#and the rise in actual misogyny

[junkartie]

the internet has genuinely rotted peoples brains. Yeah bitch some things are problematic if you view it under 7 different lenses and dissect them with a specific idea in mind but a lot of the time its literally not that deep. Everything is problematic if you try hard enough and it devalues actual real life issues

[musical-chick-13]

I think. I think there's still a lot of "Well I don't want to be like THOSE girls," even among plenty of adults who truly do genuinely care about feminism. And I just want to say that trying to assure someone who is attempting to parse all of that out with "Oh, don't worry, YOU'RE not like One Of THOSE™️ Girls" does not........actually help.

[autisticsupervillain]

I'll take "posts that Lily Orchard would write" for 500, Alex.

what is this "as someone who escaped the alt right pipeline" failpost I've seen so many people vague about

[solbaby7]

En Cognito

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, misogyny, best friends that wanna fuck, sexual tension, possible violence, jealous!az, slowly shifting into slight darker content 👀 hope no one notices

summary: Going undercover alters your appearance more than your friends ever anticipated—now Azriel can’t tear his eyes away.

—

“Stop touching and just relax.”

“I can’t,” You squirm under Mor’s touch. Two hours spent around the city spending obscene amounts of money on a dress and heels that you were only going to wear once. Nimble fingers part through your hair, undoing paper curls and oiled fingers run through the ends of silky strands. Everything is too tight—too exposed. “I am deeply uncomfortable.” Your arms cross behind your back, fingers awkwardly intertwining to create some sort of barrier between your ass and the possibility of peering eyes.

The High Lords cousin doesn’t take it personally, quickly finishing final touches on your makeup and the person you see in the mirror is so far off from what you were used to that it makes your breath catch. “It’s perfect. You’re going to be perfect—they won’t be able to keep their eyes off of you.”

Your hand shakes at the thought, painted fingers curling around the glass of champagne and knocking the whole thing back in one go.

“You’re going to ruin your lipstick.”

“If I don’t have at least two more of those, I’m going to ruin this whole night.” It felt weird having your hair down like this and your fingers twitch to tuck it back into your usual bun but Mor keeps throwing looks over her shoulder while she refills both glasses. Just daring you to fuck up her work.

After the second glass your brain finally stops hyper-fixating on the fact that you can actually feel the bare skin of your thighs touching with each step, an annoying change from the leathers that usually prevented things like this. “It’s just a few dances. Bat your lashes and smile pretty and the intel will come to you, I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t think one dress will get me all of that.”

“It’s not about the dress.” She’s rubbing oil into your skin that makes it shine when the light touches, the sweet smell lingering long after you’ve left the room and the whole walk downstairs is filled with gentle reminders on everything she’d been teaching you all week. “It’s you in it. Seriously, where have you been hiding all of this ass?” You swat her hands away, grateful that the others had left far earlier. You could just hear Az and Cass now, eyes rolling at the very thought of their relentless teasing—this would be the topic of many jokes for weeks to come.

Slight sway of your hips, soften the length of your spine, shoulders back and head high. Confident steps even though the heels were fucking killer; five inches of added height and you’d still feel small in a room crawling with fully grown men. The champagne glass is finished and refilled once more before you’re tugged away to the balcony and past the wards.

Usually, winnowing was calming but for some reason, this time it had the hairs on the back of your neck prickling at attention from all the eyes that slid in your direction. “That was subtle.”

“We’re late,” Mor mutters through her teeth, flashing a less than sweet smile to the males undressing her with their eyes. Typical for Hewn City but still fucking disgusting. “I figured a flashy entrance would distract from that. Now, be nice.”

Easier said than done with anxiety beginning to ebb forth, fingers flexing and nails running over the details of your dress. The words from earlier repeat in your mind and instantly your spine straightens, chin raising and the added swish to your hips is enough to attract the attention of any male within a five mile radius.

It’s customary to greet the High Lord and Lady, your heels clicking and face aloof when swiftly curtsying into a respectful bow. “Rise,” Feyre commands, voice strong and filled with unquestionable power but you could see that look in her eye—familial fondness creeping at the edges of blue irises and you’re quick to appear anxious. Less comfortable when surrounded by people you’d known longer than you could put into words. “Join the others, there’s plenty of food and drink for everyone.”

Better judgement screams in your mind not to look just a little to the right; your peripheral catching onto the faint glow of cobalt blue but your eyes slide over without permission.

Azriel looks godly standing guard near his High Lord and Lady. He’s handsomely dressed in one of his fancier pairs of fighting leathers, lethally strapped to the nines with daggers at his thighs, switchblades tucked in pockets or strapped to his ankles and swords that cross at his back, right between his wings.

Like an angel of death; just as tempting as he was deadly.

You look away before he can catch you admiring the tailored cut of sturdy, dark tactical gear stretching across his muscles. Too quickly for you to notice the way he double takes, eyes widening a fraction and stance stiffening ever so slightly when he recognizes the slope of your nose and shape of your mouth glistening in gloss. He nearly chokes on his breath at the accentuation of your figure, curves on full display in a complete juxtaposition to your usual attire and his stare follows as you disappear into the crowd of bodies.

He can’t leave his spot but it doesn’t stop him from sending out his own personal surveillance to keep tabs on the way you shift about the room.

Everywhere you move, eyes follow.

Males halt their conversation, sipping on whiskey so expensive that it probably equates to a months worth of rent but judging by their tailored suits and gold cuff-links—money was the least of their problems.

“A drink, miss?”

Relief works its way into your form when you accept, thanking the waitstaff politely while acting your ass off with the fluttery lashes and doe eyes. It paints a perfect little picture—entrapping susceptible males with overly inflated egos and misogynistic thought processes. You’re almost a little too deep in the facade, aimlessly wandering through the sea of bodies with ears specially attuned to every conversation; sifting through the meaninglessness in order to catch little pieces of a bigger picture that had yet to be deciphered.

“And who might you be?”

“Nobody.” The response is instinctive, a second nature that’s easily smoothed over with a demure smile.

Even you could admit the male was handsome, all solid muscle and alluringly ragged edges. His suit is immaculate, fitting the strong line of his shoulders to perfection as the halfway unbuttoned tunic beneath broadcasts the tawny tones of his chest loitered with inky tattoos. Dark hair frames his face, a silver scar cutting through the thick of one brow and yet its completely overshadowed when in the midst of such beauty. “You certainly don’t look like ‘nobody’ to me.”

Warmth spreads at the nape of your neck, your body affected by the soulful bass of his voice and for a fleeting moment you have to remind yourself of the task at hand.

The male doesn’t give time for you to come up with another one of your carefully curated lies. A hand is extended your way, the faelight above catching on the masculine rings adorning his pinky and pointer fingers when your hand is taken in his own.

It’s almost embarrassing—the spectacle he makes in spinning you slow, taking in every detail with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

Thank the Mother for Mor and her attention to detail, picking out the perfect dress and glimmering diamonds that distracted from the true soldier that burned in your soul, a characteristic that had been exercised for decades enduring Cassian and Azriel’s relentless training regiment.

“Whoever you’ve come with will never recover from the loss he’s about to take,” The males eyes are ravenous, that previously bored darkness finally flickering with life beneath the surface.

The surprised laugh you let out is genuine, a shocked bark of a thing that’s anything but ladylike but he doesn’t seem to mind. “You have a very high sense of self in assuming I’d go anywhere with you considering I don’t have the slightest clue on who you are.”

Another lie added to the steadily growing web. You’d been briefed on every single person in this room, memorized their faces and obsessively studying their lives and known connections until the only thing left was to figure out who possessed the most valuable information. “Who better to trust than Stewards right hand?” Feminine wonder masks the satisfaction of such an easily attained lead and suspicion begins to grow in your gut. Maybe it’s not as well concealed as you’d assumed because the cockiness is dialed down multiple levels and the smile he wears is far more flattering than that entitled smirk. “Call me Atlas.”

Music filters throughout the space and steadily the sea of bodies becomes more uniform, paired up couples shifting about the room with a hardened grace that allowed their movements to appear elegant, even if their faces were stripped of any semblance of emotion. “Atlas,” The name is foreign on your tongue but not entirely unpleasant. “Have any clue where they keep their stash?”

A cheshire grin accompanies the muscular bicep he holds out in offering. “Allow me to lead the way.”

Everything goes as planned, a knowing nod to Mor, a giddy smile when the Stewards second hand tugs you down a hallway, bypassing stationed guards and passing over a small pouch of silver coins to the scrawny soldier standing in front of a thick set of double doors. “Where are we going?”

“You wanted the good stuff. Kier keeps them in his office.” High heels click against the polished floors, taking in the layered colors of obsidian, onyx and oblivion. It’s typical for a male, simple, with just enough overindulgence to make your eyes roll.

“Are we supposed to be in here?”

Atlas moves across the space with ease, unlatching the lock on the liquor cabinet and collecting two glasses and a thick crystal decanter filled halfway with a deep amber liquid. “Are you going to tell on me?”

Every movement you make hold more grace than you’ve mustered up in a century. Femininity oozes from every pore and it’s intoxicating—this males reaction to the slightest graze of your nails against his fingers. It plants a terrifying seed, one eager to learn exactly how far you could take it. How many other people would react the same way?

Your mind takes a turn, sliding a key into a door you’d long since boarded up.

And you can’t help but wonder if the simple seduction would work on Azriel too.

“I can be convinced to keep a secret,” Magic must be used to keep the liquor chilled because the crystal is cold to the touch. “If you show me the balcony too.”

Atlas nods slowly, taking your words entirely different than intended but you don’t bother correcting it. Not when he strides over to the doors with such ease, pulling out a personal set of keys and unlocking them as if he’d done so a million times before.

You supposed Hewn was a sight to behold from this angle, high heels click against the concrete, bracelets clinging against the iron railings as you peer over. In its own, hauntingly beautiful way; a darker part of you could find the appeal if you overlooked the horrors that took place there.

