#anti wish hook

[ouatsnark]

I'm laughing cause I just saw someone say Hook became likeable as Rogers, and witt the added benefit of him not being Hook or being with Emma.

This same person claims that between Gold and Hook, Hook was the writers' favorite and Gold was their least favorite.

Like, what?

Oh I so called it! I've never seen them admit it yet I feel vindicated because for years I have said that the only reason Regina and Rumple stans love Fook is because he is not with Emma. The only reason a few CaptainSwan fans love him is because they're more obsessed with Colin than with CaptainSwan. But I digress.

Those that say Rogers is more likeable wouldn't be saying that if he wasn't disguised by a spell and if they actually acknowledged his plot against Killian and Emma and were honest about what he did to his daughter. Or it may just be because he's the blandest leather wearing guyliner character to ever exist. How do you wear guyliner and a leather jacket and have no personality?

I can't speak for the writers... and I am quite sure this theory about "who the favorite is" comes down to perspective... I could go either way.

You could say they hated Rumple because they ruined his story line for Regina's sake. They needed someone more evil than her so that she could have a redemption and they could keep their resident evil person. But at the same time they wanted to have their beauty and the beast story and in doing so they completely reduced this amazing villain down to a wife abuser.

On the other hand you could point out that in the end Rumple got his happy ending. He got to live the remaining years of Belle's life with her.

If the argument is screen time they can shove it. He was a villain and Emma Swan was the main character so the most story lines are going to revolve around the people closer to her and Rumple was not.

anonymous ask continued: also who's gonna tell sqs and evil regals that defending wish hook still sucks cause he's a shitty person and since he didn't impact regina or swanqueen that still doesn't give him the benefit of the doubt, same thing goes for serum queen and whatever that storyline was

I think we've tried but they just don't care. All they care about is the fact that their queen likes him and therefore they are allowed to like him. Same with the serumQueen. Regina accepted her and had the whole BS about loving herself so of course the serumQueen is good now and they will defend all of her actions.

[sassyandclassy94]

Today Pinterest told me this guy is literally me

And I know why now.

[queenofglassbeliever]

Alternative ending to season 5. Hook stays dead. Moves on to Olympus. Roland is adopted by Regina.

Season 6 pretty much happens as normal, but without C$. Emma get grief counseling. Replace the wedding with a birthday or anniversary or Snowing vow renewal.

In season 7 it's Emma who gives Henry the magic message in a bottle. She got it from Gold's shop. Years later in the NEF, Henry calls Emma and Regina for help. When they arrive, Roland (who's 10) sort of piggybacks Regina and tags along. The search for Ella begins. Emma heads to the docks where she's found by wish Hook. He concocts a plan to convince Emma that he's her Hook, so he can get TLK to cure his poisoned heart. He gets Lady Tremaine to make him young and posses as the other Hook miraculously raised from the dead. Ultimately his plan fails because he can't go through with it. He over hears Emma tell Henry she's pregnant. Emma reveals that she went through artificial insemination and is going to raise the baby on her own. Wish Hook reveals himself. He and Regina decide to help Henry continue his search for Ella. Roland stays with Regina. Emma decides to return to Storybrooke. She says goodbye to Henry and gives him a big tight hug cause there's no douche Hook around with some bullshit about hugging is bad for the baby. Rest of season goes as usual, but now Roland is around and he grows up in the NEF.

Regina unites the realms and is elected queen. At the coronation, Emma arrives late. She's got a diaper bag over her shoulder and in her arms she holds her baby daughter, Hope Swan.

[c0dmic]

WISH HOOK AND EMMA ISSUE

COMPARING ZELENA AND ROBIN TO WISH HOOK IN S7 AND EMMA IN S7

(It's scary how similar they are)

Pls write this it's 2am I'm supposed to be asleep

So you guys should know the Zelena and Robin incident in s4. It reminded me of something from later season. So, last night, I saw several posts saying " S7 Wish Hook is 10000x times better than normal hook," And honestly agree, wish hook in s7 was the these best I've seen in Hook. However, I had remembered something from season seven, that made me side eye the air at 2am. 

I'm gonna compare the Robin and Zelena incident in season four and Emma and Wish Hook in s7.

Zelena makes herself into Marian who's the supposed 'alive' wife of Robin. Zelena planned on doing stuff to him that Robin consented to, but he consented to Marian not Zelena.

Now, in s7, wish Hook wanted to make himself younger to pose as Normal!Hook, and planned on never telling Emma. So, If his plan ever did work and the relationship goes far to the point they, yk, with Wish! Hook and with Emma not knowing, that'd be r4pe, bc Emma would have consented to doing "it" with hook.

But without wish hook, S7 Hook- Roger's is

the best hook. And him and Tilly are a great father- daughter relationship (ill also accept his father- daughter relationship as Wish Hook). I just find Wish Hook to be weird. What do you guys think? 

(Pls be respectful, I'm trying to keep this one post to not be rude cuz I just want to see ppls opinion on this. PS. I made this last year but it kind of feels weird to say, but it is what is and was what it was.)

anyways.. am i the only one who feels like this?

[lemonadegirl4344]

So, I saw a billboard yesterday stating that June 2nd was anti-gun violence day. To all the Europeans out there I agree, it's insane we need to have it in the first place.

So, in honor of gun violence day, I'm going to write a very, very, VERY long-winded post of information I've gathered from various YouTube videos, documentaries, and interviews I've watched about how to survive active shooters.

I'm breaking down Run Hide fighting and Avoid Deny Defend and of course, A.L.I.C.E

First off ALICE and why I don't really like it that much. Am I qualified enough for my opinion to be valid? Probably not but for those of you who aren't college students whose colleges have implemented this ALICE stands for Alert, Lockdown, Inform, Counter, Evacuate.

Alert is for how a student learns of a threat. Once you have learned there is an active assailant, you asses the sitaution and if it's safe to get the hell out of dodge or instead go into Lockdown. Inform is informing the authorites about what's going on if it's safe to do so. I'm not going into details about the other steps as they are literally Run Hide Fight and Avoid Deny Defend which i'm getting into now.

Run/Avoid

So, one thing or another you've found yourself in an active shooter/assailant situation whether it be a school, shopping mall, store, courthouse, or even hospital! The first thing you do, is where are the shots coming from?

This might be hard and the first thing you must determine is if there is indeed a threat. Once upon a time, a Walmart that was way down the road from us had to evacuate because someone thought the sound of someone popping BUBBLE WRAP was gunfire. I mean, yeah we used to live in a bad city but what you are going to look for is repeated, loud, bangs akin to fireworks.

One bang? Something fell.

Multiple? And there's screams? People running? Yup, there's a shooter!

Now, first off back to the "where is the shooter" thing, it might be hard because shots echo but determining the rough location of the shooter will determine whether it's safe or if you need to run.

Everything I've watched has made things about this step clear on Running or Avoiding the attack. When you walk into the building, make a note of potential exits that isn't the main one you walked into. During the Aurora Colorado Movie Theater shooting people in the showrooms run through the halls (and into the path of the shooter) trying to get to the front exit ignoring/forgetting the emergency fire exits located in every showroom.

Oh, which reminds me. If for some reason the shooter is behind you or sounds like he is, run in a zig-zag pattern as it is significantly harder to hit a target that is moving side to side.

Hide/Deny

So, either the shooter is close by or you have determined that there are no available viable exit routes or options.

What do you do? You find a room (preferably with a locking door) and barricade yourselves in. Anything can make a suitable hiding place, things like closets, classrooms, and patient rooms in hospitals, don't get me started on the possible hiding locations in a courthouse. If the door opens inwards, you can barricade the door by placing desks or furniture on top of each other alternating between the right side up and upside down.

Only assist the injured if safe to do so, the few videos I've watched that have covered what to do in hospital settings have made it clear you do NOT help the injured unless it's safe to do so or the event is over. You can always come back to them and you can't exactly help them if you're dead.

If an option, you can place the tables or chairs in such a way that it stretches from the door to the wall.

I've seen videos demonstrating that if you're in a small one-toilet bathroom like the family bathrooms from the Walmart type deal you lay down, put your feet against the door, hands on the wall behind you, and push back essentially turning yourself into a human doorstopper and deny access to your location.

Make sure you also know the difference between cover and concealment. Concealment would be you hiding under a table or behind a chair, things that block the shooter's line of sight but not their bullets. Cover is things like concrete pillars, things that block both line of sight and bullets.

Back on barricading, door opens outwards? You can use a belt or tie or something like that to tie the mechanical arm on the inside together and pull it tight.

Meanwhile, you and any others in the room are looking around for any improvised weapons.

Books? Scissors? Potted Plants? Your own hands? All viable options. A lot of the videos i've seen demonstrated people straight up using a local fire extinguisher to either spray the foam in their eyes or better yet (and more effective) clocking them upside the head.

Whatever it is, you and the others need to make a plan for "what do i do if the shooter enters my safe space" which leads to...

FIGHT/DEFEND

The sound of the gunfire is getting closer and closer.

Maybe your door doesn't lock or it's not barricaded properly.

Whatever it is, the shooter is getting into your location and you need to act.

Like I've stated in Hide/Deny, you're going to want to start planning on this ahead of time before the shooter walks in.

You need to grab weapons, like I've said, literally ANYTHING can be used as such. Scissors, brooms, fire extinguishers, go all "An apple a day keeps anyone away if you throw it hard enough" on weapon philosophy.

You're going to want to talk it out with others in your room, decide who might throw stuff in the attacker's face as a distraction, which ones of you might run and physically hit him, which ones will wrestle the gun out of his hands, and which ones will pin him down and restrain him until the SWAT team gets there. The fight will be brutal and you WILL be defending your life; everything I've seen states one thing and that is you have the legal right to defend yourself. You might be in a fight to the death and who will it be? You? Or the attacker?

Your attack needs to hinge on surprise, hide behind a corner so you can jump out at them and catch them off their guard.

Critical spots you're going to want to aim for or the face or head. Yes, I am once again bringing up the idea of clocking them upside the head with a hard object, multiple times, what better way to take out the threat than to leave it unconscious with head trauma? If going for the face go for the eyes or nose.

Hell, stab their eye out with a fork in a fashion that belongs in the music video for Panic! At The Disco's Say Amen (or Black Butler), or break their nose and leave it shattered and bleeding.

