating on its surface. But unlike the day they first arrived a metal cage was hanging from the ceiling and his brother Deuce was in it. 

“I’m glad you ate. At least hunger won’t be the last thing on your mind.”

Trey’s off-handed comment was ignored as Ace ran to clutch at the bars separating him from Deuce. As best as they could they hugged one another, the cold and rusted bars a constant reminder of their unfortunate circumstance. 

“Deuce I can’t let this happen! I have to do something!”

Deuce shook his head,” No, if you do anything bad he’ll eat you too! You’ve got to get back home and find Dad!”

Ace pulled at his orange strands, “I can’t he has (Y/n).”

Deuce’s serious face, quivered. His brave instructions became mute as he imagined their youngest sibling unknowingly falling into the same trap they did.

“You have to protect them. Please, Ace.”

The blue-haired boy couldn’t speak anymore his nose running and tears falling again. All he could do was clutch at Ace’s hands, attempting to put his forehead against the bars to feel his brother's. Ace was crying too, barely standing as he held onto his brother.

“Are you done? I’m not getting any younger over here.”

Trey's snide remark was not appreciated, nor was his giant hand pulling at the rags of his clothes, shoving him toward the oven. Ace didn’t need to ask for Trey to point at the brush and pan on the floor.

“Clean up the oven. The metal earrings from my last meal will make him taste worse.”

Ace murmured his distaste as he opened the oven door. Looking into the deep black mouth of the oven, it amazed him that whole people could fit in there. 

It also gave him a devilish idea.

“Uhm I don’t know how to.”

Trey turning towards him was frightening, the black coloring around his eyes flaring with such disgust. 

“Are you troubled? You just go in and sweep the ash at the floor of the oven.”

Ace pretended to look into the oven before jumping back, “Are you sure there’s not someone down here?”

The witch was prepared to punish the boy but he thought of the toddler upstairs. He had dreamed of the day, he would be called to check the closet for monsters. He figures if he’s keeping the defiant one, he should show some of the same care that he’ll be showing for (Y/n). 

It’s all too easy for Trey to climb inside, having done so on his own, hundreds of times before. Crawling to the back he felt the child coming up beside him, immediately making him grab the head of the boy. 

Ace felt his stomach flip. Had he figured him out?

“We can’t go in at the same time, wait ‘til I’m done.” 

“O-okay.”

As instructed Ace crawled back out, watching how the witch's body fully disappeared into the oven. Once his feet passed the threshold of the oven’s opening, he didn’t hesitate to close the oven door. Jumping up to flick the lock closed, Ace ignored the angry banging as he pulled at the red-colored lever to turn on the oven. 

The feeling of the heat flickering to light brought a successful comfort to the orange-headed boy. The frantic banging from within the oven was as frightening as the demonic screaming from within. 

“W-wait but the keys! He still has them!”

Ace assured his brother with the jingling object in his hand. Deuce pulled him into a teary hug once he’d been freed from the metal cage. The smell of sweat and burning flesh, never being so enticing. The moment between the two stopped as the banging became more and more apparent; the lock clicking as it held the oven closed.

“Let’s get out of here before he breaks out of there.”

“I agree.”

Deuce is the first to run through the door and out the basement; likely because of his time in the metal cage. Ace on the other hand faltered, snatching an armful of the pastries lining the room. He flipped the bird at the furnace and ran to lock the door to the basement door. Before he did, he took a moment to pay his respects to those before him. Bowing his head at the rows of shoes and belongings he’d organized, he apologized again before snatching a satchel. With the final locking of the basement door, Ace lets Deuce run up the stairs to search for their little sibling. 

Allowing Ace to have free reign of the upper floor that had deceived them before. He was never considered a good kid but he hardly saw the appeal when he had no qualms about breaking whatever he couldn’t take. 

“It almost makes this all worth it!”

Deuce, on the other hand, found you easily. The room had a distinct smell that almost made him feel safe. Going out on a limb he found his baby sibling curled up underneath a fluffy blanket. He easily tucked his arms underneath to carry them, he stopped to notice the spool of wool falling from their hand. Deuce put two and two together; smiling at the sleeping toddler in his arms. 

“Thanks to you, (Y/n). We’ll all get to go home.”

The trip back was like a minor stroll. The original dangers of the forest were diminished to minor nuisances in comparison to the horrors they’d endured. Of course, the two still had other things to worry about when they did return home.

“What are we supposed to do about the step-lady?”

“Hm, I don’t know maybe we should push her into the oven too.”

Ace laughed and usually, Deuce would scold him for the macabre joke. But Deuce didn’t really consider that a joke nor was he completely against it. The brothers had plenty to think about as they each took turns holding their snoozing sibling. 

It’s probably best they didn’t look back at the candy house. 

For they might be filled with dread at force they awakened.

[barleyo]

Build-A-Bride.

Enji Todoroki X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: i can't stop writing broken enji... he's so depressed and lonely i LOVE it ^_^ isn't he just so dreamy? all downtrodden and sad? anyways this is so half-assed, sorry!

Tags: dub-con, forced/arranged marriage (sort of), age gap, mostly plot tbh (minimal smut), brief mentions of dehumanization, breeding, creampie, p in v, size difference, language barrier

Wordcount: 1.8k

Women don't like divorcés. It's a mark of failure. It brings down one's stock value. Enji's mistakes with Rei were numerous. He knew it was for the best, that he had nothing to fight for when she had the papers mailed to him. Why would he argue with her about it? The kids had all grown up and moved out. Their assets were easily separable. She did not ask for much in the split, and even if she did Enji would have given it up without pushing back. 

He was a man defeated. What point would there be in chasing after Rei again? He did not love her; not truly, at least, and she certainly did not love him. They had been living stagnantly ever since she was released from the hospital. It would be a feat for them to even speak to each other over breakfast. Idle chat about the weather or what their adult children were doing was a rare treat. 

Enji's life had slowed significantly. No children to fill his too-big-for-one-man house and no woman to be kept company by. Work had slowed down. Younger heroes took the top spots, slowly but surely. Even his own son was predicted to soon surpass him. Old timers, or "Golden-Age Heroes", as the media titled them, were losing fame and fortune alike. No longer the hot commodity, old was out, new was in.

He expected it, really. His goal was to be the number one hero, and he was for a while. Was it his dream to remain number one? He didn't have time to think about it before he got knocked down to a measly third place in the ranks. 

He had thrown so much of himself into the hero life. It crossed his mind a few times, it all ending, but he never realized that it would come crashing down so soon. What friends he had, using the term very lightly, were less than helpful in his condition. 

None less so than Hawks, of course. That damned fool.

Keigo had been dragging Enji out to these annoyingly quaint cafés for a while now. He'd force piles of biscotti and scones onto Enji's plate while blabbing on about some new excursion of his or the other, taking up the prime hours of Enji's day in the name of socializing. 

Seldom it was that Enji left the impromptu meet-ups with anything but slight annoyance at best and utter exhaustion at worst. He could hardly pay attention to the meaningless drivel Keigo threw his way. Sometimes it was talk of the current hero ranks, which Enji immediately tuned out. Other times it was about a concert or movie Keigo was going to. 

Lately, though, Keigo had an interest in trying to play matchmaker for Enji. 

"You should really get out there," he said, smug little smile plastered on his cheeky face while he sipped his espresso. "You aren't getting younger."

Enji's response was the same as always, in that he was too busy and too old to be worrying about such things. "I do not have time to woo a woman like a schoolboy. I'm fine where I am," he responded with his arms resting on the café's comparably small table. 

Keigo chuckled, curling his lips upwards. "You can only spend so many nights with your right hand, Endeavor."

"Shut your damned mouth."

"If you won't let me set you up with someone," Keigo said, not taking Enji's gruff tone seriously, as usual, "there is another option."

Enji pressed his mouth closed tightly, eyes narrowing into a judgmental squint. "It had better not be online dating."

Defensive hands flew up. "No, no. You've made that pretty clear, man. I'm talking about getting, like, a mail-order bride or whatever they're called."

"You do realize how much that sounds like human trafficking, right?"

