#antis stay away that's not a safe place for you

[sirendeepity]

[ Selene one-shot ]

A/N: so this fic took me way too long to write/edit and is 100% self-indulgent. Past tenses are my worst enemy now so if things don't make sense time-wise(?) then close your eyes and look away because if I have to read this thing one more time istg I'm gonna lose it. English is so fun! Anyway, consider this also canon-defiant, as in Nesta kept her powers (as she should've). I am Selene, Selene is me, what I was thinking, she was thinking too. Also, can we all agree Selene was the best sibling? Enjoy! <3

W/C: 1.9k

T/W: --

Death was not what I’d imagined. My idea of dying has always been a cold embrace, yes, but also a release. Leaving a soft knock at my door once my skin had wrinkled and my wings had thinned and my trembling, aching bones had turned into stardust.

That desired rest after a long, fulfilling life. Little did I know.

My life had not been long and my body was not the battered rag of what it once used to be and my death couldn’t have been any less poetic, really.

I used to be bitter and resentful about everything and anything, but, well, you get used to it after being dead for centuries. Throwing tantrums is not the key to resurrection, apparently. One would think the Otherworld would be at least fun—as fun as being dead could be—but no, not even the company of other stolen souls was enough. Because there were none. Not even my mother’s. There had been, at first, when everything was new and strange and filled with sorrow. We only had each other, as we did in those last dreadful moments. We’d spent days and years and ages together, watching over what was left of our hearts, the part of us that was still alive and well. He was most of the time, at least. Well, I mean, he’s always been alive. Kind of. But as the years went by, as I watched him grow into the male and brother and High Lord he was always meant to be, my mother’s essence had grown tired of the stillness, that limbo, and had started to long for the Afterlife that was promised. Her face had turned more frequently, more easily, and her gaze had fixed on the darkness between the stars. Still, she’d stayed. Waiting, holding on to that last thread of hope.

It took five hundred years or so, but as the mating bond snapped into place, securing their souls to one another, my mother kissed me goodbye. It was out of her hands now, was all she’d said. It’s out of yours, too, she’d then added, urging me to follow.

But I couldn’t leave just yet. I didn’t want to. Because what my mother didn’t know was that I hadn’t been watching only my brother and his family—once my family as well. That had been the plan, yes, but plans change. Mind did so very quickly.

There was a very peculiar female that caught my eye. A woman.

She was a vicious, prideful thing, her spirit an inferno burning around a heart made of steel, too big and bright and hot to be tamed and kept confined inside skin and bones so… Mortal.

I was rooting for her—for Cassian, even. He had seen right through her, too—had seen that shivering, weeping, scared girl who had no idea how to give love because love had never been given to her, never felt like it was. She’d been hidden, kept under lock and key. A silver beast prowled her silver cage, keeping guard. Protecting her in the only way it knew how: Nothing was getting through.

That little girl was the reason I’d stayed. And the bickering, too.

Had Cassian always been that annoying? Or was it only for her? The female clearly knew how to hold her own, but still. Their banter was entertaining, almost comical. When it was not gutting them from the inside out, that is.

I felt so helpless when Hybern had thrown her and her sister inside the Cauldron.

What came out was not what went it, the Bone Carver would say weeks later.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

I felt it the moment it happened. Everyone did, even in the Place-That-Was-No-More.

That— Well, that changed everything.

And so I waited and waited, and waited. Oh, that stubborn little—

Weeks had gone by and Nesta still refused to acknowledge the immense power within her, although she did practice with Amren, which was a feat on and of its own. It still wasn’t enough to prevent the war from happening.

Once again, I found myself in the position of begging whatever bastard—sorry, god—was willing to listen, asking them to turn their gazes somewhere else, far from that battlefield. I hoped that none of my beloved would become the company I’d so desperately craved. Cassian, the idiot, had really tried his best on more than one occasion. I’d risked losing Nesta, too, so I’d helped a little, found a loophole of sorts. It only took the whisper of an idea planted in the right mind, a mind that could see past barriers and borders, and the King’s crown fell with his head. She had some backbone, the flower girl.

My joy didn’t last long. Nothing in my life seemed to—no pun intended.

It happened so fast, I barely caught it.

Our eyes had met, a mirror image of each other, and held long enough for me to shake my head. Left to right, right to left. As starlight slid down my cheeks, I could offer him no more than a faint smile as I said, “Not yet.”

And then he was gone. Taken away from me. Again.

But as much as I’d longed for his embrace, I couldn’t help myself but feel relieved. My brother lived—all of them lived when many others did not.

As the Afterworld got crowded, albeit momentarily, and the thread between the worlds stretched further and thinner each day—sometimes I could see and feel little to nothing, others I thought it might snap completely—I kept my vigil. There had been moments when I felt distant, unmaterial. Which is weird to say, considering that I am distant and unmaterial. (Dead, remember?) But as Nesta got lost in herself, I did too. Maybe that’s what my mother had felt when she’d forced herself to stay rooted in place, afraid to inhale and exhale too deeply as if she might start floating if her lungs stretched too much. Maybe that was a sign—my sign. It was time to let it go, to let it fall.

The bridge was crumbling. What had once been inside the Cauldron was now kept chained to the bottom of an icy core, not even an ember of it allowed out, and the flesh of its vessel was giving out. She was giving out—giving up.

Nesta Archeron was giving up.

Please, please, please…

They had tried a last, desperate attempt. I can’t tell how that went down—those days used to blend and blur with one another. It felt like having clouds inside my head. Would not recommend, not remotely as fun as it sounds. One moment I was in a darkened dumpster, the next in a lovely house with one too many people, and then I was going down, down, down some stairs.

My mind was crystal clear when Nesta took a wrong step and went tumbling down—ouch—and I kept it sharp and focused as she pressed her forehead against the wall and started… Pulling. I don’t think that was intentional—as anything that had to do with her power ever was—still, I reached out and pulled back, answering her call. Something had shifted then, and I found myself with a brand new asset: a House.

Safe to say, I peeked through that window as often as I could, helping Nesta get back on her feet in all the ways my brain managed to conjure. New books (her taste was immaculate), cakes and pastries (for her soul), keeping her warm but away from fires (she really did not like those), and, yes, even forcing her to talk when communication was needed. That had proven harder than I thought, especially since said communication took a wrong turn. Who knew someone could be so verbal and physical at the same time? The horny animals currently living in the House had a lot to say, apparently.

Still, Nesta was not the biggest fan of the well of power within her, but I kept trying to lead her toward the right direction—my direction, that is—leaving hints and clues any chance I got. A book here, some candles there, a crystal thrown in for good measure.

No one had ever opened a portal to the Afterworld—I could count on one hand the number of folks who dared try but had still hesitated to take that last, some might say even foolish, step. Myself included.

But Nesta Archeron was not no one. She was a very fancy, very powerful, very deadly someone.

If only she deigned to listen to me, goddammit—

I had almost managed to rope her into it, once. One foot inside the library and her gaze had snapped to the grimoire I’d left on the desk; she’d felt its presence immediately, heard that voiceless call. And had then proceeded to eye it in that wary but curious way of hers for a few moments. That was until Cassian had snatched her attention elsewhere. Nesta had very clear priorities.

So the book had stayed right where it was, and soon enough she’d sat down in front of it, resumed the interrupted staring contest, and then finally—finally!—opened it. Right to the bookmarked page. Good girl.

It didn’t take her long to read the chapter, her eyes eating up the words as they went, and soon enough she was sitting in silent contemplation. Again.

Get there faster, Archeron.

Well, at least now she knew. Small victories.

My kindness backfired, as everything in my (not)life seemed to do, because the two days of freedom I’d rewarded Nesta with had turned into two months, along with a mate—that took longer than I expected—, a miracle, and a nephew. None of this was part of the plan, for your information, but it made Nesta a lot happier. It also made me screech with jealousy. Little Nyxie should’ve been my nephew, too.

Pettiness was motivation enough for me to get back on track, and keep Nesta on a tight leash.

Day after day, I kept working my “insanely annoying for a House” magic—not my words—until, on one fated night, my patience and tyranny finally came to fruition.

Cassian was supposed to be back from Illyria for dinner, so Nesta, as the loving mate that she was, waited for him. Apparently, she also felt bored enough to take pity on my efforts and pick up the chalk, along with every trinket I’d ever given her, and took that final step. If I still had a beating heart, I’d say it was close enough to burst right out of my chest. Was this real? Was it happening?

I felt the cold breeze first. The whispers came right after, then the tingles.

Just as the sun slipped under the horizon, and the last ray of light went out; just as time stilled, stuck in a dance between day and night, I closed my eyes. The moon grinned down at the world, and so did I.

Nothing changed, nothing felt different. But I knew it was, it had to be, because—

A soft gasp reached my ear, and when I opened my eyes, Nesta was right in front of me.

I waited, too scared to move, as her eyes widened with surprise, then confusion, and then wonder. I knew the exact moment she registered the violet of my eyes, and the last piece of the puzzle snapped into place.

“Who are you?”

It sounded more demand than question, but I obliged her anyway.

“You already know who I am, Nesta Archeron.”

She swallowed, her delicate throat bobbing with the movement. “Humor me,” she breathed.

“My name is Selene, darling.”

[chopsueylou]

.

[takes1]

your needy Kenma smut was SOOO good omfg I was biting my fist reading it!! can i request a needy suna smut?

needy!suna rintarou x reader

hi!! so glad you liked it!! wow this took me so long i'm so sorry! i just could not find a way to write it without it being exactly the same as kenma's!

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / forbidden, established relationship / manager!reader / vocal!suna / whiny!suna / needy!suna / bratty!suna / liiiight mommy kink nobody freak tf out!! / suna has a cute laugh / creampie / raw cuddly sex / 1.9k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines. my request box

"Don't look at me like that, Rin'."

Your fingers were smushing the lower half of his face, angling his head away from you. His head stayed obediently forward at the center court, but those eyes were still piercing through you.

Through his fishy-lips, his words became jumbled together, "'can' helb i'--,"

It wasn't his fault he looked so mean, so critical when he focused in on something.

"I can't help it," He spat, rubbing his jaw.

Suna wasn't careful about his hand placement. The members of Inarizaki knew you had been dating for a time, but Coach Kurosu did not need a reason to question your managerial position.

When you pushed his hand away from your waist, his face scrunched; that mean and bitter look returned, tenfold.

A frustrated, hushed, but not quiet, "I want you."

Though it wasn't an appropriate time, place, or circumstance, it would be lie to say that it wasn't hot. The unique mixture of his assertive, court-like focus and lesser-known bedroom-only begging forced you to cross your arms.

"You-," You glanced around, thankful nobody heard that, "Have a game to focus on."

The attitude he gave was not only unwarranted, but it succeeded in making you less receptive. To you, it was obvious that he was only looking for an out. He was tired and halfway through a challenging match. You couldn't spare to be his partner right now, and he did not like that.

He sucked his teeth, tapped his foot, crossed his arms, worked his jaw, and gave you a sharp sigh, all within five minutes of angry silence.

What a whiny bastard.

You found his struggle almost amusing. At the moment, it was more important to maintain your focus, for the both of you.