“Now, I’ve snuck you out here, breaking all kinds of rules and jeopardizing my job for you.” If it’s the truth, Atlas has a hell of a way of making it seem nonchalant—every word laced in an amusement you can’t quite place but it’d be lying to say you didn’t find it slightly charming. “Will you finally tell me your name?”

There’s a mischievous sparkle in your eye, a taunting elongation of one leg, the shiny curve of your high heel dragging gently against his ankle. You almost answer when your eyes catch on the shadows in the corner, their color just a little too dark, their ebb just a little too sentient. Of course, Azriel would follow you out there when he believed you were taking too long, playing the perfect position of Night Court security when urging guests away from restricted areas but jealously slips its way into his tone when he finds you and Atlas on the balcony standing a little too close to be considered friendly. “You aren’t supposed to be out here.”

The male with you doesn’t seem the slightest bit deterred, cockily tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear while the other hand fishes out a small pouch full of gold coins from his suit pocket and rudely stuffs it into Azriel’s chest without even looking. “How about you go back inside and give us a few uninterrupted moments to get to know each other?”

Azriel’s brow raises, wings bristling when tracking the two fingers Atlas has grazing down your cheekbone and his tone is eerily even when responding. “Did you come alone tonight?”

“Yes,” Atlas retorts none the wiser, a smirk curving at the corners of his mouth. “Though, I have no intentions on leaving how I came.”

“Is that so?” It happens so quickly. Azriel snatching the male away from you, his fist darting out and connecting with Atlas’ jaw with such precision that the impact sends the Steward’s second in command unconscious on the cobblestone. “Mission’s over,” Azriel all but growls, his grip possessive when pulling you in. “We’re leaving.”

“Azriel,” Your eyes widen, glass slipping from your grasp as your brain moves like molasses when trying to comprehend what you’d witnessed. It doesn't bother Az though, his hand a firm weight at the dip of your back, pinky finger just grazing the curve of your ass with every step. “I wasn’t even close to being finished—he was about to give me everything.”

“Oh, I’m more than aware of what he was about to give you.”

He looks like he’s readying himself to winnow the two of you out of there, thick clouds of shadows materializing around his threatening frame but something forces him to decide against it. His jaw clenches, stance rigid and voice clipped when telling you to 'come this way', taking a sharp left turn before shoving your body inside. “Azriel, what the hell?”

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.” The door slams behind him, lock twisting with a resounding click but none of that distracts from the downright murder-strut Azriel adopts when stalking towards you. Your heart hammers against your chest, heels scraping against the polished floors in your attempts to create space but the male before you eats it all up. “Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me?”

The laugh that pushes free is breathless; taken aback. “What?"

A war wages in Azriel's mind as he strains to contain the small semblance of control he's ever been able to gather in your presence. You make him crazy; shove him out of his comfort zone and force him to take risks that his skillful training strictly rejects. You're an enigma, a flame that burns but also provides warmth to those who handle you with care. “I thought you in your leathers was sin.”

You swallow thickly as your body responds to the drop in his voice; the gravel that positively rattles his tone and morphs that strong soldier boy into a predator of a man with ravenous wants and needs. Rapturous desires that plagues his thoughts, tainting his actions and lingering in the void of his shadows with intent to kill.

Shock blends into need as Azriel backs you against the desk, the rigid line of his cock straining against the stitching of his leathers. It digs against your belly; teasing, taunting you with the possibilities. “But then you come waltzing in wearing this dress—cauldron boil me—are you even wearing any underwear?”

"I couldn't," A blush burns at your cheeks, every inch of you sparking to life under his stare. "Mor said panty lines are tacky."

"Then it'd be best you refrain from telling her what happens in here because I'm about to make you sound fucking garish." Hips buck involuntarily, a helpless rut whittling away at whatever self-control Azriel has left. It’s clearly not much because soon his lips are too preoccupied with learning yours and strong hands are busy familiarizing themselves with the curves you usually kept so carefully concealed. Eager fingers run over the tight fabric around your waist, gliding over the length of your stomach and cupping the weight of your breasts, thumbs grazing over peaked nipples. Mapping the canvas of your body like a man starved.

Denying his touch is out of the question; at least that’s what your body decides as it leans into the heavy drag of his weight. For once, you lean into the girlish nature of allowing the male to lead—to comply as Azriel guides your face to his own. Indulging in feverish kisses because he started it and it was only fair for you to finish it.

The lines of friendship blur with his tongue in your mouth and you’re too drunk on the scent of his cologne to question what any of this could mean afterwards. What chaos could ensue from helping him hike the hem of your dress up, up, up with a needy groan. “Can’t believe you hid all of this from me,” Azriel all but whines, golden irises gobbling up the fullness of your thighs. Pupils dilate at your lack of undergarments; the thin leather thigh holsters strapped tight against the muscle of your legs and inky shadows swipe at the weapon secured there—stealing it as a prize.

“Can you blame me?” The words come out breathy, palms dragging along rigid muscle hidden beneath his clothes, nails seconds away from slicing through the offending fabric for more of his warmth, for more of him in general because this male was a thing of dreams. Of carefully curated fantasies that females with far more time on their hands wrote about in their journals. “How would I get any work done with everyone staring at my ass?”

His touch is bold, two fingers sliding between your thighs to slide along the slick that collects between lower lips. "That won't be an issue for you anymore." A gasp forces your lips to part when he circles around your clit, feeling the area around it without actually giving what you want. Azriel likes it more that way; enjoys the ways your legs tremble and chest heaves. "You'll find that people don't stare much at the things that belong to me."

"I'm not yours," You struggle to verbalize the thought fully when he finally applies the right amount of pressure to your neglected bundle of nerves. Quick little circles under the calloused drag of two fingers works a strangled moan free. "I don't belong to anyone," You try to speak it aloud so the point comes across but all that's leaving your lips is pathetic pants of yesyesyes and pretty pleas for moremoremore.

He’s cruel in his torture, pulling his hands away seconds before release can wash over you and a cocky smirk etches in the corner of his mouth. It’s knowing; cognizant of the fact that your orgasm lies in the palm of his hands, rests under the willful press of his fingertips.

“Please?” You whisper, voice cracked; broken, ruined from nothing but his hands alone and you still hadn’t cum yet. Every nerve burns, toes curling, stomach clenching and pussy pulsing around nothing as your hips careen forward—searching for the sweet friction that Azriel just knows how to provide.

You thank the Mother for his lack of revolve, for it had to be her mercy that allows his stubborn defenses to crumble so quickly. To give in and offer everything you’d been begging for . He’s not kind about it; doesn’t coax the orgasm forward but yanks at it like a dog on a leash. It’s claiming the way he watches you through your high, drinking up your sounds and committing the slick sight of you to memory.

He doesn’t even give you enough time to catch your breath before he’s tugging his leathers down his hips, thick fabric bunching at his thighs. “Save your pretty pleas for soft pricks like Aaron.”

“Atlas.”

Azriel’s brow raises, a subtle twitch of muscle that shouldn’t be as threatening as it is. Or at least it wouldn’t be if it wasn’t followed by the ominous drag of his cock through your folds, the heavy weight of him coating itself in your slick.

You know he wants to say something. It’s hanging off the tip of his tongue; some venomous comment fueled by raw, unbridled jealousy. Some sick part of you wants him to say it—maybe then he’ll admit to his feelings; confessing to the tension that permeates when the two of you enter a room or share a joke or brush arms or get a little too heated during training.

“I believe your role tonight is soft and demure,” His voice is deceptively even considering the rough jolt of his hips that bullies the blunt head of his cock deep inside of you. “So don’t use that mouth of yours unless it’s to tell me how good I fucking feel.”

Az holds true to his word because every time your lips part to make some stupid comment for him to slow down or loosen his grip on your hips because you’re sure bruises are forming—Azriel just fucks you harder. Presses the palm of his hand against your mouth to muffle the moans, to seize the symphony of sighs that gasp free when he treats sensitive spots with such aggression.

He can feel your legs shaking, tuts his tongue in hushed amusement when he catches you trying to inch away; searching for a spare second to catch your breath. “Where d’you think you’re going?”

No mercy is shown for your choked breaths when Azriel’s focused on the ripple of your ass with each thrust. “It’s so fucking deep,” The words come out garbled against his palm and it’s only then that he pulls it away, fingers ghosting over the swollen plush of your lips in silent appreciation.

“Filthy pussy’s just sucking me right in,” Your cheeks burn, lids fluttering closed as you try not to acknowledge the fact that his voice and those syllables strung together is just enough to have you clenching around him; slick gushing down the length of him and dripping from the heavy weight of his balls.

A sharp smack of his hand against the fat of your ass; the perfect pinch of pain to accompany the mind-numbing pleasure that wracks through every nerve. “Azriel!”

“Now you remember my name?” His tone is pure venom, every rational part of his brain clouded with envy, leaking with a bitterness that scrunches up the perfect lines of his face. “Can’t believe you were about to give this up to that fucking ingrate.” Cool air breezes against your sex as your ass is lewdly pried open enough for Azriel to stare at the sopping wet mess you make. “Not after I’ve been waiting so godsdammed long for this—for you.” A creamy ring of your cum catches at the base of his cock; cunt clenching over and over and over as he works you through orgasm after orgasm.

Mumbled praises and keening moans are your only reply, knees bending for better leverage as you lean back into the pace he sets. Screw the mission—fuck the objective. Damn anything that wasn’t Azriel and his cock and those perfect hands that claims sweat-slicked skin. You don’t even fight it, succumbing to the pleasure and the male administering it. “Right there!” You barely recognize the sound of your own voice, ears focused on Azriel’s grunts and whispered praises. “So good. So good—fuck!”

