#and like. what do I do with this form of privilege??*

[hopeforchanges]

okay hot take here don't bash my head in ... Sauron and Galadriel ≠ Orlok and Ellen

idk am i the only one who doesn't see it? i stayed away from speaking on the topic cause i didn't feel i had all the information to engage in any meaningful convo but now that a good amount of time has passed and I have listened and read other people's arguably passionate stances on this (which is great! i love when people enjoy something, it gives me joy too!!) i must say .... i don't get it lol

let me explain myself:

I get that certain aesthetics or vibes might overlap (dark, brooding antagonist vs. a luminous, female protagonist), the comparison completely falls apart when you dig into their actual characterizations.

Ellen as a Symbol of Maidenhood vs. Galadriel as a Warrior

Ellen is basically a paragon of feminine virtue: she's all about purity, innocence, and ultimate sacrifice. She represents a kind of moral ideal that aligns with the trope of the "selfless maiden." Sure there is darkness in here but like ... where? lol in the words of one of my favorite complicated female characters of the silver screen: "I can't see it, I can't touch it, I can't feel it. I can hear it, I can hear some words but I can't do anything with your easy words."

Galadriel is a warrior, a soldier, a power-hungry monarch. She was born a princess into a life of great privilege. Galadriel is ambitious, vengeful, and actively pursuing power. She definitely embodies characteristics that are more commonly associated with male domination. I love both the feminine in Ellen and the masculine in Galadriel. They just don't overlap imo.

Orlok’s Selfish Awareness vs. Sauron’s Delusional “Vision”

Orlok is unapologetically monstrous. He’s a selfish predator who knows exactly what he is and doesn’t care. He’s not trying to justify himself or claim he’s “saving” anyone—he just feeds on people because that’s what he does.

Sauron thinks he’s doing the right thing. In his mind, his actions are about order, preservation, and the “greater good.” That lack of self-awareness is huge—it makes him a completely different type of villain. Orlok leans into his evil; Sauron justifies it - doesn't even think he's the evil force - definitely not in his story.

The Core Dynamic Feels Wrong

Ellen and Orlok’s relationship is built on fear and revulsion. Ellen sacrifices herself to stop Orlok—she lures him to his doom. There’s no room for ambiguity there; he’s the predator, and she’s the prey.

Galadriel and Sauron are equals. None of them can land the killing blow because they don't want to, not because they can't. Their dynamic is tangled up in grudging respect, power struggles, and even a weird sort of kinship. Galadriel isn’t diminished or destroyed by Sauron like Ellen was by Orlok; quite the contrary. Galadriel was empowered by Sauron, healed through him (at least in the show which is the medium i am basing my opinions on, not necessarily the tolkien legendarium). That's why it's so funny to me that in season 2 he can't figure out why she won't say yes to him when she used to drool over his mortal form and so he transforms into Glambrand as his big fix cause he thinks THAT is what the issue is lol you were her friend, dumbass, that's literally it. you supported her and believed in her when no one did and couched her so she could achieve her goals - helped her self-actualize.

There are no such layers and complexities in Ellen and Orlok's relationship. Plus, the fact that he came to her first when she was a kid gives me the ick, sorry. it's giving phantom of the opera. and i HATE phantom of the opera (the original book by Leroux, the musical kinda slaps tbh)

TL;DR:

Yes, Ellen calls Orlok a deceiver, but that’s where the parallels end for me. Ellen = pure, selfless sacrifice; Galadriel = complex, power-driven warrior. Orlok = evil and knows it; Sauron = evil but thinks he’s the hero. Their dynamics are fundamentally different, and the Orlok/Ellen comparison just doesn’t hold up under scrutiny.

If I’m missing something, feel free to convince me otherwise, but for now? Nah, I don’t see it.

[max1461]

I've said this before but I've managed to lead a life which has been both incredibly privileged in a bunch of ways I objectively don't deserve and also featured some almost cartoonish forms of suffering that I objectively don't deserve. For four years from 2016 to 2020 I managed to eke out a little bubble of normalcy and at the time I truly felt like it was, you know, it was the way things were gonna be from then on. Like I'd escaped all the crazy shit and it was just gonna be normal from then on. Then in 2020 I got pulled back into the bullshit like when the monster comes back in the last act of a horror movie and I really have so little hope for escape at this point. I don't want to be here. It feels like a failure to admit that this nonsense is objectively the default state of affairs in my life so fair. That's what I wanted not to happen, when I was 16 and I said to myself somewhere inside "this is not how I want to live" I wanted to get out, and it took me years but I did get out, and now it's over ten years later and I have failed, I couldn't do it, I have failed myself wholly and totally. I did try my best, I will say. And logically I can see no reason why I shouldn't have succeeded, it seems like a conspiracy of fate. But trying your best is... well, it's something, but it's not a sufficient consolation prize. So, you know, the way I'm feeling now is, well. Bad.

[genderqueerdykes]

Oh my god, the music thing is so relatable. I also have misophonia and the music I can stand is very limited. People always say I have no soul and call me a sociopath (i am, but that's hardly relevant here) when I'm simply being honest that I don't like the same music as them. Oh, and they also make fun of the few things that don't make my ears bleed. It's incredibly infuriating.