Still, it kept you wondering throughout the remainder of the match: What had you possibly done to warrant such a strong response?

Every instance that he had to be around the bench, drinking water, a temporary switch-out, he would send you a deeply dissatisfied glance. You didn't justify it with a reaction. He was being bratty.

Though you were a prude, anti-PDA personality in public, especially around the team-- you were the one to push him back onto the mattress and throw his shirt across the room, once you were back at his place.

"Fuck--mnh!"

That pretty sigh was all he could get out before you were on top of him.

"Start talking," You muttered. Your shirt was off in seconds.

His breathing grew heavy, eyes black with lust at the sight of your pretty skin, his favorite bra he clocked earlier under your shirt- the whole reason his mind got to spinning.

Suna was kept this irritating, calculating, slithery persona up around his friends, and especially during matches, because he learned that it kept him safe. He didn't always like being so on edge. He wanted to trust somebody enough to tell them everything that passed through his mind, to be skin-to-skin and a little weird, because you were comfortable and safe.

Here, under you, after enough love and time, he knew he didn't need to waste energy on appearances.

"I- ah-h, I just wanted you so bad," Was his honest attempt at an explanation.

He sat up to touch you, kiss you, but you kept him to the sheets with a forearm.

"Are you trying to get me kicked out?"

Suna huffed, eyes bouncing from your face, to your confined tits, then back, "What?""

Your legs slid a bit further apart, weight settling better onto his warm lap, "If Coach finds out we're dating, you know I'm gone."

You snapped, just for emphasis, but he flinched, "Like that. In an instant."

He was painfully hard. You could feel him throbbing, even through his combo of athletic shorts and thick sweatpants. Despite the circumstances, you knew he was keen enough to understand that you were a little pissed off about his lack of restraint.

He was in that spot you liked seeing him work through. Struggling, deciding whether to be nice, or snarky.

"You're smarter than that, baby," Was much kinder of a statement in tone, but it tipped him off to be rude, instead.

Those narrowed eyes dripped down to your chest slow, sweet, like honey.

"Why'd you wear that, then?" He felt you stiffen. He placed a hot palm onto your hip to help his well-intentioned venom settle.

You couldn't believe that was his entire problem, summed up in five words.

"Are you really so dirty-minded that you could tell what bra I was wearing? Under my shirt?"

The call-out was meant to return his energy, but he responded in a more secure way than you.

"When it's you, yeah--," He sat up with ease, against your pushing, just to remind you that he could outclass your force if he wanted to. He caught your small frown and he corrected himself, "Yes, ma'am."

You gave a small hum, a low-lidded stare right back at him. He was so hot when he deferred to you.

It warranted a strong, messy kiss- all charged with hours of denial, suggestive glances, and too many minutes of clothed rubbing.

All your clothes came off in a range of easy to difficult, distracted efforts.

Suna lay under you, all flushed and twitchy with anticipation. Your hands flitted down his sensitive, strong sides, his cock crammed between your legs, getting spoiled and slick. Not inside, not just yet.

You loved tickling him just to hear his laugh.

And he'd tolerate anything with you gliding over his dick, like that. Giving him such a good view.

"Shhh-haha-h-ahh!" He bit his lip to keep from giggling, moaning, too much or too loudly.

That look he gave you was enough. All twisted, pleading, intelligent. Like he knew exactly what he said and how he said it, would get you turned on.

His sound was adorable, rare.

It was unrestrained, and light, cute, enough to understand why he kept it behind his hand around his friends. Sounded exactly like something a bunch of guys might make fun of him for.

"Hmm.. Let's cuddle fuck," You pressed a tingly kiss just under his ear.

You knew he was feeling lazy. Your job today wasn't easy, either. You wanted to feel close at the end of a busy day, more than anything.

Suna was warm, and tired, and tacky to the touch but it all added to how badly you wanted each other. It was a demanding match, and getting all upset with each other made it feel that much longer.

Slick, and hot, and easy was the adjustment to him. Nothing to do with his real size- you were just ready, after having to put up an act, as if you were too above all of it.

The panting you had to listen to on the sidelines, watching him miss his mouth with the squeezy bottle, all the sweat and water dripping onto his jersey, it ate at you, corroded the brick walls you put up. Even his frustrated glare was sexy. He couldn't stop looking at you, even with an important task at hand, or when his teammates needed him to focus.

Now he fucked you like your mean -still, justified- rejection was never a problem, like he was savoring you slowly.

"Yes-yes, yesyes," Suna swallowed up your moans in a greedy kiss.

"Mmh- how's that feel--?" You purred.

"So good," A satisfied groan, "Fuck- Got such a perfect pussy."

His hand kept your thigh up, your knee close to your shoulder. He inspired a gasp at how quickly he bottomed out to your teasing.

He stretched you so good, so easily, and kept your trembling steady in his grasp-- but every sound he made was shaky, barely held together, and never masked.

After three months, Suna decided at some point on his own that he could trust you enough to completely let go in the bedroom. Though he naturally gravitated to a more submissive role, he usually said some downright sleazy, vulgar shit to get his kicks.

"A-ha, h-fuc-k, aughh, you feel so good, you--," His breath clipped into a high, closed-mouth whine as he pulled you harder onto the base of his cock, just flexing hard, as deep as he could get.

Your teeth sunk into his pillowcase, fingers filled with plush.

The knowledge that he loved it, but couldn't ever get as deep as he wanted, had your strength waning. Squeezing, bracing, at all the butterflies tired you out.

Although, if it were a competition, Suna had you beat by a mile. The drooling, whiny mess behind you may have had enough to strength to use his body weight to keep you smushed, but you could tell he was sloppier, clumsier, with exhaustion.

He buried his face in your neck.

"I-I'h- needed you so bad," His moan was so light and breathy- like he was swimming on Cloud 9-, "So-h, so... fucking...bad."

Your uncontrollable squirm to get away from the sensation was met with instant crushing. Even if you wanted your thigh back, it would never happen.

"Mh-h-! Rin-," You tried to speak, but he was hitting all your angles just right, so you stopped.

His words were twisting up that knot in your tummy, the trap of his arms a steady, innocent backdrop to how filthy he decided to fuck you.

Slurred mutters, consisting of mostly nonsense syllables and phrases, sometimes bred real messages like, "So hot," "Mommy," "So much," and, "'Can't take it."

His yapping, you thought, may have been a way of making up for how little he spoke, usually. You were generally much quieter than him here, but outside of the bedroom, the opposite remained true. It was cute.

"M'so- close-mh," His groans were short, choked on pleasure, his squeezing desperate and uneven.

The idea of him finishing close, hugging you, just like this, was too hot to let not happen.

You gathered yourself to tell him, "C-um-- Mh, inside, pretty boy."

"F-uck!" That tone completely tipped him over the edge.

Your grin was to yourself, twitchy and genuine, before the feeling of fullness set in.

He was left to fuck out his load as deep inside of you as he could get, "Fuckfu-ck- Ahh-hh-!"

Your nails dragged across his skin- the white hot, pulsing enough to spur a sudden orgasm. Dark lines remained in their wake as your muffled whines filled his ears.

And Suna was nothing if not dedicated. He fucked you as well as he could through your own, whinier, less violent experience. His breath, laden in the resolution of his own, was hot and tingly across your sensitive ear.

You squeezed his arm to stop and he finally let your leg down.

"Hm...sorry," He mumbled into a peck against your cheek, "You okay?"

Sore, and achy, you shared a giggly kiss. He softened naturally and you readjusted to hold each other, warm and soft, with chemical infatuation.

"Mhmm," You stole a longer, slower kiss.

Those pretty eyes watched you, worshipped you, as you rubbed your hand across his jaw.

"Perfect."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu my request box

[bluemoondelight]

I keep thinking about the line "You're not welcome here, you're not welcome anywhere" because that means that Logan was driven away everywhere he went, that he was unwelcome at every turn. I just can't help but wonder what Logan was doing to care for himself for all those years after the incident. Like did he always have a place to sleep at night? Did he manage to get a meal in him every day or did he go days without eating? When he eventually did get kicked out of a bar after drinking himself to the point of blacking out, was it normal for him to just wake up in an alley or on a bench somewhere? Logan didn't even try to fight back with the bartender, did he ever just let people beat him up because it's what he thought he deserved? Did he ever get dumped on the edge of town somewhere after he got jumped by some anti-mutant assholes for daring to step into a motel to get a place to sleep?

Can you imagine what he felt when Wade asked him to stay with him at his apartment? Someone actually thinking about his needs, his wellbeing for once instead of turning him away? The feeling of being able to take a shower, to be able to get regular meals, to have a real bed to sleep in at night? Do you think Logan feels overwhelmed by Wade's kindness because he was just surviving for so long he forgot what it was like to have a home? For Wade it's so easy to provide for Logan, it's as natural as breathing. "Of course we can order takeout, what do you want to eat? You pick tonight, peanut, my treat." And then he's so shocked when Logan breaks down at such a simple thing but to Logan it's more kindness than anyone has ever shown him for decades? Do you think Al ever senses that Logan is not used to being taken care of, so she holds his hand and tells him that he's okay? That he's safe now, he doesn't have to worry about a thing, and she has to rub his back when he starts crying because he's not used to such kind words?

Can you imagine how Wade feels when he wakes up at night to find Logan crying while he's holding him so tightly, and he finds out it's not because he had a nightmare but because he finally feels loved and safe and taken care of? And how that fucks Wade up because *he* finally felt loved and accepted regardless of what he looked like or what he did with his life? And then they lay there crying into each other because they're both so grateful that they have each other?

[ossiethegreat]

hue makes an appearance again.. if any of yall know me from tiktok and saw my first post about him ily

don’t mind me @toffeebrew @howlsofbloodhounds

Yapping below \/

So initially he didn’t have much of a story because I’m not very creative and I blank out whenever I try to make something original so yeah.

basically, if Color were ever to get error-d, I think he would be on a hike, probably in some random AU that had nice scenery or something. He’s wearing a rain jacket because it was raining at the place he was, and he he just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and Error or some other entity was destroying it or something. As for how he got into the anti void,,, yall can use ur imagination 😭

(That’s the best explanation I can give, kill me)

I was more focused on the actual character than his backstory, so I’ll just explain my ideas of how he would act and such..

I called him Static Hue, or just Hue for short. (It’s a synonym of color I’m very creative guys)

I think whatever caused the error in his code amalgamated the human souls, and kind of made them fuse together, so Hue can never understand what they are saying because they speak over each other all the time. The different traits overlap and he feels mixed emotions all the time, along with intense mood swings and anxiety attacks. His flames also change color at a much faster rate, so people with epilepsy will stay FAR away from him 😭😭😭😭

Fun fact: he’s also blind. The only thing he can actually see is the color of his flames (which change all the time), and it tends to give him headaches and nausea. His grabblings are always out and just attached to his back so he can use them to move around.

As for the strings, they are very hot to the touch and leave burn marks on however he uses them on. They burn himself as well but he doesn’t pay any attention to it.