“This is mine?” It’s not really a question. That much you know when you feel the pressure of his thumb rubbing circles along your clit. “Say it so I can hear you.”

“Yes!” Eyes roll. Words slur. Fists clutch at polished wood; manicured nails leaving indents in mahogany. “Belongs to you.”

Azriel’s too good—too precise; too determined. Forces him to rut deep and carve out a place inside of you with his name branded on it. Thick ropes of his seed paints quivering walls; claiming with a kind of possessiveness that has your toes permanently curled in your heels.

There’s barely enough time to catch a proper breath or situate your dress when thick wad of papers are smacked before you like a godsdammed gift, all neatly stacked and basically tied with a fucking shadowy bow. All the intel you’d bitched at Az for compromising—written right there in plain sight. “Those are the—you…thank you.”

“Don’t get all sweet for me now,” Azriel muses darkly, affectionately patting at your cheek as if you were some drowsy pup, his head nodding in gesture to the neat stack of stolen papers on the table while swiftly tucking himself away and redoing the ties on his breeches. “I’m only covering for your pretty ass so I can ruin it later.”

[wilcze-kudly]

People will go on about how "Katara's story is a tragedy" because she... ended up marrying the guy she loves, having children and grandchildren which she was always excited about and literally becoming a master waterbender and rising to the top of her field as a healer.

Yes, Katara's story has tragic aspects to it. And there are certainly flaws in how she is written in tlok (Though I will argue that there are actually more issues with how Toph and Zuko are just plopped in there for no reason in later seasons). And her storylines aren't perfect, for example her resolving her trauma around the murder of her mother being more used to prop up Zuko than her own internal turmoil. (Most of TSR is from Zuko's perspective and I hate that actually)

"Katara's story is a tragedy" Why do you have such a hard on for this woman's misery? Let her be happy, man.

You know what gaang girlie's life is an actual onscreen tragedy?

Toph's!

People will fucking downplay Toph's childhood abuse because she wasn't physically hurt, but her childhood was a never ending carousel of abelism, misogyny, neglect and isolation. The way Toph describes her parent's treatment of her as "pressure and pain" is heartbreaking.

Toph's only escape was Earth Rumble and earthbending, but despite her skills, she remained the perfect little lady her parents always wanted her to be. She's never known a different life, and she was only able to be her real self in secret.

And when Toph finally opens up to her parents, when she finally lays her real self bare in front of the people who are supposed to love and care for her?

She is met with what may be, in my opinion, the cruellest rejection in the show.

Despite this, even when Toph runs away, she still cares for her parents' approval. Hell, she's even lured into a trap due to her getting a forged letter from her mom and getting excited because it looked like her mom was finally accepting her.

It's also important to note how determined to be self sufficient and to prove herself Toph is. We can especially see this right after she joins the Gaang, where she refuses to participate in splitting with the rest of the group, insisting on "pulling her own weight". This isn't Toph being a brat, or spoilt, this is her wanting to prove that she can handle herself because people have handled and understimated her her entire life.

Eventually, Toph starts to learn to trust the members of the Gaang and this is a step in the right direction. She's literally making friends for the first time in her life I'm so proud of her.

However, I was genuinely upset when Toph's life changing field trip with Zuko didn't work out. When Toph was trying to connect with Zuko and he blew her off (I'm not blaming him tho they had shit to do), I couldn't help but remember the rejection Toph suffered from Lao.

Post canon, Toph continues to try and prove herself, starting a metalbending school and training new metalbenders.

She also reconciles with her father. Not before Lao disowns he rmultiple times and calls her a rude, ungrateful thing. And while he eventually comes to understand Toph and cherish her, that type of trauma sticks with you.

So it's no wonder really that Toph, someone who went her entire childhood seemingly without even speaking to someone her age, would have trouble forming connections. She has children with two different men, neither of which seem to stick around.

Toph tries to do right by her daughters and gives them the freedom she never got. Sadly, the pendulum swung too far to the other side, since it seems that she started to neglect her daughters, which led to them developing a sleugh of issues of their own.

Toph becomes the cheif of police, which kind of makes sense. Republic City was only slowly emerging as an actual metropolis. Toph took on a role as a protector, and probably as a way to prove herself. But as Republic City grew, Toph probably realised that she became something she hated. A cog in the machine, and started to despise her job.

Searching for a semblance of the freedom and happiness her travels afforded her in her childhood, Toph leaves the city and takes up the life of a hermit in a swamp. She managed to fix her relationship with Suyin to some extent, but still seems reluctant or simply unable to connect with her daughter or grandchildren. Since she apparently hasn't seen Opal, a grown 20 year old woman since she was a little girl.

On the surface old Toph doesn't seem terribly dissimilar to young Toph, still tough and spunky. But she is more jaded, depressed and pessimistic. She comes out to save Suyin from immediate harm and manages to somewhat reconcile with Lin, but then she fucks right back off to the swamp where she seems to literally hide until Wu and Korra straight up force her to come with them.

Toph's story began with her alone and it seems to end with her alone as well. It's a story of a girl who grew up isolated and handled by others, and was woefully unprepared for the real world, which only jaded her further. She lives with the guilt of fucking up her daughters' lives and a belief in the pointlessness of life.

Toph started off longing to experience the world and ended up willingly isolating herself from it.

If that isn't a tragedy, I'm not sure what is.

Mind you, this is not the trauma olympics. I'm not saying that Toph has suffered more than Katara or that Katara's trauma is not as valid as Toph's. Katara and Toph's experiences are completely different, Katara being a victim of genocide and war, Toph being a victim of child abuse. I'm just saying that, objectively, Katara had a happier 'ending' than Toph.

[lilacsandlillies]

I was going through the anti Jason Todd tag because I hate myself and want to understand where people who dislike him are coming from and one thing I kept seeing was annoyance at Jason fans who claim that Jason is female coded and realized that the term “female coded” might not be the best term to describe what we mean.

A female coded character in literature and media typically means a character that has no specified gender or otherwise does not have a gender but is obviously meant to be a stand in for a woman or female. Kind of like how Starfire has no specified race (due to being an alien) but is still obviously black coded based on the way she’s drawn and treated by the narrative.

This is slightly different than what we mean when saying that Jason is female coded. It’s not that Jason is literally supposed to be a stand in for a female character, it’s that the way a lot of characters treat him and a lot of the tropes used on him are things that usually saved for female characters, not big buff men like Jason.

To start with, being Robin is narratively (or at least was) very similar to being a woman in a story. Robin is a role made to complement Batman (who we all know is basically the ultimate male power fantasy). Robin’s role is to be an accessory to Batman. Robin can be smart, but not smarter than Batman. Robin can be strong, but not stronger than Batman. Hell, Robin is often kidnapped and used as a literal damsel in distress, a role often regulated for women as a whole.

What sets Jason apart from the other robins (except for Steph) in this regard is that they were allowed to be characters outside of Batman. Dick might not have been the “man” of the story when he’s with Bruce, but when he’s with the teen titans suddenly he’s the smart one who has all the answers. Jason’s Robin was never really allowed this.

Then we get to the most, controversial, part of Jason’s female coding. The fact the he was effectively fridged. Fridging is usually only referred to as frigding if it’s a female character, but Jason’s death checks pretty much all the other boxes needed. An incredibly brutal death that was more about Bruce’s feelings on it than Jason himself.

This is especially apparent when compared to the other Bat characters. For all the female coding, the only other Robin to actually be fridged was Steph (and we all know about the misogyny surrounding her death). Barbara was also kind of fridged during the killing Joke. The only female character to escape this is Cass (to my knowledge). When you look at it through this lens, the fact that the only other characters to be permanently damaged like this for Bruce’s story are female, it’s not hard to see where the idea that Jason is female coded comes from.

You can even find this in Jason’s origin story. Poor little orphan is saved by benevolent billionaire is a role usually saved for little girls, like in Annie.

Despite what you might think, this even continues after Jason’s revival. Jason is still used less as a character and more as a motivation for Bruce. He’s regularly called emotional and hysterical (terms usually used to refer to women).

Jason is first and foremost a victim. A role performed by women in most media. Men are expected to be stoic and “rise above” the things done to them as to not be victims, as continuously shown by the way characters like Nightwing are not allowed to be effected by the horrific things they go through. The fact that Jason is shown the be angry, and sad, and emotional, constantly, and the fact that he’s punished and vilified for it puts him in a place much more similar to a female character.

There’s a reason that so many Jason fans (that like him for a reason past “antihero with guns”) are female. For most characters, when you swap their genders there would be a pretty clear and big difference in the way their story takes place. If you swap Jason’s gender, the story takes place identically.

A lot of this is best shown in men’s reactions to Arkham Knight’s version of Jason. In that game, Jason is similarly angry and emotional, albeit for slightly different reasons. He is also still unmistakably a victim. You’d think the men playing would like him. After all he’s a big cool angsty guy with a lot of guns and muscles. Instead, a lot of men’s thought that he was whiny. That his feelings were annoying.

There’s also something to be said about how his autonomy is regularly undermined by Bruce (specifically in Gotham war) and how his decisions and feeling are constantly treated as if they’re worth less than Bruce’s, but that’s a discussion for another day.