?????? how the hell would not liking music make someone a sociopath what the hell does that mean. not that being a sociopath is a bad thing, it's just another way someone's brain can be formatted. you're not in control of whether or not you are one. we really haven't gotten past using mental health conditions as insults and slurs, huh?

i'm sorry that you relate, but it makes me feel better to know someone else understands. that's so shitty that people make fun of the things that you actually enjoy/can listen to. i really don't think it's healthy how personally people take media. like you could go the rest of your life not listening to music and it wouldn't hurt you as a person. it's not a requirement to be alive

my neighbors all play really loud music at almost all hours of the day. i wouldn't mind it if it were rap because i can handle most and enjoy some rap. but it's never that. it's very loud and i've had to walk over to my neighbors' homes to tell them to turn down their music because it was so loud it was rattling my windows. unfortunately a lot of my neighbors don't speak english, so the language barrier makes it even harder. a lot of the time i have to stay inside with noise cancelling earbuds because otherwise the sound will literally drive me insane

i actually really hate the fact that music HAS to be playing in public places and stores. if there's no music, there's a TV (with the sound on). it's all capitalist nonsense. you don't literally *need* a store to have music in it. we're just being taught to consume 24/7. like honestly when i come across people who literally can't do anything without listening to music it concerns me deeply because... we used to not. have. recorded music as a species. like. for most of our lives up until this point. people even 200 years ago didn't have music they could just turn on whenever they want to. this is a privilege we're taking for granted

i also really wish that personal speakers weren't a thing, or at least, that people wouldn't use them in public. i can't describe the amount of people who walk past me on a given day when i'm outside who are just blasting music over a speaker while walking down a sidewalk next to an extremely busy road. like as if the traffic weren't enough noise pollution, somehow, we needed more. like i really wish people understood that this is a form of noise pollution. we have had headphones for a lot longer than we've had bluetooth speakers.

as a disabled person: please wear headphones in public or wait until you return to somewhere private to play music or videos. this is so disrespectful to the people around you. going to the store is getting increasingly more difficult because of the amount of kids who are playing videos on their iPads and phones. it's just getting to be too much. we're getting to be too dependent on media

[fembot-y2k]

I also want to posit as a trans woman who's 6'2 tall and 400lbs heavy (give or take) fatphobia goes hand in hand with transphobia/transmisogyny used against people like me. The idea that trans women HAVE to be thin to present feminine or what society deems "womanly" permeates even the trans community. Fat trans women (especially fat trans women of colour) are discriminated against by other trans women for "not trying hard enough" or "making us look bad" by not conforming to the perceived thinness "required" for a trans woman to pass or be taken seriously. Everything from feminine clothing guides to things like bottom surgery being gated by size and weight requirements that people like me cannot meet. The caricature of "the ugly tranny that wants to sneak into women's bathrooms" is often depicted as a fat person, often someone who looks like me.

The morality ascribed to being thin has so much weight (pun not intended) in concepts like this. Everyone who uses transphobia/transmisogyny against trans women of any kind will often also use fatphobia as well, even if they don't realize. Policing a trans woman's privilege to be perceived as she identifies by calling for her to lose weight. Endocrinologists also partake in this, citing the side effect weight gain as a reason to threaten trans women's HRT or worse deny trans women access to HRT altogether. Its yet another layer on top of the myriad of ways all transfeminine people are made to be ridiculed and treated unfairly by a vast swathe of groups, including people who claim to be on our side and come from our own community like trans men and transmascs who participate in transmisogyny on one level or another.

The stigma around weight NEEDS to be ended swiftly and for good. Not only does it cost lives in the form of doctors refusing to see fat patients for any number of procedures, surgeries, or even diagnoses, but it also reinforces things like gender essentialism and misogynistic societal norms that then become transmisogynistic when they are applied with more force to trans women.

To all my big girls out there, of any kind, presentation, pronouns, or identity. You're loved, you're amazing, the world is a better and brighter place with you in it. You deserve the space you take up, you deserve the clothes you want and wear, you deserve whatever form of transition you wish for not in spite of your size and weight but with it. You do not need to slim down to transition, you do not need to lose weight to start E. You belong here. We belong here.

Privileging thinness is about sapping our power

The amount of fat and not-so-fat folks who I've seen in comments or who have messaged me saying that fat positive content has made them more confident proves that privileging thinness is about destroying our confidence and sapping our power.

Imagine if we felt as powerful as we actually are. Women's bodies are policed and primarily their weight in order to sap their confidence and destroy their power in all spheres of life (sexual, romantic, scholastic, professional, etc etc).

Men's bodies are policed and while not primarily about weight definitely about fatness as an "unappealing" softness in order to prop up a toxic masculinity where men are chiseled protectors and where social power is generated by might, not right. This is to destroy the power of men who advocate for non-patriarchical moral value systems.

Privileging thinness and framing fatness as disgusting, diseased, and deviant is a not-so-artful social fiction to distract us from our true power by convincing us that our bodies are our source of power. Society and technology has long progressed past the point where our bodies determine who and what we can be. The only people who benefit from keeping us focused on our bodies are those who stand to lose by us realizing our true power.

Reject and revolt against all moral value systems based on bodily characteristics. They are distractions meant to destroy your power.

-ATL

[breadandbloodybutter]

Flexing some Not Safe For Work writing to get back in the groove. Warnings/What's Involed: Raphael x 'Reader' {no gender implied}, Mild Sex Scene, Mild Mention of Choking, Most Likely Didn't Live Through That Sex, Raphael Language of being derogatory of mortals needs and lives or just anyone that isn't him.

As he'd lifted their leg to partake in the scent of their skin, a longer than mortal tongue ran along half of the appendage's length.

Was he showing off? Transforming himself, one piece at a time? Of course he was. After all, part of such an intimate dance was the performance itself.

All for his own benefit.

Haarlep had once quipped that Raphael only ever loved Raphael - as true now than it had ever been. Putting on such airs and graces, indulging in the subtle art of using words and whimsy to ensnare the willing; it might as well have all been foreplay for himself.