"It does not! They still do it, you know. There are websites and everything." 

Enji sighed and leaned his head back to look up at the ceiling. The idea sounded horrible. God only knew how sketchy something like that would be, and besides, how horrible were the moral implications of that? Some old bastard like himself purchasing a young girl like a farm animal. 

It wasn't completely unheard of. Plenty colleagues of his had foreign brides ordered for them. Even his own cousins had done similar things. Hell, he wasn't far off from trying it out to get the perfect quirk marriage before he found Rei. 

But now? It sounded cruel. Unnecessary. He already resented himself for how he treated his family— he didn't need to ruin the life of some other woman too.

"I am not going to order a wife," he said, voice strained, "like a spare part off of eBay. Do you not see how horrible that would look on me?"

Keigo waved his hand dismissively, unbothered. “It’s not like that. These women are looking for a chance at a better life," he explained before teasingly adding, "just like the lonely men who send for them." 

Enji stared at him, trying to decipher if he was serious. “You really think I'm desperate enough to buy some random woman?"

"Don't think of it like 'buying.' Think of it as rescuing. How will the press feel about that, hm? Imagine the headline: ‘Endeavor, the hero with a heart, saves a foreign damsel in distress by bringing her to Japan to live a new life of riches and mind-blowing sex!'"

"You disgust sometimes, you little brat."

Keigo leaned over the table, teeth flashing briefly as he spoke. "Just think about it, okay? I'll send you some links tonight." He got up and pushed his chair in with his foot. "Besides, I'm tired of being your only friend. These little 'dates' of ours are cutting majorly into my work." 

Keigo had compiled a ridiculously long list of websites and companies that specialized in international marriage deals. He had definitely committed to the bit too much or he had researched this topic heavily before presenting it to Enji via text.

Either way, Enji peered at his cell phone screen in distaste. Link after link, scrolling through the masterlist Hawks compiled, he just felt more unsure of the idea. The names of the sites left a strange feeling in his gut. 

GoldenBride, Rose Brides, Latidate. For fuck's sake, UkraineBride4You dot com? "Legitimate & Cheapest Mail Order Bride Sites! Click here for more!" 

He clicked his phone off. The light from the vibrant ads and taglines disappeared from his face as quickly as they appeared, leaving him in the dark of his bedroom. He didn't speak, he just stayed in his bed, leaning on the headboard in silence. 

He had gotten used to his house being quiet. It was never especially loud, but at least when the kids still lived at home, he could hear the sounds of life. Of Shoto's feet padding through the halls. The sound of Fuyumi's books opening and closing. Natsuo's grumbling under his breath. Proof that he had gotten them all this far— that he had done something right for them. 

No. He couldn't stay this way, living in the dark silence, figuratively and literally. He turned his phone back on and clicked the highlighted link with the least concerning name. 

Well, you were just the perfect little thing, weren't you? Young, pretty, doe-eyed, and sweet. After perusing a website that looked less criminal than he thought it would, Enji decided on you. He had to have you. 

You stood out immediately from the pages of other women. All of them were, of course, gorgeous. They would not be advertised if they weren't. You, though. There was something about you. You were small—Enji liked that—but not frail. Built for carrying children was what you were, he decided, with your soft curves and buxom build. 

Your profile did not give much away. Basic information and a little greeting. It intrigued him enough, so clearly it worked. 

The two of you chatted for a few weeks, if you could call it that. There was little getting to know each other and more plane tickets being purchased and pick up times being arranged. To say that you had him hooked was an understatement, especially considering the only tools you had to connect with him were shitty translations of your language to his from Google and emojis. 

Everything about you read as gentle. Docile. Probably the only personality Enji was equipped to deal with. He would just die if married to a combative woman. His enemies would love to see him nestled up with a loud, abrasive one with a temper to match his own. 

No, you would do quite nicely, with your limited speaking and non-provoking nature. You were the perfect escape, a blank canvas onto which he could project his hopes for a new life onto. He could start a family over again. He could fix his mistakes and move on. Maybe, just maybe, he could forgive himself.

The flood of ideas filled him each time his phone buzzed with your messages, even if they were often short and punctuated by misunderstandings and screwy sentences due to poor translations. He found himself counting the days until your plane would take off to bring you to him, to his home. He had plans for you.

Things moved quickly with your new husband. Just last week your flight landed. Then you were  saying "I do," and now he had you bent in positions unimaginable. 

He worked fast. His hands were large and rough, but God, they were efficient. Thick fingers rubbed at your clit. A thicker cock  prodded at your entrance. You wriggled beneath him a bit, eyes widening at the stretch. 

You didn't have the words to tell him you were a virgin, but you didn't have the desire to stop him either. 

"Hold still, you," he said, voice gentle in comparison to how rough his strokes were. "You've got to let it adjust." 

Even if you could understand his words, the heat burning your ears drowned out any sound completely. Fullness filled you everywhere. Like a missing piece you never knew you didn't have. 

"Ah, you still aren't broken in yet for me," he muttered to himself. He watched as your struggles to swallow him into your walls. "Virgin, yeah?"

You mumbled incoherently to yourself, feeling his words cast over your face. More or less, you understood the tone of his words and hummed in agreement, hands playing with your tits absent mindedly. 

Pain tinted moans escaped you. Enji felt good, sure, but a warmth of discomfort passed through you with every inch of him. Your mind told you yes, but your body tried to reject him. He was simply too big, and too much. 

Not that it would stop him. 

He spat on his length to ease the friction. A steady hand stayed over your clit, abusing it to the point of overstimulation. He wanted this to be pleasurable for you, but he had a goal in mind. 

The load or two he had pumped into you earlier wasn't enough. He wouldn't dare give up yet, especially not with the adrenaline rush hearing you whine gave him. 

Besides, your plane ticket was expensive. He planned on getting paid back in spades.

[josru]

a little rant:

If you need to understand one thing about the Bear subreddit, here it is.

It's not a supportive place for women, let alone black women/women of colour. (Not surprising, as reddit is male and white dominated.) Sydney gets mad hate for daring to be apart of the main relationship in the show (that is now defunct), something that the writers wrote for her? Regardless if you see Sydcarmy as romantic or not. The whole point of the Bear is their partnership.

And yet the Bear fandom on reddit loves to diminish her role, and act as if Sydney is an uppity black woman who needs to be rid of. They act like it's surprising that people want to talk about her or like her. And they also think Sydcarmy is mad overrated and implausible. They bring it up constantly because it pisses them off that a sizeable portion of us love it.

Probably because Sydney is an actual character we can relate to and root for. But oh no, men don't like that because that means she isn't a perfect little white fantasy, and she has actual problems and ideas and speaks on them, and she's BLACK, god forbid!! And they could never have empathy for someone who wasn't themselves. Sydney is annoying to them because it reminds them they don't care about other people.

It's barely a place for white women too, because they only like you if you're a gf/therapist/not your own person. A flat, 2-D image with no problems. They don't care about Jess or Claire, they just want to fuck them. Even in this post, the respect of relatability and empathy is given to Richie in the title, because he finally "got some", despite the picture being of Jess. Like, great, guys, you diminished a woman (a PERSON) to being a "win" for a man, because that's all that matters, right? Whether or not a woman is a fuckable prize?

Even the writing of the show actually just pushes the whole "if women = gf, = only gf, nothing else" trope. So in a weird way, I guess I know where they're getting it from, but I expected more from adult men? My bad.

Women deserve to be more than someone's fantasy!! I am sick and tired of this misogynistic drivel. I also think it's fucked up how much of these dudes on reddit love Richie this much. Like, we get it, you think he's a self-help sigma alpha chad king now. Just keep ignoring the problems he keeps creating, how irritating he can be sometimes, as well as the fact that men picking up their lives will always have way more support than female characters. Richie is not some underdog character lol. The narrative of the show has made it clear he is very beloved and will have a nice, sweet arc.