Hue’s memory is very jumbled, he didn’t necessarily forget about everything, but he doesn’t remember why exactly he does things. He knows he needs to help killer and protect him at all costs, but he isn’t sure why. He knows he hates Nightmare and REALLY wants that guy dead, but he doesn’t know where that hatred came from. And of course he naturally feels safer near the epic trio, and nervous staying in the same places for too long.

hue’s pretty obsessive over Killer for this reason. His need to help killer was multiplied by a gazillion, and he tends to just.. kidnap Killer and take him random places to keep him close. Sometimes he accidentally hurts him, but he doesn’t realize it, the only thing he can think about is keeping him safe and close to himself. On the contrary, he gets super aggressive and defensive at the mention of Nightmare, and if he were to see him face to face he would attack without hesitation. He knows his job is to keep Killer safe and away from Nightmare, and that’s really his only motive. He just doesn’t know where it came from.

Similarly to most errors, he has trouble speaking because of stuttering and glitches. He also can’t form very clear thoughts because the souls are constantly influencing his behavior. He has trouble explaining his thoughts and feelings, he tends to speak more in actions (as in he would crush you to death in a hug to show affection.)

anyway. If anyone wants to add onto this or share thoughts I’d appreciate it..

Here’s some older drawings of him LMAO

[kettlefire]

It's not you, it's me. (DPxDC)

Long post, but short plot info or progression wise!

Danny loves his parents, don't get him wrong. They weren't perfect by any means, but they tried. As hard as it was for him to come to terms with, it's okay. Really.

It's okay that Jazz had been the one to raise him. It's okay that his parents talked about wanting to rip him apart during mealtime. It's okay they didn't notice the way ghostly things attached to Danny. It's okay that they never paid enough attention to put his secret together.

It's okay because they weren't bad parents. Not as bad as they could be. Yes, they could be a little reckless. Yes, they had their problems. But the good times were there.

Saturday morning fudge cooking with Jack. Late night self-defense class with Maddie. Tinkering in the lab with both of them. Even the normal embarrassing moments were good.

Because his parents are awesome. They are absolutely cool, and they did their best. As best as they could.

That's why it hurt so much to leave.

It hurt to leave Amity Park, but it hurt more to leave his family. He felt it deep in his core, the pain of having to separate from those he loves. Those he needed to protect.

But it was time. If Danny wanted to protect them, he needed to leave. So, he did. He almost didn't say goodbye. Almost didn't want to face it all.

His friends were easy to say goodbye to, but it still hurt just as much. Sam and Tucker, they understood why he had to go. Same with Jazz. There were talks about other ideas and plans so that Danny didn't need to leave. But he had to. There was no other option.

But Danny needed to tell his parents everything. Tell them about his accident, tell them that he was Phantom. He couldn't just say bye and leave with no explanation. So he bit the bullet and did it.

It went well. Better than good, it was amazing. And Danny wished he could stick around to see the changes in his parents' work because of it.

Danny has cried enough times this past week than he was sure he cried his whole life. He had his fill, he doubt he could cry again soon.

For everyone's safety, Danny Fenton left Amity Park. Phantom had vanished from the streets. Amity Park was safe. The Anti-Ecto laws, the GIW, all of it. They wouldn't target Amity Park anymore.

It was a lot of work to get the other ghosts on board. But after Clockwork confirmed everything, it all set into motions. The world was free of ghosts, but Danny wasn't sure how long the others could stay away.

He needed a plan, needed to get the government to understand ghosts. But there was nothing Danny could truly do. He was just a kid.

He is just a kid. Just a kid leaving in a small apartment right by a place nicknames crime alley. But Danny liked it. Gotham had enough noise and ambient ectoplasm to keep him safe. It would be hard for anyone to find him.

He was safe. Safe for once. But Danny knew it wouldn't last long.

The problem here? Danny was all alone. He didn't have his team to contact. Didn't have Sam or Jazz to tell him that a plan was downright stupid. Didn't have Tucker to back up the stupid plans that could actually work.

That's how he ended up in space.

Danny loves space, and he wished he was visiting in better circumstances. Thankfully, the vacuum of space had no impact on Danny's ghost form. It was harder than he expected to find what he was looking for.

God, Danny wished Tucker was here. The techno-nerd was a wiz with the computer. Amazing at hacking and tracking in a way Danny couldn't understand.

But Danny didn't have Tucker. He didn't have anyone right now. He couldn't have anyone right now.

Even so, Danny found it. Found the secret space base for the Justice League. It was a struggle, but he found it. And for once, his luck was on his side.

The whole team was there. Well, the main ones you see on the news and in the paper. All sitting around a giant table, a whole meeting was happening.

Danny took one shuddering breath in before phasing into the Watchtower invisibly. He was honestly surprised when no alarms went off. No defenses were triggered. He made a mental note to give them some ghost detection equipment if things go well.

Except things didn't go well. At least not the way Danny had been hoping.

He silently made his way to the table, standing a bit of a distance from them. Just in case he needed to run. His eyes jumped between the different heroes.

Danny steeled his nerves, at least tried to. He stood directly across from Batman, in the perfect spot to be noticed instantly. Then he dropped his invisibility.

All eyes were on him in an instance. Danny never felt so terrified in his life. Not like this. His attempt at steeling his nerves failed immediately.

Maybe the anxiety and fear was clear on his face. Maybe it's because he is a child, despite glowing and being someplace he shouldn't be. But Danny vaguely heard a soft, gentle voice speak to him.

He couldn't make it out, not really. His ears were filled with the sounds of his rushing ectoplasm. A tremble settled in his hands, and Danny knew he needed to hurry up. He needed to speak before he lost all his cool.

"I... Sorry, I know I shouldn't be here... But, uh, my name's Phantom... And I... I..."

The words stumbled and spilled from Danny in a less than elegant and confident way. The shaking in his hands got worse the more he tried to speak. His voice shaky and waivering, even when he tried to sound strong.

And Danny couldn't pull his gaze away from Batman. The cape crusader stood unmoving, unphased, and completely silent. The other heroes had a mixed of expression, but Danny couldn't read Batman.

That unnerved the teen so much. In that moment, he regretted ever coming here. He regretted leaving Amity Park. He regretted telling his parents. He regretted ever stepping foot in that damn portal to begin with.

Then something snap inside of Danny. The dam that was holding everything in just suddenly broke. In a split second, his vision grew blurry with tears.

Even though he didn't need to breathe, his breathing started to pick up. Fast and short. He could feel the phantom feeling of a heart beating rapidly in his chest. Or maybe it was his core warning him of the sudden wave of emotions rocking through him.

"I... I... Help."

The single word, the single plea, spilled from Danny in a pathetic whimper. Before he suddenly dropped to his knees. He curled in on himself. Arms wrapped tightly around himself, head bowed and white hair curtaining his face. Tears fell fast down his cheeks, leaving droplets on the floor, as choked sobs left him.

In that moment, Danny didn't feel like a hero. Didn't feel like Phantom. Didn't feel like the ghostly hero that was in charge of fixing everything.

In that moment, Danny felt like a scared little kid. A kid who was given too much too fast, with no real guidance. A kid that had to grow up fast and had people depending on him. A kid who was exhausted and terrified. A kid that wanted nothing more than to run home. To be wrapped up in a Jack Fenton Bear Hug. To feel his mother's hand combing through his hair as she whispered gentle reassuring words to him.

In the end, Danny Fenton was still just a kid. And it seemed the Justice League could see that.

Danny couldn't focus on the words he heard spoken around him. He couldn't focus on the moments either. He couldn't focus on anything.

Until suddenly, arms were wrapped around him in a gentle and warm embrace. He felt something draped over his back. Danny blinked the blurriness in his vision just enough to make out who was in front of him.

Batman. The hero that scared Danny the most seconds ago.

Except this time, even through the cowl, Batman looked softer. The man looked human and understanding. It made Danny's mind flash to his parents once again. Which only made him cry harder.

A glowing kid was wrapped up in Batman's arms, the two kneeling on the ground. Batman's cape wrapped around the trembling, sobbing form. The kid clinging to Batman like a lifeline. The rest of the Justice League stood around the two.

Nobody quite knowing what the hell they were supposed to do. Or what was really going on.

All those heroes needed to know was simple enough. There was a kid who went through all this trouble to end up in the Watchtower. A kid that's so hurt and exhausted, pleading for help. And helping was the Justice League's specialty.

[caninepoetryrelator]

Liquid Luck

Carl Grimes x Reader (16+)

Aged up Carl Grimes x Reader soft smut

Synopsis: Carl and you are not friends. So what’s gonna happen when you’re locked in a room together with a bottle of whiskey?

Warnings: Dick, dick getting sucked, no fully blown sex just oral, Carl is a cutie, also it’s a zombie apocalypse there’s gonna be zombies, plus various weapons and very brief nondescript violence.

Words: 3,843

It all started with a bad raid. We figured we could sneak into the pharmacy, get the medicine for Hershel, and then get out without attracting any attention.

Rick and Daryl stayed outside and kept watch while he sent you and Carl to take care of the rest.

That was it, straightforward, in and out.

Or at least it had been.

A week prior Glenn had put a boombox on the rooftop of the place to attract the walkers out and up instead of prowling the streets and the building.

The windows were almost all broken. Either by walkers or raiders, we didn’t know. But it sure was convenient when the door turned out to be locked.

You watched Carl adjust the brim of his hat and narrow his eyes at a broken square window a few feet above his head.

“I think I can fit,” he stated firmly, casting you a sidelong glance, quickly looking back at Rick when you made eye contact.

He had never been outright rude to you; he had never been anything to you. He had only introduced himself with a short greeting and a tight smile. He seemed much more open with everyone else yet standoffish around you.

“The kid can fit too,” agreed Daryl, nodding towards you. He’d always called you that despite you being the same age as Carl.

Carl’s face dropped as he glanced at you again. “I can do it by myself.”

“No, you can’t,” ordered Rick. “We don’t know how many walkers are still in there. You’re taking her with you.”

He sighed. Did he really not like you this much?

Before you had come to a conclusion Daryl had laid a leather jacket over the jagged glass in the frame before he and Rick boosted Carl into the window.

“I’ll make sure it’s safe!” He hollered from inside the building. There was some scuffling inside for a moment before he yelled “It’s clear!”

Next thing you knew you were standing in their respective interlaced fingers and they boosted you up to the window. You grabbed the edges and dove in. It wasn’t until you let go of the window frame that you realized that you, unlike Carl, were falling face first instead of feet first.

Luckily, you were met with the last type of relief you expected. Carl grabbed your waist, slowing your descent enough to use your own momentum to turn you so you landed on your feet. His hands linger on your waist as you stand chest to chest with him. You look up at him through your lashes, breathing heavily. His face is red, probably from exertion.

Just before you can thank him he pulls quickly away, looking down nervously. You lower your head into his line of sight so that he makes eye contact with you.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile.

He nods shortly before taking out his knife and heading towards a door. “This way.”

You follow him, Michonee’s old sword she had given you in hand as you follow him closely, checking your surroundings avidly. Both of you continuously glanced up at the ceiling, which creaked under the weight of anywhere from fifty to one hundred walkers.