Still, there was always something so deliciously divine about the way that they would look at him, breathless and wanting - just the way that he liked them. To taste the very sweat from their pores, to know that in this moment, they existed only for him.

Souls would never taste sweeter than those willing to bear themselves nakedly to the endless hunger of a devil.

"Legs apart now, pet." Raphael would purr with a voice thick and sweet as honey, now black nails digging into their thighs as he settled himself between them. Ordinarily, pleasuring another was beneath him, more of a mercy on their behalf than any desire to do so - oh, but the way that this one begged and pleaded so sweetly, the air thick with how much they wanted to be defiled..

It would have been ungentlemanly to not have a more personal taste.

The screams that followed would have surely been heard by the tavern below, but he cared little for any auditory audiences they may have had. Let them hear - let them envy, tremble before how he could command mortal flesh to bend, to beg and to break. To hang on every one of his words, to sing (and sometimes curse) praises to the heavens, whilst he showed them every sin that hell had to offer.

Licking at his lips, Raphael reached over to grab a nearby silken handkerchief, wiping their filth from his mouth before addressing them again smugly. "I take it that you have no complaints?"

Rather a pity that mortals tended to be so fragile. One of the few benefits of Haarlep at least, that there were less limitations, if any. Perhaps, that's why he found himself indulging from time to time - that their lives were so fleeting. To taste upon their souls before they were completely consumed. Such a privilege it was for them, surely.

Oh, and the trepidation! The way that their poor hearts would stutter, their breath would catch at having to accommodate his cambion form, far greater than any cock they would have taken. How their eyes would widen for the briefest of moments, before rolling back at the overflowing of ecstasy, even with the pain of it - to feel every ridge driving again and again without pause.

Succumbing to such desires could ultimately earn one their death.

How their arms would try to hold him - so sickeningly mortal - and he would knock them away, that they would dare try to embrace him in such a human way - holding them down by the throat and knowing that their lives, the very essence of body and soul - they were in his hands, that they were dependent on him, every thread of their existence in this moment was tied to him--

Such thoughts always led to the same conclusion. Snarling through a furious climax that most couldn't even have the decency to live through. And why should they? Blood certainly wasn't the only thing an infernal had that was always running hot.

Thankfully, the staff at the Sharess Caress were always providing excellent room service, and a discretion that led to a profitable exchange. For as long as he would support their business, they would support his.

..Even if on occasion, that business may have overlapped with personal pleasures.

[kisakunt]

THE RICH MAN’S GUIDE TO CORRUPTION

GIVE IT UP FOR LOVE

warnings… i mean some absolute swine talk, gojo and geto are evil men, you’re a sweet and pure virgin. swearing, mentions of fucking, really just vile pig shit.

synopsis… suguru and satoru have a lovely chat over a warm summers breeze. oh! and sweet, un-expecting, vulnerable you is the topic of discussion.

a word from the creator… idk if i mentioned this but this fic is based loosely off the movie cruel intentions! banger film, check it out. i wrote a lot of this chapter awhile ago so if the writing style switches up next chapter don’t sue me. i’m excited!!!! here’s to the next eleven chapters of hell

series masterlist

Gojo hates the heat. He thinks he's tolerated it before on his father’s yacht or when he did an unnecessary shirtless carwash for extra money he didn't need; but right now with the breeze through the window— that Suguru demanded be open— overbearing the air conditioner, he's absolutely positive that summer is the worst.

“Start of the year’s comin’, yknow.” He typically broke the silence— as if he could ever shut up to begin with— and he was almost always met with a:

“No shit.” strident response. Those seemed to be Suguru’s speciality, and provoking them seemed to be Satoru’s.

It’s too hot. His white hair presses into the drywall, feeling much cooler than the air outside. “I’m not stupid, Suguru. Neither are you, you know what I mean.” It’s an overdramatic sigh— a call for attention— as he turns his head over to look at him.

“They’re gonna ask us about it soon.” And, in some way Suguru can’t really comprehend, Gojo sounds excited.

His manner isn’t necessarily wrong, not so much as it is unexpected. The ‘new year, new fuck’ competition of Azabu was practically famous among the young men certain to attend— the sons of the sons who started it, and all their nephews or cousins or any synonym for a pig of a relative that they could come up with. And, luckily enough, they had the privilege to be top candidates.

The competition was started by the current dean’s uncle, a horny fuck-all type who would take any and all excuse to boost his ego while tearing down a girls— or maybe he really did just want a good lay. But, it grew and grew and grew, and now it was almost ritualistic, a second identity of worthiness in the form of fucking a virgin before anyone else did.

Sure, they were nothing but thrilled for it as high school reached an end, or even the first or second year of university. But now it just seemed dull.

But, traditions are custom, and customs are a necessity. It’s almost become lore throughout their little clique of affluence; whispered stories from childhood turned into real competition after a long wait, especially from a group of people who so rarely have to wait for anything. It’s inspiring, they think, means to associate themselves with a lower class; normalize themselves just a little more.

Alumni share stories at functions, putting the frat in fraternizing, nonchalance on the tips of their tongues. Sometimes the tone almost feels dark, and Suguru thinks if he were a better person he’d feel some type of sympathy for the girls. Any fragment of empathy he had wiped away when he won for the first time, though, wide smirk as his year mates glared at him; memories of the tight, albeit idiotic, girl engrained behind the lids of his eyes.

Even so, it gets old quick. And it’s not like they don’t fuck dumb, stupid, silly girls with nothing to say for the rest of the year anyway. So, he can’t quite figure out what Gojo is all too excited about.