While on the head, I think I once heard one tip that involves slamming your hands (like you're clapping and his hands are in between it) on his ears to discombobulate and disorient him.

Go for the groin, if male a hard enough kick (or someone even stabbing it) his manhood will dissorient him enough to dissarm him. If woman well, a kick to the groin still hurts too.

Knees make a good option to get the shooter down and on the floor. A hard enough kick or hit to the sides, front, or for maximum effectiveness, go for the back of them will send the shooter to the floor and most likely knock the weapon out of their hands.

Again, the fight will absolutely be tough but you also need to know it's either him or you and everyone else in that room.

After the attacker is disarmed, sit on him.

Place his hands on his back or if you have the people have them sit on the arms and hold both of them down.

Make sure you don't forget about the legs too, those need to be pinned.

And whatever you do, for the love of god DON'T PICK UP THE FREAKING GUN!!! (outside of maybe kicking it away or using a cloth to pick it up and put it in a trash can until SWAT arrives)

I remember very visibly one Run Hide Fight video (I think this one was published on a YouTube channel called eMotivate Media and the setting for this one was a courthouse) that should SWAT storm that room with that gun in your hands their training is to neutralize the threat... do you really wanna have multiple high powered rounds lodged inside your body? Yeah, that's what I thought so, or really what was the point of any of this?? Also, contamination of evidence.

So, I think I've got the basics of Run Hide Fight, and Avoid Deny Defend.

You've either run, hidden, or have fought off an active shooter.

Now, I'd like to direct your attention to a Sandy Hooks Promise video called "Evan"

Evan is a very bored teen. One day in the library he writes on his desk that he is bored.

Someone has carved back "HI BORED" and the teen writes back and forth with the stranger, communicating solely by desk carving but when he writes "WHO ARE YOU" and comes back the next day, the library is closed for the rest of the school year.

Oh no! Thankfully, the two find each other and laugh about it (and maybe fall in love) over their Yearbooks when they pick them up.

A fellow student walks in and starts shooting.

While we were focusing on Evan, you don't notice the student in the background reading gun magazines, or making violent gestures, or when Evan's scrolling through his social media and scrolling right on past a picture of the student posing with a couple of posters.

While focusing on Evan, you missed all the warning signs. And so, fellow Tumblr users I leave you with this.

Prevention is important, be kind to others, and please report any worrying behavior or possible signs of mental illness. Sometimes these shooters are just ill (most of them are not though, don't get me wrong, they absolutely know what they were doing) but if that mental health clinic had contacted James Huberty back when he was suffering from undiagnosed mental illnesses a few days before he suited up, looked at his wife on the sofa and said "I'm going hunting humans" before shooting up a McDonalds would it have happened?

If Charles Whittman, the Texas Tower Sniper merely had a psychiatrist or doctor listen to him and take him seriously when he was trying to seek help for these violent, sudden intrusive thoughts he had, would he have become known as the Texas Tower Sniper?

Now, don't get me wrong Charles Whittman absolutely knew what he was doing and could tell right from wrong, I also can't help but think of the big tumor they found in his brain that pressed right up against the area of the brain in a way that has been known to cause violent, impulsive thoughts on other recorded cases as well as the compulsion to write which we can tell from Charles's diaries he certainly had that. While some debate over whether or not the cancer affected his behavior or actions and while I think it doesn't absolve him of his actions... I mean, it's still a pretty sizeable tumor in his brain and anyone who has been through watching a relative with certain types of brain cancer will tell you that their personality just changes one day.

Be the help a potential shooter might be, don't become a maybe.

So which, I leave you with this quote.

"An active shooter event always starts as just another day"

[jinnie-ret]

carry you

seungmin x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

content warnings: just angsty, smile insecurity, mention of hate comments

word count: 1.3k

summary: at a low point, seungmin finds out how much reader has been supporting him, no matter what. it fills him with a warmth that is nearly searing him from the inside, but he would have it no other way.

requested: @skzoologist

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

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Being an idol, Seungmin knew that he was bound to get hate, he wasn't stupid. However, when a part of him that was so natural, so pure, began to be picked apart by malicious commenters on the internet, there was no way he could control the way his brain believed it was true.

Why was it so wrong for him to smile when something made him happy? Why was it met with disgust when he simply smiled at something that made him laugh? Joy came to Seungmin just as easy as it was filling his lungs with air. It didn't matter what it was, whether he was messing around with his members or spending time hanging out with his best friend, he felt the muscles in his face twitch and his lips quirk upwards. But now, it was just as easy for his hand to instinctively cover the bottom half of his face, and it was much harder to avoid that feeling of suffocating.

Tears slowly raced down Seungmin's cheeks, fighting their way to be the first one to land on his phone screen displaying a multitude of hateful comments. The guy couldn't help himself. He purposefully searched his name, the word 'smile' and the word 'ugly' to have his new insecurity reaffirmed to him. In a sick and twisted way, he now needed validation to himself that the development of what he saw as a fault, was still circulating the internet by accounts that claimed themselves to be a stay. A part of him wished that someone could take it all away. He felt as if he had been doing so well in growing his confidence over the years of being in Stray Kids, yet he fell hook, line and sinker to just one person pointing out something about his appearance. And now, he couldn't get enough of it.

He was sat alone, curled up in the lounge of his best friend's apartment whilst she went to change into comfy clothes, or do her nighttime routine, something like that. Seungmin couldn't remember. His mind was elsewhere. Different to how he usually acted, when he'd succumb to the plush grey cushions on the luxurious sofa and end up falling asleep, he was instead fixated on the blue light from his device.

"Hey Mong-Mong," his best friend grinned as she curled up on the other end of her sofa, mirroring him close enough but not fully.

"Hey loser," Seungmin joked as he pretended to yawn for an excuse to wipe his eyes and have his face a bit red.

"You alright?" she asked in concern, acting different from her usual feisty self of fighting back against his comments.

She was always there to support him. From when he was a trainee, experiencing his first win at Music Bank, to celebrating his achievements overseas too, like when he went to the Met Gala. His best friend was always there, whether it was physically, in spirit or through an uncharacteristically cute message through text. She was a hype woman at heart, really.

"Yeah, just tired. It's so hard being an idol," Seungmin fake chuckled, removing his hands from his face yet pulling at the toggles of his hoodie to scrunch the fabric around his face more.

There was certainly some truth in that statement.

"Did Chan tell you off for calling him old again?" she smirked at him, kicking his foot til he made a sound of annoyance.

"Yah! Who's side are you on?"

His side. She always was. With valiant effort she was sure she could pull him back to the brighter side of life, so he was able to shine again, and his smile too. She wasn't oblivious. As someone who was chronically online, she was very well versed in being a Stay, and had seen other true fans upset about what they heard about Seungmin from antis, and also from how they'd seen it affect him. So, gradually, she tried to boost his mood, easing in comments about his smile amongst many other compliments she'd give him.

"I'm so jealous, Puppy. Your skin is glowing, the hair is hairing and the teeth are shining. Tell me your secrets and Jeongin doesn't have to get hurt!"

Ok so maybe she did threaten to take a pair of scissors to her Jeongin photo card, but it got a laugh out of him, even if it caused her great pain to hold a precious item at ransom.

It was later, instead of sooner, that Seungmin felt a change within himself. He felt lighter, warmer, happier. Although his bad habit had not completely stopped, he felt himself reaching out for his phone for a bedtime scroll less and less. That was all because she was there to help him not care. She really did carry him out of his hateful thoughts.

"You take care of yourself so well, look at how you've done your hair today, bright smile as always, and look at the fittttt!" she boasted about her best friend, to her best friend, standing up in front of his nonchalant form that was once again, right at home on her sofa.

She should give him a spare key at this rate.

"You want something," Seungmin rose and eyebrow in suspicion at her cheeky smile.

"Nope. No. No I don't. Why you lying Seungmin? I know you're lying," she nearly pressed her face up right against his as she theatrically and drastically changed her tone.

"Don't gaslight me," Seungmin groaned, shutting his eyes and pushing her away by her forehead.

"I would never do that," she smiled sweetly, dumping herself on the sofa.

"Stoppp! You want something, I swear," Seungmin smiled slightly, shaking his head at her antics.

"I just want my Seungminnie happy all the time," she pinched his cheeks, and just for fun she threw a little bit of aegyo in there to really harness a bigger reaction.

"First of all, never do that again. Like, seriously... that was gross. Second of all, you're asking a lot there," he leant his head back on the sofa, feeling exasperated yet humoured at the same time.

"I am. But I like seeing it. That cute smile-!" she moved quickly to pinch his cheeks again but he swatted her away.

"Noona!" Seungmin whined, still holding his arms out in front of him in pure defense.

"Aish, I'm literally a year older than you don't call me that," she shivered.

"You act just like my noona," Seungmin sighed through his nostrils.

"Hmm your noona seems smart. I miss her. I haven't seen her in ages. Maybe she'll be my new bestie," she teased him.

Seungmin laughed in disbelief, gaining a moment of peace when he saw her go quiet and just admire his face.

"Ahhh I knew it!!!" Seungmin lifted off of his seat, pointing at her in what she supposed was elation.

"Hmm? Oh you know something? That's really shocked me," she taunted him.

"Shut up, pabo. You've been trying to make me laugh this whole time!" Seungmin clapped his hands as he explained his thoughts out loud.

"Yes. And I won. Oh stays will love me so much," she started shimmying, a weird little celebration dance but Seungmin loved it nevertheless.

"Stays would think you're a nuisance," Seungmin kicked her leg lightly with a louder laugh, playfully raising his fists and pretending to try and box her.

She had been there the whole time lifting his spirits. He didn't have to bluntly say it then and there but there was a mutual understanding that she had done all she could to get him to smile and realise the beauty in such a simple thing. It was sad that people had stopped him but she had worked hard against that and was successful in the mean time.

And so the world saw the beauty in him again, that she had seen all along.