Your shoe nudged something on the ground— a bottle of whiskey. You quickly stooped and picked it up, putting it in one of the pockets of your oversized cargos.

You make your way to the back of the building, into the section where the pills are stored.

“What are we looking for again?” You ask.

“Promethazine, it’s anti-nausea medication for throwing up. Hershel’s worried the vomit from people with the flu in town could make it more contagious.” He replies, examining bottles instead of looking at you.

With a soft frown at his bland attitude, you wander to the ‘P’ section, browsing for promethazine.

You found five prefilled prescriptions made out to various, probably now dead, people.

“Carl,” you call, holding up a handful of amber pill bottles.

“Nice one,” he says, a genuine smile on his face. The first time he’s smiled at you. It was a nice smile. You felt your face heat up as you smiled as well.

Carl turned around for you to put the meds in his backpack. You brush his hair out of the way and he whips his head around immediately.

“W-what’re you doing back there?”

“Making sure your hair doesn’t get caught in the zipper,” you reply simply.

He relaxes as you unzip the bag and place the medications inside.

Just as you were zipping the beg, a loud creaking sound resounded from the ceiling. Carl and you glanced at each other with wide eyes.

“This way,” he commanded, taking your hand and leading — practically dragging — you through the pharmacy. The thumping on the roof was becoming more prominent and you could hear gunshots from outside.

You were practically running now as the sounds became nearly overwhelming. You were near the doctor's office section of the building when the ceiling began to give.

“Shit,” you muttered as the ceiling tiles began to fall.

Carl’s hand was on your waist again, this time snatching you out of the way of something falling— a walker, collapsed on the ground where you had just been standing.

Everything was happening so fast, and next thing you knew the ground was littered with walkers, all focused on the two of you. Your sword could only do so much as you slashed at the hoard, managing to take out two in one blow as you attempted to keep them at bay.

When Carl’s hands were on your waist again this time you didn’t question it— he snatched you backwards and into a room, where he slammed the door closed and locked it.

It was a check up office; it contained white brick walls and linoleum tile. In the corner was an oak desk with a monitor and sanitary supplies stacked on it. There was a cot against the opposite wall and various equipment hanging from the walls.

The thudding at the door where Carl stood jarred you back to reality, spurring you to grab the desk and shove at it. It had to be at least four hundred pounds. Carl pulled from the other side and together you managed to use it to barricade the door. He collapsed against the cot, panting.

You joined him, holding up your hands in a calming gesture as he looked at you with a shaky, nervous expression.

“Well, shit,” he muttered with an ironic chuckle.

“Probably gonna be in here for a while,” you sighed.

“Yeah,” he muttered bitterly.

Why don’t you like me?

The words almost came out of your mouth, but it wasn’t the right time. Instead you just looked at him, with a resigned expression.

You take the whiskey from your pocket and open it, taking a swig. After drinking with Daryl it didn’t phase you too much anymore, but he stared at you with a shocked expression, cheeks dusted pink.

“Where did you get that?”

“Store,” you replied simply, holding out the bottle to him.

After a moment of hesitation he took it, taking a swig with a grimace. “How do you drink that shit?” He laughs.

He laughed. A real laugh. It’s your first time hearing it. You want to hear more of it.

“Daryl,” you explain simply and he nods with a groan.

“I see,” he takes another drink and passes the bottle back to you.

It’s called liquid courage for a reason, you think. That’s all the convincing it takes for you to start chugging the bottle. You get about five swallows down before Carl’s hands, one on the bottle and one on your jaw, stop you from going further.

“Don’t overdo it,” he chides you gently.

You nod dumbly, watching a drop make its way down his neck, tracing his adam’s apple as he takes another drink. You notice the way his lips pucker around the mouth of the bottle and you force yourself to look away.

After a moment of silence he speaks again.

“Wanna play truth or dare?”

You look at him in surprise, hesitating for a moment.

“Only if you want to—” he starts nervously before you cut him off with a simple statement.

“Sure.”

He looks at you in relief, clearly afraid to have overstepped before smiling, a bit anxiously. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you don’t hesitate; they really do call it liquid courage for a reason.

He glanced around the room before his eyes land on the stethoscope. “I dare you to give me a checkup?” He phrases it as a question so you don’t feel forced. Cute.

You grab various medical equipment, wrapping the stethoscope around your neck with a drunken grin. “I’m your doctor, I’ll be giving you your physical,” you say in your best attempt at a deep voice. You were clearly already drunk. Normally you would’ve felt stupid but with the heartwarming giggle he let out paired with an over dramatic eyeroll, you felt nothing but at ease.

As you begin measuring his heart rate he swallows hard, his pink cheeks darkening to red. His heart thumped steadily; quickly.

“Truth or dare,” you murmur as you measure his vitals.

“Uh…” he swallowed hard, eyes flickered from your hands against his chest to your face, feigning focus. “Dare.”

“Take your shirt off,” you say with an innocent grin. He blanches, surprised. “To check your vitals better. Only if you want to.” You assure him sweetly.

In a moment he was struggling to pull his shirt off, disoriented from the alcohol.

Next thing you know your hands are running down his sides to the hem of his shirt. Halfway through struggling out of his shirt he looks up at you from his sitting position, face still read and panting. You gently tug his shirt upwards, prompting him to pull his arms through the holes and you pull it over his head.

You giggle at the state of his hair, correcting it without hesitation.

“Real soft,” you muse as you gently sweep his hair out of his face. The poor boy looks overwhelmed as he stares up at you, arms wrapped around himself nervously.

You gently move the arm he has wrapped around his chest, pressing the stethoscope there once more. His heart is beating almost worryingly fast.

“You okay hon?” You ask gently.

“Mhm,” he manages, seeming to have a hard time speaking.

“Okay,” you murmur, putting the stethoscope on various places around his chest, pretending to know what you’re doing.

“Truth- uh truth or dare,” he chokes out.

“Dare,” you repeat, this time even more sure than the last.

“Can you uhm.. touch my hair again?” He wasn’t making eye contact at all now, seemingly fascinated by his jeans as he stares down, still adorned by that bright blush.

In a second your hands are in his hair. Even when you hadn’t been talking you were fascinated by his hair. Rick had caught you staring several times and always met you with a soft smile or a laugh, whereas Daryl arched his eyebrow with a slight grin.

His hair really was soft, soft as hell. You rubbed a single strand between your fingers before trailing your fingers from his roots to the ends of his hair. You secure your hands around his scalp, threading your fingers through his hair as you continue to play with it, enamored.

You hadn’t even noticed his face, eyes closed, mouth open, breathing deeply.

You lean in closer and murmur by his ear. “Truth or dare.”

His eyes flicker open and he breathes for a moment. “Truth.”

“Why do you avoid me back at camp?” He froze.

“I-I don’t,” he lied, resulting in a small tug to his hair. He draws in a sharp breath, looking up at you surprised.

“Don’t lie,” you chide.

“You make me nervous,” he admitted after a moment of silence. “People usually don’t make me nervous, but you do.” He was once again apparently entranced by his jeans so you cup his jaw gently, bringing his gaze up to meet your own.

“I like making you nervous. But not all the time. I like talking to you, Carl,” you explain in a soft voice.

He looks up at you with a genuine involuntary smile.

“Really?” He breathes.

“Yes,” you whisper, realizing how much closer you had gotten, your hand still settled on his jaw.

“Um… truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you repeat, adamant on forcing him out of his comfort zone.

“Is it okay if I— can I please, uhm—“

“Do whatever you want, Carl,” you interrupt him. “I trust you.”

His eyes widen at that and he finally rises to his feet. A familiar feeling. His hands on your waist. His grasp is awkward this time, less sure of himself when he’s not saving your life. When it’s a choice to be touching you.

He tugs you a bit closer and his eyes flicker to your lips. You know what he’s trying to do and you know he’s scared to do it.

Your hands are still in his hair and you use that to your advantage, pulling him towards you and letting him close the distance, giving you a hesitant kiss. His lips are a little chapped, but they’re plush and soft. He tastes like whiskey, and you’re sure you do too. He’s inexperienced; this might be his first kiss, you realize.

You follow that kiss with another chaste one pressed against his lips ever so gently.

“Feel good?” You murmur, forehead resting against his with your eyes closed.

“Mhm,” he hums, barely audible as he lets out another shakey breath. You know his eyes are closed too.

You’re both reveling. In each other's presence. Just breathing each other in as his arms move to loosely wrap around your waist instead of simply placing his hands there.

There it is. That’s right.

His hands on your waist were sweet but his arms encircling your waist was just right.

You pull him in for another slow kiss, heads tilted, mouth moving and prompting his to do the same, teaching him as best you could without saying a word.

“Wow,” he gasps against your lips. You try to give him a chance to explain his exclamation by pulling away, but he pulls you back in.

You slide your tongue over his bottom lip, hoping for him to part his lips a bit more and in response he gives your tongue a light suck, pulling it into his mouth and letting out a soft whine as he does.

Your kiss evolves in passion as his hand starts traveling over your body. It slides up your waist and onto your ribs, just shy of your boob. The other stays securely wrapped around your waist as though he’s attempting to anchor you to him.

As much as you adore the feeling of his lips, you pull away. His brow furrows, eyes still shut as he leans forward for another kiss, his lips chasing yours with a small sound of displeasure after you pull away.

You tug his hair, gently prompting him to tilt his head to the side to give you access to his neck. You start by pressing soft kisses there, a trail from his jaw to the base of his neck, before retracing your steps with parted lips, allowing yourself to taste the sweet musky skin of his neck.

He lets out a choked whimper before covering his mouth with his hand. Not on your watch. You immediately grab his hand, pulling it down to your tit. He lets out a shakey gasp as he grasps at the soft flesh, groaning softly as he squeezes experimentally.

“Thank you..” he murmurs, eyes still screwed shut.

“Of course sweetheart,” you smile against his neck. He shivers at the nickname, giving you a minor power trip.

You begin sucking the flesh of his neck into your mouth where you begin biting gradually before biting harder to leave dark marks. You leave one by his jaw before remembering Rick, and what his reaction would be. You press a quick kiss to the mark before shoving him down on the cushioned exam cot, straddling him.

That’s when you notice the tent in his pants. He glances down at the point where your crotches met, biting his lip nervously. “S-sorry—” he started.

“Don’t be,” you assure him, leaning down to begin littering his chest with kisses.

You start the marks by his collarbone, before moving down to his chest. He was whimpering without restraint now, back arched.

His hand was moving up your body, down your arm, and to your hand. He held your hand, giving it a soft squeeze before simply holding your hand.

“Can I.. can I have—” he cut himself off with a small whimper before you stopped your ministrations.

“Use your words sweetheart.”

He groans slightly at that. “Can I— I wanna kiss.” He squeezes your hand again.

You lean up and meet him halfway with a soft kiss. He’s better now. He’s more prepared. You run your tongue along his bottom lip and he gladly parts them, granting you entry. He opens his mouth a bit too wide, but you don’t mind. You pull back slightly, pulling away and following it with a chaste, soft kiss before continuing where you left off– his chest.