[atthebell]

i say recent because ive seen, in the last 24 hours, no less than three posts along the lines of "fuck caring about female characters, only talk about men because fujoshis exist" and it's making me feel fucking crazy

this recent trend of arguing that actually focusing entirely on m/m ships is feminism because women like yaoi is so fucking stupid please get help

[fucktoyfelix]

This is actually a useful thing to understand how to spell out. What exactly is wrong with puritanical attitudes towards sexuality? TW: Discusses body image issues, suicide, STIs, sexual assault etc

1. It fosters fear, disgust and loathing of our bodies. By hiding the human body as soon as we are born, and treating it as an object of inherent shame: THAT creates trauma. Shame is one of the primary sources of trauma, its the fuel and lets trauma burn. Those raised in nudist societies, and children raised in households where nudity is treated in a neutral and non-sexual tend to have a much more positive relationship with their bodies as adults. This makes complete sense when you think about it. Going through puberty not knowing if your body is "normal" terrifies children in ways that stick with them for life. In fact, most cultures outside of the Unites States aren't as strange about non-sexual nudity actually...and are healthier for it. We can't have body positivity as long as we are literally criminalized for having an uncovered body. 2. It creates fear, shame and disgust about sex. Most people have sex at some point in their lives. No one would be here at all without it. Most people have sexual desires which lie outside their control. When people are ashamed of those desires, it leads to self hatred, and depression and anxiety. This shame is just as traumatic as bodily shame. When sex is normalized, and treated with the same candor as any other hobby: it becomes less apt to traumatize people.

3. Puritanical attitudes towards sex limit sex education. When people are too ashamed to talk about sex, people don't learn about pregnancy, stis, or consent. All of these things can and do kill people when they aren't addressed with an open dialogue.

Sexual shame leads to people too ashamed to buy condoms, to talk to their doctor about birth control, to ask their partner to use protection, to get tested...the negative health impacts of sexual puritanism have a massive negative effect on society.

4. Sexual shame leads to poorer communication in relationships. Ohh if I had a dime for every person i knew who ruined their relationship because they felt too guilty to talk to their partner about their sexual feelings...Not just that, but the general body shame that comes with puritanism blocks people from connecting to one another too. Have you ever avoided getting close to someone because you were ashamed of your body? If not, I guarantee you know someone who has.

5. Misogyny! Puritanical sexual believes hold that women are not capable of sexual agency. That only men should initiate sex. That women should only ever want babies and not pleasure from sex. All of this rolls right into the next one:

6. Victim blaming in sexual assault. When women are the gatekeepers of sex, its easy to blame them when they 'fail' to protect their chastity when someone violates their trust. This isn't something that just effects women: as the same attitudes hold that men are not capable of experiencing sexual assault. The lack of education and discussion about sex in a sex-negative world inherently prevent the open dialogues necessary for creating and maintaining consent culture.

7. Suppression and marginalization of the queer community. If we're too ashamed to talk about sex, we'll be too ashamed to talk about sexuality. Puritans can't accept any deviation from gender norms either. Anything other than sex between a cis man and a cis woman for the purpose of making a baby is a deviant kink, a mental illness, and needs to be wiped out. Its important to point out that many queer people hold puritanical values about sex: believing that they can achieve sex negativity and queer liberation at the same time. However, sex negative movements always rise with censorship and discrimination of queer people...because queer people are inherently considered deviant by the vast majority of sex negative "allies". It's very dangerous to forget this.

8. Censorship of art. Who decides what is sexual and what is not? Its easy to agree that sex needs to be hidden...but it never takes long before the definition of what is "sexual" expands. Even women's breasts are considered sexual in the United States. Its so normal for Americans to think of them that way that women can't feed their children in public. Drag queens face violence for reading at libraries. Books get taken off the shelves. Artists are bullied offline.

9. Censorship of scientific exploration. Scientific research into reproductive health, sexual behavior, gender identity and more are often hindered due to the "moral objections" of puritans, delaying progress and understanding. That's just off the top of my head. I think its time for people to take how problematic 'puritanism' is more seriously. As we see fascism rear its ugly head all over the world, we're going to see a lot more talk about 'degenerates'...and we know where that kind of talk leads.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, subjugation, Daddy-kink, chauvinism/misogyny, captive reader

fem reader

Board meetings and endless hours in his office, going from meeting to meeting, working over crappy proposals from other firms meanwhile surrounded by incompetent interns who’re only useful for making coffee runs. 

Only one pretty thing on his heavy mind…

He wishes he could keep you under his desk – no words, just your hot mouth wrapped around him – letting him spill all his frustrations down your throat.

He groans and quirks a brow at his watch.

It’s late. You’re probably at home with your hands between your thighs, waiting for him. Dressed up in pastel pinks – only frilly lingerie he’ll so easily tear only to buy more. 

Not that you need to wear anything at all when you’re not allowed to leave his house. 

But he likes the way it looks on you – next to nude, his little sex-kitten – all soft edges and warm plush flesh he can drown his burdened head in – soft fat he can card his ringed fingers into and squeeze tight – wrap you around him and just sink inside the comfort.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath, cracks his knuckles, and downs the last two fingers of bourbon from his glass before standing up and rebuttoning his suit. 

There’s no point sitting here with a throbbing tent ruining the seams of his tailored suit. 

Might as well go home and take care of business there…

He saunters in after locking the door behind him, another heavy sigh leaving him as he loosens his tie with a mildly frustrated tug. 

“Baby.” He curtly calls for you, sitting himself down in his armchair while waiting for you to come padding over from wherever.

You’re dolled up in a new set of sheer pink.

“There you are, my baby~” He croons ruggedly and pats his thigh, gently pulling at your hips once you’re close enough, dragging you up to straddle his lap.

“Welcome home, Daddy~” You say meekly, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek before relaxing against him.

It’s all you can do to keep from whining.

He makes you feel like a pet project. Something only kept and done at home meant to take his mind off things. 

Otherwise, he makes you feel like an actual pet – greeting him when he comes home with your head bowed and your tail between your legs, seating yourself on his lap while listening pliantly as he grumbles on about how shitty his day was.

You answer by doing what you’ve learned keeps him happy, bringing your hands up to undo his buttons as his head falls to rest on your shoulder – rubbing the stubble of his chin into the dip of your collar with halfhearted kisses – leaving your skin wet.

His hands round your back, twiddling the lace of your panties, playing with it while lightly lolling you against him – making your hips roll over him oh-so-sweetly.

You know he’s pent up and prone to take it out on you – often harshly, with his tie wound tightly around your neck – so you do your best to help him relax before it happens – smoothly carding your fingers through his finely kempt hair, dislodging it from its strict slick back.

He groans gratefully in return, with goosebumps rising throughout him, coming apart at the seams and falling even further into your warm touch with another squeeze of your smaller body – and gruff words coming from his throat.

“Have you missed me, baby?”

You run your hands softly over the rigid muscles beneath his shirt, gently gliding over the fine silken fabric until all buttons are undone. Replying, “All day, Daddy~” with your lips cascading from placing small pecks on his cheekbone down his Adam's apple to his collarbones while continuing to help him out of his clothes.

“Already so needy… Won’t let a man rest a single minute first before begging to get your pussy fucked, hm? Such a shameless little thing…” He chides with a sigh – despite his hips jostling somewhat impatiently – pushing his crotch suggestively against your hands where you work to open his belt.

He encourages you by licking your neck with another moan, followed by a soft click of his tongue, giving your hair another tug while you release the button and slide his zipper down.

“Do you think you deserve it?” He hisses. “I haven't heard you ask nicely even once.”

“Please, Daddy~ please give me your big cock~” You kiss his neck with the pretty words, cupping the growing bulge before gently messaging him through his boxer, and he – somewhat begrudgingly, as though not entirely impressed – gives a heavy sigh while leaning his head back against the cushion behind him.

“Such a horny little girl... with such a filthy little mouth on you, I ought to rinse it out with soap…”

His hand rests on the plump of your ass – grinding you forward until the heat of your cunt kisses his stiffness with only the fine mix of cotton and lace separating the two of you.

He strokes your lip with the pad of his thumb before pushing two of his fingers past them to play with your tongue – making you lick his fingers clean of the gritty taste of salt and tobacco.

He hums at you, “That’s the taste of money, baby.” Pinching your cheeks together with a jaded look darkening his expression – kissing the pout of your plump lips with a tut. “All the hard work I do for you...”

You hold yourself steady on his shoulders and lift your hips as he tugs your panties to the side and slides the spit-slicked digits over your folds softly before splitting the lips and sinking them both inside you.

You bite your lip at the stretch it makes.

“Have you been touching yourself all day, hm?” He tsks at you with a shake of his head but pets your hair while at it, looking down at you with that silent subjugating gaze, bringing you to heel before giving you a kiss on the forehead. “Such a mindless little slut you are, only one thing in that ditzy little head...”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the sting of tears threatening to fall – you don't want to be pushed down and pinned beneath his strength – not with his fist riddled within your hair, forcing your face against the pillow – and rammed from behind like you’re nothing but a fuckdoll for convenience. 

So, you bribe him with sweet nothings you know he wants to hear. 

“It’s all you, Daddy. Only you~”

He leaves his fingers in your cunt, curling them into the sponge and smiling at the wet that trickles down over his rings and knuckles, pooling in his hand as he pulls himself out from his boxers with the other – telling you, “Show me.”

You wrap your hands around the base neatly, one stacked atop the other, working the shaft while sticky precum spills down your fingers.

“Such a needy girl, always making Daddy work, never letting him rest…” He shakes his head, jerking his hips up into your touch.

He pulls his fingers from your cunt and brings them back up to your mouth – waiting for you to suck them off – groaning at the sight as his other hand takes his cock out of your smaller ones, giving himself harder tugs.

“This what you wanted, baby? This what you’ve been thinking ‘bout all day?” He babies while tapping his head against your mound, waiting for you to beg a little more.

“Yes, Daddy, please~ I need it so bad, please, Daddy~” You whine between licking his digits clean.

“Okay, Baby, don’t worry, Daddy’s got you.” He soothes before lining the sturdy shaft with your puffiness.

His tip glides between the lips, licking the slit before settling at the mouth – pressing in with a groan as he lowers you slowly – squeezing inside your taunt velvety walls until you’ve swallowed him down to his balls. 

“There we go, Baby~ time to give this needy pussy what she’s been crying for, hm~” 

You pout as he begins his tempo. It’s slow and deep as he unclasps your bralette and starts sucking your titties. Both hands grope each mound roughly, tweaking and pinching the nipple his mouth isn’t nomming.