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tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @2minstan @skzoologist @leonchansblog26 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria @michelle4eve @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly0789 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari

[cynicalclairvoyantcadaver]

WHO HERE THINKS THAT WE SHOULD'VE GOTTEN MORE ANNABETH AND POSEIDON MOMENTS? You know how Athena disapproves of and threatened Percy? Well………….DO THAT WITH POSEIDON AND ANNABETH! Let them meet. Let Annabeth squirm. Let Poseidon smile, but let it not quite reach his suddenly cold green eyes. Let him size her up, and let her be found wanting. LET HIM SILENTLY THREATEN HER NOT TO HIT PERCY AGAIN! Let him disapprove of Annabeth's nickname for him! Let Percy defend it, defend Annabeth from Poseidon! Let Poseidon tell Percy that if things don't work out (in a way that he implies that he hopes it doesn't work out) that he can hook up with a sea nymph or naiad or something! I just feel like this was SUCH a missed opportunity. To show that Poseidon loves Percy and thinks that he can do better than a plain daughter of Athena! (At least Poseidon thinks so).

Can someone write this, please? I would, but I already have something else going on.

I wish Rick would do this in the show.

@lady-menrva, how do you like this one?

@rosabell14 you too

@cynthiav06, I read your anti Percabeth posts and thought you might like this

@bright-eyes-strawberry-lies

Dam, who else do I tag? If anyone wants to be removed, please do tell me and I will remove it immediately

[evilminji]

(O.O ) The PONDERING is back!

You know Walker?

One of the Zone's literal ACAB? We are shown in one episode, that real world items? Against The Rules(tm).

Now, that COULD just be HIM being An Asshole? But let's be real! Unlikely. Rules/Laws get made for a REASON, generally. Usually because someone ruined it for everyone by being an asshole. Taking things too far.

You start OUT with the obvious Rules. Like "Don't Tear the Zone Apart." And "No Genocide of Literally Everything Forever You Fighty Little Assholes" but over time? You have too add stuff. Like "George is Forbidden to use the fax machine and he knows why" and "Ice Lairs and Fire Lairs have to be X distance apart AND YOU KNOW WHY"

And? IS there a central Governing body, regulating the Zone Rules? Nope! Pariah's in nappy time! BUT the manic, Iron fisted, Obsessions of THE LAW across time and space are sure willing to step up and help keep order. It... KINDA works!

And they MOSTLY have the same-ish Rules!

Like NO FUCKIN LIVING WORLD STUFF. Because? To GET such contraband? You'd have to break containment of the Zone, go THROUGH a random ass natural portal, that may or may NOT be safe, may or may NOT ever RECONNECT to the Zone, to literally terrorize the unsuspecting living souls (assuming you can FIND any), on the other side, JUST to drag that shitty candy bar back home.

Leaking ectoplasm the whole time. Poisoning the air, land, and sea. Making NEW ghosts where there might not have been any. Effectively making you their deadbeat parent. Which is premeditated child abandonment. And you DEFINITELY didn't PAY for those objects. Thief.

So, NO. No Living World Shit.

BUT!

Like city states! The Area of influence each Law Man(tm) has? While wide and sprawling? Does NOT perfectly mesh together like puzzle pieces! There ARE dead zones. Lawless, "unclaimed" areas.

Which? Are not so unclaimed.

For just as The Law has it's Obsession? So too, has the Underworld. Shaddy casinos and auctions. Black markets run like street fairs. What some Ghost Weed? They can hook you up, man. Vinnie over there was a Runner during Prohibition. He knows where ALL the classy joints are.

He can hook you up with some REAL nice Living World collectibles.

From All Over.

And? I bet it's that LAST bit? That REALLY sparks Danny's interest. He saved the guy from the GIW, who may or may not have busted him trying to... uuuuh... LIBERATE, some fine scotch for the bar back Zone side. Who's to say, really? Regardless, Vinnie? Pays his debts, you here.

Beside... the feral little gremlin kinda scares him. Good quality to have, no question, but maybe cool it with the biting? You don't know where they BEEN. You'll get a disease.

Now... all you gotta do, see, is... *mutters* *map scribbling* *bad idea enabling*

Which? Constantine! League Members of your choosing! Like a field trip from hell! Some how in the SINGLE shadiest den of Obvious Criminals you ever did see. The sky is green and they aren't in their dimension anymore. Circle up! NOW. Young Justice shoved to the INSIDE of the circle, adult heros on the outside.

Constantine? Knows where they are and wishs he didn't. He... he's not sure he CAN get them back. Going to try obviously. But no one panic. Don't show fear. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING. Start walking.

Danny? Loading up the speeder~ Christmas gifts for daaaays~~☆ Everyone is Salty but respectful, cause anti-ghost tech meant they couldn't steal it. They did TRY. But... fair play, kid. Nice ride.

Only? Right before he gets in to leave? Some vibrating blur shoots over? Talking fast and followed by an older blur? Oh hey, humans. Like... ALIVE humans. Sup?

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @nerdpoe @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

request: Hii im the anon who ask for the wips and i saw the blurbs you have. IM VERY MUCH HOOKED with the third ones where hoshina loves reader's smile🥹 relating to that maybe i would like to add(if you want, but feel free to do seperate if you want) soft moments with hoshina x reader who felt like she being the most pessimistic person regarding love(not anti but just felt like she doesn't deserve it) so she is on denial when hoshina make a move on her

notes: reader is usually rather energetic, talkative reader, hoshina thinks you are "beautiful" at some point, TYSM FOR THE REQ!! sorry it took so long omg

wc: 1300

Something was wrong— terribly wrong. There was no way someone would want you, let alone your vice-captain who could have anyone in the world. Not your vice-captain who did everything with such care and looked after everyone so preciously. And definitely never your vice-captain you were terribly in love with.

There must be some mistake. Or else he wouldn’t have just said what you thought he said.

“Pardon me?” you asked.

He looked a little flustered and you had never seen such an expression on him, confusing you further. “I love you,” he said again, softly. “I’d love to know if you’re in a relationship.”

The way he spoke so carefully added to how nervous it made you feel— it was so different from how he usually talked to you. Now, you were lost to say the least, because you couldn’t think of one reason why he would like you, let alone romantically. Under normal circumstances, you’d assume you were being played with or that this was a silly prank or dare, but you knew that Hoshina wasn’t one to do something so horrible. So what was happening?

“I am not…” you said, still confused, but the visible relief in his eyes made your heart tighten. Oh gosh, is he serious?

“I’m… thrilled,” he said, and he wished you goodnight and left. While you were terribly flustered to know he liked you back, there was a voice in your head that wouldn’t stop making you feel anxious. Something felt so odd to you— to be loved back. To be loved back by him. You enjoyed talking to people so you talked to him often, but never had you thought he'd think of you like that. Having a naturally talkative personality, it was true that both of you had fun talking to each other, but you had accepted that your love was unrequited ages ago. When would he have possibly fallen in love with you? The more you thought about it the more impossible it sounded. As thoughts of him circled your head, it’d be morning before you knew it.

It'd be hard for him to point out exactly when he fell in love with you, because he was in love before he knew it. Before he knew it, he'd catch himself following you with his eyes. He adored watching you work, because you made everything look exciting. Of course, he saw how you groaned at the paperwork you had to do, but he'd see how the little things would put a smile on your face.

He liked the work he did, he liked all of it quite frankly. From neutralizing kaiju all the way down to the research he had to do— rarely did he think something was a chore to do, but if you were around to laugh at something silly he found or mutter about the binders and binders of files that the 3rd division just doesn't have space for anymore, he'd start looking forward to these moments.

While he knew you were like this with everyone, he hoped that you were happiest with him. It would mean everything to him if you looked forward to doing seemingly mundane work with him too.

However, while he loved so much about you, there was one moment specifically that made him realize he wasn't moving on. His heart would be yours forever at this rate. You'd look so horribly tired after all this work, and yet, if someone needed help with anything at all, you'd still smile and ask them what's wrong. You'd find the energy and speak to them so kindly. You might not have the energy you usually had, but you'd be so happy to help. Even if they couldn't tell how exhausted you were, he could. He knew how much you did for everyone in the division, and he thought you were stunning when you did so. You were the most beautiful when you had that lovely smile on your face that seemed to light up his world.

He loved you so dearly.

You loved talking to people, so there always seemed to be something for you to talk about. A new finding you wanted to share or a terribly random thought that popped up in your head. While you naturally talked to most of the people in the division, you looked forward to talking to Hoshina the most. The way he'd always listen so intrigued at your dumbest thoughts and laugh at the smallest things you said meant more to you than one would probably think.

And if you shared your daily happenings with him, he'd share his with you too. To say you loved these moments would truly be an understatement. Nothing could possibly make you happier.

However, you knew he was like this with everyone. His laugh would always manage to keep the morale of the division up and he'd never miss potential problems in the condition of any of his officers. You knew he was a sweet person, but also the best one could ask for in a vice-captain. You weren't special— he was like this to everyone. You knew better than anyone else.

You couldn't imagine anyone falling for you, let alone the kindest person you'd ever meet in your life. Let alone the person you'd probably love for the rest of your life.

Yet, here you were, alone with him this afternoon working away through paperwork and it was quiet. Eerily quiet. He was the first to break the silence.

“I rather dislike the rain,” he said, looking out the window. “It’s been raining all day.”

You paused to look outside as well. “No, you’re right. I don’t mind the rain, but I hate how dark everything is.”

“Yeah,” he said. More silence.

“Sorry, I’m awkwardly nervous now,” he said, eyes fixed on his work. “I didn’t mean to make things… weird.”

You could tell he probably didn’t want you to, but you couldn’t help but look his way. Your eyes widened and your heart filled. You weren’t afraid to say much, but you were afraid to talk about this. However, you thought you’d be able to if you were talking to him.

“I just… can’t imagine that you’re… in love… with me,” you said, looking down at your paperwork. “Sounds too good to be true. I know... sounds unlike me, right?”

Immediately he looked up at you, shocked to say the least. You could tell he probably wanted to ask why, but he thought for a moment more.

“What… would I be able to do to show that I am?” he asked. “You’re the one I love… you always will be.”

Your eyes widened. “I just… don’t know why,” you said honestly. “Why me?”

“Because I love you,” he said. “I love a whole lot about you, but I love being with you. I enjoy spending time with you and watching you enjoy the life around you. Is that too simple?”

It took you a second to reply, but you felt a lot better. “No, not at all,” you said. “Because I feel exactly the same way.”