You continue sucking dark hickies along his chest, leaving a trail of bites and kisses down to his belly. A faint covering of dark hairs spreads from just about his belly button, trailing down to below the band of his jeans.

You let out a soft sigh of desire, lightly caressing his happy trail with the tip of your fingers. He shudders softly and you watch his cock twitch through his jeans. He begins to apologize again, cutting himself off with a soft groan when you plant a firm kiss to where his happy trail disappears under his jeans.

You tug softly at the button on his jeans. “Can I?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

He blinks in shock, looking down at you with wide eyes and a flushed face, mouth agape. “A-are you sure?”

“Yes,” you chuckle.

He responds with a small nod, still clearly shocked. You make quick work of undoing his pants, tugging them down before looking up at him with a small nod, prompting him to climb to his feet and shed his pants, quickly clambering back onto the bench. You swing your leg over the base of his thighs, straddling them.

You’re quick to feel him up, groping at his straining cock.

Freeing his cock you glance up at him in surprise, He’s packing. Six, maybe seven inches, not too wide – you could probably fit your hand perfectly around it – with a pretty pink tip, practically dripping precum. You test your earlier theory by experimentally wrapping your hand around his cock, eliciting a whine from him.

He swallows hard before looking down at you. “Are you s-sure? You’re comfortable?”

You nod. “I want to do this for you sweet boy.”

He smiles softly, letting his head fall back and his eyes flutter shut. “Thank you,” he sighs happily.

You lean down and kiss the head of his cock, causing him to jolt slightly. After lapping at the slit of his cock you take the head into your mouth. He gasps, bucking his hips.

Without warning you grab him by the hips and force him back against the cot which draws another whimper out of him as he pathetically attempts to squirm his hips closer to your mouth. You tut your tongue and pull away until he stops moving.

“Please,” he whines, struggling.

You decide to grant mercy on the poor boy, taking his head into your mouth once again. One arm forcing his hips against the table, you wrap the other hand around his cock and gently squeeze. He sighs happily, breath hitching as you begin moving your hand. Rotating it gradually as you move your hand up and down, you allow some of your saliva to drip from the head of his cock into your hand.

You use it as lubricant to begin pumping your hand up and down his cock faster, limp wristed as you continue lapping at the head of his cock. He arches his back more and whines.

Just as you begin taking more of his cock into your mouth his hand flies to the back of your head, threading his fingers through your hair before squeezing, clearly doing his best to hold back from pulling your hair too hard.

“Mmh..” he moans softly, gripping at your hair firmly and applying slight pressure.

Suddenly you take as much as possible into your mouth, deepthroating him without warning. He lets out a sharp moan, gripping your hair tighter before releasing his grip in a slight panic as he realizes what he’s doing– it’s cute how hard he’s trying to hold back.

You use your tongue mostly, swirling it around his cock to the best of your ability as you begin bobbing your head up and down. You use one hand to massage his hard balls, ready to burst already. With that you remember that he’s a virgin, and you probably shouldn’t be teasing him so much.

This whole time he’s been making the most lewd noises, moaning and letting out small whimpers to the rhythm of you bobbing your head. His cock twitches in your mouth, prompting you to go faster to help him through.

You release his hips and meet his eyes when he gives you a confused glance, silently giving him permission. Experimentally, he bucks his hips, moaning before falling into a steady rhythm, his hips rising and falling shakily against your mouth.

He grips your hair even tighter, bringing tears to your eyes as you gag on his cock. After less than ten seconds he releases his load down your throat. Despite your attempts to swallow it dribbles out of your mouth and down his cock.

The low groan he had released had tapered off into a moan, sighing as he finally collapsed from his high. As he lays there, chest heaving, you slowly climb on top of him, collapsing there and cuddling into him.

He turns and kisses the top of your head, his wide smile unknown to you.

“I think I’m less nervous around you now,” he murmurs into your hair.

You smile softly as he places his hand on your waist once again. “Good,”

Thank god for liquid courage.

They cleared the pharmacy of walkers eventually, and by the time they reached you the two of you were cleaned up.

You came out swinging, having to run to the truck.

The two of you ended up so battered and bruised Rick didn’t even think to mention the bruise at the base of Carl’s jaw, and the one on his collarbone, just visible when he wore tank tops.

You saved the whiskey for next time.

[ribombee-lapidarym]

So, we've been doing some research on which platforms are best/worst for being openly endo/pro-endo on

Disclaimer: this applies only if you are going to be actively interacting with / coming across plural spaces in these socials

More in-depth info under cut

Tumblr: you know it, you love it, you're currently on it. Tumblr is near undoubtedly the best social media to be endo/pro endo on (that we've found). Users / followers of pro endo tags outnumber users / followers of anti endo tags, which, while definitely existing along with anti-endo blogs, are far less popular, as well as being full mostly of posts that aren't even about endos or even sometime plurality in general, they're more just regular posts tagged with it just to ensure the "icky endos" stay away from their posts.

Bluesky: anti endos are far more common to encounter on Tumblr, but are still generally outnumbered by pro endos. Most mentions of endos just have them on DNI lists from antis or people doing syscourse.

Pinterest: honestly we should have put Pinterest next to Twitter on this list, they're about the same. Anyway, you can't really do text posts though you can definitely find anti endo userboxes and flags, but there's also quite a few endos / pro endos on there. They seem to number about the same

Twitter/X: surprisingly good! A fair few systems on there state being radplur/radinclus, even if they don't explicitly state they're pro endo. We saw just as many people supporting endos as we did hating on them, though syscourse doesn't seem to be discussed often on there.

Instagram: anti endos appear to outnumber pro endos by a little bit. The top few posts we saw were about 50% "why endos are bad" 40% "why endos are okay" and 10% "why fakeclaiming in general is bad (this does not extend to endos)". Overall, fairly negative place to be, try to avoid.

Youtube: 95% of videos about endos are information videos about them or "why I don't support endos" or "why are endos problematic". Syscourse is not a popular topic there, videos are 1000 views at max. There are definitely better places to be endo / pro endo

Tiktok: absolute hell for endos and pro endos alike. Next to no pro endos, next to no usage of the proendo tag, home of Asp*nfr*st*n. For your own safety and mental health, if you use tiktok, do not publically announce you are endo. It is better to stay away from the plurality side in general, to be honest.

Reddit: not on this list. This is because, due to how separated communities are, Reddit is Schrodinger's syscourser: both anti and pro endo at the same time, depending on which plural communities you frequent.

Hope this is helpful! :]

Let us know if you want us to investigate another social media we didn't mention, we're happy to do so.... for a price (the price is you asking us :P. We will not charge someone for making sure they are safe to be themselves on the Internet ^_^)

Quick tag in case its interested: @furyfuzz

And transparent blank template for this arrow we made:

[porcelain-gal]

random things i've scripted

i never embarrass myself.

no one ever throws up on me.

no one ever hears me pooping.

everything works out in my favor.

all parties i go to are fun and lively.

people are always willing to help me.

i have my house address memorized.

i don’t get bad second hand embarrassment.

i’ll never get a tattoo or body modification that i’ll regret.

i never get a stiff neck from laying, sleeping or sitting weird.

whenever i get cocky, it’s perfectly justified because i am that bitch.

my nails (both hand and toe) don't catch on or scrape against things.

i am never an angry or abusive drunk (i'm taking no risks with my bloodline.)

my ears never get damaged when blasting anything at a high or full volume.

grease isn’t hard to wash off of stuff and doesn’t leave stains on any of the dishes i use.

i can tell when an animal is showing specific kinds of behavior (e.g., casual, affectionate, hostile, etc.)

you can't shame me for shit. i always own the shit i've done with my chest and can acknowledge when i'm wrong.

all the places i stay, especially hotels, have completely soundproof walls unless i don't want them to be for a reason or i scripted a scenario or whatever.

the majority of humans commonly can live up to 200 (i'm not human in most of my drs and ion want my human friends just dying on me too quick.)

i'm pretty good at regulating my emotions and i never let them get out of hand to the point where i'm impulsively or thoughtlessly hurting someone or something.

i enjoy rollercoasters, fair rides, etc., and have no fear of them. plus all of the ones i go on are completely safe, stable, and fully-functioning and no one ever gets hurt on them.

my disorders rarely cause me issues with physical intimacy (sexual and non-sexual) and if they do, there's always simple ways around the issues that doesn't really inconvenience me or anyone else.

whenever i commission someone or pay for a service, i always pay exactly on time or sometimes even before. i never allow people that work for me or give me any kind of service go unpaid or unsupported.

none of my friends, followers/fan, family members, or anyone i am currently aquatinted with or will be aquatinted with ever had a racist/homophobic/sexist/etc phase nor do they support/defend that type of thing.

i never slam any part of my body into doors, windows, books, and vice versa (i slammed my finger into my grandma's front door once and it took literal years to turn back to its normal color. plus it hurt like shit so NEVER again.)

any online creator who has harmed, is harming, or is attempting to harm any other creator without valid and justifiable reasoning has their platform taken away and can never get said platform back nor are they able to rebrand and start over.

i always give the best advice for people when they ask me things. like the advice i give leaves people with new perspectives and hope and all. and i also deliver it in a very good way that doesn’t offend or make people or uncomfortable or feel like they’re being berated or whatever. it’s just incredible advice delivered in the best way without sounding bad or sketchy.

anti-shifter, proship/profic, ageplay, pro ana, bigot/incel, and any variation dni

[aeternus-art]

"You are Not Your Body, Not Your Mind, Or Your Brain-

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Not your thoughts or feelings, you are not your DNA

You am the observer, You're a witness of life" -the song uses "I", but for the sake of the point i changed it to "you".

This post gets a little out in orbit, but i hope it's a fun ride nevertheless. We'll be addressing how nothing can stop you from shifting, how "shifting methods" can be looked at from a new perspective, addressing thoughts and limiting beliefs, and how you really *really* don't need to believe you'll shift in order to do so- as well as why that's the case.

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⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚⋆｡˚☽��｡⋆

｡𖦹°⭒. ˚ ｡. ˚ ☁︎

ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪𓍊𓋼𓆏𓋼𓍊 𓈒 ⋆

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When you come to understand that you need not identify with all the noise and goings on of your cr, it can become exceptionally easy to turn away from any limiting thoughts, and lightly embrace your dr self.

- ☁️You are neither your Cr self or your Dr self, and you are also both, depending on what you're looking at.

Your consciousness awareness is a flashlight, your 4d are the shadow puppets, and your 3d are the shadows. You make the shadow puppets, and you use your flashlight (that always stays on you) so create any image you could imagine. If you want a different shadow, make a different puppet and use it in front of that flashlight.

- ☁️You are the creator of your reality. The 3d you see around you is a reflection of that creation. Now, the directness of the reflection isn't always so direct, it goes off the state of being you *are*, not the one you want to be. Are you chillin at the idea of being able to wake up anywhere, or is this cr body trying to tell you that you can't or won't? Want to know how to prove it wrong?

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If anti-shifters can shift, just by feeling like "i don't *think* it's real, but if it were it'd be easy", then there is nothing stopping you. If shifters can shift without even so much as setting an intention, there is nothing stopping you.