Unlike Sydney, and Marcus, and apparently maybe even Tina. But yes, keep talking about how your white male character is the underdog who is being sooo mistreated and finally got something he deserved, even though in actuality, Syd and every other POC got treated like shit this season. It's like they swapped them, the real main characters, and made them the underdogs/tertiary while Richie has become so important. But it's key to reddit's white male victim complex that Richie is finally getting "good treatment" when he never suffered being completely ignored by the writers at all, and he was never at risk of that either.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Does Sephiroth feel loved by Angeal and Genesis?

• Sephiroth feels loved when Genesis reads to him. As a child he longed for an adult to read him bedtime stories, but Hojo discouraged the use of "fantastical drivel" and Gast's attempts to read to him were short lived. Genesis gladly reads to him, whether it's day or night (when long phone conversations turn into Sephiroth falling asleep as Genesis reads).

Sephiroth doesn't care how many times he recites Loveless. It's why he has that dopey smile on his face in the training room as Genesis reads, because he's fortunate that he has a friend who's beaten a story his head.

• Angeal's hugs make Sephiroth feel loved. He grew up with so little psychical contact that wasn't limited to invasive examinations, that when he finally found someone as physically affectionate as Angeal, he was stunned. Angeal will casually wrap his arm around him, brush the hair from Sephiroth's face, and hugs him unprompted.

• The way they both make him feel loved is when Sephiroth enters his apartment after one of those grueling days and, instead of the quiet of his space, walks straight into the smell of home cooked food coming from the kitchen and the sound of his friends laughing. It's not that he comes home to them. They are his home.

[quinnyundertow]

The Cult Leader’s Quarry

TW: NSFW 18+ , canon typical violence, murder, stalking, self-harm

CHAPTER 3 NOOSE DRAWS TIGHTER

Your home is embarrassingly sparse. The furniture is clearly secondhand from some local goodwill or flea market. The items are all mismatched and of varying levels of quality but it’s obvious the current owner cares for everything. This is what they call house poor. You spend so much on rent that the rest of your aspects of life suffer. He expected nothing more from a pathetic monkey.

The late afternoon sun paints the room in this orange glow as Suguru Geto crosses your living area. He walks in an oddly ethereal style, his robes moving almost imperceptibly. He pauses to pick up some gaudy decorative items off your side tables. He peers at them briefly before moving to the small bookcase you own. It’s mainly filled with manga trash and fantasy drivel. Though a few authors catch his eye towards the bottom, Murasaki Shikoku, Sei Shonagon, Leo Tolstoy, Fukumi Shimura, Sun Tzu, Osamu Dazai. So you’re not as stupid as he thought. For a monkey that is. He plucks out the book Colors of a Mother by Fukumi Shimura. It's an unpretentious book with nothing on the blue cover but the title and author. Turning it over in his hands he studies it for a moment. He hadn’t seen any sign you had a child. What a strange reading choice. Without another thought he pockets the book in his robes.

He’s wasting time, who cares that the monkey can read the classics. Refocusing, he takes a small black device no bigger than a pencil’s eraser. Due to his naturally tall form he doesn’t need a step stool to simply apply the tiny camera to the kitchen’s smoke detector in a way that looks inconspicuous. If Satoru wanted to destroy his curses, Suguru would just have to utilize technology rather than sorcery. There’s this voice screaming in the back of his head that he’s wasting time away from his true objective of eradicating all non-sorcerers. Nothing that voice says now matters. He has isolated himself so completely from other adults these last two years. That something about you has him coming back for more. He will devour and disassemble you; but tonight just doesn’t feel right. Not now, he can’t wait for that moment really. But he needs something more from you first. He’s not sure yet what that thing is.

Continuing his tour of your home, he notes your bedroom is surprisingly childish. You have stuffed animals strewn around the room, a thick fluffy comforter and hanging string lights. He can’t help the tiny smile that creeps on his face at the idea of the corporate woman he’s seen sleeping here at night. Speaking of corporate women, you should be home any minute now. He quickly places a camera in your bedroom before entering the messiest room in the house so far, the bathroom. You had been in a rush this morning. A makeup bag lay on your sink. Taking up your perfume he sprays a little in the air just to get a whiff. A shiver runs through him as he takes the scent in. He decides he wants to play a game with you. He picks up your toothbrush and sets it down in the opposite way you had it before. Would you notice? There’s a wall vent in the bathroom the perfect height for a voyeur's camera. He easily pops off the cover to set his camera inside when he can’t help but freeze. There’s already a camera inside the vent. It’s an older clunkier model that can’t stream but it can certainly be programmed to run at certain hours and record during them.

He feels his blood thrumming loud in his ears. Who has been spying on you? You’re his quarry, his target, his prey. Who was infringing on his territory? He barely hears your key in the front door lock before he applies his camera into a different area and leaves the older model for now. He slats the vent home and flicks off the bathroom light as you enter the main room. You’re all sighs as you shuffle around the kitchen and dining room. He’s sure you’ll have to pee soon and slips into your tub shower and stands behind the curtain.

The fact that you could find him here. Or that he could jump out and be on top of you at any second has him feeling a new type of elation he never had before. All his nerve endings are on fire as the bathroom light flicks on. The navy shower curtains is dark enough to obscure his figure. You give another long sigh and the intimate noises that follow give him an instant boner. You’re peeing while thinking you're alone. He isn’t even able to enjoy the full experience as he’s instantly is reminded of the other camera in the vent. He needs to take care of that. The idea that someone else is taking advantage of your private moments, the ones meant only for him, is going to drive him mad.

There’s the sound of your clothes hitting the floor and Suguru has an anticipatory knot his throat. One of your dainty hands reaches blindly into the shower and turns the water on. The cold water blasts his clothes but he barely feels it beneath his racing pulse. If you see him here it’s game over for you. He will either have to kill you or force you into a state where you are unable to tell anyone.

His breathing is picking up but the sound of the shower is masking it. When you step past the shower’s billowing curtain he’s going to grab you by the shoulders and slam you into the shower wall. He’ll let the freezing water spray you down. Your skin will erupt into goosebumps while your nipples harden painfully. You’ll be so terrified-

There’s a noise as you leave the bathroom. You must have forgotten something in your bedroom. Despite the fantasy's allure he exits the bath quickly. He isn’t ready for this new game to end yet.

He’s creeping to the bathroom exit when he sees a pair of your used panties at the top of your dirty clothes pile. He doesn’t even hesitate a moment before he swiftly pockets them. Geto is out of your apartment and riding the elevator to the first floor before you even return to the bathroom.

The longer he walks down the streets the more his mind works itself up into a frenzy. His consciousness is in turmoil. Why hasn’t he killed you yet? Is he getting weak? Is his resolve really that shaky? He pauses at a crosswalk on his journey to the train station. A monkey approaches him from the sidewalk. Her hips are swaying and hair is meticulously styled, “Hey handsome, looking-“ her spiel is interrupted by screams as the curse he let loose melts away her features until she’s no more than a mummified husk. He continues walking when the crosswalk indicates he’s safe to and ignores all the hysterical bystanders who just saw that monkey spontaneously combust.

So he isn’t weak, he didn’t feel anything when he murdered that woman. If anything he feels relief that one more monkey will no longer be on this planet. So you are his problem. Oddly enough that irritates him more. He pulls out the soft pink panties he had stolen off your floor. He holds them tightly in his fist as his jaw works in annoyance. He’s going to throw them into the next trash bin he passes. The entire walk home, bin after bin goes by and his grip on your cloth only tightens.

He’s doing mental gymnastics in order to justify not throwing them away. They were his reward; his trophy for his troubles. No one needed to know where it was from. He was the master of his own universe; he could do what he wished.

When he finally arrives home and locks the office door behind him his grip loosens. His fingers are slightly cramped from the extended vice grip they were held in. Little crescent moons dot the palm of his hand from his nails pressure. In a way he felt like a giddy teen once again doing something forbidden. He and Satoru had stolen panties before as a dare. This somehow felt far more satisfying.

Opening his hands he spread the cloth to view the whole article. It was cute, soft, and slightly stained at the crotch. Did someone turn you on today or were you naturally this wet? He couldn’t help but shiver as he lifted the garment to his face. He presses the softness to his cheek and inhales deeply the musky scent of you. His eyes roll back in his head as he continues to breathe you into him. He can’t wait to spread your thighs and get it from the source. Looking at the slightly damp crotch he tentatively licks, and then sucks at the fabric. There’s not enough there to taste your essence but the fact that your pussy dripped on this spot for hours today is enough to drive him wild.