“You’re kidding”

“Absolutely not”

“I’m going to kill you if you’re lying,” he said.

That made you laugh. “You know I wouldn’t,” you said, and yes, he knew you wouldn’t.

“Hey, Hoshina,” you said, avoiding eye-contact. “If I get worried… will you tell me again?”

“I’d tell you until you get sick of my voice,” he said while getting up to kiss your forehead. “I love you so much.”

[etz-ashashiyot]

Quotes from "Executed Jews" I want to especially highlight:

Two distinct patterns of antisemitism can be identified by the Jewish holidays that celebrate triumphs over them: Purim and Hanukkah. In the Purim version of antisemitism, exemplified by the Persian genocidal decrees in the biblical Book of Esther, the goal is openly stated and unambiguous: Kill all the Jews. In the Hanukkah version of antisemitism, whose appearances range from the Spanish Inquisition to the Soviet regime, the goal is still to eliminate Jewish civilization. But in the Hanukkah version, this goal could theoretically be accomplished simply by destroying Jewish civilization, while leaving the warm, de-Jewed bodies of its former practitioners intact.

For this reason, the Hanukkah version of antisemitism often employs Jews as its agents. It requires not dead Jews but cool Jews: those willing to give up whatever specific aspect of Jewish civilization is currently uncool. Of course, Judaism has always been uncool, going back to its origins as the planet's only monotheism, featuring a bossy and unsexy invisible God. Uncoolness is pretty much Judaism's brand, which is why cool people find it so threatening — and why Jews who are willing to become cool are absolutely necessary to Hanukkah antisemitism's success. These "converted" Jews are used to demonstrate the good intentions of the regime — which of course isn't antisemitic but merely requires that its Jews publicly flush thousands of years of Jewish civilization down the toilet in exchange for the worthy prize of not being treated like dirt, or not being murdered. For a few years. Maybe.

I wish I could tell the story of Ala's father concisely, compellingly, the way everyone prefers to hear about dead Jews. I regret to say that Benjamin Zuskin wasn't minding his own business and then randomly stuffed into a gas chamber, that his thirteen-year-old daughter did not sit in a closet writing an uplifting diary about the inherent goodness of humanity, that he did not leave behind sad-but-beautiful aphorisms pondering the absence of God while conveniently letting his fellow humans off the hook. He didn't even get crucified for his beliefs. Instead, he and his fellow Soviet Jewish artists — extraordinarily intelligent, creative, talented, and empathetic adults — were played for fools, falling into a slow-motion psychological horror story brimming with suspense and twisted self-blame. They were lured into a long game of appeasing and accommodating, giving up one inch after another of who they were in order to win that grand prize of being allowed to live.

Spoiler alert: they lost.

[...]

But Soviet support for Jewish culture was part of a larger plan to brainwash and coerce national minorities into submitting to the Soviet regime — and for Jews, it came at a very specific price. From the beginning, the regime eliminated anything that celebrated Jewish "nationality" that didn't suit its needs. Jews were awesome, provided they weren't practicing Jewish religion, studying traditional Jewish texts, using Hebrew, or supporting Zionism. The Soviet Union thus pioneered a versatile gaslighting slogan, which it later spread through its client states in the developing world and which remains popular today: it was not antisemitic, merely anti-Zionist. (In the process of not being antisemitic and merely being anti-Zionist, the regime managed to persecute, imprison, torture, and murder thousands of Jews.) What's left of Jewish culture once you surgically remove religious practice, traditional texts, Hebrew, and Zionism? In the Soviet Empire, one answer was Yiddish, but Yiddish was also suspect for its supposedly backwards elements. Nearly 15 percent of its words came directly from biblical and rabbinic Hebrew, so Soviet Yiddish schools and publishers, under the guise of "simplifying" spelling, implemented a new and quite literally antisemitic spelling system that eliminated those words' Near Eastern roots. Another answer was "folklore" — music, visual art, theater, and other creative work reflecting Jewish life — but of course most of that cultural material was also deeply rooted in biblical and rabbinic sources, or reflected common religious practices like Jewish holidays and customs, so that was treacherous too.

No, what the regime required were Yiddish stories that showed how horrible traditional Jewish practice was, stories in which happy, enlightened Yiddish-speaking heroes rejected both religion and Zionism (which, aside from its modern political form, is also a fundamental feature of ancient Jewish texts and prayers traditionally recited at least three times daily). This de-Jewing process is clear from the repertoire of the government-sponsored Moscow State Yiddish Theater, which could only present or adapt Yiddish plays that denounced traditional Judaism as backward, bourgeois, corrupt, or even more explicitly — as in the many productions involving ghosts or graveyard scenes — as dead. As its actors would be, soon enough.

The Soviet Union's destruction of Jewish culture commenced, in a calculated move, with Jews positioned as the destroyers. It began with the Yevsektsiya, committees of Jewish Bolsheviks whose paid government jobs from 1918 through 1930 were to persecute, imprison, and occasionally murder Jews who participated in religious or Zionist institutions — categories that included everything from synagogues to sports clubs, all of which were shut down and their leaders either exiled or "purged." This went on, of course, until the regime purged the Yevsektsiya members themselves.

The pattern repeated in the 1940s. As sordid as the Yeveksiya chapter was, I found myself more intrigued by the undoing of the Jewish Antifascist Committee, a board of prominent Soviet Jewish artists and intellectuals established by Joseph Stalin in 1942 to drum up financial support from Jews overseas for the Soviet war effort. Two of the more prominent names on the JAC's roster of talent were Solomon Mikhoels, the director of the Moscow State Yiddish Theater, and Ala's father Benjamin Zuskin, the theater's leading actor. After promoting these people during the war, Stalin decided these loyal Soviet Jews were no longer useful, and charged them all with treason. He had decided that this committee he himself created was in fact a secret Zionist cabal, designed to bring down the Soviet state. Mikhoels was murdered first, in a 1948 hit staged to look like a traffic accident. Nearly all the others — Zuskin and twelve more Jewish luminaries, including the novelist Dovid Bergelson, who had proclaimed Moscow as the center of the Yiddish future — were executed by firing squad on August 1952.

Just as the regime accused these Jewish artists and intellectuals of being too "nationalist" (read: Jewish), today's long hindsight makes it strangely tempting to read this history and accuse them of not being "nationalist" enough — that is, of being so foolishly committed to the Soviet regime that they were unable to see the writing on the wall. Many works on this subject have said as much. In Stalin's Secret Pogrom, the indispensable English translation of transcripts from the JAC "trial," Russia scholar Joshua Rubenstein concludes his lengthy introduction with the following:

As for the defendants at the trial, it is not clear what they believed about the system they each served. Their lives darkly embodied the tragedy of Soviet Jewry. A combination of revolutionary commitment and naive idealism had tied them to a system they could not renounce. Whatever doubts or misgivings they had, they kept to themselves, and served the Kremlin with the required enthusiasm. They were not dissidents. They were Jewish martyrs. They were also Soviet patriots. Stalin repaid their loyalty by destroying them.

This is completely true, and also completely unfair. The tragedy — even the term seems unjust, with its implied blaming of the victim — was not that these Soviet Jews sold their souls to the devil, though many clearly did. The tragedy was that integrity was never an option in the first place.

[...]

In Jerusalem that morning, Ala told me, in a sudden private moment of anger and candor, that the Soviet Union's treatment of the Jews was worse than Nazi Germany's. I tried to argue, but she shut me up. Obviously the Nazi atrocities against Jews were incomparable, a fact Ala later acknowledged in a calmer mood. But over four generations, the Soviet regime forced Jews to participate in and internalize their own humiliation - and in that way, Ala suggested, they destroyed far more souls. And they never, ever, paid for it.

"They never had a Nuremberg," Ala told me that day, with a quiet fury. "They never acknowledged the evil of what they did. The Nazis were open about what they were doing, but the Soviets pretended. They lured the Jews in, they baited them with support and recognition, they used them, they tricked them, and then they killed them. It was a trap. And no one knows about it, even now. People know about the Holocaust, but not this. Even here in Israel, people don't know. How did you know?"

— Excerpted from "Executed Jews," Chapter 4 of People Love Dead Jews by Dara Horn

(All emphasis mine)

Read the full chapter here.

[ouatsnark]

tbh what is the appeal of wish!hook?rodgers anyway? besides him being a good dad to alice he's quite boring. and him trying to take over storybooke killian's life like oh that's not-

Wish Hook appeals to people for several reasons:

They love Colin and whatever character he plays they'll worship.

Regina has been retconned again and she's nice to this version which means her stans will also accept him

Rumple and Regina stans pretend Fook is a better version of Hook that's done no wrong.

And this is all because Fook isn't with Emma

And I argue that Rodgers MIGHT have become a decent father but his abuse of Alice was quickly disregarded. A good father doesn't abandon their child and never check up on them and instead gets drunk and tries to steal another man's life ... including his wife!

Did I miss some reasons? Probably. Lemme know in the comments!

[iheartyouyou]

SWEETHEART | Jeremiah Fisher

Summary: After your parents file for a divorce, you’re forced to move in with your mom’s friend until the divorce is finalized. You wished you could stay with your dad and your friends, but when you meet Jeremiah Fisher, that changes. And now you’re wanting to stay in the Cousins. Too bad things don’t last forever.

Word Count:

Part: 8

previous part series masterlist

Authors Note: I don’t know why but I can’t tag some people even though I’m spelling their users right. I’m sorry for that, I have no idea how to fix it. Anyway, thank you for all the love and support from the other parts! <3 I also apologize for grammar or spelling mistakes, I tried to proofread but I’m not sure if I got everything.

You chug the rest of your beer, rolling your eyes at the obnoxious scene in front of you.

“Tell me more! Tell me more…” Jeremiah’s and Cam’s voice fades the more you walk away, turning the corner to find the nearest bathroom.

Noticing the long line that probably hasn’t moved in 10 minutes you make your way upstairs.

After your little pity party earlier, Conrad arrived. It was strange for him to be here since he’s been all “moody and quiet” as Belly would put it, but it made sense since Nicole was here.

“Hey, you see Jere anywhere?” He asks you, looking at you for split second before looking around the yard.

You cross your arms over your chest, “Probably in one of the rooms hooking up with someone.”