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I'm going to talk light science for a sec, but it's just for the sake of visual representation. During the big bang (as i recall) everything that was once together and whole, essentially exploded and pieces scatted everywhere.

Now, if this is the case, I kind of like to think about it as one ginormous jawbreaker separating into millions and billions of little jawbreakers. Now here's the thing, allllll those jawbreakers, every last one, has a little piece of the core inside them. That, in this example, is like your conciousness- that connection to all your drs and manifestations exists.

Your subconscious mind's job is partially to keep you safe in the background- but remember- you are not your brain, so you are not, at your core, this subconscious. You are not the little doubts and frustrations that pop up. You don't need to listen to any doubts, or "am i doing this right" or "what if-" or "can i-"

- ☁️You have your own little piece of source inside you, that is connected to allllllll the other little pieces everywhere, because at one point, everything was one. (purely for the sake of examples of how "you are already your dr self" ) You are already directly connected to your dr self, you're just looking at the 3d aspects instead of the 4d. You can't change a reflection, without changing what is being reflected. Shift your awareness to change the reflection. (this goes for manifestion too)

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For those familiar with harry potter, let's try another example. If you make a new friend, and you wanted to floo to their home, you would have to set up the connection in the floo network (if you weren't already connected). Once you set up this connection, it says unless one or both people close it.

- ☁️Connecting to your dr self is very similar. You contact the floo network (your conscious awareness) and you turn your attention to the desired place you would like to "unlock", like a fireplace, there was never a closed door, it just might not have been an activated path. You can stand in that fireplace all day, saying the name over and over and over, but unless you connect to the floo network, you're not going anywhere (not through that method at least)

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☁️This "awareness" that I speak of is simply just your attention. You are the observer, and even after doing this for so many years, even I still occasionally forget that. The beauty is, you don't stop being "the observer" just because you stop being consciously aware. This is why it's important, imo, to sometimes just turn your attention away from unwanted states. You woke up here again? Okay, doesn't matter. Stop trying to change the shadows. Remember, you get what you are being, and shifts are instant.

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Now, side note, you don't need to walk around like you're in your dr all day. If you can't do that- that's fine! Just become neutral to it- it's just one reality in infinite others you get to explore. This isn't permanent. You are not stuck. If i say that and your mind tries to disagree, just let it do its thing. You know who you are at your core, what difference does one mind out of infinite ones make?

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☁️Methods Are Not Hard and Fast Rules. Methods are Malleable☁️

I've used methods, and i've not used methods. My first shift was literally just me (unintentionally) crashing out due to not being able to shift, and eventually, after all the tears had fallen, the pent up emotions had been felt, my dr was rightfully shoved right off the pedastool, and because I had been embodying my dr self in weeks past, I had already built the shadow puppet. Once I finally stopped trying to *get* somewhere, I woke up in my Dr. I didn't need to add anything, I actually just needed to Let Go of my limiting beliefs- and not go back to them like an ex down bad lol. I broke up with "can't shift" or "won't shift" (or maybe it broke up with me lol)

*All of this to say, you don't need a method. I was already connected and in my dr in the 4d, but this was before I learned about all of that- it wasn't intentional. If I knew that all i needed to do was connect the floos, and just chill with knowing I can walk in and out of the 3d (as consciousness) I probably would've shifted sooner. But that's just me-*

- ☁️It's like walking on a trail with this stunning view at the end, and they have one of those poles in the middle to keep vehicles off. You, as just a person (just conscious awareness) can easily walk around it. Now, if you were in a car, you have to get out first. That doesn't mean that it's the wrong path, or you're not allowed to walk it. It just means that you might have to park the car. The car is just a vehicle- it won't be gone when you come back down from the hill. Your cr self doesn't stop existing, you just stop being *directly* aware of it in your dr.

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Now, who are methods good for? Methods are excellent for anyone who just feels like they need a little more of a solid grasp on their dr and dr selves, people who get distracted easily, and really anyone who wants one. The important thing is just that you don't *need* one- I still use methods, not even really to help me shift, but because i think they're fun!

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A note on states:

Rather than asking shifters "what made you shift", i implore you to try, "what does it feel like to be a shifter". For me, it's like knowing you have a fully stocked kitchen. I know that I could go and make amazing food anytime i want, but right now i'm not hungry. I satiated my thirst for my drs in my 4d imagination before ever actually interacting with them in the 3d. I shift, not only because it's fun and i enjoy it- but because that's just the result of this process- it's the law. Reality reflects out.

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☁️*The Rational Mind*☁️

For those who are stuck on the "rational" side, I want to say that time, physical reality, and the workings of consciousness, aren't always very rational things- but there are plenty of irrational sounding things in the world- especially new things. You don't need to know how shifting works to shift. It doesn't have to feel "rational" to shift. You can fly on a plane with no idea how it works (a hundred ton tube of metal miles in the air??). I think what i'm trying to say, is that if it doesn't seem rational, you may just have to adjust your framework and your perspective.

- The perspective of a pilot might seem more rational when looking at all those buttons, as opposed to someone who's never seen a plane, ya know? Rational is subjective. I think it's rational that I currently have 5 drs that i live my life in. To me, it's perfectly rational that I can manifest anything i want. To me, it's perfectly rational that the 3d is an outwards expression of our internal states- it's just the drama being performed from the script I wrote. That's normal to me- but it wasn't always. The state was always there for me to inhabit and put on, but i actually had to inhabit it and put it on, ya know? It's simple, not necessarily easy for all

The more time you allow yourself to observe your desired outcome, off of the pedastool, seeing it as just an additional reality, 1. the closer you get to feel your dr to you because you're not paying attention to conflicting evidence, and 2. the sooner you shift

- ☁️Remember, reality comes from you, it doesn't happen to you.

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☁️*Thoughts*☁️

It does not matter if you have one realities thoughts in another reality. It doesn't matter if you're thinking about your cr (events, sounds, emotions) in your dr, because you are still shifting you at your core. You're still going to have this realities memories (unless you scripted them out), so why wouldn't you be allowed to think about it? And even if you did script them out, reacting to blaring red alarm bells whenever it happens probably isn't helping.

- ☁️You're expanding your awareness, not necessarily moving it like "only allowed to be cr" and "only connected to dr right now".

- That's why a lot of shifters say it doesn't feel like anything- because it doesn't. My ratio of dr to cr thoughts when i shift can be as close as 99% cr and 1% dr- not that it even matters because again, you are not your mind, or your thoughts, or this body- you are the awareness of them.

- Don't get too caught up in your Crs 3d, it's more malleable than you think, but you can only mold it as much as you let yourself. There can be an overlap in thoughts/feelings while you're shifting, that's perfectly normal. I have overlaps while i'm literally in my dr- it's okay I promise. You can still shift if you're not solely thinking about your dr all the time.

☁️ "you cant shift" is meaningless to a shifter, so make it normal to feel meaningless to you. YOU know you can shift, so what does it matter? Let it go- treat it like someone just trying to pick a fight with you- it's not worth your time. walk away, and let it go. pick up your dr self in imagination instead :)

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☁️Some last little notes: ☁️

If you're at the end of your method or attempt, and you know know what to do next, but you can't fall asleep, I would focus on one thing- surrender. Trust that you have made the puppet, you shined your light on it- and now the shadow has no choice but to appear.

Remember, "The time it takes your assumption to become fact, your desire to be fulfilled, is directly proportionate to the naturalness of your feeling of already being what you want to be - of already having what you desire."

You are fully capable of giving it to yourself now. You already have unlimited access to the bottomless well of creative power inside you. Just look beyond the physical, that's where the magic happens.

You don't need to know when you'll shift- and i'll make another post about this in depth cause I have some analogies rattling around in this brain.

Detatch from the outcome. By putting your attention or your dr self, you are eliminating the (illusionary but still "real") physical gap between you and your dr self.

For those of you with vastly different dr selves (compared to cr), I invite you to focus on more mundane tasks. How does it feel to walk in that body? How does it feel to breathe? How does it feel to sit down? To stand up?

☁️***If the goal is to normalize the feeling of having your desire (like a kid the day after christmas) so that your 3d projects that you have your desire, then all you have to do, outside of all the rigmarole, is just- have it. Walk around entertaining the idea you can literally go anywhere, anytime. It doesn't matter if you can't see it right way- your job isn't to *see* your dr self, your job is to normalize being your dr self- the version of you that's successfully shifted. ***☁️

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I'll try not to go down this last rabbit hole too deep- but time is not linear. If you assume the state of the wish fufilled- you have it Now. All there is, is the now, and the illusion of past and future. Like, Harry Potter saying "well I knew I could do it this time... Because I had already done it." - You are pure consciousness at your core, all of the time, ever-connected to everything else.

You don't need to know how or when your desire will come. If you are normalizing your dr and getting familiar with fulfilling your wishes (not to *get* something, but just to experience) you are already doing everything right. You don't need to "wait" for some desire like a package at the door, you just need to realize it's already in your hands. It always has been, and it always will be :)

When you have a desire, treat it like a pothole- Fill in the *lack* with your wonderful human imagination :) If you carry this habit throughout all of your realities, it helps with more than just shifting.

Hope yall have a good day, and best of luck to you!! 33

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edit: I don't know if i addressed this directly enough: Once you feel as though your dr and dr self is as normal as *you* are (in the 4d, again you at your core, not thoughts- thoughts just reflect the state too) then you're good!! no, seriously, that's it. you've fulfilled the wish- and as long as you just keep it like that, it will have no choice but to express itself in the 3d. it. will. have. no. choice. you did it, you're good. let yourself just be good.

you don't try to get something you already have- when you don't feel as though you need to "get" it or "chase" it, you have it. does that make sense? if having something in the 3d, means you have it in the 4d, then by following that logic and adding in ☁️"as above, so below, as within, so without" ☁️ as the framework, we can easily reverse the equation. 4d first- 3d follows. You won't be fulfilled because you have that thing- you have that thing because you've fulfilled the state of having it and/or you let go of the state of lack. Drop the lack from the desire, and what do you have? the desire! badda bing badda boom ( *it's a worldwide when i step in the room* )

[sylvaridreams]

Inhales. You know what gets me when I think about Heart of Thorns. The anti-sylvari sentiment in-universe was SO real for a while there. During the period of time where the whole world of Tyria learned the secret that Wynne had died to protect, that sylvari came from the jungle dragon, that they were made to serve it. Everyone turned on them. Friends, lovers, commanding officers, it didn't matter anymore. They COULD turn mordrem at any time, so you had to assume that they would. You couldn't trust something that belonged to a dragon. Even Laranthir (of the Wild) right after the crash, being held captive by his own people, waiting for him to go feral and tear their throats out. The sylvari Commander was granted a little wiggle room, a little space to walk around freely, but it's all very conditional. Prove you're a good one, that you won't fall to the dragon. There's the event in Verdant Brink where they round up all the sylvari in a camp and ask you to interrogate them, to break them down until they confess to being mordrem. And inevitably a few of them are hiding among the camp, but an equal number of sylvari run from you in fear, more afraid of you and the Pact than the certain death of the jungle beyond. The other innocents that stay don't have a choice. It's keep your head down and don't say anything or be killed, one way or another, while the Commander that you've worked under for the past couple of years interrogates a crying novice, asking if they've heard a voice. And who hasn't heard the voice at that point? The Commander admits to hearing it too. Canach likens it to a buzzing fly. Irritating. Nothing more. Strong willed sylvari don't stumble when Mordremoth speaks. But even that's not true; maybe not everyone's played Heart of Thorns on a sylvari Commander, but the closer you get to the dragon, you start to falter, to black out and lose time. In its domain you actually do fall to it. Briefly. Just for a while, you forget who you are and what you're doing there, and mordrem start giving you killing orders. And you snap out of it and never tell anyone, never. They can't know how close you got.