“Well try to make sure your dick doesn’t get hard from the thought, you fucking freak.” There’s a giggle from the other man, a scoff too, and he pushes his hand out at him.

This is crucial. This is who they are together. A pair— whether it’s a pair of awful men or not.

There’s also a sense of trepidation that comes with it, of course. It’s exclusive, more so than they already are, and if you do one thing wrong- speak a little too loud, come off too brash, give a lackluster lie after actually getting caught— you’re out. And whose pride would want that?

“It’s stupid we always gotta wait for them to sit us down, it’s not like we don’t know what’s coming up.” He scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “Plus, what a fucking weird thing to say to your kid.”

“I mean the whole thing’s odd if you think about it.” Gojo shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets, forearms bare against the linen of his trousers.

He’s right, of course. Even if neither of them feel guilt for their actions, they can’t ignore the sinking feeling in their stomach when their own fathers sit them down and incite such a twisted view on them.

Be that as it may, it’s not too bad when that’s all they know, and it’s not like either of them are going to complain at a quick orgasm, a nice pair of tits, and that goddamn feeling of triumph.

“Do you think they’ll cry again?” Satoru mocks, brimming with glee as he leans in the direction of his friend. “It’s always funny, dontcha think?”

“As if you’d know,” There’s a smirk despite the aggression in his tone. “Dunno why it matters so much to you, you already got bitches babbling about you all the time.”

Gojo sighs, expression bored and childish and fucking greedy. “Yeah, I know but…” His voice peters out, lost in the room. Elation bubbles back into his features, warming his cheeks and animating his eyes as he looks at Suguru.

“Yknow, I heard the dean has a daughter starting, actually. Real sweet gal, even wrote a whole fucking magazine article about the importance of ‘saving your innocence’” his voice wobbles, eyes rolling as he sneers. “for someone you really love.”

“Sounds like she’s ugly.”

“Thought so, too, but..” He trails off, hand fishing in his back pocket for his phone, pupils dilating at the light on his screen. It doesn’t take him long to find the photo; clearly he’s been sitting on his discovery for awhile, anticipating when he could tell him. “Look.”

Suguru doesn’t like to be wrong, much less will he ever admit it. “Holy shit.” You aren’t necessarily the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, probably not even the prettiest he’s seen in the last month, but you were definitely something.

Maybe it was the curve of your jaw or the tint in your lips, but the photo set something off in him. On the surface he thinks it’s the just barely explicit face you’re making in your mirror, phone in hand as you look into your lens, but really, honestly, if he’s searching deep down— it’s the fact he knows you’re the one girl who wouldn’t just throw herself on him if he so kindly asked.

“Sugu, are you ever bored of this? It feels too easy, right?” Suddenly Gojo’s previous excitement feels misplaced, voice itching for more. “Hardest part about it is finding out who’s actually a virgin or not, and that’s pretty simple with how awkward they get.”

“What are you saying?” Maybe he already knows, maybe he’s hoping for the obvious, but he asks like he doesn’t care. The former moves fast, hand steady on the desk as he leans far too close for comfort. In any other situation, he’d probably be met with a harsh jab to the face, but this feels different— secret.

“Let’s do something, on our own, just you and me.” He almost seems too impatient, pressure digging into the ground from the toes of his shoes and gaze begging. It was the kind of thing that made you want to agree, if nothing else to just feel a fraction of the way he seemed to be. Before Suguru could even consider the idea, test the waters and make Gojo beg a little bit, said boy opened his mouth again.

“I mean, unless you’re not up for it. You don’t really seem like the type to make a girl give it up for love.” He snickers, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as he feigns swooning.

“Geto, I— I love you.” His voice is high, wheezy in his imitation and a little rude. “I think.. I think I’m ready- I want it to be you.” He cuts himself off with his own laugh, hand circling over his mouth to try to stifle himself. “Could you imagine?”

“The fuck does that mean?!”

“Cmon, Suguru, you’re not really the endearing type.” He’s edging him now, tone manipulative and pressing and snarky and Suguru knows— of course he knows, but it can’t help but irk him.

“What are you thinking?” And now Gojo’s beaming again, feet guiding him back across the room to his bag, books stacked neatly inside, lying even against each other. He pulls out a magazine and tosses it to him haphazardly before he reaches back for a notebook and a pen.

“Page 36, read it.” The article is cheesy. It’s too long and feels like something right off a self care Facebook page. Suguru is sure he physically recoiled a couple times reading it; especially when you wrote ‘Virginity is a miracle— the ability to show someone how much you love them in such an intimate way should be saved for someone special.’.

It’s shocking that you’re the daughter of the man who oversees their little sex game.

Suguru thinks you’re vile— embarrassing and pathetic and a huge fucking waste of what seems like a really good pair of blowjob eyes. It makes his skin crawl and he verbally scoffs when he reads your finishing sentence about cherishing your virtues, so focused on the arrogance in your punctuation that he doesn’t even hear Gojo’s laugh.

“Pretentious as shit, right?” He snorts, eyes flickered as he recites the passage in his head. “It’s gonna feel so good to fuck the words right out of her mouth.” Suguru didn’t know what he expected from his friend, but it wasn’t that. It’s clear through, through and through, that he’s dedicated to the idea.

“I mean sure, I guess you’ll have your turn. Maybe she’ll fuck just about anyone after I win.”

“Wait, so you’re in?”

“Whatever.”

“Fuck yeah!” He’s joyful, fist pumping into his chest in a quick celebration before he’s holding up his notebook, standing directly across the floor from the desk.