Conrad looks at you, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “That’s Jere. If you see him, can you tell him I’m staying the night here?”

You purse your lips, really wanting to be petty and say something along the lines of “oh he’s probably going to be staying the night at his one night stands place as well” but you decide against it.

“Sure.”

Conrad thanks you, entering the house.

Staring at the liquid inside of your red cup, you realize you shouldn’t be outside because you were avoiding Jeremiah and Taylor. You should go in there, make new friends and have fun.

You bounced your leg up and down, anxiously.

Screw it. You probably look like some weird loner out here. Even Conrad’s inside and he’s supposed to be the anti-social one.

And after many drinks and socializing with many people, you somehow ended up in the living room where karaoke was going on. Leaving almost immediately after Jeremiah and Cam started singing their hearts out.

You made no effort in trying to tell Jeremiah what Conrad said. You avoided him all night, the moment he walked in the same room, you walked out.

Placing your cup somewhere, which most likely will never be found, you make a beeline straight to the stairs.

You may have had a little too much to drink that night as it took all your strength to not eat shit on the stairs. Finally making it up there, you try every door only to be met by some random couple either in the midst of making out or ripping each others clothes off.

“Sorry.” You say loud enough for the third couple you walked in on to hear. You close the door, your eyes drifting to the last door at the end of the hallway.

Oh please be a couple free zone.

If not, you can just wait in line. Or find a bush outside.

You hold your breath as you peek your head in, grinning as there was no couple on the bed. Just a flower crown.

You walked in, slamming the door behind you and flinching hard when you heard the two gasps coming from beside you.

“Ew, what the hell you guys! You couldn’t have done that in the car?” You complain, throwing your flower crown next to Taylor’s that was on the bed.

Steven and Taylor were frozen in horror, staring at you with wide eyes.

You scrunch your face up in disgust, walking by them to get to the bathroom. “Wha—“

“Oh my god!” Belly shrieks, pointing at the two in disbelief.

Before Belly could even confront the two, Steven dashed out of there.

“Steven—“ Taylor starts, trying to grab his arm before he could leave but he already did.

“You’re hooking up with my brother?”

“I swear, It just happened!” Taylor excuses, shrugging as she look between you and Belly.

Belly makes a face, “Wha- What you got bored? He’s dating someone! You know, someone he actually likes.”

Taylor scoffs, pointing to herself. “You’re saying he couldn’t like someone like me?”

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying—“

“Ohhh, shittt! Steven has a girlfriend!” You say out loud, finally putting two together.

Belly spins to look at you, her eyes narrowed. “What? Did you know? Jesus— how long have you guys been hooking up?”

“I just got here! Like a second before you, maybe half a second before you…” You say, starting to ramble before Belly cuts you off.

“This could get so messy, Steven, he’s taking her to the deb ball and all those girls are her friends!”

Taylor rolls her eyes, “Oh my god! I’m so sick of hearing about this fucking deb ball. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Taylor looks her up and down, using her hands to elaborate.

“Why? Because I’m not just going along with everything you wanna do? Is that why you threw yourself at my brother? So, that… you can get back at me?”

“Y’know, you act so innocent Belly. Like you’re the victim.” Taylor hisses.

“Victim?” Belly repeats.

“I think you’re the self absorbed one, Belly. How do you not know I’ve had a crush on Steven for years. If you weren’t so obsessed with Conrad—“

“What is wrong with you? People are going to hear!”

“Who cares! There’s more than one story happening here but you seem to only care about the one where you’re the main character.”

There’s a pause before Belly excuses herself, rushing out of the room.

You stand there awkwardly, watching Taylor pace the room as she buries her face into her hands.

“Starting fights with everybody tonight, huh?” You sarcastically say, stopping when Taylor looks up to glare at you.

“Mind your own fucking business.” She snaps, snatching her flower crown off the bed before storming off.

You shrug to yourself, rushing to the bathroom.

-

“Okay but think about this… what if we are all dead but we just don’t know it? Like when we die, will we know when we are dead? Will it just be a void or what?” Your new friend slurs, explaining with his hands to prove a point.

You nod quickly, “That makes so much sense! I wonder if I’m dead.”

“I wonder if I am too.”

There was a pause before the two of you broke into fits of laughter, snorting and not giving a damn since pretty much everybody in this household was drunk.

“I wonder if vodka and apple juice taste good.” You ramble, putting your finger to your chin as if you were thinking.

Whatever his name is scoffs dramatically, shaking his head way too fast. He stops, looking like he was going to puke before going back to normal. “Y’know what’s good? The cherry mountain dew and vodka. That shit is chefs kiss. You ever see Gordon Ramsey?”

“Gordon Ramsey? Oh. my. gosh. Like JonBenét Ramsey?”

“No, that’s different. I’m talking about the old guy.”

You think for a moment, taking a sip of whatever you had in your cup before responding. “Oh the british guy.”

“I think he is! You know how to talk in a british accent?” He speaks in a accent, raising his eyebrows up and down.

You had no idea what his name was. But you bumped into him on accident and the two of you just started talking. Who would’ve known you guys would have a lot in common?

“Yes, hello sir.” You speak in a terrible accent that wasn’t even british, frowning as the guy broke into a laugh.

You flinch at the sudden weight around your shoulders, turning to look at the one and only, Jeremiah Fisher.

“Heyy look, it’s playboy!” You chirp, shrugging his arm off you.

Jeremiah ignores your comment, doing some dumb handshake with your new friend who now wasn’t your new friend because apparently he knew Jeremiah.

“Oh great.” You mumble, drinking the rest of your drink.

They make some small chat while you awkwardly stand there, swaying on your feet as you thought of ways to get out of there.

I’m gonna go use the bathroom!

I’m gonna go find a drink!

I’m out of here!

Adios!

“Oh right, I came over here to take this little fire cracker home.” Jeremiah announces, pinching one of your cheeks teasingly. You smack his hand away, glaring at him.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around then?” The guy asks, hopeful.

You smile, nodding. “Yeah.”

He scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, hesitating, “You, uh, you think I could get your number or something?”

Your eyes widen, your cheeks burning. Oh god, did he just ask you for your number? You heard that right? Right?

“Ye—“ You start, already searching your pockets for your phone before you get cut off.

“It’s actually been a crazy day, think we’re just gonna call it a night. Let’s go, Y/N.” Jeremiah states, staring at you expectantly.

You glare at him, sending an apologetic look to your new friend. “Whatever. See you around.” You managed to say before Jeremiah led you through the house and to his car.

Jeremiah opens the door to the backseat, impatiently waiting for you to get in.

You don’t. You just stand there.

“You couldn’t have waited till after I gave him my number? You’re such a cockblock.” You complain, looking back at the house.

Jeremiah rolls his eyes. “He’s a player anyways! You wouldn’t have been the only girl on his phone.”

You scoff, sarcastically smiling at him. “Says you!”

He groans, letting go of the door to rub the bridge of his nose. “Just get in the car, Y/N. I’m tired.”

“I’m tired.” You mock, begrudgingly getting into the car. You reach out to close the car door before Jeremiah could.

You look through the window and watch as he stood there for a moment, seemingly contemplating on something before walking back to the house.

You waited until you couldn’t see him anymore to kick the seat in front of you out of anger, which was barely a kick as your leg felt way too heavy to even move. Same thing with the rest of your body.

Stupid Jeremiah.

Always ruining everything. Ruined Belly’s dinner for you, ruined the party for you, what else is he going to ruin?

It’s funny how fast he changed from the moment you met him to now. When you first met him, it was like, it was too good to be true. He was practically a golden retriever just in human form. Everything about him was perfect, everything. His hair, his eyes, his lips, oh dammit, why didn’t you kiss those lips—

You stop, holding your breath in realization.

Did you have a crush on him?

Pfft, why would you, have a crush on Jeremiah Fisher?

But I mean, who wouldn’t?

No. Stop it.

The car door opens, making you jump.

Jeremiah tosses a napkin at you, “There. You happy?” He closes the door before you could even react.

You pick up the napkin, flipping it over to see the number written in pen ink. You feel guilty.

Both the driver and passenger doors open, causing your eyebrows to furrow. Isn’t Conrad staying the night? Didn’t Taylor leave with Cam and Belly?

“Taylor, you better not crash my car.” Jeremiah complains from the passenger seat.

God dammit.

“Relax, Jeremy. I’m actually a excellent driver. Plus, I’m not the one who chugged a beer in under a minute for what? 5 dollars?” Taylor giggles, starting the car. She moves her seat forward along with fixing the rearview mirror.

“Hey— it’s money. You would’ve done the same!” He says defensively.

You don’t bother with putting your seat belt on, too exhausted. Leaning your head against the door, you close your heavy eyes. Their argument fades into the background, your head pounding.

-

“THAT’S TOO CLOSE!” You jolt awake, scanning your surroundings before realizing you were still in the car. Jeremiah and Taylor still in the front seats, arguing.

You rub the side of your face that was against the car door, looking out the window to see that you guys were outside of the familiar beach house.

“Gosh, you’re so dramatic!” You hear Taylor say, putting the car in reverse before slamming on the breaks. The breaks sends you forward, not enough to hurt you but enough to fully wake you up.

“Excellent driver” my ass.

Jeremiah sarcastically groans, “I’m never letting you drive again.”

“Good! Your car smells anyway.” Was the last thing you heard before the two of them exited the vehicle, their argument being muffled.

You looked around the backseat, searching for your phone along with the napkin. You spot them on the floor, snatching the both of them and shoving the napkin in your pocket.

You squint your eyes as the light from your phone nearly blinded you, checking the time and missed messages from earlier.

Belly

Left early 11:25

Jeremiah said he would give you a ride 11:25

Perfect for some alone time if you know what I mean 😏 11:26

Oh yeah how should I ask Cam to the deb? Do you think he would want to go with me? 11:28

Smiling, you shake your head. You type out a quick response but before you could send it the car door opens, revealing Jeremiah.

He holds the door open, rubbing his eyes before motioning for you to come out. He holds out his hand. You take it, shoving your phone into your pocket.

Silently, he wraps his arm around your waist before closing the door. He helps you into the house, then up the stairs and to your bed room.

He finally let’s go, sitting you down on the bed.

Crouching down to your level, he scans your face. “Are you wearing makeup?”