He’s slipping open his robes. He doesn’t need to totally remove them to pull out his rock hard member. His tip is a furious scarlet with pearls of precum drooling from it. He’s rougher with himself than he normally would be. Your panties are pressed to his face so he can smell you all around him. He milks himself harshly and unforgivingly. He’s jerking himself to a fucking monkey. Ensuring he doesn’t enjoy the process as much as he could, he squeezes himself in a way that he will likely show bruises tomorrow. At the moment of his climax he releases his twitching cock. Slumping against the door he whimpers as he ruins his own orgasm. His hips are bucking in want, wishing for that gentle attention found in the afterglow. As long as he’s lusting over this damn monkey he doesn't intend to allow himself any real relief.

~~

It’s Thursday evening and you have been absolutely swamped at work this week. Your boss is genuinely a nice guy but when he’s getting reamed out by the higher powers, you and Zoe end up having to help with whatever unreasonable request is handed down. Instead of leaving around six both of you had pulled a late one tonight only leaving after ten PM.

The two of you sat in a smaller mom and pop restaurant, the tables on the floor are surrounded by cushions for seating. A half eaten massive bowl of ramen sits in front of you, along with an almost complete third beer. You are somewhat decent at holding your alcohol but tonight it’s hitting a little harder than normal and you are basking in that feeling.

Your attention is jerked up when Zoe slams her second beer down looking satisfied. Unlike you, Zoe cannot hold her alcohol at all and is generally reduced to a good natured giggly drunk by the evening’s end.

You're pushing around some noodles before putting them in your mouth with a lament, “What’s the buddhist version of hell.”

Zoe cackles, “We’re probably already in it. Look around you, ain’t it swell.” Suddenly a pair of chopsticks are pointing directly at your face just an inch away from your nose. Guessing you are thinking about your encounter with that monk earlier this week she continues, “You need to let that shit go. Didn’t you go past his temple when you saw him the second time? If anything, you're the stalker at this point.” Zoe eyes closed, is nodding to herself now as if someone else has made a really good point in the conversation.”

You pout heavily picking up a fishcake experimentally before putting it back into your bowl. “I wasn’t thinking about him and I didn’t call him a stalker..”

There’s a shuffling beside your booth as the third and final party member stumbles back from the restroom. He’s a lanky guy, his legs go on forever as he awkwardly sits back beside Zoe. “Let’s not use our chopsticks to point at others.” He chides lightly, tapping her arm.

Staring at her arm still stretched across the table Zoe reluctantly puts it down with a frown. “Y/N needed a scolding because she thinks she's got beef with a Buddhist Monk.”

You wave your hands quickly in embarrassment gesturing for Zoe to shut up. Unfortunately, all that did was grab your bosses interest even more. You quickly try to dissuade that interest. “I’m overreacting, really. I just ran into this monk two times and each time he just stared down like I spit on Buddha.”

Your boss tilts his head. He tends to take things seriously and apparently this would be no different. He raises a pale hand with bitten down fingernails; to rub the side of his hooked nose. “A Monk? Are they one of those culty types out of that former time association building?”

You gape up at him, which gains you an awkward but pleased smile in return, “Higuruma, how did you know that?”

He laughs under his breath so the motion is there but not the noise, “I make it my business to know what’s going on around here. I haven’t felt inclined to go to a service myself as it’s all mumbo jumbo hogwash but I’ve heard a man in monk's robes runs the place and has a decent following so far. His followers proclaim he can perform healing miracles.”

Zoe’s listening attentively despite being totally smashed and leaning against the wall for support, “Eugh, gross. Y/n, maybe walk on the opposite side of the street from now on.”

You nod at Zoe’s comment, “I have been and that seems to have worked.”

Your boss Higuruma Hiromi tilts his head to the side while watching you, “Did he say something to harass you?”

Your face is totally flushed with humiliation at this point. You are clearly overreacting and Higuruma’s kindness is just slamming that point home, “No he hasn’t said a word to me, please don’t concern yourself.”

Your boss waves for the check while mulling everything over, “You're not exactly one for theatrics. Let me know if something changes, we had better head out now if we want to make the last trains home.”

Unlike most corporate drinking, it didn’t feel forced at all when you were both invited out by Higuruma. He was unassuming and sincere, kept his private life to himself and never overstepped work boundaries like so many other men did in the workplace.

Exiting out into the cool air you watched pretty little puffs waft by from your exhales. The sidewalk was surprisingly busy considering the hour. Ahead of you Zoe gives a bit of a stagger causing you to giggle as Higuruma shakes his head in an affectionate manner before putting his arm through hers to give her balance. You can’t help but smile lightly at their backs. They would make a cute couple.. then again you didn’t even know if Higuruma was single.

It was at that point a chill went up your spine. Goosebumps rippled down your limbs and you reflexively pulled your arms to you and rubbed yourself to keep warm. You felt this undercurrent of unease, a creeping anxiety, like a predator was stalking you from the bushes. You keep walking with your group but you couldn’t help looking over your shoulder trying to see what gave you that ominous feeling. You aren’t the tallest person in the world but you figure a man in monk's robes would stick out like a sore thumb…..a man in monks robes? Why would you assume it was that monk again? You are really being weird about this whole thing. There was absolutely no one behind you that was paying you any mind. You need to stop drinking if this is how it affects your anxiety.

You turn to catch up with your group and when you do dark blue and gold catch your eye across the street. On the opposite side of the road walks the man who has been haunting your thoughts lately. The way he strolls down the sidewalk is as if he has nothing else in the world to do. Not only is he on the wrong side of the street but he’s still behind you by a block or so and isn’t even looking your way. Yet the goosebumps remain.

You turn and rush forward, bumping interesting others in order to catch up with your small group. Once within talking distance you realize there’s nothing for you to say. The man is simply existing and you’re freaking out. He’s probably on his way back to his temple which is on the way to the station. The level of panic you feel thrumming through your veins is uncalled for. You decide to stay closer to your group, feigning being unaffected, as you try with all your might not to look over your shoulder anymore to see if he’s still there.

“That’s the place right?” Higuruma nods, talking over his shoulder to you. You finally allow yourself to turn but instead of stopping at the temple’s building you're looking further back trying to find that man again walking along the sidewalk. Your gaze goes from person to person with no luck. He’s no longer on the sidewalk and you overreacted again. The guy in question probably entered his “workplace”. Higuruma watches you, puzzled as you look further behind the place for a moment and then give him your assent.

“Yeah.. that’s the place he was standing outside of when his cocksure buddy spilled my coffee and then asked me out to replace it.”

Zoe gave a fit of giggles at that, “Some men have no tact. Is it safe to assume you said no?”

You can’t help but blush at her correct assumption, “Kind of? I think. I don’t know, I ran like hell when I saw that Monk standing there all pissy.” Your group is crossing the street at an intersection close to the subway system. You can’t help but feel relief as the building fades from sight.

Zoe is leaning against Higuruma who is trying to keep a straight face as he holds her up under her arm. He fails when her next words are, “Maybe he just needs to get laid. God knows you do y/n.”

Your older boss chokes and has a minor coughing fit at the topic change, “Allllright Zoe, you’ve lost your talking privileges.” You’re scanning all three of your train passes as you head down a long group of stairs.

Zoe decides to ignore the memo and continues, “I am not judging, I need to get laid too. That’s why we’re going clubbing tomorrow evening. You can come too but you gotta loosen up a little guruma.”

His face is bright red and he looks like he's regretting everything that brought him to this point in his life. “I’ll go ahead and pass on that one Miss Zoe. I'm a little old for clubbing..also not really sure that’s appropriate as I’m your superior..”

The station is bustling with people trying to get home before the last train at midnight. There’s that loud overhead beeping letting you know the train you need is about to leave the station and the three of you race into the car and into a row of sideways seats. You couldn’t help but enjoy Zoe giving your boss the third degree. You had thought he was attractive and tried to hit on him for a while after being hired, to no avail. The man took his job as a defense attorney way too seriously for a woman to distract him.