But what GETS ME is that after the dragon is dead, no one talks about it. It all returns to normal. Like the tension was never there in the first place. I'm sure there might be some loaded quips about sylvari in Living World Season 3 right after, but the next time I actually can recall it coming up is in Path of Fire. Right as you get into Desert Highlands; Canach says something about "I always knew this whole human/gods arrangement wouldn't work out" and Kasmeer shoots back "This coming from someone with a DRAGON in their family tree." And that's that. No one actually really discusses it in-game. They all moved on and don't care if you're a dragon minion or not.

Which. Augh. WHAT!!!!! NO ONE CARES? I'm sure it's a better end-user experience than if everyone you encountered as a sylvari player was like "OOOOOH I DON'T TRUST YOUR TYPE... YOU WRETCHED DRAGON PLANT FOLK" but narratively it's a little boring. At least in the sense that it doesn't feel finished. There should still be tons of anti-sylvari sentiment in Tyria and propaganda spread to force them out of parts of society and stupid hoops to jump through to be considered safe. Just as I think that sylvari should still hold anti-asura sentiment--you're telling me their small second generation had a huge group taken away and tortured to death and there's no ingrained fear of it happening again? I want my sylvari commander to have met Gorrik in LWS4 and been like haha. uh. 😥 (do I really have to work with this guy. An inquest...) (and EVENTUALLY come to like and trust him!) instead of the game plowing over it like oh yeah don't worry about it n_n the facility exploded and all so he doesn't work there now don't worry n_n NO I'M WORRIED!-- again I'm sure that the smoothing over of Everything is a better end-user experience. rather than everyone you meet being rude to you or vice versa. However----💥 (I am killed by a sniper from a long distance so that I stop talking before I begin delving into the prejudices that are already baked into the narrative)

[k0nanharv3y]

Robin Hood AU - Part 7 (the part 2 of the part 7 lol)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7.5

"I have a table for 1 free in the corner over there, near the speakers" he explained and pretended not to pay attention to Steph's expression

"In fact, a table for 7...? I brought my family" she stepped aside to reveal the entire herd of black-haired people

And Tim finally acted surprised

"Oh... Oh! Damn, yeah, sure, I'm sorry" he smiled at the family "Welcome to the Nest, what can I get for y'all"

Bruce was the first, with his friendly and playful attitude

"My daughter hasn't stopped talking about this place, its desserts and you. Timothy Drake, right? You were our next door neighbor" Bruce's hand extended over the bar

And Tim learned a few things in his time in the League, and before that, following Batman and that whole episode in his life that (if he's honest with himself, isn't over yet). One of them is, don't let your enemies have your DNA

But this was Bruce Wayne and... and... and it would be rude not to shake the hand of the richest man in Gotham

And apparently he's been looking at Bruce's hand for a long time as if it were an insect

"I don't like physical touch" It was the first thing that escaped from his mouth

And Bruce's face seemed to fall in sorrow, pulling his hand away from Tim, and that brought some peace to the boy

"But, yeah, it's nice to see you again Mr. Wayne" he smiled as best he could "Just Tim, please" if he heard another old green-ass man call him Timothy, he would vomit

Bruce laughed "Just Bruce, then, Tim" the man turned to look at his children "You may know my children"

"How couldn't I?" He replied simply, perfectly hiding his panic because. Had he just successfully lied to Batman? "What can I get started for y'all?" He repeated. Ready to start punching out the orders

The first to order was Steph, attempting to correct Tim into calling her Steph instead of Ms. Brown or Stephanie and giving up when Tim called her Stephanie for the fourth time. An RMT, a Jelly Dent and a Harvey's Half, stopping to make fun of the names or make a comment

Next up was the youngest of the Waynes, Damian, and Tim couldn't look into the kid's green eyes and avoid his devil-may-care stare (Because hell, those are Ra's's eyes). Other than that, the kid kept looking at him with a frown and sorting things by their ingredients, refusing to say the name of the dish. A ChocoBane Shake, a ScatteredCrow, and an Anti-Meat

Next up was a girl, about the same height and haircut as Tim, who had been staring at him the whole time, as if she knew something Tim didn't and it made him nervous. The girl started waving her hands and Steph offered to act as interpreter. Tim shook his head and started signing in sign language. The girl smiled sweetly and ordered. A Gotham Fog, a Black Cookie, and laughed as she signed "Shiva's Hair" (Tim remembered that he had to change that name as soon as possible)

Duke, the new Wayne, smiled kindly and stayed a second looking at the menu, asking about some and just playing it safe. A ChocoFreeze, a Bat-nana Split and a Gotham's Club Sandwich

And then came the hard part

Dick walked over with a huge grin, laughing at something Steph had said, and looked at Tim a second longer than necessary, something in his gaze. Tim couldn't help but clench his jaw and add a Chai-dentity Crisis. Dick joked about the Sin-amon Roll and Last Bite of Krypton, and tried to get Tim to call him Dick, but Tim smiled and shook his head, writing Richard down on the list

Bruce came back over, leaning on the bar like Steph had before, only keeping a distance from Tim. He ordered the simplest dishes on the menu or those that were already made at the counter. A Villain Vanilla Shake, a Crime Brûlée, and some Eggs-tra Vigilante, commenting on the creative names they had

And then Tim inhaled deeply as the last guy approached the bar. His hands hesitated in place, almost wanting to touch his face

Jason Todd

Robin

His Robin

The one who marked a before and after in Tim's life. The one who died and returned from the dead

His heart began to pound in his ears. This was Jason Todd, and he was everything Tim would never be again

"Ahh, I want both, Bane's Protein Shake and Bane's Big Bite" he ordered, looking at the menu with interest, before smirking and glancing sideways at his family. "Add Joker's Cake to that too" He turned to look at Tim

They both looked at each other for a moment, just for an instant. Tim's hands shook in place, this had to be a joke, a raw laugh came from his throat, almost silent. He shook his head and returned to the world, to the one that continued to spin and had Jason Todd in it

"Sure, it's just that it will take a little longer, I hope it's not a bother" he explained, typing the last few cymbals and avoiding the Waynes' gaze

"Nah, take your time, Timmers" waved his hand in the air

"Sure... And, it'll be... $100.65" He looked at the family and looked at the money on the counter. Woah, they were serious about physical contact

"Keep the change" Dick smiled and made a gesture of disinterest

"Ah, sure, you can take a seat, next to the window, is a table for 5, but you can ask the next table if you can borrow the two chairs they ain't using" He turned around after putting the money away and put on some black latex gloves

And he began to prepare the drinks when they left. In fact, the familiarity of the matter made him forget that he was doing this for the most important family in Gotham

He took the drinks to the open bar, where the orders were taken, and started with the breakfasts, taking some from the counter and cooking others

He dissociated at some point in the preparation because this was relaxing, and muscle memory made him glide through the place gracefully, like when he practiced the tastings Shiva once taught him

The first one came out

"Stephanie! Order ready!" he exclaimed, and without waiting long he continued with the other one "Damian, order ready! Cassandra, order ready!" he turned around to get something else, to avoid Damian's gaze, to not face what they meant and he kept moving "Thomas, order ready!" And he finished with all the dishes. There were no more customers to serve as a front, there was nothing to clean or prepare, and his voice got caught in his throat

He inhale a few times, before swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Richard, order ready!" He tried to pretend he was finishing up something at Joker Cake and nodded at the boy's thanks. "Bruce, order ready!" His voice cracked on the last part, and Tim cursed under his breath, attributing it to a scratchy, loose throat

And his hands hovered over the cake, almost, almost as if he didn't know what to do now, he pressed them to his eyes and inhaled. Turning around and taking out a handful of cookies in plastic packages, placing them on a smaller tray

"Jason, order ready!" He placed the tray next to the larger tray with all the food

The older, bigger, more alive boy came over laughing at something and took the tray and looked at the other one with confusion

"They are free, the house pays" he avoided the blue-green gaze, and fiddled with the pocket of his apron

"Thanks"

Tim just nodded

"Sure" his voice broke again

Just a little more

[evilminji]

Okay, you know how City Spirits are a thing?

And Superheros both Die, Un-Die, Re-Die, Dimensionally Sorta Maybe Die But Then Don't, and also never Died in the first place? And probably do at least a portion of that in Medical? While ALSO hanging out, quantumly maybe Dead, maybe alive, in their Super Cool Clubhouse?

Which is ALSO exposed to space rays, the entirety of The Magic Club, weird alien Technology, aaaaand whatever they decide to store on it??

:T

I'm just SAYING...

For as long as dwellings Of Significance have existed, there have been house spirits. They are the IDEA of the house. The SIGNIFICANCE of it. What makes it HOME. The weight of the halls that turn into Halls. And The Watchtower? Is KNOWN to enough people, to have SIGNIFICANCE.

It's a HALL where Heros Live. A Place Of Safety. It GAURDS.

It is also inanimate. Steeped heavily in every sort of energy, be it magic or science, and multidimensional fuckery imaginable. But? Not SENTIENT. Yet.

Until of course... this new fangled Anti-Ghost Shield comes out. By the new and recently no-longer on the run (from the Goverment they're at war with) Dr.'s Fenton! Why were they are war? Don't worry about it!

They Won.

:)

Unrelated! Never threaten their kids. They WILL find you. Not a threat, just informing!

:) :)

The security guy they sent to the expo was from Gotham, unfortunately. So he found the couple to be completely normal. They? Should not have sent Thomas. He was hired BECAUSE his parents were Mad Scientists in the making. Batman was steering him away from a life of crime. Thomas could judge "normal" from "deeply unhinged" if it belly danced infront of him, in the seduction dance of a thousand, deep fried, mackerel.

It's his version of face blindness. Great with technology though! And the shield worked a treat. Even promised to be both ethical AND programmable! Not harming the ghosts it pushed out unless they try to force entry AND allowing them to program in exceptions. Allowing Heros such as Deadman to freely enter!

Is it a little janky looking? Yeah. But if it works, it works. They add it to the systems and flip it on.

One small and immediate problem. There is now a small knight shaped child in the engine room. She was NOT there a second ago. She has controlo of the ENTIRE Watchtower, claims to BE the Watchtower, and knows all their names. Knows a disturbing level of information about every employee on the Tower.

Oh and apparently "No one is leaving."

No one panic! Just unplug the... she has swallowed the ghost shielding unit into a wall. Slightly panic.

Panic lite.