You realize how close he is, your breath hitching. You looked into his eyes, those eyes, getting lost for a moment.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nod.

“Where’s your makeup remover?”

You point to the vanity. He gets up, unzipping your makeup bag before he stops. He holds up wipes, “This?”

“Yeah.” You muster out. Your heartbeat quickens as he comes back, stopping to crouch in front of you.

You reach your hand out to grab the wipes but he stops you, grabbing your chin with his other hand and softly pressing the wipe to your face to get rid of the makeup.

Your cheeks heat up at the gesture, feeling the cold wipe on your face as you dropped your hand. He takes his time, making sure to get everywhere.

He tosses the wipes in the trash can, going back to his crouching position to take off your shoes. You don’t stop him, your whole body felt like it was burning. You’ve never felt like this.

It felt like you were going to explode. Or puke. You didn’t know if it was because there were too many butterflies in your stomach and they needed a way out or just the alcohol you had tonight.

“Your hands looks better.” He mumbles, grabbing your hand to examine it. He flips it over a few times before letting it.

You stare at your hand the bruises looking more of a yellow-greenish color, “It’s pretty sore though.”

“I’m surprised it didn’t break.”

“What, after you guys ditched me?”

He’s quiet, frowning. “I came back for you.”

“Pfft, because you knew your mom would kill you if you didn’t.” You say, dropping your hand into your lap.

“I came back for you, not because of my mom.” He affirms, making eye contact with you so you could know he was telling the truth. You break it, your cheeks feeling hot.

There was silence for a moment but he breaks it, suggesting that you should lay down. You agree laying down as he shimmies the comforter out from underneath you. He tucks you in and fixes your pillows, making sure you were comfortable before he wishes you goodnight, leaving.

“Jere?”

He stops, turning back around to look down at you in concern.

“You okay? You need anything?”

You shake your head, staring at him. “No… I just…”

You felt so weird. So tingly. You were exploding with so many different emotions. You’ve had crushes before, silly crushes… but this was different.

You wanted to tell him. But, was it too late? What if Taylor was right? Would he really just hook up with you to leave you the next day?

“Thanks.” You finally settle on saying, facing away from him. You bury your face into the covers, mentally cursing at yourself but also just wanting to sleep.

He doesn’t respond.

And before you know it, he’s gone.

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[utilitycaster]

@thmtrnfrvns replied to your post “ok so I was wrong about The Emissary and the...”:

didn't matt say that if you popped the bubbles those people turned to dust? Like the bubbles are the only thing preserving them? I might be totally wrong but I keep seeing this question being asked so I'm confused

​He hasn't, and I actually want to cover this. The lore has thus far been noncommittal, both from an out of world perspective (ie, the EGTW, for which this serves as a potential plot hook should people wish to explore it) and in-world (ie, in the canon of Exandria from the main campaigns and other canonical works such as The Nine Eyes of Lucien). We don't know if it's possible; we also very much don't know that it's impossible.

Which is what I want to talk about, because it's weird to me that this idea spread so much within the fandom - that the bubbles are an outright lost cause. I mentioned it before, but the argument the gods should be destroyed (even from behind the Divine Gate) in some sort of retribution for Aeor barely holds up as is; it certainly won't bring back Aeor, and the Divine Gate serves to hold back the gods already so destroying it only in order to kill them is purely an act of vengeance. But it really falls apart if there could be survivors of Aeor.

It's very easy to hold yourself up as the champion for people who cannot speak. They can't contradict you; you can say their motivations and desires are whatever you want. This is something explored in modern political thought, both in the many critiques of the anti-abortion movement (fetuses are fundamentally agency-less things) and in, for example, Dara Horn's People Love Dead Jews. Obviously this is true for any fictional character - none of them can respond to their advocates directly - but especially one who can't even in canon speak on their own behalf. If you say that Ashton would be on Ludinus's side, Ashton might, within the narrative, prove you wrong; but if you say the Aeorians would be, well, who knows. They're dead. Unless they're not. Bringing back anyone from the stasis bubbles fucks over that argument twice: now there are survivors, and those survivors can speak. (Worth noting that the two Aeormatons we've seen in C3 directly have not been in Ludinus's favor, and that his generals at least had no vested interest in sparing the Aeormaton they knew about; this isn't about the people of Aeor or what was lost, it's about pointing at corpses and saying they'd have your back if only they weren't dead.)

This a pattern for the people making arguments in Ludinus's favor. They invoke the titans (dead long before the narrative, and the person who killed the last two of them was Laerryn Coramar-Seelie, whom they don't seem to condemn for it, and they never really talk about what life for the titans must have been. It's not about the titans). They invoke FCG (dead, and they didn't really like them much when they were alive because of, you know, the whole faith in a deity thing, but now that he's dead they can pretend he's a mouthpiece for them. It's not about FCG, or Aeormatons, or Aeor.) They tried invoking the characters who were vaguely critical of the gods in the past but didn't have the lore to back it up and those characters (Keyleth, Essek, Percy) have all sided very clearly with the Accord, so now they stick only to people who can't weigh in and disprove the point. They make up hypotheticals about Bor'Dor and Petrov, the former of which is, again, dead, and the latter of which is a minor NPC with but a slim chance of appearing again whether he lives or dies and both of whom are equally representative of how the Vanguard preys on disaffected young people and chews them up and destroys them while telling them it's for the best, and ignore the many, many living who have been irrevocably harmed by the Vanguard.

It might end up being true that the stasis bubbles are a dead end, and I think it's pretty likely they won't get explored in-game, but if someone says they're absolutely a dead end - especially when Ludinus is going to invoke the fall of Aeor - it's worth exploring why they're saying that. Are they just misinformed (in which case you should still examine their argument, for, you know, not knowing the source material sufficiently well to craft accurate premises from which to argue)? Or would even acknowledging the possibility that they're not a lost cause destroy their argument?

[devilmademewriteit]

Gods & Monsters

pairing: Soldier Boy/afab!fem!reader

summary: delivering coffees to Vought’s crisis management team brings you face to face with Soldier Boy—who has a different job in mind for you.

warnings: pure, filthy smut (blowjob, fem penetration, slight predator/prey; slight orgasm denial) so 18+ only content; Soldier Boy b/c tbh he’s his own warning; fem afab reader; mention of reader having long hair (hair pulling); drug mention (coke in detail); title kink (sir); pet names (doll-face, sweetheart, doll); dubcon (coercion, imbalance of power); use of slut degradingly; choking; (light) slapping; spitting.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites aka bestie

word count: 3.3k

this is my first time writing for The Boys!! would love to hear feedback & requests are always allowed :)

—

Even before finding yourself at the mercy of a power-drunk supe, you’d had yourself a pretty fucked up day.

After spending your morning hunched over your desk at Vought trying, in vain, to piece together a script for the new upcoming Crimson Countess film (with a team of useless douchebags hooked on uppers) you had all but quit your job.

Then, of course, the afternoon came with its own set of troubles. Your supervisor had hurried over, wild-eyed and raving, to break the news of a PR scandal—you guessed one of the twins, it was always one of the twins—which called for all hands on deck; including yours, which were delegated to the indispensable task of retrieving coffees for the crisis management team upstairs. If you weren’t flat broke and more of a risk-taker, you’d never engage with anything supe-related ever again—but you were, and you weren’t, so you find yourself in the later hours of the evening delivering lattes to your higher ups on floors of the tower you’d never heard of before.

The elevator doors open and you come face to face with the poster-boy of the company. Your heart leaps as you recognize his face; it settles when you realize he’d never recognize yours. After all, you’d only met briefly once before: just last week, you’d finally spent time on set for one of Payback’s shoots. Assistant duties only, of course, but it had been thrilling to watch the supe and his team, nonetheless.

Needless to say, seeing him up close, now, is a completely different experience. No mask, no makeup—just his chiseled, gorgeous face and entitlement simmering in his green eyes.

“Good, you’re here. I was gonna go looking for you,” Soldier Boy says, unfazed by your paralyzing shock. Amused, he adds, “And you brought the coffee, too.”

You stand in the elevator, unmoving. Then, ever so slowly, you hand him the tray of full, steaming cups.

He laughs, wrinkles next to his eyes forming as he takes the tray. Your mistake seems obvious once the image of the company’s most expensive asset holding a tray of five cent coffees is on display before you.

He calls someone over from down the hall, and a wiry young man comes scampering over. “Take these to the assholes down the hall,” Soldier Boy orders. “And tell them not to fuckin bother me tonight.”

The young man nods fervently and speed-walks, tray in hand, back in the direction he’d rushed over from.

The elevator dings and the metal doors begin to close, but a large palm slaps them back in place. You watch as Soldier Boy peels his hand back, leaving indents in the steel.

“Where have they been hiding you?” He asks, leaning against the metal frame. His eyes flash with amusement as he scans your body up and down, making you wish that you’d worn a nicer skirt or ironed your shirt just a bit more carefully this morning.

You swallow, your throat suddenly tight. “I work in the creative department. Writing,” you say, determined to regain some composure.

“You the one that writes those fuckin’ anti-drug ads?” He asks, ever-so-nonchalantly.

“No,” you answer, trying not to meet his imposing stare head-on. ”I write the movies, the television scripts, that kinda thing.”

“Yeah, you don’t look like a complete prude,” he jokes. ”Though I’m sure I could teach you a few things,” the supe adds with a wink.

He looks at you expectantly, something unidentifiable in the way he takes you in.

You don’t respond.

“Really? Nothing? Thought you worked in the creative department,” he taunts.

You clear your throat. “I do, sir,” you respond, your voice faltering with fake confidence. “And I really should be getting back,” you quickly add, reaching for the button that would take you back down to your floor.

A massive hand blocks your own, and you look up at the supe, frustrated.

He whistles softly. “Whoo, ‘sir…’ I sure like hearing you say that.”

Adrenaline courses through your entire body as he takes a small, controlled step towards you. Your mind races, trying to come up with some sort of escape plan, but it goes blank the moment you glance at that pouty bottom lip or notice the rugged curve of his jaw.

“Well, today’s your lucky day, doll,” the stranger says, his voice suddenly low and quiet, “‘cause we need you up here.”