It makes you buck your hips. And his hand finds your hair again, tugging it back as he sucks bites up your neck until licking your ear.

“Is Baby so impatient to come on Daddy’s cock she can’t control herself?” He croons condescendingly – as if he was talking down to a toddler about getting ice cream before dinner.

And though you despise it with every fiber of your being – feeling like the tone itself was gasoline to a raging fire – you do your best to swallow the smoke, knowing it would get you nowhere to spit it back in his face.

“Yes, Daddy. Pretty please.”

He hums at the way you beg, shifting in his seat to sink deeper until he’s properly kneading your womb. “Behave yourself, and we’ll see if you deserve it.”

That’s right. He just wants you to sit there and take it – cum when he tells you to. And if you defy those wishes, he’ll sooner have you bent over his lap with his handprint singed upon your ass than be done with you.

“Yes, I’m sorry, Daddy~ I’ve just missed you so much~ It’s so lonely here without you~”

He chuckles darkly. “Aw~ you sound like a little puppy – wagging your tail when your owner comes home.”

It’s humiliating, and the chagrin burns hot in your cheeks – enough to make your eyes water.

“I should get you a pretty collar.” He muses, cupping your ass in both hands, with blunt nails digging smiles into the fat as he lifts you up and down his shaft slowly – fucking you deep – his words still at your ear in hot gruffs. “Maybe a little tail, too, hm? Would you like that?”

You moan and nod your head. “Anything you want, Daddy~”

He likes that.

“You’ve become so good for me, baby. Only a couple weeks ago, I had to rope you up and muzzle you like a rabid dog, but now look at you…” He praises with a curled smile. “Begging to have your pussy fucked the moment I come home, all but jumping and humping my leg like a lovesick pup.” 

He clicked his tongue, locking his arms around your thighs in a tighter grip, with hands holding your ass steady – picking up the pace with a huff. 

“Are you my little housebroken cock-pet, hm?”

“Yes – yes, Daddy,” Your words shuddered as he jerked his hips sharply, hitting you deep and hard enough to make you choke on your moans. “I’m your little – ah- housebroken cock-pet~”

He groaned. “Cum for me, baby – cum while I fill you up – show me what a good and grateful cock-pet you are-” He spluttered while holding you tight, sinking deep as he spilled his worth inside your womb while you faked it for his pleasure – shaking on his lap with your head thrown back in a squeal, milking him while pretending to ride it out.

“Thank you, Daddy!”

He spanked your ass, grabbing greedily into you as he continued to empty himself. “Such a slutty little pet – cumming all over Daddy’s cock – moaning like a filthy little whore.”

“I’m sorry – but you feel so good.” You whine like he’s right.

And he eats it up – every drop of it – kissing you with need. “Yeah, you’re my pet – Daddy’s dirty little cock-pet.” He moans against your lips with tongue and teeth, sucking more sloppy hickies down your neck until falling to rest on your tits.

You both pant in unison while he hugs you tight – waiting for his cock to soften before sloppily slugging it out.

He breaks the silence after a while with a click of his tongue. 

“Such a mess…” He huffs with a slight shake of his head – but then smiles with a chuckle when kissing your cheek. “Why don’t you make dinner while I go shower, hm?”

BNHA – Kirishima, Enji, Bakugou, Deku

JJK – Nanami, Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji, Higuruma

[ronanlynchdefender]

The political stances of The Raven Cycle characters are so fascinating to me. You got Blue over here who is very much a progressive activist in the making. She recognizes things like misogyny and is not afraid to call those things out even when it concerns her closest friends. Because of that, I definitely see her as the type of activist who would be in the front lines at protests whether that be at the Capitol, college campuses, at the border, or as is the case in the dreamer trilogy, tied to a tree. She is the type of person who demands change in our current system and would demand it loudly and through acts of protest or civil disobedience.

Then you have Adam who displays no strong desire to change the system and whose only desire is to rise up in that system. He wants to climb the social ladder and assimilate to those of higher social status which is partially why he envies Gansey so much in the beginning because Gansey was born into it. Adam still tries to do this in the dreamer trilogy by essentially pretending to be a Gansey-like figure while at Harvard despite hating it. Eventually, Adam gives up on trying to belong within this higher social class and "climbing the ladder" but then strangely enough becomes a fed, which means just integrating into another form of hierarchy and power structure. And I feel like a more interesting arc would've been rejecting being a part of these societal systems altogether.

Which I suppose now leads us to Ronan who is a literal anarchist. He actually rejects all societal systems and rules and it permeates every aspect of his life. But actually, I shouldn't say all because there is one societal institution which he does enjoy partaking in: religion. With the exception of his catholicism, he does not engage in any other societal institution: education, law, politics. He hates it, in fact, It is antithetical to his being which is what makes his characterization so perfect because of course a gay farmer god would hate oppressive rules and structures (except for religion). That's not even mentioning that he is a canonical ecoterrorist that cost the US government a billion dollars. But what is really interesting about his character (and where his and Blue's political stances differ) is that because he rejects these systems he has no interest or stake in changing them. He'd sooner tear down the system than try to reform it.

And then there’s Gansey who doesn't seem to engage in politics and would rather spend his days reading his little Welsh books and going on his fun adventures. Of course, he is able to do this largely because he has the privilege to not worry about politics or social class. It seems that Blue's influence changes this as they are both chaining themselves to trees in protest during the dreamer trilogy. Other than that, I don't really have a lot to say about Gansey and his politics. But I find it very interesting that Maggie has created this close-knit group of characters with such varying relationships to how they view politics and social structures. I tried to draw out a 2-axis grid to show their differences, but I don't know if it really works because I feel like Gansey kinda screws it up but nevertheless I like how they each represent different ends of a spectrum sort of.

[genderkoolaid]

you seem thoroughly uninformed about misogyny in south korea, so much that you think south korean feminists are creating a divide when said divide already clearly exists and is the cause of the rise of a feminist movement

“I would hate for this interest in 4B outside of South Korea to somehow feed and revive the most regressive part of 4B,” Ju Hui Judy Han, an assistant professor of Gender Studies at UCLA, tells Them. “I would actually hate for the interest in 4B in the US to then somehow make this TERF [movement] grow in South Korea.” [...] But the conversation about 4B in the U.S. is rife with misconceptions about the movement, including false assertions that 4B accounts for the majority of feminist thought in South Korea. It’s important to note that despite the global attention, 4B is a fringe movement in South Korea, and Han says the vast majority of South Korean feminists do not abide by it. “I just want to make sure that people understand that 4B does not speak for Korean feminism,” Han tells Them. “4B is not representative of Korean feminist politics. A lot of us see something a lot more diverse and a lot more intersectional than what 4B calls for.” [...] Han says that they hope this blip in interest about 4B fades into the next news cycle, as there are so many other forms of intersectional South Korean feminism that do include queer and trans people. Ultimately, many of the current discussions about 4B are coming from a place of privilege that queer people don’t have the luxury of accessing.

which South Korean feminists my friend

[pennyellee]

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: ANUBIS pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 19,7K release date: december - january

beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

prompt 1: “You are something I can sin for” prompt 2: An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that’s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, reader meets namjoon at 17, forced engagement, kidnapping, graphic violence, death, murder, blood, explicit language, misogyny, mentions of feminism, alcohol usage, mentions of religion and God, church smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, oppa-kink and so on (i'll add some if i'll forget)

author's note: so here we are! this is the story i've been thrilled to push out as it is happening in the universe and almost simultaneously with CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI. Y/N alias Peaches here, is my baby, and I cannot wait to write more for her and Namjoon after champagne confetti side B goes out. I have drafts for another fics that are happening in the same universe as champagne confetti and now anubis but step by step my faries ♥ I hope you will enjoy reading this piece I was keeping for myself for a looong time. The best thing about writing is that I get to build this world of imagination and live in it for months before it gets to you. Sooo I'm very nervous and excited to push Anubis out as a second fic within champagne confetti universe - which i still didn't name coz all the fics just have different titles so let's just call it like that for now. Without further ado, enjoy fairies! ♥ let's go back to 1996. omfg, let's call it thatttt, back to 1996!

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone. main masterlist 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

1996

"Did you sleep well?" Namjoon asked, his voice softer now, as if he was trying to breach the walls that had begun to rise between you.

You nursed your coffee in the black ceramic mug while you shrugged, keeping the answer with spice in it for yourself just yet. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you could see the cracks in his façade when you didn't answer.

"I see... silent treatment," he gulped down, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Pouring himself a cup of coffee too, he leaned on the counter right in front of you. You took his appearance in. He got a buzz cut, creamy satin shirt tucked in leather pants. A few of the buttons were undone, giving you a perfect view of his toned chest.

"Is that really how you want to start the day?" he provoked. You set the mug down, the clink of ceramic against marble echoing in the tension-filled kitchen.

"Did you ask yourself the same question when you threatened me?" you shot back, your voice rising slightly as the memories flooded back. The anger surged within you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering since the moment you woke up in his penthouse.

Namjoon's expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a flicker of defensiveness.

"Well, you for some reason seemed too adamant that you needed to patrol the streets of Bronx by running away from me. I know you too damn well, Peaches; I know where you were headed."

The words stung, each syllable laced with accusation and an unsettling truth. Your heart raced, the anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You know fucking shit, Namjoon—"

"Oppa," he jumped in, his voice firm, yet tinged with a note of caution.

You inhaled sharply, the familiar term slicing through the tension like a knife. It reminded you of the intimate moments you once shared. "You've lost that honorific the moment you decided to threaten me and kill that man right in front of my eyes!"

Namjoon's jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict brewing beneath his composed exterior.

"You don't understand the kind of world I'm in. We protect ours."

"Protect?" you spat, feeling the heat of betrayal wash over you.