Luckily, no one is willing to throw the first punch at what appears to be a small child. So the JLA Dark have a chance to literally run over.

They demand to know who's bright idea it was to add... "ectoplasm"? Was THAT the energy source? Oooh. Their departments probably in trouble. Later though, the hero's are trying to negotiate with a small child. Who is apparently a ghost.

It's not SAFE, she's insisting. Everyone has to stay HERE where she can protect them. From the nebulous threat of Bad Guys. They LEAVE and come back HURT. She is UPSET and everyone is going to STAY! Forever!

Not good.

Then Thomas pipes up, like the oblivious asshole he is, that he should PROBABLY call the engines makers. They did mention something a long these lines might happen.

WHAT.

You think, Thomas? Might be a good idea, maybe? Just a bit? YES FUCKING CALL THEM!

(All right, all right! No need to YELL! *ring ring* 'Ello? Maddie? Sorry to catch you at dinner-)

So now? There is a glowing college student, who was escorted here by a WEREWOLF, who just? Tore open reality? To some green, swirling hellscape? And popped through like "sup, sorry I'm late. Was in a council meeting!" And judging by the ficking CROWN and the various quietly panicking magic users, he probably didn't mean student council, and just?

Guess he's hear to talk to their newly sentient Tower.

Question! Asks Thomas, of the fucking Ghost King because of course he does, are they Dads now? Or if they already have kids, Dads AGAIN? Do they have to come up with a baby name?

.......oh dear lord, the Ghost King looks like he has to think about it.

What are we gonna tell our SPOUSES!? "Hey honey, guess what I got at work today! A NEW CHILD. They're a space station!"

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

[shadowwolfmemes]

My blog is NOT a safe place for proshippers!!!

Hopefully, I won't have to repeat myself after this. If you're a proshipper/darkshipper and you come across my blog, make a graceful U-turn and simply GO FUCK YOURSELF!

I don't give a rat's rotting ass if you don't support pro-contact, I still cannot confide in people like you. Here's another thing that I don't understand about y'all. How are you going to call yourself 'anti-harassment' or complain that antis "harass" you, but then go around and interact with antis all willy-nilly to try to persuade them that they're in the wrong?

And no, most antis don't go out of their way to harass you. They mostly block the people they dislike so that the proshippers don't get the chance to interact. The ones that do interact with the people they dislike are just wasting their own time. I suggest that you don't waste your time with them either.

I hate proshippers, but I don't waste my time trying to convince y'all that what you're doing is wrong. That one time I had to interact is when I asked one of my followers if they're a proshipper or not (they were, so I blocked them). Call me a "bad person" for doing that if you like, I will stand by with what I did and I'm not actually sorry for blocking them. :)

Here are some examples of the most popular dogshit excuses they use to try to make themselves look as innocent as possible.

Excuse #1: "They're not real, so why does it bother you?"

It doesn't matter that the characters are fictional, it's still disgusting that people like you glorify illegal material like incest, pedophilia, abuser x victim, child porn, etc.

Excuse #2: "Fiction doesn't affect reality. It can't hurt you."

While it's true to some certain extent, the way it's used in this argument makes it worse. Again, it doesn't give you the excuse to worship pedophilia and other problematic ships that shouldn't be normalized. Fiction or not, some things shouldn't be shared at all.

Excuse #3: "This is just my coping mechanism."

I'm sorry, but this is one of thee most shittiest excuses I've ever heard in my life! In fact, the term 'excuse' is too kind for this. What's another word to describe this bullshit? Glorifying problematic ships is not a healthy way of coping. Why? Because you're manipulating your brain into thinking that whatever traumatic experience you went through should be romanticized. No normal person would do that to themselves and justify it.

Excuse #4: "If you don't like it, just block them."

I do. Like I previously said, I don't waste my time on these people. I want them to stay as far away from me as possible as much as I stay away from them. However, fantasies the proshippers have shouldn't be shared as a normal factor. It's okay to write about dark topics, what's NOT okay is romanticizing/normalizing it.

Before I close this off, I want to say that all of this applies to radqueers, too. Y'all are not slick, you're just as bad as proshippers!

Does this post offend you, proshippers? If it does, good! Y'all are NOT welcomed in my blog whatsoever and I will do anything in my power to make sure you don't get an opportunity to interact with me.

I'll say it one more damn time;

MY BLOG IS NOT A SAFE PLACE FOR PROSHIPPERS AND IT NEVER WILL. ANY PROSHIPPER/RADQUEER THAT INTERACTS WILL BE BLOCKED ON THE DOT.

GO CRY ME A RIVER, MOTHERFUCKERS! BOO-FUCKING-HOO! (This is directed towards the proshippers and radqueers).

[wingzie]

Keeping a "Safe Place" on Social Media (As Army and a Jikooker)

In my opinion, social media needs to take responsibility for what it has become. I don’t think it ever will, because it feeds on negative attention, but I try to focus on what I can do to help. For myself and others.

My bio on Twitter includes the sentence “A Positive and Safe Space for everyone” and I take this very seriously. As a baby Army, I used to be in several GC’s for report pages. Back then, reporting used to be primarily done in GC’s privately and we tried to limit any engagement. Soon afterwards, I started to witness a change: Egos started to get big, there was a saviour complex with Y/N tendencies, some would start engaging with the posts we reported and deals were being made behind the scenes to protect certain accounts. It made me sad to see this change in priorities and it wasn’t why I joined them in the first place, so I left when things started to go bad.

What did I do instead? Mute, block and report with my own system. I tend to “mute” someone first if they really annoy me and then “block” a second time if they are a repeat offender. I will automatically block and report someone if they say something really bad. I do not engage. That includes: liking, retweeting or quoting. It boosts the harmful tweet. Even more so if your display name includes something related to BTS or the members and it will add to the trends. By taking away the engagement, you are taking away their audience that they are hoping to gain.

I have mentioned before how a particular anti revealed that they would aim to get on a report page's radar, because the posts on them helped advertise their posts and accounts. Their plan was rather like a business model and it was scay how well thought out it all was. It was also clear that they had help and was in a GC thrmselves, just like the report pages were. When report GC's started to die out, they grew even more with how public the fighting became. The antis figured out how the change in social media worked in their benefit, before the rest of the fandom and even the social media creators itself did. They still fail to this day to understand how fandoms (and the language within them) changes over time. The algorithm encourages these type of negative posts too. On my second account I accidently liked a BTS tweet and my feed suddenly contained so much negativity about them, rather than about their projects or joy.

But how is all of this linked with being a Jikooker? Because we sometimes end up boosting that negativity that we really shouldn't. I quite honestly do not care what their theories are, but I always end up seeing them somewhere. More than I see actual posts about Jikook sometimes. Someone reached out to me that they felt like they knew more about tker theories than about BTS or Jikook as a whole. It's also why, whenever something negative happens, I start to spam more Jikookry instead. It's actually how the Live Reactions series was created, because I wanted to counter those talking bad about it. And to help us relive it with fondness.

I also think there is a lack of understanding about what the word "cult" actually means. It is up to an individual to try to break free, but it might also be difficult. There was a post by a young girl who had been added to a tker GC by a friend from school. She wanted to leave, because it was quite frankly bullshit, but was afraid to because she had given the GC owner some private information that they had threatened to leak if she left. That is terrifying and I sometimes think back to that girl and how she is doing. If she did manage to leave or not. For some, they are persuaded to stay whether they really want to or not.

That adds an entire new layer to all of this: Children being on the internet too young or not understanding the implications of certain things. I am a 90's kid. It was drilled into me religiously about the dangers of The Internet. That doesn't seem to be a thing anymore though, or they are quite literally left to their own devices. Because of this, we sadly saw an increase of online crimes aimed towards children during lockdown. There needs to be more done and again social media needs to be taking responsability. Ticking a box claiming your age does nothing to protect anyone. Not every Army with questionable intentions is a child though, of course. There are those that refuse to watch content or rely on heavily edited clips. I get a lot of those edits myself in my inbox, either by tkers or jkers who have found them and asked if they are true. My common answer: No. This is also why I try to give sources and encourage anyone to try to watch all the BTS content that they can. I know there is a lot, but it will help you on your journey. What can be done to stop them? Honestly, not much. We can hope to encourage them though and stop those that wish harm in their tracks. How do we do this? By being louder in our support. Because, at the moment, we're being louder with our hate and social media is boosting that even more. Rather than the praise and love that BTS and Jikook deserve.

[matan4il]

Can't stop thinking about that poor French girl. Most of my friends didn't even have their periods at 12. We have been screaming ourselves HOARSE for months that "globalize the intifada" is going to come back to bite us...and now it's beginning to. They didn't listen to us then and they won't now. Instead, they let a child pay the price for the crime of being Jewish.

I remember back in early April I walked by a protest and I told a cop there what the phrase meant. She didn't even deign to look at me, instead she told me where I could counter-protest. That is not what I was asking about. No one is protecting us, yet they wonder why we feel safer and have an attachment to our home.

I haven't been able to visit home since the war started, I'll be there Sunday finally. And I can guarantee that I will be moving comfortable there, despite my half baked plan and no official place to stay.

I just don't know what we are supposed to be doing anymore. עד מתי??????

I can't stop thinking about that girl either.

I can't stop thinking about what it means that she knew she wasn't safe telling her boyfriend at the time that she's Jewish. I can't stop thinking about the fact that she was right, as he proved. I can't stop thinking about the kind of environment she grew up in, where she had grown so accustomed to antisemitic attitudes being the rule, that she didn't see that guy's antisemitism for the red flag that it is, and didn't stay away from him.

And I wanna make it clear, it is ABHORRENT that Jews should have to stop and consider just how much they're going to lose out on socially because of antisemitism. But it IS hard to constantly lose and miss out and be depraved of social rewards that others get just because you're Jewish, especially when you're 12 years old. So this responsibility lies on the hellish environments that push Jews to have to decide between being included and being safe.

That the specific way that this girl's abusers were violent with her for her Jewishness was sexual, committed by at least one person she intimately trusted, done as a group, and (from what I've gathered) in public, just makes the whole thing even worse, and I cannot stop grieving what was taken away from her, and what she will have to deal with for the rest of her life.

And I've heard from multiple sources that the perpetrators' phones had anti-Israel material on them. It was easy to guess, but it's still chilling to have that confirmed.

I am SO sorry that you had that experience of a cop not giving a damn about our safety as Jews. But yes, we absolutely cannot rely on anyone else for our protection, it's a part of why we need Israel. And there's only one place in the world where we can be safely and effortlessly ourselves as Jews. I'm so glad for you that you're coming home, and I also hope that if fellow Israelis see this, that maybe they can reach out and help, too.

אם יש כאן במקרה ישראלים, השמיעו קול!

As for what we can do, we can continue to live even when they don't want us to, we can go on supporting each other, we can thrive even when they think they've taken that option from us, we absolutely should educate ourselves continuously when our haters are relying on people's ignorance, and we must speak up where and how we can. Even if our reach is small, it's better than being silent. Not to mention, sometimes one person listening to you, if they're the right one, can make a much bigger difference than we could imagine.

I'm sending you lots of hugs and love! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)