The wood is dark, deep and marbled, glazed over the top and lined with little symbols of power in the form of trophies. It’s clearly something too nice to serve as a welcome mat, but nonetheless Suguru rests his heels on the surface, ankles crossed over each other as he leans back in his chair. His eyes point to the ceiling to look at anything other than the annoyance in front of him.

“Well clearly we need to set up some rules.” He sneers in his seat when he remembers not looking at him won’t make him shut up.

“Okay well we have the obvious: whoever fucks first wins. And I mean fucks, none of that sloppy anal shit. Doesn’t count.” It’s almost funny, but neither of them acknowledge it. If they do, that’ll come hand in hand with the fact they’re acting just like their fathers.

“She has to be sober.” He didn’t really expect himself to say that, but he did expect Satoru to whine.

Gojo lets it sit in the air for a second before he nods curtly and jots something done.

“Would it be too cocky to say she has to cum?” The journal’s away from his face now and someone could, and probably would, argue that the walls are lucky to see the boyish grin he’s got. His smirk pulls up at the corners of his lips, but Suguru just finds it vexing. Gojo is far too full of himself, he thinks, and he hates to admit there’s good reason.

Nonetheless, he has to give him a little shit. “Do they normally not with you?”

“Hey! That’s not what I meant, asshole.” There’s something sweet to Satoru, under all the sickening that is his personality. It makes people understand just why girls fall for him, and definitely helps him keep a good image to the public.

And there’s something smart to him that makes you feel like he could really pull whatever he wanted off. It makes the idea of competing with just him much more appealing.

“Are we gonna have like a— fuck I don’t know— like a time limit?”

“Fuck is this? A video game?”

“I mean no, but competition wise if it takes us like half a year isn’t that kind of stupid? Because who’s to say she won’t ‘really love you’ by then, and then you’re not making her go against anything, yknow?” And there's also something meticulous about him that makes him aggravating as all hell.

“Fine. A month.”

“Just a month?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Plus, anything longer than that and we’d just be a couple of fucking losers chasing after a bitch.” Suguru knows Gojo is giving him a look without even seeing it, the slightly judgmental and almost kind one he does. “What? You’re the one who said it to begin with.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. A month.” It’s silent for a second, comfortable with all their years of each other, before he clears his throat.

“That it then?” Maybe they’re the same kind of evil. Maybe they deserve each other.

“One more, actually.” There’s that feeling from him again, the tone that makes Suguru want to agree aimlessly for no fucking reason other than the possible rush. And before he can fester; before his skin can start to crawl and his hands can get clammy just from that sheer desire in his voice, Gojo grins.

“You need proof. And I don’t mean her saying it, because you can bribe anyone into saying anything. Gotta show it, photo or video or something, balls deep or whatever the fuck.” That almost makes Suguru laugh.

“I don’t think she’s gonna go for that one, no matter how good the dick is.”

“She doesn’t have to know.” Now he’s really thrilled. He doesn’t know what it is, but that lights something in him, stirs in his stomach and causes a little quiver in his brow.

“Fuck yeah, man,” he’s really laughing now, pointing at the journal harshly. “write that shit down.”

There’s something unspoken over them now, a deeper bond than they thought they could have. Neither of them would ever admit it, but it feels like they’re those two high schoolers again, counting down til they can become something fucking great. This is the feeling they’re supposed to get from their fathers’ stupid fucking contest. This is actual competition, a chance to actually win.

A new air falls on them, mixed back in with that warm, rich breeze.

“Okay, that settles that then.” Gojo offers, fingers tapping the binding of his book. “She has to be attending the start of the year banquet so that’ll be an excuse to meet her. Everything from then on is up to us.” Suguru always dreaded that shitty event, but now he finds himself doing mental math to count how far away it is.

Even if the whole thing is trivial, and even if you seem like the most uptight thing ever, Suguru is a man of pride. And prideful he’ll be.

“We still gotta do the ‘new year’ thing, you know. They’ll burst a fucking artery if we say we’re not interested.” His voice is gravelly and calm and so not anything he’s feeling, but he thinks Gojo buys it when he chuckles.

“Can you be excommunicated from being a womanizer? Because I think we would be.” They’re almost joking like everything is normal. It’s different, so much different, but they’re acting the same.

“I’m gonna go grab some water and maybe call one of your maids to make lunch, you want anything?” Suguru shakes his head, shifting in his seat as he tries his hardest not to look at the journal Satoru set on the side table.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be back.”

“Whatever,” He waits after Gojo walks out. Waits a good forty five seconds before he stands up, and he crosses the room in about three.

He glances over at the thrown aside notebook, eyes quick as he scans it. The handwriting is adjacent to messy, scattered and the page is littered with semi vulgar doodles and side bars. It’s coherent, though, and even though they both know Gojo had no intention of giving it to him, it’s got his signature at the bottom.

1. Full fucking!! Penis in vagina

2. No signs of being inebriated. Absolutely stone cold sober

3. If it takes longer than a month after everyone is introduced we’re both “a couple of fucking losers” (< Sugu’s words)

4. Orgasms are important ! Or at least near orgasms (she is a virgin)

5. Photo / video proof. If you can’t get it, you aren’t in it (haha! get it?)

He snickers at four, the uneasy tone in the second sentence almost self deprecating. Despite that, he can’t help but feel a smidge of respect that he ended up adding it to begin with.

He grabs the pen from the table, pressing into the paper too hard as he leaves his chicken scratch of a John Hancock. Okay, maybe this will be fun.

taglist… @moonlight-pearls @sharkerino @echerie

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

Pairing: Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader

Summary: It’s been a few days since the war ended, Caitlyn is recovering from her injuries. Despite that, she still has the responsibilities of a Kiramman that weigh upon her. Luckily, she has you to ground her.