“For what?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

Something about the glint in his eye makes you want to run down the hall as fast as possible—to get away from this madman. He reminds you of a wild animal; you sense something ferocious and tense coiled up inside, begging to come loose.

And yet, something about the grit in his voice and the shape of his shoulders makes you want to play his game, to close the distance between the two of you.

See where it takes you.

He smiles and steps into the elevator, easing his way behind you and placing his palm against the small of your back, urging you forward.

“Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he grumbles into your ear. “You’ll love it.”

You look up at him, unsure of what to do and intimidated by his overwhelming presence, his demanding words. Like prey caught in a trap, every instinct screams at you to get away.

You don’t move.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxes, twisting a strand of your hair. There’s an edge to his voice you’d only ever heard between cuts, when the cameras weren’t rolling. “Wouldn’t want to upset an American hero, would you?”

You give in, allowing yourself to be guided out of the elevator and down the hall by his palm’s weight against your spine. He doesn’t even look at you; he only steers you forward into an enormous suite, lavishly decorated with all sorts of expensive fabrics, paintings, and furniture. It’s nicer than anything you’ve ever seen, yet Soldier Boy saunters in like it’s no more impressive than a dingy motel room.

The first thing you notice is a heap of white powder out in the open on a massive wooden table. The supe walks over to it and does a line through a rolled up twenty, jerking his head back and shaking his head.

“Want any?” He asks, turning his gaze back to you.

“No, thanks,” you respond, wary. “I like to be sober on the job,” you add, not wanting to sound judgemental.

He shrugs.

“What, exactly, did you want from me?” You ask, cringing at the naivety of the question. What he wants hangs thick in the room, it was heavy in his eyes from the moment you’d first met them.

He closes the distance between you and flashes a taunting smile.

“You don’t like coke? I got benzos, oxy, weed… really anything a girl could want.” He plays absentmindedly with the fabric of your skirt, his eyes drinking in every inch of your body.

“All I want is for you to tell me what you want.”

“You sure have a way with words, doll-face,” his right hand finds its way to the front of your throat, stroking the skin there, gently. Every part of your body responds to the touch and unwelcome arousal clouds your thoughts as you try to keep yourself together.

He ducks down, his lips lightly brushing skin of your ear.

“I want to watch you take my cock in every way you can, sweetheart.”

Your body responds before your mind can process his words; suddenly, you’re having trouble standing upright as heat spreads across your core.

“I know you’ll be so good for me,” he adds, fiddling with the collar of your shirt.

“Can I say no?” You ask, cursing how small your voice sounds. Despite your efforts, you’re sure he can hear your reluctant desire dripping off your every word.

He looses a low chuckle. “‘Course you can,” a pause as he places his palm against your cheek, “but you shouldn’t,” he finishes, flatly. “Besides,” Soldier Boy continues, his voice husky and deep, “all I’m asking is for you to get on your knees and put that pretty little mouth to good use.”

You don’t know what makes you do it. Perhaps it feels inevitable; after all, you happen to be alone, cornered by the most powerful man in the world. Or maybe, just maybe, some twisted part of you wants to be at the mercy of this man.

Almost as if in automatic response, you feel yourself sinking to the ground, holding his stare like a tether to reality—a lifeline. He smirks with satisfaction, and, celebrating his win, unhooks his buckle for you to pull the length of him out. Your eyes widen, astonished by the sheer size and girth of him. He notices, of course, and gives you a lazy grin.

Asshole.

Begrudgingly, you accept that you want him. Still, you struggle to admit to yourself that this desire is quickly becoming much more than that.

Some starved part of you is desperate to satisfy this stranger in any way you can.

“Take all of it,” he orders, nodding down towards you. You obey, tasting the salt of his pre-cum and feeling him push down to the back of your throat.

“That’s fucking right, sweetheart,” Soldier Boy groans as you slide down the length of his cock, over and over. “That’s what this mouth was made for.”

He tugs at your hair, taking a fistful of it and forcing your eyes up to meet his. He thrusts forwards, pushing deeper and deeper and deeper—you give him everything you have. His intensity only builds and you find yourself choking, spit gathering in the corners of your lips as he fucks your mouth.

“Fuck yeah, doll,” he groans. “You fuckin’ love that.”

You melt into his encouraging gaze, your eyelids heavy, your panties soaked completely through.

You nod in agreement and he loosens his hold on your hair. You pull off of him, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting the two of you in pure need.

“Don’t you stop,” the supe warns, using one hand to guide his cock back into your mouth, the other pushing at the back of your head.

You go slow, now, blinking the well-earned tears from your eyes, savouring the feel of him against your lips, your tongue, the roof of your mouth. You put both hands to work and watch him remove the top of his suit, near swooning at the sight of his bare torso.

“You want me to fuck that pussy of yours?” He asks, making your clit throb in response.

Breathless, you utter a quick “yes,” before taking him back between your lips.

“Fuckin’ course you do,” he responds lazily, placing a hand on your cheek, running his thumb down your face, tracing the bone as he smiles.

“Then tell me you’re a slut who loves sucking cock,” he says gently, his torturous hand behind your head always guiding you to take more and more of him, keeping you desperate for air. “Isn’t that true?” He continues, arrogance soaking each and every syllable. “Don’t you fucking love having my dick in your mouth?”

You nod, dazed with lust, his low and gravelly voice undoing you in every way.

“Say it,” he commands, his voice severe—degrading.

You slide off of his length, continuing to please him with the use of your hands.

It comes out as a plea. “I’m a slut who loves sucking cock,” you tell him, earnestly, meeting the challenge in his eyes head-on.

His length twitches in your hand and you know you’ve done a good job.

Soldier Boy laughs. “Get up, sweetheart,” he orders, “bedroom’s on the left.”

You obey, lifting yourself onto shaking legs. Your kneecaps burn from the friction.

You round into a room with a huge bed, unmade silver silk sheets and a thin duvet cast upon it like something out of a movie. The moon’s glow shines through a massive window, illuminating the surrounding luxury. You hear a loud sniff followed by a sigh, then footsteps approaching your direction.

It’s impossible to take it all in. Barely five seconds pass before Soldier Boy is behind you, unbuttoning your blouse.

“You got a favourite way to take it?” He asks, ridding you of your shirt. “With tits like this,” he groans into your neck, roughly squeezing your breasts and running a calloused finger over each nipple, “I could watch you bounce.”

You shiver at his touch, aching for more. The feel of the supe behind your back is nothing short of maddening; his hardness pressing against you fills your head with thoughts so sinful they’d make the devil blush.

“I want to watch,” you decide, surprised at the strength of your own volition. “I want to see you fucking me.”

You wind up on your back at the edge of the mattress with Soldier Boy between your legs. Desire simmers into your very bones, threatening to undo you before even being touched.

He bunches up your skirt and slides a thumb down the middle of your panties. “Fuckin’ soaked,” he whispers to himself with a smile, shaking his head. He pulls them off roughly and sets himself up at your entrance, running his tip along your swollen clit one, two, three times.

“Stay up on your elbows and don’t look away—got it, sweetheart?” The stranger orders. You respond with a fervent nod. As he slides himself between your folds, you let out a soft gasp, watching his cock disappear inside you. He groans, then flashes you an arrogant smirk.

“Fucking desperate for it,” he says. “Look how good your pussy takes it.”

Placing his hands on your upper thighs, he sets a rhythm, slow and hard; all you can do is stare, open-mouthed, at the sight of his cock slamming in and out of you. You meet his eyes for a moment—his full of mockery and satisfaction, yours likely full of wild abandon.

“You like seeing me ruin you?”

Struggling to form words, you merely gasp out a desperate “yeah” and it sounds more like a question. You try to stay propped up on your elbows as the brutality of his thrusts intensifies—he fucks you harder and faster with every movement.

“Ohhh, fuck, yeah you do,” he answers, throwing his head back, a winner’s smile spreading across his face.

It feels so good you can hardly string together a cohesive thought. You reach out for something to grab onto and your fingers find his forearm, the indestructible muscles underneath tensing as you struggle to stay up. Soldier boy smiles down at your dazed expression, placing his hands on either side of your head as he leans forward.

“Open that mouth just a little wider for me, sweetheart,” he says softly, contrasting the roughness of his thrusts.

You obey, and placing his thumb on your chin, he spits in your mouth, his saliva coating your tongue.

“Swallow, baby,” he says, and so you do, moaning as his spit slides down your throat.

He ducks his head down. “Fuck that’s so hot,” he groans, finding your clit and drawing lazy circles on your pulsing, swollen bud.

“You’re a fuckin’ superstar, sweetheart, the way this pussy takes cock.”

The stimulation overwhelms you entirely. “I-I can’t hold on,” you gasp out, feeling a familiar warmth spreading from where his thumb plays with your pulsing bud.

He wraps a hand around your throat, forcing you to look deep inside his heavy-lidded eyes, his dilated pupils.

“Tell me how much of a slut you are for this cock and I’ll let you come,” he orders with a mocking smile.

You can feel yourself going, seeing stars from the feel of his thighs slamming into your ass, his length reaching deep inside you, and the hand wrapped around your throat.

The man certainly loved making you talk in moments where words were impossible to form.

Soldier Boy laughs. “What, fuckin’ cock-drunk already?” His hand momentarily leaves your throat to collide with your cheek, waking you out of your stupor, before wrapping around your jaw. His grip is controlled—it inflicts no pain but allows for no negotiation, either.

“Tell me you love it.”

“I love it,” you moan, barely above a whisper. All you can focus on is holding back your climax as his fingers continue to work at the apex between your thighs.

“Scream it,” he orders, slamming himself inside you. The violent sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, fills your ears.

“Please-“ you beg, the word coated in desperation.

“Fuckin’ scream it,” he demands, unbending.

He leans in deep, his cock grazing the sweet spot at your core.

Warmth and lust erupt from inside you.

Words become easy, now. “I love it, I love it, oh my god I love your cock,” you half-gasp, half-cry as your orgasm blossoms through your body. You tremble underneath him and he laughs, continuing to fuck you through the waves of bliss.

“Just a desperate fuckin’ whore,” he taunts, running his hands along your sides, your breasts, before reaching your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He pulls out quickly, leaving you panting, shaking, dazed, empty.