The banter is natural and amusing as the two bicker lightly over things that don’t matter. You find yourself laughing lightly, just letting the booze marinate in you as the train leaves the station and moves towards your home. You are the second to last stop while Zoe is two before you. “Are you even able to get home safely Zoe?”

Your friend nods before flexing her arm, “You dare doubt me?” she gives a shit eating grin as Higuruma eyes her skeptically.

“I think I’ll walk Miss Zoe home. Just to be sure.” He mutters. If it was anyone other than Higuruma Hiromi you would never allow your girlfriend to be walked home by a man alone. But this man had an ironclad code of conduct and was one of those rare people you felt you could trust with your life. He sees the absolute worst of humanity every day. Trying to defend the innocent in cases that are labeled unwinnable. Sometimes his code of ethics is all he can rely on at the end of the day.

Nodding you let your body be gently jostled by the train car.’You aren’t exactly excited to be going home yourself. In fact, everyday this week you seem to dread it a little more. It had gotten to the point where you practically begged the complex's maintenance group to change your locks yesterday.

Little things had been around everyday this week. Your toothbrush, placed opposite of how you normally left it. Your makeup bag left unzipped with the smell of your perfume in the air. Those two were odd but could be explained as thoughtlessness.

Then came the harder things to explain. When collecting your dirty laundry to take to the communal washroom your dirty panties were nowhere to be found. You scoured the whole apartment trying to prove to yourself that you had just accidently left them in an odd spot to no avail. The straw that broke the camel's back was when you woke yesterday morning. One of your kitchen chairs had been pulled into your bedroom while you slept and was left for you to find facing your bed.

Once your heart was out of your throat and you could breath without hyperventilating you called the maintenance crew to get a fresh lock. That way if the landlord had lied about changing the locks before you moved in and/or had lost a spare key. It would be handled. While it isn’t a big change, you 're happy with the fact that you took initiative and got it done.

The train ride is short as you doze in your seat. Something about the warmth of the train car and the close proximity of friends gave you this sense of invulnerability. When the overhead announcer pages Zoe’s stop you look over to see Higuruma struggling with Zoe’s dead weight. You laugh at his face as the two leave the train. The doors close after a moment and the steady rhythm once again picks up. Your eyes are falling shut a little longer every time you blink. That is until an eerily familiar voice emanates from the seat directly in front of you, “Are you trying to be victimized?”

Chapter 2 —————————————Chapter 4

Taglist: @divinedolliebun

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[1eos]

its so interesting to see how ppl crash out online when u don't give them the satisfaction of speaking to you directly......this FORTY-THREE year old ADULT wrote a whole essay abt how im not a good person bc i didn't respond to their drivel on my post and blocked them 😭😭😭😭😭

[cologona]

See in my eyes the greatest tragedy of DITF is that events were leading up to Bruce and Jason finally resolving this simmering issue between them, where Jason thought being Robin was what gave him a place next to Bruce, and Bruce was treating his, Dick, and Jason’s trauma as identical.

The thing that busts my balls about Robin Lives is that it has the broad strokes of what the hypothetical timeline where Jason lives should have.

Bruce realizes his mistake in uncritically projecting his own trauma and coping mechanisms onto his sons, growing from hyperactively empathetic into genuinely compassionate. Jason gets security (emotional security, which given that superhero comics are a story of symbols means it’s the most important kind) from the reassurance that he is loved regardless of his title as Robin and gets to really choose if he wants to be a vigilante or civilian. He gets to grow up.

That Jason doesn’t survive in the main timeline is a tragedy because instead of that emotional resolution and eventual growth we just get a teenager’s corpse and a father regressing into the worst possible version of himself.

But Robin Lives isn’t interested in any of that. It knows but it doesn’t care, because a lot of that great juicy stuff is just relegated to stray panels and background exposition.

Despite the narration being from the POV of Jason’s own therapist there’s very little description of what Jason’s actually going through at all. He gets like a few panels on one page max to voice his thoughts and the rest is what? A bunch of vague drivel about how he’s so broken and traumatized. More frequently the therapist narrator is talking about how beautifully and nobly Bruce suffers. Gimme a break!

As far as Robin Lives is concerned the most interesting thing Jason can do is be a wretch. As far as it’s concerned Jason is nothing, he’s a prop, he’s a moral landmass over which the forces of the two real main characters of this story fight.

I can’t express how much contempt I have for this story, with that ending which is clearly trying to make a Deep Statement about ~the cycle of violence~. Except if it was really invested in the point it was trying to make it’d take more interest in Jason himself as the principal subject. It would give a shit about how valuable the opportunity to heal is.

It would not have Jason get help and grow into his own as an adult, only to inexplicably become evil because what- he killed Joker so that means the moral disease transferred to him? See how stupid it sounds when I say it out loud. According to Robin Lives there’s just no hope once you’ve been Broken. You are doomed to become your abuser.

And that shallow symmetry this story forces the characters into, with Dick and Jason becoming the new Batman and Joker rubs salt into the wound. A dichotomy between those who are Good (like Bruce and Dick who respond to trauma by becoming even more pure) and those who are Weak (like Jason and -apparently- Joker, who go into hysterics and subsequently catch the disease of Evil). How OOC the characters felt should’ve been a warning to the writer that something was off, but alas!!!!

I’ll stop here now because I’m getting too heated to be coherent, but yeah I Dislike This Comic.

[ofmermaidstories]

the australian government is trying to legislate kids under sixteen off of social media. so, if you are aussie and under sixteen, you won’t be allowed to have a sm account on sites like twitter, tiktok, facebook, youtube—and more.

i know our relationship with minors, as fic writers who write for other adults, is rocky at best. the rise in self-censoring and shame-based attitudes among readers in general is helping to kill any and all artistic curiosity in the next generation, which in turn makes it actively hard to be in shared, online fan spaces. it’s easy to blame the kids, but at its heart i think this is an active adult failure. our younger generations have gotten the raw end of the deal, in many ways; one of them being allowed to grow up alongside of material that they should’ve never had free access to, not without guided parenting.

And that’s the thing. the answer isn’t banning them. the legislation involved means that social media companies will be the ones to face the penalties (the fines) if minors break the new laws. which means—what? censorship gets even worse, in an effort to be even more kid friendly? Government-interest friendly? this talk started happening in the thick of the pro-palestine marches, as the movement was trickling into universities and highschools. And okay, let’s say it’s not that—what else could this be about? could it maybe have something to do with the fact that the australian government wants to implement a Digital ID nation wide?

"This one is for the mums and dads,” Albo, Anthony Albanese, our prime minister and prime dickhead, says in the announcement. “They, like me, are worried sick about the safety of our kids online. I want Australian families to know that the government has your back.”

But this isn’t about protecting kids. At the very best, they’re selling it as a scapegoat—like, oh! Haha, now you can just tell the kids it’s illegal!! It completely ignores the reality that people have to parent these humans. Like, it’s giving people, at best, an excuse to continue being lazy. They don’t have to sit down with their kids and the things they’re engaging with, anymore—because they’re banned from it! Instead having conversations about the media they encounter, it’s okay! You don’t need to worry about that anymore! The australian government wants to pretend this is about protecting kids from predators or online bullying, instead of parents confronting the fact they’ve created little assholes with unfettered access to tools to harass people with, or let their kids walk into traps because they haven’t taught them basic internet safety.

I have mixed feelings. Like any other (reasonable) adult, I worry about what kind of effects this much freedom to this much knowledge and drivel and personality can do to someone younger, someone who hasn’t like—had to learn how to make their way through a world where people are messy and a little weird and sometimes outright unlikable, but you have to still be professional about it, you know? I worry about things like micro-trends running the fun and excitement of digging in and finding some niche fashion that becomes your personality. I worry about status symbols like the right makeup and fitness pants and waterbottles getting popular too fast, and then cycling out just as quickly and creating a pace that kids without means can’t participate in as fast. I worry about podcasts run by sigma-pus males or whatever, tradwives selling glamour under the pretense of housework, like, so much of it. But these are all things that you as a parent have to negate!!! Like. You can’t just ban kids from the internet and then expect them to be normal about things whenever they’re allowed back—you have to teach them to be, to handle it. You have to teach them!!