"I'm a person who deserves to make her own choices—" He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

"What choices are you making? Running off into the night like it's some kind of adventure? You think that's brave? I refuse to let you get hurt because you're unhappy with my decisions."

"Oh yeah, like something would happen to me—"

"You are my woman, and people know that you are, Peaches!" he declared, his voice rising with intensity, as if the weight of his words was meant to command respect from the universe itself.

Your heart raced at his proclamation, a mix of anger and something softer twisting in your gut.

"The fuck you're talking about, Namjoon?" You snapped, your voice echoing off the sleek kitchen walls. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sheer audacity of his claim.

"Not fucking once did you say that we ought to be official one day—" you shot back, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"You act like I'm some sort of possession, something you can just claim without any conversation or commitment!" Namjoon's expression hardened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes.

"You need to stop pretending like we don't have a future because you're scared of the past," he said, smashing the mug down on the counter. Namjoon's jaw tightened, and the conflict in his eyes was palpable.

"Since I was seventeen, not fucking once have you made your intentions strictly clear, Namjoon! The fuck am I doing here then?!" The words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered, echoing in the tense space between you.

He ran a hand over his face, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

"I thought you knew. I thought you felt it too," he replied, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I thought it was understood that it was a matter of time."

"Understood?" you scoffed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You think that just because you've made me a part of your life, I should automatically know my place? That's not how it works!"

"I was waiting till you turned twenty-one—"

"Age of consent is eighteen in this state, Namjoon, keep that bullshit to yourself." Namjoon's expression darkened at your words, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"So you would rather have me taking you as wife and putting a baby into you the moment you turned eighteen, am I right?"

.

.

.

.

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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: if you want to be notified once the full story will be up for reading, you can write in the comments and i'll create a taglist!

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ SURVIVAL. featuring sniper mask.

↻ sniper mask is a good man… right?

tags : outdoor sex, misogyny, manipulation, creampie, spanking, fucking to survive (not really but he says it is), wall sex, orgasm delay, slight mask kink, god complex!sniper mask, implied dubcon // wc. 0.9k

author’s note : sighs and screams and sobs all over the place. i didn’t actually get down to watching high rise invasion until recently and now i suddenly need sniper mask everywhere and anywhere all at once. poor guy is SURROUNDED by women who he can’t have (and i could change that :p) i know we aren’t quite done with this event yet but i want to thank everyone for all the support i’ve received!! follower numbers have soared and i feel more motivation than ever <3 keep liking n reblogging to help a girl out, and enjoy this one !! i love you all and here’s to almost 800 followers !!

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

ever heard of the saying ‘boys will be boys’? it’s massively toxic, and mostly used to excuse the inappropriate actions of boys (or more predominantly, men), especially in situations where said boy (or man) is deemed respectable for the most part. 

for the most part, SNIPER MASK is a respectable man. of all the girls he’s come across in this realm, he has made it his duty to protect them because he knows that as a man, it is up to him to ensure women’s safety. he may even call himself a feminist, but that may be a step too far. 

that’s because what sniper mask is doing now is very very far from what anyone would call feminism. in fact, he’s acting in accordance to the famed statement, ‘boys will be boys’, except he considers himself a man. and as a man, he has a right to feel manly urges. 

lying to a vulnerable girl such as yourself isn’t very respectable of him, but it’s been ages since he’s had a good fuck, and he can’t deny himself after everything he’s done for all the other ditzs in this realm. he’ll apologise after, he promises, but for now, he can only focus on the way your cunt has him in a death grip. 

“m-mr. mask…” you’re pathetic. he told you that you needed to do this to practise building stamina for future disputes, knowing full well that his stamina is fine, and you won’t be getting involved in combat if he had anything to do with it. you’re just such an airhead, so dainty and fragile and easily scared by the stupidest things, and it would pain him to leave you all alone by yourself. 

“i know, sweetheart, but we need to do this. it’s necessary to ensure your and my survival.” it absolutely isn’t, but he’s telling you that to keep himself warm and snug inside your cunt. he has you pressed up against the wall of one of the abandoned high rises, far away enough from the rest of the players to make sure he doesn’t get caught. 

your eyes flicker into the back of your head as your hands brace against the wall, bare nipples pressed into the brick through your torn shirt. “s-shit, ‘m gonna cum—“

sniper’s hands grip onto your hips hard, gloved fingers staining your flesh with fresh bruises as he pulls you back on his length repeatedly. “can’t have you cummin’ yet, angel. you have to hold it. stamina, remember?”

your eyes widen as you remember what he said. you have to hold out for as long as possible. do as he says because he’s a mask and you’re just a human, and a weak one at that. his experience surpasses yours tenfold, so he knows what’s best for your survival, right? 

so you hold it for him, cunt clenching down tightly and hands forming into fists as you squeeze your eyes shut. he isn’t making it very easy for you; his blunt cockhead hits your cervix head on with every thrust, and his hands periodically crawl around your torso to play with your nipples. to add on to the sensations, it’s beginning to get a little windy out, and the cool breeze brushes against your agitated clit, causing small streams of wetness to spurt from your depths with every thrust. 

you want to give up. you wish you could just give up on this whole stamina building exercise and let the masks kill you, but sniper’s cock feels so good, and if he doesn’t let you cum soon, you might lose what little brain cells you have left. 

“i know you want it, doll, but y’gonna have to be patient, okay?” his deep voice rattles through his mask. “gotta hold out f’me. gonna make you a great fighter, okay?”

“y-yes sir,” you whimper, gasping when his gloved hand comes down on your ass with a slap! 

“good girl. turn around f’me.” he unsheathes his cock and watches you struggle to turn around on shaky legs, back now pressed to the wall and thighs slightly parted as your tits spill out of your shirt. you look like a mess, eyelids drooping and lips parted gently, and he wonders why oh why you haven’t caught onto his scheme yet. 

you, on the other hand, are confused for different reasons. you can’t even see his face, for crying out loud, so why do you want him to keep fucking you so bad? thoughts of stamina building or whatever fly right out of the window as he presses your waist back up against the wall, pulling your leg around his waist before lining his tip up with your hole. 

“you can cum for me this time, doll. i think it’s about time you felt some real pleasure.” there he goes again, helping out poor little girls like you down on their luck. 

he even has the audacity to smile to himself under his mask as he watches you convulse from orgasm, your tiny hands squeezing his biceps and eyes rolling into the back of your head lewdly. he follows not too long after, his grunts as shallow as his thrusts as he spurts rope after rope into your twitching cunt. 

does he feel bad for cumming inside? not really. girls like you are only good for one thing in a place like this; to be good, compliant little cumdumps for respectable, hardworking men like himself. 

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[hadesoftheladies]

why you should have hope for separatism:

-this is one of the first times in history where women en masse are educated and (are expected to) participate in the working class which means now more than ever women are better equipped to take care of their own financial needs (even with all the tradwife influencers, not many women will be able to convert because house-wifery is strictly limited to the upper-class, which is shrinking more and more, so most women will always have to work anyways, and most women see this! even the ones that joke about being housewives/strippers are serious about their careers!)

-separatism is mostly non-action. it is strategic non-interaction with men or male media which makes it extremely accessible and easy to replicate across cultures. it removes women from exploitative relationships with men. this means the only thing you need to do to convince women to become separatists is attack the idea that their lives will be unfulfilled without men. and more women and girls are embracing that culture simply because of their experiences (and access to education)!

-late stage capitalism and the rise of blatant misogyny men display is radicalizing women. which means more and more women are open to living together and raising children together romantically/platonically. (literally every woman i've talked to who's unmarried lives with their parents or wants to live with women because men are genuinely an unattractive option--thank you men for showing your asses <3)

-the internet and globalization positions women from all over the world to share their experiences (and we have many shared experiences), which means consciousness-raising has never been faster or easier or more powerful!

-men and boys are failing and dropping out of school way more than women and girls which means that women and girls are on the way to dominating academia and relevant industries! women will make up more of the skilled workers in future job markets which means that women who are educated now will likely be better off and more pursued financially than men. women's influence in society is increasing! think about it. as much as male violence is increasing, male literacy and competence and skill is DECREASING (even nepotism or sexism will not be enough to fix that problem because hiring men will still result in profit losses and other financial inconveniences). in short, male culture is killing men!

-resistance to pornography and understanding the evils of pornography are also increasing. awareness of male violence is increasing!

please read more literature on separatist strategies and don't think whatever is happening on tiktok/IG is how all women think. most women irl are not stupid enough to trade in their jobs for prostitution because women don't actually want that. many women i've talked to in real life also don't want children (in these conditions or at all)! they aren't radfems but they still have self-preservation instincts and intelligence!

there is literally so many ways we can use the current sociopolitical climate to our advantage. it is too early to give up. like wayyyy to fucking early.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Growing

Summary: After a concerning phone call from his daughter's Principal, Javi goes to find out the true reason why she's really there in the first place.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Dad!Javi x Wife!reader (No use of y/n)

Warnings: Honestly this is all fluff 😭 Misogyny, dress codes being the dumbest thing in the world, Javi going full dad mode ™️, Javi being the best girl dad, Sappy Dad Javi loving his daughters so much

A/N: This story is inspired by this ask and what started as a short little snippet ended up being 4k long 🥴 I've written so much for Javi being a dad to his younger daughters, but I will fight anyone who says he isn't the best girl dad at every phase of life his daughters are in 🥺 Javi loves all his daughters equally, but I just know he and Lucy have such a special bond and it makes me wanna cry and scream all at once. I ain't gonna lie, ya girl shed a few tears with this one 🥲 oldest daughters with emotionally unavailable fathers gang rise

Series Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

“It should be fucking illegal to work when it’s this hot.” 

“How long have you lived in Texas for, you fucking moron? Of course it’s hot. It’s Texas. Stop bitching, you baby.” 

