#been meaning to get this one out of my system for a while

[beloveds-embrace]

I read your distress from the DukeDom 141 AU and....ajbslywbsoauwjs

You have broken the system, I LOVE the anguish when somehow karma acts and there is divine justice (and König it's divine 🫦🫦🫦)

Do you have some more crumbs for this hungry girl? Pretty please with sprinkles on top? 🥺🥺🫶🏼✨️✨️✨️

Thank you!! The anon who sent the angst ask is just so damn big brained. Phenomenal i hope they know their impact. Enjoy!! 💕💕💕

John stares at you, his eyes unreadable and a little frown on his face. Embers within the fireplace crackle, keeping the study warm against the November chill, while rain pelts against the windows. Despite it being only 2 in the afternoon, the sky is dark and cloudy enough to be mistaken for late evening.

You wait patiently, standing in front of his desk with your hands in front of you. Your face is colder than his.

“So?” You ask at last.

“…why?”

Your eyes close for a few seconds, and then you open them. Your purse your mouth, and then speak.

“Because I want one.” You say, shrugging delicately. “I will be back before the annual winter gala. All work has been finished and submitted, and what can’t be done now has been appropriately delegated with your approval. As such, I would like to go on a holiday, just for a few weeks.”

None of that is an issue, John thinks to himself. You are so cold now, dear wife. Colder than I’ve treated you. None of that is an issue except-

“Who will be you taking with you-“

“König.” You don’t hesitate for a single second. To John, it feels like you are attempting to match the attitude of thunder and lightning outside. “He will be my knight, as he’s always been. I care not for what others guards may join. The estate I’ve chosen already has maids and cooks to upkeep it, yes? That should be everything.”

John wants to say no.

There’s been a shift in you, and he knows they are to blame yet he so terribly dislikes it. König has become your… everything, in a sense. The maids already whispered about you and didn’t help you, and so now you care very little about what they’d say about König being the one to help you get ready for the day. He is your shadow; he brings you food himself, John knows, has seen Johnny grit his teeth and bite his tongue so he doesn’t say how ashamed he feels that he’s made someone feel like they can’t eat his food.

It is aslo König who holds your arm, and takes you on walks. König who listens to what you want, what you ask for, and doesn’t treat you as an afterthought. The one and only time you have spoken to Kyle lately is to simply ask him if he knows where König is.

König was close to you in the way John had been distant to you. In the way all of them had been distant to you.

Now, it feels like you are keeping the distance, despite their attempts at fixing this. It feels like König is keeping the distance, your second shadow. John isn’t blind to the hatred König carries for them, isn’t blind to the possessive way König holds your hands.

And your waist. John had heard how you called out König’s name, one night. He’d seen the delicate way you’d had to sit, seen the way König had been fussing over you.

The implications left his mouth bitter for the rest of the day.

And now….

He wants to say no. He truly does. But if he does it, then he knows he will be subjecting you to more pain. It would mean keeping you here with König, and John having to see it all.

“Very well.” He sighs at last, something green and tight curdling in his stomach. He doesn’t acknowledge it. “I will make sure everything will be ready for you, wife.”

“Thank you.”

And not once do you look at him with that warm, special smile you have only for König.

[lilacxquartz]

under his authority;

officer kenjaku x f!reader

plot: finally ridding yourself of your problematic ex, he comes back in the worst possible form — themes: yandere kenjaku, (eventually) willing reader, stalking, dubcon, manipulation, he/him pronouns for kenjaku, mundane au — w.c: 3.5k

a/n: considered making this a shorter one shot, but an idea wouldn’t leave my head — warnings: extremely dubious consent, but reader is willing by the end — masterlist • ao3

Every night before you headed off to sleep, you would take the extra effort to barricade yourself in your apartment, with all sorts of intricate preparations in place… just to keep him away. You’d lock the windows, put up a bar against the front door, tuck a chair underneath the door handle of your bedroom, and sleep with a knife within reach—just in case.

Deep down, however, you knew that it was all pointless in the long run. You could never truly get rid of him, not even if you traveled to the very ends of the earth (or left it entirely). Your ex was simply not the type to let go and even though nothing had yet happened in your year alone without him, you knew that from the moment that you’d let your guard down, that he’d strike.