I am saying this as an adult. An adult who likes adult things, and likes them in an open, easily-accessible space. An adult who would actively benefit from minor-free social media. There are things as an adult creator that I wanna talk about, or write about, in ways that aren’t always age-appropriate (or at all!!) for a younger audience. And look—my personal view has always been that as a fanfic writer, my responsibility to you guys (adults and sneaky-little-minors alike!!) has always been to warn appropriately on or in the fics themselves. That’s it. You get the warning labels on the tin, and you decide what to do with that afterwards. It’s not always perfect because I’m not perfect. I will make mistakes. I might not tag for something specific that ends up being a trigger for you. But the thing with fanfiction and fanfic communities is that we generally have to trust each other. I might miss a warning, but you have to trust that that mistake wasn’t a deliberate effort to hurt you. I have to trust that you guys know your own boundaries and will engage—or not!!—accordingly. I opt to treat my space here, my blog, as an open-one. Because it is! It’s a public blog LOL. If you have a tumblr account, then you have access to it! So, I try to treat this space like a public conversation in a café, or a foodcourt. Maybe I slip a raunchy little book over the table to you, and we make one or two rude jokes, or otherwise a stray rando catches the tail-end of a more serious conversation—but it’s all things I would be comfortable (enough) discussing with someone in a space where maybe I don’t know everyone involved, you know? I benefit from the knowledge that oh well, at least I don’t have to worry about local kids getting on here. 💀 But—I hate that for them!! Do I trust younger readers? Not always!!! I worry that they’ll get caught in the wrong feedback loop, that they don’t like, investigate claims or challenge information for themselves, that they’ve never had to! And hey, to be completely fair, I don’t always trust proper adult readers with that either LMFAOOO, but the point is that kids get more grace and more worry from me because they are still actively learning to be apart of things, of communities. And I think banning them from that is ultimately a mistake. To protect someone you have to teach them what to look out for, how to engage safely, how to trust themselves. And that’s not what’s going to be achieved here. This social media ban is a useless bandaid in the face of bigger problems (housing crisis, inflation, the AUKUS submarine thing i don’t even want to talk about it its stupid) that the government is waving around to distract everyone with. And it’s working. Because people would rather sit there and scroll on facebook, or whatever, instagram, instead of actively parenting.

[omnomnomdomcaps]

Hope's Eternal Spring (Remastered)

My greatest and best story. No further introduction is needed.

*******

Hope clasped her résumé tightly in her hands as she approached the double-doors of the daycare, her heart pulsating inside her chest as she remembered those words in the paper. 

LITTLE ONES NEED CARE AND DISCIPLINE. PLEASE APPLY. 

Something had seemed strangely off about that job listing. There was no email and no business name, and the whole thing felt hastily strung together. And now, she was about to find out what it meant.

The building looked larger than any daycare she’d ever seen, particularly daunting for Hope’s diminutive five-foot frame. The nineteen-year-old attempted to collect herself, but a deep breath-in almost caused the top button of her blouse to burst, struggling as it already was to contain the girl’s supple breasts. And so she breathed out, adjusted her shoulder-length dirty-blonde hair, and stepped forward. 

It was a Saturday, and the center was empty except for a small, frazzled-looking woman at the front desk, who rose quickly to meet her visitor.

“You must be Hope,” she said breathlessly, struggling to keep several stacks of papers on her desk from flying away as she got up, “I’m Miss Chaucer, I run the place here, let me show you around.”

Hope simply nodded along and followed as the woman walked her through the building, spouting generic drivel about how the facilities were new and demanded careful upkeep. There were several rows of cribs, with sizes ranging from a small infant to a large toddler, two open areas for play, a kitchenette with a few snack cupboards, and several changing stations. The center seemed large, but it also struck Hope as rather normal, and so naturally she began to worry. 

“Any questions?” The woman finally stopped as she finished her tour, crossing arms on her chest as she leant against the wall behind. 

“Ummmmm…” Hope paused, her finger on her lip, looking for the right way to word her question, “so… this is all the rooms? Nothing… ummm… hidden?”

“Hidden? No, that’s all of them. Except the adult restroom, I guess? It’s to your right, behind you, if you want to take a look.”

Hope turned and managed to peer in, seeing what looked to be an ordinary restroom. 

“And we’re… umm… allowed to use it, while working?” Hope asked wishfully.    

At this, the overworked woman raised an eyebrow. “Well yes, of course. Why wouldn't you be?”

“Ummmm… I guess… uh…” Hope stammered and blushed, tapping her foot to the floor.

“Is this about the newspaper listing?” Miss Chaucer raised an eyebrow, “Oh, we’ve had a few people ask about that. Sorry if that was vague - we wanted to keep it simple for the old folks.”

“The old folks?”

“Yep. Same reason we didn’t put our email there. I mean, who else looks for jobs in the paper these days? Come to think of it, why did you?”

Hope blushed. “It just… ummm… it just caught my eye, I guess.”

“Ah. I suppose the all-caps will do that. But yes, just a normal daycare here.”

“Oh, ummm, okay, sorry, yeah, just trying to make sure…” Hope tried to brush off her earlier fluster, wincing at her own embarrassment only to be embarrassed further by her wince. 

“You sound disappointed,” the woman observed, “What- what exactly were you expecting?”

The girl’s blush returned and deepened, eyes widening as she fell into an awkward silence, looking for something to say to escape the situation. 

“I… uhhh… I think I should be going now,” she finally stammered. 

“I think that’s best.”

Hope scrambled away, whistling to herself, before finally calming down into a slow walk once she left the door. She tossed her résumé into a nearby can, and spent the next several hours meandering about town, trying to take her mind off of her strange interview. And take her mind off she did - she ran into a few friends at the mall, shopped for new skirts and tops, and enjoyed a burger with fries and soda, successfully finding distraction in the comfort.  

Before she knew it, the sun was setting, and Hope finally made her way back home. But when she entered the living room, she saw her mother waiting for her, arms folded sternly across her chest. 

“Sit down,” the older woman demanded, “we need to talk.”

Hope was unprepared for this, but she did as she was told, stepping backwards towards a loose dining seat at the edge of the room. She sat with her shoulders snug against her ample bosom - a feature she inherited from her mother, whose bosom was also ample. 

“Ummm, yeah, mom?”

“Well? Did you get the job?”

Hope paused. She had completely forgotten about the interview that started the day. 

“Oh… uh, no, I don’t think so.”

Her mother glared. “That’s it? ‘Oops, sorry, didn’t get it’? Hope, it’s been almost a year since you finished high school, and you’ve done nothing but shop at the mall with your posse of airheads” - she gestured towards the bags the girl had brought home - “and twiddle away at home on your InstaToks and FaceGrams.

“You’re almost twenty years old, Hope. I expected you to act like an adult. But so far, you’ve been acting more like…”

Hope’s eyes widened slightly, and she leaned forward in her chair. “Like what, mom?”

“Like a child, Hope. No, worse than that - like a baby. You’ve been acting like a baby!”

The girl gulped, her legs starting to shake excitedly. “So… so what are you gonna do about that?”

“Well, if you’re going to act like a baby,” the mother declared, “then I’m just going to have to… I’m just going to have to ground you!”

At once, Hope’s legs stopped shaking, and she let out a defeated sigh. “You’re… going to ground me?”

“That’s right, young lady! No malls, no little playdates, no social media for a week. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, okay, cool. Going to my room now.” Hope grabbed her bags and headed upstairs, as her mother’s stern eyes continued to follow her. 

The girl gave another longing sigh as she entered the room, preparing herself for a dull night at home, when something very strange happened. 

As she tossed a bag of clothes towards her large bedroom mirror, the corner of the paper grazed the pane. But instead of knocking against glass, it seemed to create a ripple, a ripple that reverberated across the entire bottom half of the mirror before it all returned to its normal, smooth state. 