A/N: Love my wife DOWN—this is a bit long cause I just love writing from her perspective (in a way). This is her late birthday present :3

She looked through the scope of the sniper with her remaining eye, focused on the target; the bright red spot in the middle of the silhouette head.

Bang!

The golden bullet soared through the air, the Kiramman crest implanted on it shining through the air. A quick swish interrupting the silent atmosphere.

It missed the bullseye, by a few inches.

Dammit.

She growled under her breath, looking down at her sniper. The sound of it slamming onto the ground echoed through the empty room.

She’s been in here for quite a while, hours. She didn’t get a single shot but was determined to stay until she got one. Talk about stubborn.

She’s known for her excellent shooting skills, one of the best in Piltover. And now…she can’t even hit a single bullseye.

What a disappointment.

What would Grayson think, seeing the girl she trained in shooting, not even able to hit the target?

What would her mother think? Her daughter had done so much damage. Went against her morals and now deeply regretted it, the amount of guilt she felt is a consequence itself.

What a disappointment.

She attempted to take deep breaths, a practice she’s been working on with you. But the feelings kept bubbling up, like an active volcano, on the verge of a damaging explosion. So caught up in her thoughts, the sound of your footsteps didn’t register.

“Cait?,” you tilted your head into the room, watching her stiff form slightly relax at the sound of your voice. She didn’t look back, shame settling in from her outburst.

“Baby, you’ve been in here for hours, it’s starting to get late,” you spoke to her gently, being careful not to aggravate her any further.

“I still have work to do,” the words came out in a cold. She turned her head in your direction, didn’t look at you.

A sigh is all she received in return. “Don’t stay up all night,” with that, you walked back down the hall; heading to the bedroom.

The room was incredibly spacious, its tall ceilings and wide walls created a relaxing environment. In the middle was her bed, a queen size, large enough for the both of you.

Her wealth was a privilege, she is privileged. She realized at a very young age, not everyone has what she has. And that always plagued her thoughts, especially when she first saw Zaun’s condition.

Do your part, help those who are oppressed under this system.

It was always felt like her responsibility.

—★—

In her office, Caitlyn stared at the letter in front of her, sent by the council. She hasn’t visited a meeting ever since she declared her position as a decorated officer; firmly explaining her objectives to take down the system in Zaun.

Dear Ms. Kiramman,

We call you to a mandatory meeting, tomorrow at noon. There are many issues to be discussed.

- The Piltovian Council

She bit the inside of her cheek, going over the words several times. Ever since her mother’s passing, the chair was passed onto her. Although, Mel, near a sister to her, advised that she took the time to grieve, so much for that.

The mage was going to leave for Noxus, it saddened her, even if she would visit and send letters; it wouldn’t be the same.

She isn’t completely lonely, she has her father, and you of course. It’s like an itch, it won’t go away.

Maybe it’s because the older woman was the sister she always wanted. Similar to how Jayce was the brother she never had. Now he’s gone…left another hole that she can’t fill.

—★—

It was past midnight, the cold air from the open balcony door provided at least a touch of fresh air. You forced yourself to stay awake, waiting until Caitlyn came back to bed. Even while in and out of sleep, she was the first thing on your mind; knowing she was cooped up in her office, trying to rush through paperwork that wasn’t due until weeks from now. She’s been working herself to the bone. You were afraid that if she kept pushing and pushing, her body would drop from exhaustion.

The door creaked as it slowly opened then shut. She stood there for a moment to test if you were awake; she got her answer when you turned around to look at her. The dark lighting of the room preventing you from seeing her features.

The sheets crinkled under you as you got up from the bed; taking her hand and leading her to her bathroom. “I know you haven’t been properly taking care of yourself. I can smell it,” you scrunched up your nose, attempting to lighten up the mood. The slightest smile traced her lips but faded as fast as it came.

You carefully undressed her, revealing her bare body, nothing you haven’t seen before. Your finger traced the stitches of where she had gotten stabbed; trailing it back to her eyepatch.

“You can take it off, you know?” You looked at the patch that matched her hair. You had to admit, it was adorable.

All she did was give a single nod, slowly removing it—the hidden eye finally seeing the light. Doctors had to perform a tarsorrhaphy, as her eye would not be able to close on its own.

It didn’t bother you because it ‘altered’ her appearance but that she would struggle. Her depth perception was poor, she wasn’t able to navigate how far away objects are. It hurts your heart to see that she’s been getting so frustrated with herself and having occasional outbursts.

You zoned back into reality when she turned on the hot water, steam soon filling the room. She didn’t like her showers just hot but boiling. It concerned you at one point of how her skin didn’t get irritated.

She stepped in and her shoulders slightly dropped, bowing her head down. Stepping in behind her, you grabbed her wash cloth and lathered it in soap.

You rubbed the cloth against her body, cleansing her skin. She moaned quietly out of relief, she really needed this.

—★—

A strangled gasp escaped her mouth; gasping for air as she awakened. The nightmare playing on repeat in her mind.

Jinx. Torture. Gun to her head.

She hardly talked to you about her time with Jinx. How deeply it affected her. Her mother’s death was the tip of the iceberg. What that girl did to her haunted her every night afterwards, she couldn’t even bathe by herself. It was you that got into the shower every night and protected her from the hallucinations that lingered.

You knew what happened as soon as you felt her jolt. Reaching to the nightstand and flicking on the lamp, partially lighting the room. You could see her clearly.

Her chest moving up and down with every breath she took. The sweat dripping against her pale skin. How her eye was wide and scanning the room as if cautiously looking for somebody.