“Oh shut up. You’re telling me you're comfortable right now?” 

“No, you idiot. It’s hot as Satan’s asshole in here. Of course I’m not. But whining isn’t gonna make it not hot.” 

“I know it’s not. Just let me complain, okay? Fuck, I honestly may take Satan’s asshole over this…” 

While no one at the Laredo Sheriff’s department was a stranger to the sweltering Texas heat, even Javi couldn’t argue with his fellow co-workers that for a morning in late May, there was no denying it was already miserably hot outside. 

He had just finished getting an earful about the topic from his daughters this morning during school drop-off, complaining that they may actually die of heat stroke before the day is done, and that his youngest, Harper, may die from “smelly boy sweat”, since no boy in the 7th grade was wearing enough deodorant as they should be (and that, he couldn’t argue). 

“Cater’s right, Miller. Complaining isn’t helping you get all your shit done, and I need that file by the end of the day.” Javi grumbled, surprising Agent Carter and Miller as he passed their desks on the way to his office, making the pair raise their hands in defense in justification of their weather woes. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t worry, it’ll be done before the end of the day. If I don’t melt into a puddle first…” Agent Miller grumbled, sticking his face back into the piles of papers scattered across his desk. 

While he would never give his co-workers the satisfaction of knowing he was just as irritated by the early onset heatwave as they were, Javi’s suit jacket was already shed and sleeves were rolled up past his elbows before he had barely made it through his office door. 

As he took a seat at his desk, looking over his list of to-do’s for today, he was taken aback to hear the aggressive ringing of his phone this early, wondering what could have already gone so wrong that someone already needed to get a hold of him.   

Ring, ring, ringggggg. Ring, ring, ringggg-

“Laredo Sheriff’s Department, this is Peña.” 

“Hi Mr. Peña. This is Mr. Wilson, Assistant Principal over at United High School.” 

Javi sat up just a little straighter in his desk chair, running his hand over the back of his neck, a jolt of nerves hitting his stomach like he was the one being called down to the principal’s office. 

Javi had gotten plenty of phone calls from his daughter’s school throughout the years. Calls to pick one of them up and take them home because they were sick, forgotten lunchboxes and school projects, one justified elementary school fist fight- Javi had pretty much heard it all. 

Now that your daughters had reached middle school and high school, the calls home now came few and far between, and most of the time, came from the girls themselves on their own phones, more often than not, in the form of your middle daughter, Elliot, asking if he would come pick her up because school was “the most boring place on earth”. 

He took a moment to try and compose himself, knowing that if one of the girls was sick, they would have texted him, or would have gotten a call from an office secretary, and last time he checked, Assistant Principals weren’t calling parents in the middle of a work day just to sprinkle in some good news. 

So what in the hell was he calling for? 

“Uh, H-hi, Mr. Wilson. Can I ask, um, what uh- what’s the reason for the phone call? Is everything okay?” 

“Well Mr. Peña, I’m calling because I’m here with your daughter. Unfortunately, she’s here after a teacher referral for disrespectful and defiant behavior.” 

Javi could feel his brow furrow and face scrunch in genuine confusion, practically left speechless by Mr. Wilson’s statement. Sure, his daughter Elliot was going through a little bit of a “phase” right now, but even though she had come out of the womb with an iron will power and enough sass to fuel a small country, she knew better than to talk back to adults, especially her teachers. 

“Are- Are you serious? I’m really sorry, Mr. Wilson. Could you um- What did Elliot do?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have clarified. While I have had the… pleasure…. of meeting your daughter, Elliot, she’s not the one I’m calling about. Mr. Peña, I’m calling about your daughter, Lucy.” 

If the phone call itself wasn’t already enough to knock Javi on his ass, that statement sure as hell was. 

“Lucy? There’s no fucking way.” He thought to himself. 

In all 12 years Lucy had been in school, the worst thing any teacher had ever had to say about your oldest daughter was that she was an overachiever. Lucy was your classic, type-A oldest daughter- She was a straight A student, captain of her soccer team, a member of every club under the sun, and most importantly, was the kindest kid a parent could ask for. Lucy lived by the rules, so the fact that she went out of her way to break one, let alone be disrespectful about it? Something wasn’t adding up. 

“I… Mr. Wilson, I’m sorry, I don’t wanna be rude, but- are you sure you’ve got the right kid?” Javi stammered, still in shock from what he had just heard, wondering when someone was going to walk in and tell him this was some sort of weird prank. 

“Oh yes, I’m sure. Mr. Peña, I think it may be best if you and your wife just come down to the school to talk about this.” 

“Um, my- my wife is out of town helping her dad out after surgery but uh- yeah, I’ll um, I’ll be there in the next uh- shit…” He muttered, looking down at his watch, quickly calculating in his brain, “the next 30 minutes?” 

“Great. We’ll see you then, Mr. Peña. Goodbye.” 

“B-bye.” 

Javi sat there for a moment, phone still held to his ear as the dial tone rang, shooting in one ear and out the other as he tried to process what had just happened. He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of his confusion enough to let his nerves take over, frantically scrambling to grab his things before storming out of the office even faster than he had entered a few moments ago. 

As soon as he was in the car, Javi was frantically dialing your number, backing out of his parking spot and pulling out onto the road like he was being called for some sort of life threatening emergency. 

“C’mon, pick up, pick up, pick up…” Javi huffed, anxiously tapping his fingers against his steering wheel, waiting for you to answer.

“Hey, honey! What’s up? Hold on- yes, it’s Javi. Okay. I- yes, I will. All my family says hi and that we miss you! What’s going on?” You answered, an unsuspecting cheer in your tone, just happy to hear his voice. 

“Uh- yeah, tell them, I- yeah, I say hi, too.” Javi responded, clearly frazzled and distracted as he sped down the road, wishing he would have taken a police squad car instead of his truck to get to Lucy’s school sooner. 

“Javi, what’s going on? Are you okay?”  You asked, clearly sensing the concern in his voice. 

“I just got a call from the Assistant Principal that Lucy is down in the office because she got a referral for being defiant and disrespectful.” 

“Wait, you mean Elliot?” 

“No. Lucy.” 

“Oh shit.” 

“That’s what I thought, too.” 

“Did they tell you why? Or what happened? That doesn’t seem like her at all. She- she knows better than that? And how much trouble she’d be in?” 

“No, I’m going down to the school right now. If I wasn’t already sweating bad enough because it’s hot as fuck here today, I sure fucking am now.” Javi grumbled, pushing up his sleeves further before wiping the sweat accumulating on his forehead, sticking his dark curls to his skin. 

“Hey, hey, Jav. I’m sure it will be okay. I’m sure there’s gotta be a reason. Take a few deep breaths, okay? Please just keep me posted.” 

“Okay. I-I will.” 

“It’ll be okay, Papa Bear. I love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

With a quick beep on the other end of the phone, Javi set down his phone in his lap, wrapping his fingers around the wheel with an iron grip and clenching his jaw until it hurt, turning on the radio as loud as it could go to drown out the “what-if’s” dancing around his mind in what was going to be the world’s longest 10 minute drive to United High School. 

Javi had found himself in plenty of stressful situations throughout his life. Hell, stress was a given working as a DEA agent in Colombia trying to take down the biggest drug lords of the 20th century. Yet somehow, Javi found himself just as nervous, if not more, as he walked into the main office of Lucy’s high school, trying to figure out what she had done that was worthy of a trip to the Assistant Principal. 

After some directions from one of the secretaries, Javi found Mr. Wilson’s office door, giving it a few raps before it was answered by a short and stout older man, his poorly balding head adorned with a limited amount of scraggly gray hairs and face painted with an unamused half-smile. 

“Mr. Peña? Please, come in and take a seat.” Mr. Wilson sighed, gesturing to an open chair next to his daughter, sitting with her arms crossed over her chest and eyes peeled to the floor, seemingly trying to shrink herself as small as possible into her chair. 

Before Javi could even ask Lucy what was going on or if she was okay, Mr. Wilson had already begun on his rant, promptly taking a seat behind his desk with a deep sigh, forcing the attention onto him. 

“Well Mr. Peña, I’m sorry to have to call you in from your job, but I felt that this was something that more than warranted a parental visit. As if it wasn’t bad enough she is already deliberately breaking our school’s dress code, Lucy's already been one of several students down here today who have had the audacity to argue with both teachers and myself about the issue.” 

Just as Javi was about to speak, he stopped himself in disbelief, trying to process what he had just heard, looking over at Lucy, trying to hold back her tears before turning back to Mr. Wilson. 

“I’m- I’m sorry, I think I must be missing something. This is about what Lucy’s wearing?” Javi asked, scratching the back of his head in confusion. 

“Yes.” Mr. Wilson replied, almost annoyed that Javi’s immediate response was shock, rather than anger. “Our dress code clearly states that girls may not wear shorts below fingertip length or tank tops that are less than 3 fingers thick across the strap. It’s a distraction for both male staff and students. As your daughter is a Junior, this rule should come as no surprise to her. On top of this, she and a few other girls in the hallway this morning were written up for resisting coming to the office after teachers on dress code duty had written them up.” 

Javi had to visibly shake his head, trying to make sure he had really understood what he had just heard as his jaw hung open in disbelief. He took a deep breath, trying not to laugh to himself out of shock and building anger, asking one more time to make sure he truly comprehended this was the reason for the phone call this morning. 

“I’m sorry, I really think I must not be understanding this.” 

“That’s not what happened…” Lucy quietly piped in, eyes still glued to the floor. 

“Please, Ms. Peña, why don’t you enlighten us, then?” Mr. Wilson replied, a sarcastic delight in his tone. 