Hope rubbed eyes in disbelief, and then slowly approached the mirror herself. With fear, wonder, and excitement coursing through her, she inched her finger closer and closer to its reflection until, sure enough, it went in. 

Through the mirror, she could feel the tingle of a warm breeze, and could even hear the faint rustle of leaves from beyond the portal. Hope took a long, deep breath as she contemplated her next move, but the curiosity quickly became too much to bear, and the girl stepped forth. 

In an instant, she was transported to a lush rainforest paradise. Landing on the edge of a small pool of water, Hope took note of its strange ripple matching her own mirror’s, and wondered if she would ever take it as a route of return. 

On she went to explore! With the songs of birds surrounding her, she strolled along the dewy grass, her ripe melons dancing in the tropical wind. And then, she was struck by the greatest excitement of all, as she saw a large silhouette in the distance, perched beside a tall tree. 

It can’t be, she thought to herself. But it was. She was, standing majestically, towering close to eight feet tall, wearing a bronze breastplate and a simple loincloth.  

A giantess! And this giantess noticed the girl coming towards her, returning Hope’s look of wonder with one of her own, and kneeling down to get a closer look. 

“A… a small one?” the Amazon wondered aloud, her voice firm and commanding even in a whisper, “where did you come from, small one?”

Hope was overwhelmed by the moment, pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “I… I… I came from another world, I guess,” she finally stammered. 

“Another world?” the giantess repeated, “Then it is truly a miracle that you have come. We Amazons need small ones like you.

“You are a curved one, I see,” she remarked, her large fingers hovering curiously over Hope’s pillowy bazonkas, “and yet, with your nimble, graceful form, you are perfect.”

“P-perfect for what?” Hope asked, her eyes welling with excitement as her mind raced across the world of possibility. 

“For everything, my dear -” the Amazon smiled, outlining the shape of Hope’s petite body with her hand, “for sneaking around undetected, for surveying terrain, for planting traps. You are our ideal tool for tactical reconnaissance against the 50-foot Robot Aardvarks.”

“The… what?” Hope blinked, the look of wonder washing immediately away from her face. 

“Those beasts,” the massive woman declared, “they have ravaged our plane for far too long. But that is going to change. Starting today, we will quiver in fear no longer. Starting today, we will stand and strike back. Sta-”

“Yeah, no.”

“What?”

“Sorry, can’t help you.” Hope was already turned around, walking back towards the portal she entered through. 

 The Amazon was in disbelief and despair. “But, please! Please, small one! You’re our only Hope! Get it!? Hope?” she cried out desperately, her words drowned out by the robot-aardvark eye-lasers bearing down upon the forest around her. 

Meanwhile, Hope was well into the woods, back at the small stream where her short journey began. With one more disappointed sigh, the girl covered her nose, closed her eyes, and plunged feet-first into the water. 

With a splash, she was back at home, glad to be done with the day. Drenched from the interdimensional dive, the girl took a long, hot shower. Then, after thinking about the things she had seen, she took another long, hot shower. 

Finally, Hope dried herself off, opened up a bag hidden under her bed, and took out a diaper to wear. After taping it on and tucking herself under her blanket, she went onto her phone and jumped to her favorite AB/DL erotica blog. And then, she masturbated. A lot. 

The End   

[betterbooktitles]

What makes a Jesuit boys’ school so entertaining is the irreverence in the face of certain damnation. There were adult authority figures, some imbued with the ability to forgive Mortal Sin, telling us we were going to Hell if we didn’t take our morality seriously. In response, we laughed and cracked jokes. We laughed so hard, in part, because the stakes were so high. If you could mock the Most Important Question, you could likely laugh off anything.

Humor was what opened me up to the idea that I didn’t share the values of the men teaching me to be a “good” person. Humor also taught me that I didn’t have to accept any of it.

The first time I heard shade thrown at the Theology department was during my freshman year when my favorite teacher sitting in a room in the fourth floor English department, in an entirely separate building from the Theology and History classrooms asked “what movie are they showing you over there this week?” It was true that for half the year, Theology teachers showed movies 40 minutes at a time to make important philosophical points. They screened The Matrix, Life is Beautiful (watched in tandem with our reading of Man’s Search for Meaning), and, my personal favorite The Shawshank Redemption which they showed to us in the summer before 9th grade to let us know what Jesuit school would resemble: something close to surviving solitary confinement. If you had music in your mind, you might make it out. I don’t doubt the efficacy of showing these movies to us to teach moral lessons. It was a better strategy than trying to force teenagers to read. I had never heard anyone mock the department, though, especially not another teacher.

To be clear, this scrutiny, at least of the lay teachers in the Theology department was justified. They fed us one-sided anti-intellectual drivel that had almost nothing to do with Catholic Dogma. Instead of learning about a biblical text, we spent hours listening to a guy tell us evolution was “just a theory,” that being gay was a choice, and that abortion was wrong in any instance (whatever your personal beliefs, understand that it’s kind of hard to hear both sides of that argument at an all-male school where the adult men were the authority on ethics). Then they showed us clips from Fox News of Terri Schiavo and told us the “correct” Christian response to the news.

One day, again in my freshman year when I was scared to question anything because of an inordinate fear that I could be thrown out of school at any moment, our Theology teacher pressed play on The Emperor’s Club (a 2002 Kevin Kline movie about a boy’s prep school that served in our teacher’s mind as some ethic antithesis to the more beloved (and frankly more entertaining) Dead Poets Society). A student in the back row raised his hand, and our teacher paused the movie. We sat in the dark room and rolled our eyes. Make this quick, buddy. We’ve got a movie to watch here!

“Jeff?” our teacher said, lifting his eyebrows.

“Yes, I was wondering about the prayer we read before class today,” Jeff said. He was a senior, a bit portly which was only noticeable because many kids did not bother buying new dress shirts every year. Once the stress of school forced you to eat your feelings four years in a row, you wound up with a gut putting pressure on your old shirts’ buttons. “It says in the prayer…” Jeff continued, “that Jesus descended into Hell. What’s that about?” 

“Well,” our teacher said, looking excited to finally talk about religion instead of answering some weird kid’s question about the ethics of having sex with aliens should they ever land on Earth, “according to scripture, we know the gates of Heaven were closed for a time, so when Jesus died he descended into hell first to free other righteous souls…”

“Yeah, a quick follow-up on that,” Jeff said, sounding interested, “does anyone believe this shit?” 

The cackles that erupted in the room nearly overwhelmed our teacher’s angry tirade. Jeff was sent to the Vice Principal’s office to await his judgment. It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment you were allowed not only to question those teaching us about religion but you were allowed to reject the faith altogether. 

From there, every argument began to collapse, mostly through funny moments:

A teacher tried to tell us IVF was wrong because “you have to jerk off into a cup. It’s not right.” One kid announced: “I’ve done weirder!” Guffaws. Cheers.

Another teacher claimed gay sex was always wrong because the sex itself was not ‘open to creating human life,’ to which a brave gay student volunteered “Oh, I’m open to it. I’ll keep trying and let you know if there’s a miracle.” Applause. 

When a teacher said video games could be considered a sin if they distract you from work, someone, half-asleep in the front row, let out a loud “Ah, shut up!” that made us all giggle.

My fellow students weren’t playing the game, arguing with the teacher on his terms, using logic. They were dismissing the arguments flippantly, and no adult could reply unless they were funny themselves. 

Read the rest here.

[hxhhasmysoul]

General Thoughts on Yuuta?

As few as humanly possible? I wish the fandom let me forget about this boy.

I’ve never found Yuuta interesting. Now, thanks to fandom I find him downright annoying. 

Yuuta has strong Shinji vibes at the beginning of Zero and while it’s realistic, there are people who are like that, I just find it boring. This is a very personal bias but as a person who has several concurrent mental issues, I have a strong dislike for characters and actual people who make their mental illness their whole personality. 