“On your knees one more time for me, doll,” he says with surprising gentleness, pulling you by the arm off the edge of the bed. “I wanna see you taste my fuckin’ load,” the supe says with a smile, again using a large hand to guide his length into your open mouth.

You take him in slowly, registering your own acidic taste on his cock. There’s a low groan from him, and then he’s holding both sides of your head steady and thrusting into the back of your throat.

“Fuck. Yeah.” He says, throwing his head back. You keep your eyes up, locked on him. When he meets your gaze, he groans, “god, you look a fucking mess.” He grins down at you, “I almost feel bad for getting you up here.”

You freeze and look up at him, his length still halfway down your throat.

He scoffs and smiles. “You really think they’d get someone from your floor to bring fucking coffees up here?” He palms your cheek, shaking his head. “I knew from the moment I saw you at the shoot last week—your little fucking clipboard and that short ass skirt…” he trails off, stroking your cheek as you stare up into his daring eyes.

“I knew I had to see you like this.”

His words send shivers down your spine. You know you should feel used, tricked, or stupid, but all you feel is grateful, special, at his having noticed you. That desperate desire to please him simmers fiercely in your blood.

Slowly, you begin moving again, running your tongue down the length of his cock before circling the tip, tauntingly, slowly, adoringly. He shakes his head and grins: a god between your lips.

“Good girl.”

You grab his hips to steady yourself, trying your best to stay still and take his whole length without choking, lightheaded from the lack of air.

“Fuuuuuuck.” You feel his cock twitch as a stream of warmth slips down your throat, salty and thick. He relaxes his grip and slowly pulls his length out from your mouth. “Look at me and swallow, baby,” Soldier boy whispers firmly, holding your cheek in his hand.

You close your mouth and swallow, trying to steady your breath as the taste of him lingers in your mouth. He smiles and wipes a thick finger along your lips.

“‘Could keep you here, you know,” he says softly, holding your face up to meet his drunken look. “Tie you up, fuck you till you forget who you are… you’d like that, wouldn’t you, doll?” He asks, his voice low, dark, and gentle—you ignore how sinister it sounds, leaning into his hand and closing your eyes.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble, turning into his palm and smiling.

Soldier Boy’s soft chuckle fills the room, and he leans down to take your face in both his calloused, firm hands.

“You’re a fucking star, sweetheart,” he says. “You’re my fucking star, right?”

You gaze into his darkened eyes, wondering how in the world you came to be in this position.

It didn’t matter.

You were here now, and you wanted more. Needed more.

“Right.”

Your answer is met by a look of utter male satisfaction, Soldier Boy’s eyes filling again with animalistic hunger.

You’d be his for as long as he’d have you.

[dykeulous]

been thinking a lot about the “to create loving men, we must love males” quote by bell hooks. i have seen it be spread around recently, but i feel like a lot of people seem to be missing the point. yes, to create loving men, we must love males; but this shouldn’t be done at the expense of women. it shouldn’t be used as a justification for misogyny and sexist statements such as, “oh look these women are such feminazis and they’re the reason why all these men are getting radicalized”. if we acknowledge that misogyny is societal, and not biological– and that men are socialized to do evil, instead of being biologically hardwired to do evil; then we also have to prevent that evil, and deal with harm reduction. misogyny is learned and it can be unlearned. each and every man is misogynistic, each and every man holds, at the very least, benevolent misogynistic attitudes & microaggressive beliefs– and this can be unlearned! with the right socialization. instead of jumping to attack the feminist who suggests that every man has inner bias he has to unlearn, because somehow she is being a “man-hater” despite encouraging him to unlearn his bias– we should hear her out. men can be great and valuable feminist allies. they can choose to do good. nothing is biologically hardwired in them. nothing is holding them back from being a decent & respectful human being. they shouldn’t get defensive when we rightfully critique male socialization– they shouldn’t get defensive when we suggest that their environment & culture has indoctrinated them to even subtly hold misogynistic values. this can be left behind. it’s not revolutionary to constantly push this need to “love males” at women, what is revolutionary though, is to encourage both women & men to engage with their children, to raise their children properly (and even then, parental socialization can only reach so far; what the child picks up from the rest of their environment is still crucial, as is the analysis of misogynistic culture & societal indoctrination), to enforce the right values, and to create rehabilitative anti-sexist programs. it is not “male-hating” or “misandrist” to suggest that men should unlearn their learned bigotry. if they wish to be good allies, they will have to listen. it’s just how it works.

men are not inherently bad people. our activism must come from a place of love, not hatred. this is what the bell hooks quote was about. to unjustified violence, one must react with benevolent violence; one that will reform and rehabilitate society. benevolent violence, revolutionary violence, comes from a place of love– and from a wish to end misogyny through revolutionary measures.

[t00thpasteface]

i very deeply respect your mashposting and even though im not as enthusiastic about hawkahy as you are i think the content you make for them us delightful and some of the best mashposting on this godforsaken website. that being said, i wanted to know ur takes on the hawkeye & trapper dynamic, and the hawkeye & bj dynamic. Not in a shippy way, just in the World of Hawkahy what role do trapper and bj play in their relationships with hawkeye :3 this because i love that one comic u did where hawkeye is spunchbop and bj is Patrick its one of my fave pieces of mash fanart lol

(⁠๑˘❥⁠⁠ ˘๑⁠) first off, THANK YOU!! i'm soooo crazy about hawkahy and i really enjoy contributing to my fellow shippers, but i'm glad my art can also still appeal to people who are less interested the ship itself.

second, VERY fun question!! i wish i had definitive answers for yall, but you know me... i love to go "well idk it could go either way" ^_^;; really, it depends on what kind of tone and theme i'm looking for. i don't really write heavier stuff (because i have so much fun writing funny fic) so that kind of narrows my options, but there's a lot of potential i'd love to explore— or see someone else explore, if they're so inclined!

TRAP:

generally the trapper reading i typically default to is that he and hawkeye have a pretty casual FWB thing going on. trapper considers hawkeye a very close friend and hooks up with him at an intersection of bicuriosity and deep platonic affection, but hawkeye catches baddddd feelings and ends up genuinely heartbroken to find out their thing was lopsided. in this case, hawkahy would happen only after trapper leaves— mulcahy has a tough time trying to get noticed before that point :( but at the same time, i don't think mulcahy would pounce at the first opportunity, because i don't think an immediate rebound would be good for hawkeye nor mulcahy... but it could happen for dramaaaaa...

another version of the hawkeye-trapper rapport that i love playing with in my fics is trapper being generally very supportive but nonetheless slightly grossed out. i think there's a lotttt of comedy potential with hawkeye thinking it's okay to fuck a priest but NOT a married woman, and meanwhile trapper is pro-infidelity but anti-priestfucking (for whatever reason), and they squabble and tease each other about it the whole time.

it's also funny to think about is trapper trying to figure out whether mulcahy now gets the "one of the bros" back-slapping beer-chugging dude treatment, or if instead he's now slotted into the "go easy on 'em trap" category that protects hawkeye's ladyfriends from hearing trapper's bawdiest jokes and comments when hawkeye brings them along as a plus-one to the swamp.

trapper seems like he's pretty likely to sniff out that hawkeye and mulcahy are seeing each other even if they try their damnedest to keep it secret. i like to think hawkeye trusts trapper enough that he would go ahead and divulge it it up front pretty soon after it's official. trapper could probably even pick up hawkeye's crush beforehand... maybe even before hawkeye knows about it!

i don't see trapper as being too jealous of hawkeye spending a lot of time with mulcahy, even if it means hawkeye is now exclusive and not sleeping with trapper anymore. if anything i think he'd be pretty stoked that he's got one less guy to compete with for the nurses' attention. pretty sweet deal as far as he's concerned.

i do think there'd be some tricky navigating between how hawkeye acts with trapper and the STARK difference with how he acts around mulcahy, which you can see clear as day in the s1 finale, where hawkeye gets soooo soft and careful while talking to mulcahy. i don't think either one is disingenuous; i think hawkeye contains multitudes. hawkeye's not the type to fake sincerity. and to that end, i really don't think hawkahy should hinge on hawkeye totally giving up all the cruder parts of his personality (especially since mulcahy is really no saint either), so it could be pretty interesting to see that manifest in whether/how he's still maintaining a close friendship with trapper now that he's been seeing mulcahy regularly and trying to make a good impression.

BEEJ:

the direction bj goes in depends on whether hawkahy are already an item before he gets there. he does form that almost instantaneous trauma-bond with hawkeye on his first day, but i think if hawkeye admitted "yeah by the way the chaplain is my boyfriend" as soon it seemed safe, bj would be able to take it in stride as another weird little quirk of the mash he has to get used to. he's too hung up on dealing with all the gore to worry about who's banging who.

by contrast, i think he could potentially get pretty upset/jealous if hawkeye and mulcahy paired up a little while later. i can see him feeling really betrayed, like, "what do you normally do when i'm gone?" "wait for you to get back!!"

if bj still doesn't feel like he's really enmeshed himself into the unit— which i think on some level, he never wants to, because he's banking on dropping everything like a hot potato the second he can— then i can totally picture him just feeling completely lost and isolated when hawkeye is suddenly forgoing their boys-nite boozathons in favor of getting some priest pipe. like, at least trapper could always go find his own cuddle buddy to pass the time and had nurses lining up to volunteer; bj has basically nobody and doesn't seem inclined nor equipped to fix that. hawkeye is his liason to the rest of the camp, and bj isn't so great with people without having hawkeye there to help as both teleprompter and safety net.

basically i think bj wants to keep hawkeye within a very specific arm's-length radius— not too close, but not too far either, and hawkeye having so much private time with someone else could really get under his skin.

you could also have bj think the priestfucking is gross/bad on sheer principle like trapper did, even without the jealousy angle, and it'd probably hold a little more water coming from bj than trapper. however, it'd be funny if he's insisting it's definitely not a jealousy thing and he's being fully objective about it, but you can totally tell he's just jealous. x)

i admit i kinda love seeing bj get tormented, because he's got such obvious buttons to press and yet sternly insists that they don't even exist, similar to houlihan and frank. like, you can't just set that up and not expect me to rub my hands together and SLAM those buttons as hard as i can. ergo, bj getting jealous about hawkahy is supremely funny to me. i'm not too proud to admit that!