“I was on my way to second period when I got stopped by one of the teachers in the hallway. She told me that she needed to measure my tank top and shorts to make sure they were up to dress code. I knew they were kinda short but it’s like, a million degrees outside today and everyone is miserable because the air conditioning doesn’t work in half the rooms on the second floor.” Lucy paused, sitting up a little taller in her chair, looking over at her dad, her face filled riddled with guilt. Javi looked back at her, quietly nodding in reassurance for her to keep going. 

“But um, the teacher said that my shorts were too short, and that I needed to go to the office so they could write me a dress code referral. But I had a huge presentation that I’ve been working on that I was supposed to give today for my second period science class, and Ms. Feltmate told us that if we miss the presentation portion of our project, we get an automatic 20% reduction in our grade. I’ve worked so hard on that project, and I told the teacher in the hallway I couldn’t go because I’d miss my presentation. She told me she didn’t care, and that I should have known better, and then I told her it wasn’t fair that she’s going to ruin my grade on this project because of my shorts when literally everyone in the school is breaking dress code today because it’s so hot out. I tried to tell her I’d even go before 3rd period so I didn’t have to miss my presentation but she told me she didn’t believe me and that she was going to write me up. So, I’ve been down here until you came. I’m- I’m sorry, Dad.” 

At this point, tears were welling in Lucy’s eyes, her voice quivering and bottom lip trembling, trying to keep from completely sobbing in front of her Dad and Assistant Principal, looking up at Javi with regret and shame for what she’d done. 

If Javi wasn’t upset before his daughter’s testimony, now, he was absolutely fuming. Javi was using every ounce of composure he had left to keep from completely exploding as he readjusted himself in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he locked eyes with Mr. Wilson. 

“Mr. Wilson, what period should Lucy be in right now?” Javi asked, trying to keep as calm as possible while he waited for Mr. Wilson’s surprised response. 

“Uh- I believe 4th period just started? Why?” 

“So you mean to tell me, Mr. Wilson, that not only has my daughter missed out on a huge presentation that she has spent countless hours working on, she’s also missed out on two other classes because you think that keeping her here in your office because of her shorts is more important than her learning?” 

Mr. Wilson stared back at Javi in a silent shock, taken aback that he was in fact, not on his side at all, and was seconds away from absolutely ripping him a new one for what he had done to his daughter. 

“Well, y-yes, but-” Mr. Wilson stammered, trying to rebuttal. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson, but this is the goddamn stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Lucy is a straight A student. She cares more about school than any kid I’ve ever met. She is smart, and hard working, and the fact that you wanna actively punish her for that just because she’s wearing shorts when it’s the hottest damn day of the year is absolutely fucking ridiculous. Second of all, if playing dress code police is more important to you than girls going to class because some teenage creeps, better yet, staff members can’t keep it in their pants, you’ve got a way bigger issue on your hands than what my daughter chooses to wear to school.”  

A stark silence hung in the air for a moment filled with mixture of Javi’s fumes, Lucy’s shock and surprise, and Mr. Wilson’s overwhelming embarrassment at the situation he had brought upon himself. Before Mr. Wilson could even try to muster out some sort of defense, Javi was already standing up out of his chair, nudging Lucy to do the same. 

“Grab your stuff, Lu, we’re going.” 

“Mr. Peña, let me assure you that-” 

“Mr. Wilson, the only thing you need to assure me is that you’re going to explain to her teacher where Lucy was wasting her time this morning so she can give her presentation for full credit, and that I’m not gonna hear from you again in regards to what my kid wears to school when it’s 105 degrees outside. Have a nice day.” 

Without another word, Javi was already halfway out the door, Lucy quickly following behind him as he signed her out for the rest of the day before silently storming out to his truck slamming the door behind him as Lucy sheepishly crawled into the passenger side, setting her backpack between her feet. 

“Dad, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to-” 

“Lu, I’m not mad at you. You have nothing to apologize for. You think I’d be upset with you because of that?” 

“Well, I don’t know, I mean, I did technically break the rules, and you had to leave work to come here, and-” 

“Hey.” Javi paused, putting a hand on Lucy’s shoulder, getting her to take her eyes out of her lap and look at him, “Lucy, I’m proud of you. You stood up for yourself for something that was clearly important to you when you knew what other people were doing wasn’t right. I could never be mad at you for that.” 

Finally, a small smile pursed the edges of Lucy’s lips, shrugging her shoulders to try and play off her dad’s compliment, even though they both knew Javi was more than right to be proud of what his daughter had done. 

“Thanks, Dad.” 

“Of course, Lu. I’m being serious though, what you did takes a lotta balls. You should be proud of yourself.” Javi smiled, giving Lucy a little nudge with the hand still placed on her shoulder. 

“Ew, Dad, gross.” Lucy sighed, rolling her eyes as she playfully shoved her Dad’s arm off her, the pair quietly laughing to themselves. 

“You promise I’m not in trouble?” Lucy asked again, raising an eyebrow at her dad. 

“The only punishment I’m making you endure is forcing you to spend some time with your old man for the rest of the day.” Javi smirked, fastening his seatbelt before looking over his shoulder to back out of his haphazard park job. 

“Could be worse.” Lucy teased, giving her Dad a little shrug, secretly excited that not only had her Dad stood up for her without a second thought, but was letting her ditch school to spend time together. While at the ripe age of 17, she wouldn’t admit it out loud, Lucy knew how lucky she was to have a dad like hers. “Do we have to listen to your old man music while we drive, or is that also part of the punishment?” 

“Yup. No Jonas Brothers for this drive, Lucy Lu.” 

“Dad, I haven’t listened to the Jonas Brothers in years. I don’t even like them anymore.” Lucy laughed, cringing at Javi’s presumed music interests for her. “That’s okay, I don’t mind your old man music. You’re better than Mom. She’s been on a huge ABBA kick every time we drive to soccer practice, and if I hear “Gimmie, Gimmie, Gimmie” one more time, my ears may bleed.” 

Reaching over the center console Lucy grabbed the aux cord, plugging in her phone, scrunching her face in concentration as she scrolled through a few different playlists until landing on something that seemed to fit the bill, setting her phone in her lap while turning up the volume. 

Dun. 

Dunnnadnun. 

Dunanun.  

Javi couldn’t help but smile at Lucy’s pick of “Back in Black” by AC/DC, one of Lucy’s favorite songs her and Javi would listen to on her drives hockey practices and games when she was little, claiming the song gave her special powers to “kick boys butts” when she played. 

“Damn, you must really want me to kick your ass in putt putt, huh?” Javi teased, hinting at his makeshift plans for the rest of the afternoon. 

“Really? That's what we're doing? Dad, no offense, but you suck at putt putt. Are you trying to make this easy for me? Because if that’s the case, then I’ll start planning my flavor choice for my extra scoop of winner’s ice cream now.” 

“Whatever you say, smartass.” 

After 18 holes of mini-golf, Javi couldn’t even pretend that he put up a fight against Lucy, admitting in defeat that he didn’t even stand a chance against her, not even foregoing bribery to get her to throw away his embarrassingly high score card as proof of his loss. 

Per tradition in the Peña household, Lucy rightfully earned her extra scoop of ice cream at Eva’s Dairy Barn for her impressive putt putt victory, her and Javi settling in on their favorite bench by the little stream that ran behind the ice cream shop, where their family had spend more than their fair share of time enjoying their favorite treats while stomping and splashing in the creek. 

“Victory sure does taste sweet.” Lucy joked, sticking her tongue out at Javi as she bit into her ice cream, Javi rolling his eyes at her even though she had every right to give him shit after his terrible performance. 

“Well if you can find a college with a putt putt scholarship, that’s the place to go.” Javi smiled before the pair went quiet, the reality of knowing Lucy would be seriously starting to look at colleges soon weighing heavy in his throat and deep in his chest. “Have you uh, thought anymore about schools you like?” He asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant, rather than the complete and utter terror he really felt. 

“I don’t know… a lot of people from school are talking about going to Texas Tech or Texas A&M… I think I like Texas A&M but, I don’t know, it’s just….” Lucy paused, taking a deep breath, anxiously twiddling with her fingers. 

“Just what, Lu?” 

“It’s almost 6 hours away. I know it’s not really that far but, I don’t know… I’m just really worried that I’ll miss you guys. Don’t tell Elliot and Harper I said that.” 

It took everything in Javi not to melt into a weepy, sobbing mess right then and there on that bench, wondering how yesterday, he was bringing Lucy home from the hospital, scared shitless on how in the world he was going to be a father, let alone a half decent one, and now, here Lucy was, nearly an adult who had blossomed into the most wonderful daughter he could have asked for, and was getting ready to leave for college. 

Wrapping his arm over Lucy’s shoulder, she let her head fall next to his, sitting for a moment in a thoughtful silence before Javi spoke. 

“No matter where you go or what you do, you know that we’ll always be there for you, right? Even when you’re sick of us. You’re an amazing kid, Lu. We’re all so proud of you. I’m so proud of you. We’ll be there for you even if you’re on the other end of the earth if that’s where you wanna go. I love you, kiddo.” 

“Love you too, Dad.” 

Javi couldn’t help but reach up to wipe the tears welling in his eyes with the back of his hand after a quick kiss on Lucy's forehead, making Lucy laugh as she tried to hide the tears of her own. 

“Dad, are you crying?” 

“No… A little… I’m just really pissed you beat me at mini golf, okay?” Javi joked, trying to use a little humor before he became a total sap. “Alright, we should probably head home before Elliot and Harper get too suspicious.” 

“Not looking forward to the 10 pounds of shit they’re gonna give me when I found out I got called down to the principal's office.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Elliot will happily triple your visits by the time she’s your age. As for Harper, God, I honestly worry she’s gonna be calling the principal down to see her.” 

“Is this your subtle way of telling me I’m your favorite child?” 

“No, this is my subtle way of thanking you that despite your run in with the pants police today, you’re the one I’m least worried about having to bail out of jail one day. Don’t tell them I said that.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me, Dad.”  

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