His arc in Zero also doesn’t excite me. He is super powerful from the start but can’t control it. Then he puts practically zero work into it an can control it.. He seems like a scrawny loser but starts to do gymnast shit with a sword really quickly. His CT is Copy, where he just copies the techniques of others and uses them in a more powerful way than they do, with no conditions or downsides.. When he needs to, he learns reverse curse technique and can apply it to others which we learn is super hard… 

Basically, everything he needs to know and be able to do, he is able to do in the moment he needs it… 

And Yuuta has no principles, not ideals. He is unfazed by Getou’s fascist speech. Yuuta fights Getou because Getou directly harms Yuuta’s only friends. It’s really sad because Getou actually is shown to have a vested interest in pursuing Yuuta, or more precisely Rika. I mean Getou’s plan and ideology are nonsense, but what fascist ideology is internally coherent anyway, it’s always reactionary drivel that focuses on targeting the weak instead of trying to get to the bottom of societal (in this case jujutsu society’s) problems. But Yuuta has no personal connection to Getou, no thematic one either. 

I think Gege really noticed what a weak protag Yuuta was because all of this is fixed in Yuuji whose ability to perform gymnastic feats is established in chapter one. Who also has principles and a personality more complex than: I’m depressed.  Same with Getou and his primitive plans are replaced with Mother, the perfect plotter, and their amazing multi-layered plans. The Gege added Sukuna, an emotionally constipated jujutsu and poetry nerd who can also forge a plan of his own. And Mahito, a creepy kid curse who thinks he can plot but alas adults were in the room, so no he can’t And Yuuji has a deep personal and thematic connection to all three of them, and likewise.

It really shows how much Gege grew and developed the world of JJK between Zero and the main series.

There’s a hint that Yuuta’s so powerful partially because of Rika’s love for him. She loves and she stayed with him after she died. “Love is the greatest curse”. So the arc goes that Yuuta is told that he can stop keeping Rika’s soul from crossing over, can break her curse by simply talking to her, releasing her. 

And this is where Gege in my opinion really made a serious mistake. The way this is set up, and later much more well developed in JJK proper, there should’ve been a cost to releasing Rika. There is a strong idea of balance and give and take to jujutsu. Gege had a perfect opportunity here to grant Yuuta space to grow by depowering him. Letting Yuuta lose some of his powers by letting go of Rika. But Yuuta just became more powerful for JJK proper… 

And that meant there was nowhere to go with Yuuta’s character. Yuuta was still unconnected to any of the major villains and barely to any of the important characters, only to Maki and Gojou, though he barely interacts with either in JJK proper. 

I and also other people have written before how Yuuta literally does nothing during the final showdown, how he only pauses the fight, prolongs it and distracts from the people who Sukuna actually connects with during the fight, ie Yuuji and Maki. Or how he wasn’t even necessary to kill Kenjaku.  

And Yuuta has no personal connection to either Kenjaku or Sukuna. He has a forced thematic connection to Sukuna when he takes over Gojou’s body, a pathetic attempt at becoming the strongest. And he has that connection for like five minutes in the story… 

If Yuuta never appeared in the JJK main story… it would’ve been almost the exact same story. Gege needed Yuuta for one moment, just after Shibuya to fake Yuuji’s death. And maybe even that could’ve been handled differently. Someone else could’ve fought in Sendai instead of him, there are other capable characters to fight in the Culling Games.

_________________

More posts on Yuuta by me and others. If I missed any good ones, please tell me and I will add them to the list.

[lassieposting]

Serpine in therapy for the asks :)

Okay so my headcanon is actually that Nef doesn't get a choice about going to therapy. It's part of the parole agreement he makes with the Sanctuary when he immigrates to Roarhaven. Whether or not he is answerable for our Serpine's war crimes, and whether the Sanctuary here can try him for his war crimes back in Leibniz, is still up for debate by legal professionals and he'd rather not risk it, so in exchange for his freedom he agrees to comply with weekly check-ins with a parole officer (which ends up being Skug, because China is spiteful), regular therapy, and location monitoring.

And like. Honestly, he thinks the whole thing is a massive waste of time - the Sanctuary flexing its power over him to make a point. He shows up, he's charming and personable, he flirts with the therapist and the girl on reception and anyone else he happens to bump into - but he thinks that before long, he'll have them convinced that he's psychologically normal and doesn't need their services, and they'll discharge him.

But like. The thing about Nef, aside from having a sadistic streak a mile wide and Chronic Backstabbing Bitch Disease, is that he's spent the vast majority of (at least) his adult life surrounded by people who would turn on him in a heartbeat if it suited them to do so. He comes from a world where abuse, manipulation and betrayal are not only common, they're the norm. That's the only way to relate to the world and to others that he understands. The Faceless worshippers are a nasty bunch who all encourage each other's worst impulses and learn to care only for themselves, and on the rare occasion that they break those habits, they tend to get hurt by those who haven't. So like, Nef's normal meter is completely and utterly broken. In his Handbook backstory, his childhood was unstable and emotionally damaging. As an adult, he has nothing to do with his family - all he had was Mevolent and the Church. His relationship history is littered with violent psychopaths like Christophe Nocturnal and Jaron Gallow, people who approved of and supported Serpine's own sadistic tendencies, but also tended to vent theirs on him when it suited them. This. Man. Is. A mess.

The therapist suspects complex trauma - although, that's not as unusual a diagnosis as it is for mortals: it's a given for millions of sorcerers who survived the 500 Year War - narcissistic tendencies, though not to the point of a full blown personality disorder, and an obsessive focus on/one-sided rivalry with Skulduggery.

Honestly, I think Nef would mostly use it as an opportunity to annoy Skug. He pays attention, but mostly so he can take what the therapist tells him and put it to use while Skulduggery is stuck in the car with him for an eight hour stakeout. Psychoanalyse him. Armchair-diagnose him. Treat him to a three hour monologue of "My therapist said..."

But like. You know that thing where you start saying hewwo to mock other people who say hewwo, and it's kind of a mean-spirited joke at first, but suddenly you've unironically adopted hewwo into your daily vocabulary and can't stop saying it? Yeah.

Some of it starts to get in via osmosis and sheer habit. He spends so long mockingly telling Skug about all the problems that he (Nef) thinks he (Skug) has, that he actually starts to notice things for real. He can tell when Skug is dissociating. He can point out to Val that she has a tendency to pull away from and lash out at the people who want to help her, because she's terrified to be seen as anything other than competent and capable, and then he'll think, hold on, I do that too.

A lot of therapy goes in one ear and out the other because it doesn't work for him - complex trauma is just Like That. The standard practices - like CBT - seem like platitudinous drivel to you, and the fact that everyone else seems to think they work often feels like a great big joke everyone is playing on you. But he takes in enough to start making some small changes to how he interacts with others and how he behaves. He starts learning how to react appropriately to distress signals in the people who are becoming his friends, rather than seeing those signals as something to take advantage of, a soft spot to sink a knife into and twist. He's developing basic empathy, which actually helps him, because for once in his life he's in a situation where bonding with others is The Way To Get Ahead, rather than something that would get him killed.

And he's getting a better grade in therapy than Skug, by virtue of actually agreeing to go, so he gets to be smug about that.

[ceasarslegion]

I was introduced to horror at a very young age because both of my parents are huge horror fans. Scary movie night was every Friday which was when I would be sent out with some cash and a list of everybodys snack requests to walk down to the store while they cleaned up after dinner, and we would watch horror movies like other families watched Disney movies.

Even as a little kid, I was allowed to watch true crime programs on TV after dinner and more subdued films like the shining and silence of the lambs. Whatever your criticisms of that are regarding my age at the time, it had no effect on my psyche whatsoever and media is not a one-size-fits-all that ratings so easily cover. Your mileage may vary depending on the kid. In my case, I was fine. Before anyone starts playing white knight about a child that doesn't exist anymore because now he's a fully grown adult who is perfectly well-adjusted

All of this is to say that it's always incredibly funny to me when people act like horror is lowest common denominator drivel, that it has no artistic value, or it desensitizes people to real-world violence. But the most hysterical of all is when someone who is so clearly NOT an experienced horror fan talks about the genre in wide sweeping terms as if they're experts on it after seeing a halloween special. And then thinking about how that person would cry and shit their pants and throw up if you showed them like, the conjuring.

I saw someone say that they like horror because it's "cute"