She sighed, lying her head back down on the pillow. “I’m sorry..” she whispered, the words cracking like an object under pressure. “I—I know I’ve been distant as of late. I just…everything’s coming back to me. It’s overwhelming, like I’m suffocating.”

Pressing your body against hers, you held a hand to her cheek, gently stroking your thumb near the eyepatch. She leaned into your touch, her eye closing at the soft sensation of your palm—savoring it.

“You’ve been through so much, we both have, and that’s not stopping me from loving you.” You lift her head to where she’d meet your gaze.

Water swelled up in her eye, though she tried to blink it away, a tear still fell. You didn’t wipe it away, instead letting it linger.

“I’m here,” your soft whisper caused her to finally break. Her eyes squinting as she let out a quiet sob, burying her face into your neck. It’s the one place where she felt safe, secure. Your hand rested on the back of her head, stroking the deep blue hair.

“I…” she sniffled, “I don’t deserve you.” You never wanted to hear those words coming out of her mouth. Sure, maybe she didn’t deserve you, her actions needed to come with consequence. But from what you’ve seen, she’s been beating herself up over this.

And after all that she’s been through, you never gave up on her. Even if her grief led her actions, resulting in chaos.

You were determined, and that’s what she loved most about you.

“Nothing will stray me away, okay? We’ll get through this together.” You looked down at her for confirmation. She lifted her head, giving a small nod.

She slowly wiped her tears away, “I think I need a break,” she admitted with a humorless laugh. “I’ve been so focused on trying to fix everything that I set unrealistic expectations. I can’t do everything but…what am I going to do?” She looked into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“What you need to do is take it slow, progress doesn’t comes immediately. Patience is the most valuable thing you can have right now.”

The words seemed to get through to her, thankfully. But all she really wanted—needed right now, is you.

You laid back down on the soft but firm mattress, pulling her down with you. “Try and get some actual rest,” her head rested on your chest, cheek pressed again it. Her long legs tangling around your frame, pulling you closer as to mold herself into you.

“I love you..” her muffled words vibrated across your body. “I love you too,” you smiled as your eyes began to close.

She couldn’t ask for anything better.

A/N: Definitely the longest fic I’ve written in a while, it shows how much I love her!

[frozenjokes]

please go back to doing your job. wait no not that job

convex week day 2 - lost/found - prev/next

these prompts are about to be followed. extremely loosely. flying by the seat of my pants here. @convexweek

Much like many lifeforms on Earth, Scar had made a habit of screaming when he wanted the sun’s attention. The sun was not interested, however, so Cub took to hiding away instead; not that Cub actually had to hide. Scar had walked right past him three times by now.

“Cub! Cuuuuub! Cub, where are you!? Are you okay? Cuuuuuuuuub???”

Certainly one of the more persistent moons in Cub’s system, that was for sure. Cub was getting real tired of it real fast. At the point where the Earth had made two full rotations on its axis, Cub was beyond irritation, and given the blatant disregard of Scar’s own duties so recently after his promotion, Cub was ready to rip him a new one for all this wasted time.

“Scar.” The moon yelped when Cub growled his name, but Cub expected as much and he did not stop, “You’ve been around far too little time to excuse this amount of criminal negligence from your post, a position of great honor, must you be reminded, since clearly you do not value it. Does your position need to be suspended to make you realize how lucky you are to witness a planet’s life, or do you just not care.”

Scar was taller than Cub, but he may as well have been looking up at him with that terror-struck expression, eyes wide and stunned and fearful- good! He should be!

“I.. How much..” Scar looked back into the vast expanse of space, like he might see his Earth from here, when of course he could not.

“Go on. Do you have an excuse for me? Lost track of time? Is your moon self-sufficient, does it not need you? I’ve heard it all, but please, let’s hear it again.”

“Are you okay?”

That made Cub stop completely short. “What? Yes- Of course I’m okay, what’s your problem?”

“I thought- You just didn’t show up when I arrived, I really.. I thought something was wrong. I thought you were hurt or- or you’d gotten lost and I didn’t- I didn’t know who to contact if the sun just disappeared, you know??”

Cub gaped at him. He had met few people who were truly this stupid. “You. Thought I was lost. On my sun? Do you get lost on your moon?”

“Well- No, not really, but I have landmarks, and the moon is so much smaller, isn’t it? You blend in so well, if something had happened to you and no one could find you-“

“What, did you think I got assassinated? I can’t just die, Scar! You’ve been spending too much time watching the Earth.”

“I was worried.”

“I’ve been a sun likely longer than you’ve existed, I don’t need to be coddled, and I certainly don’t need any lonely moons howling at my door every time they need a little company. You have closer neighbors, bother them. If anything’s wrong with your moon or any other moons are acting up, that’s when you come and bother me. I can’t imagine how you stumbled into one of the most prestigious positions in the galaxy when you clearly care so little for it. Perhaps you should savor the time you get to experience Earth before you aren’t allowed to return to it.”

Scar didn’t seem to have any more words to speak, a refreshing change from previous nuisance visits. Good. Good! Maybe he’d finally wake up and get back to his damn job.

“If you hate being here so much, why do you do it?” Scar’s voice was hoarse, a familiar anger burning beneath it. Earth-watching was a privilege everyone in the system was allowed, and most took forms that mirrored the life on the planet they were all so proud to be in such close proximity to. Scar had clearly seen much of Earth, his human body reacting so realistically to his emotions. Cub cared very little for this display, and even less for the question.

“Don’t be benign with me.”

“I think it’s a perfectly fair question! You hate the sun. You hate the moons! Do you even like Earth, or have you just kept this position for so long just so no other star could snag it? Are you so bitter and miserable that bringing everyone else to your level is the only way you manage to sleep at night?”

“Neither of us sleep.”

“That’s not the point!”

“You heard your fair share of rumors about how this position would be, you decided they weren’t true, and now you’re learning it the hard way. Grow up.”

“I gave you a fair chance.”

“I don’t need to prove myself, I think I’ve made it very clear to the entire fucking galaxy that I just want to be left alone.”

Scar’s expression grew stony, and he shook his head, sliding a hand across his silver face. The places he touched seemed to shimmer and darken, the light Cub radiated no longer reflecting back, which may have been a relief if Cub wasn’t so confused. What the hell was this moon doing? What was wrong with his face? Similar holes and cracks of inky darkness appeared across his neck and forearms, but Cub didn’t get the chance to ask what was with the dramatics before Scar spoke.

“Far from done, sir. In fact, I think you’ll find yourself wishing you were a little nicer to your residing moons, since you’ll be seeing more than a few of them in the stands.”

Cub blinked, slow. He blinked again. “What are you talking about.”

“I- Seriously? You don’t recognize me?”

“Am I supposed to know you.”

“I- I’m Scar! The Scar, for goodness’s sakes, stars and moons and planets alike have been naming themselves after me for centuries!”

Good god, this moon seriously had an ego problem, Cub really didn’t want this guy around any longer than necessary. Did he have enough evidence of negligence to file a complaint? “That’s great..” Cub trailed, absently thinking of ways he could escape this conversation. “Get going now, you’re skating on thin ice each second you linger.”

“I’m not- I’m not a moon! I mean- I was a moon until- You have no place to talk here, I’m hauling your ass to space court!”

Cub stared, blank. “No you’re not.”

“What do you mean ‘No I’m not,’ this isn’t- What do you think is happening right now?”

“On what grounds? ‘I hurt your feelings’ is not going to cut it.” Any style points this moon had gained in Cub’s book for being easier to look at and having cool black eyes were quickly vanishing; what was his fucking problem?

“Abuse of power! Poor treatment of the moons under your jurisdiction for nearly all the time you’ve held this post! There are cases upon cases of misconduct that I pioneered, and I’ve been trying to conduct an investigation on you for ages, but it’s so fucking difficult to get near this place by your own design that-“

“It’s not my fault you were an annoying pest and also not doing your job.”

“I am not the Earth moon!”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I have thousands of accounts of your mistreatment! You are famously a piece of shit to suns, moons, and planets alike! No one is on your side!”

Cub rolled his eyes. Unbelievable. “I’ve done nothing punishable in court. Being curt with moons and harsh with the incompetent ones isn’t a crime. If they left me alone, they wouldn’t have a problem, and 95% of them leave me alone. Congratulations, you riled me up enough to prove to yourself you have a case against me in space court, good luck. If the moon that got their face exploded by that crazy sun couldn’t scrape a win out in the jury’s eyes all those centuries ago, I highly doubt anything will come of this.”

Cub looked up at the heavy silence from the not-moon or whatever he called himself, cold pulsing off him in stark waves, the part of his mouth that wasn’t gone showing gritted teeth, goodness, Cub had never seen a moon so angry. Oh.

“For what it’s worth, I thought more of your face would be gone. Sorry about that. I was kinda shocked that sun got off so easy.”

“I am going to fucking ruin you.”

[lurking-latinist]

.

[mcytegg]

so are we gonna talk about how blindfold brothers and wemmbu kinda just treat the empire as on call fighters for zam bc of mapicc. he's zam's scary dog privilege LMFAO

[moeblob]

Right and his work menaces (Brent and Karen).

I don't remember last I mentioned it but apart from crude nicknames to people (except Chris), he also just puts them in his phone really weird (except Chris, who is literally in his phone as Chris). And I bring this up because in Right's phone, Karen is saved as "Lawful Obligation".

[unforth]

Hey if you're a white person (as I am too!) and reading the stuff about End OTW Racism (@end-otw-racism) is making you uncomfortable CONGRATULATIONS THATS THE POINT bipoc have been uncomfortable in fandom for decades and some of yall can't face being uncomfortable for five seconds and still have the gall to have shit like BLM in your descriptions.

Put your money where your mouth is. Be uncomfortable. Actually read what they're talking about and what changes they're proposing instead of jumping right to BuT wHaT aBoUt My DaRk FiC (they want to protect your dark fic and help ensure you're safer from harassment over it!)and ThEy'Re PrO-cEnSoRsHiP (they are explicitly not).

I'm so fucking tired of having my posts and those I reblog on this topic largely ignored on my personal account, but ESPECIALLY I'm furious about how ignored posts on racism in fandom are when I put them on the danmei art sideblogs.

I see racism every single fucking DAY as part of running those accounts. This isn't some nebulous thing happening elsewhere, this is us!

If you don't care, I really need you to take a long hard look in the mirror and ask yourself WHY DONT I CARE?

Because YOU SHOULD FUCKING CARE.

[queer-reader-07]

i think that the desire for perfection when it comes to activism, organizing, and the like is truly the biggest detriment to progress in the present day. so many people labor under this fantasy that some perfect leader or solution or way of doing things will happen, and in the end we just end up going nowhere.

[phagodyke]

weekend melancholy is starting to kick in >~<

[tiger-moran]

When people are unironically using the terms TMEs/TMAs or AFABs/AMABs or 'men, women and enbies' or fucking 'theyfabs'

[musclegoth]

queers who aren't radical about it like we just can't get along. we can't make out I'm sorry