See, you knew him perfectly well and the sly way that he approached every little intricacy in life. He dated you for a couple of years, bending and twisting your life into all sorts of directions like a puppet on a string, swaying and meddling with the cross, having you thinking that you were the one in the wrong the entire time when it was his manipulation having you feel that way all along.

At some point, you woke up to it all however, and simply just left—choosing to start somewhere else entirely, ready to put up a fight if need be—but to your surprise, he never followed you. This is why perhaps you knew that you were in more danger than you could comprehend because if you knew one thing about him, it was that he had a penchant for holding onto grudges (and never letting anything, or anyone, go).

Such a suspicion was sorely implied however, when out from the corner of your eye on every other occasion, you would spot a glimpse of him. For a while, you thought that they had finally gotten to you; that they had driven you to complete and utter insanity, if you must have been seeing them in places that didn’t make sense. You sought help for that one however you could; through countless reports made through a system that didn’t take you seriously for whatever reason and then, later, through the means of therapy, which did help for a while. Just as you thought that he was out of your life, however, he started showing up again and in full force, too.

Your reports, just like before, meant nothing at all. All of those reports of stalking and someone lingering around your home, of your windows being scratched on and at your doors rattling during the odd hours of the night, only to be dismissed with the ask of ‘have they hurt you yet?’ or the claim that the evidence was still inefficient, so please only make such a report again if you have something to prove.

Such a ridiculous system, but that’s why you went to such great lengths to take things into your own hands. You had no choice, so what else were you otherwise supposed to do?

You were certain that all of those strange happenings were him, after all.

You weren’t going crazy.

It wasn’t like moving on was helping, anyway. His presence was constant and overwhelming, following you around like your own shadow. You were perhaps being driven crazy indeed, but it wasn’t your own doing as everyone else had otherwise claimed. You knew that deep down, these weren’t desperate illusions cast from a worn-down mind, but rather that they were strikingly real and he was surely toying with you, unable to let you go after a hasty, unspoken breakup, hell-bent on punishing you for daring to have a spine.

And just like every other time, everything was all locked up and ready to go; you were as safe as you could get. You did your usual clean sweep of everything and found nothing that could hint at danger, and yet, just as you had settled into bed… you heard something from the inside.

Tearing upright from your bed, you grabbed your phone in a hurry, dialing the police and urging that this time, this wasn’t a drill, that there was someone actively in your home so to please, please, send someone over and just because the claim was so desperate and dire, they did indeed send someone, reassuring you that it would be soon and to please, stop fretting so much. Such a soothing gesture threw you off guard a little, the pattern of the sentence piquing your interest as something once familiar, but your sleepy mind didn’t make the full connection just yet.

You opened up the door as soon as they knocked too, not thinking all that hard about just how on earth they knew which door in the block called for such a thing to begin with. You were exhausted, after all, worn down from a full year of constantly doubting your own mind, of course, your judgment was hazy. All it took was a bit of correctly applied confidence and a smooth, reassuring voice to render you compliant, to slip downstairs along with them under the claim that you would be going to the station to take a statement before you realised the chilling truth that slipped right past your nose.

That voice.

Those mannerisms.

It was him—you were with him.

You tugged at the car door, desperate to suddenly break free and yet he had you securely confined right in the back of his vehicle, driving you off into some unknown location without a single second to spare.

“You… how did you—” you spat out, your voice faltering in disbelief.

“You know, you should really practice better judgment when you’re tired, hm?” He spoke, his voice sickeningly condescending yet calm and sweet. “And now you’re in trouble. Oh dear.”

In protesting refusal, you kicked at the seat with your heel in an attempt to get them to slow the vehicle at least and plot your escape and yet, he seemed to handle such violent complaint with calculated ease, as if knowing your attempts were futile, as if knowing that he had already won.

“Let me go, you asshole,” you spat, continuing to knock on the seat.

Yet, they continued to remain infuriatingly composed, adjusting the mirror in the dark, allowing you to catch a glimpse of their coal-black eyes in the passing streetlights that phased through the road. He clicked his tongue in amusement before swerving the car off to an emptier road, forcing your body to hurl to the side in a grounding warning. “Careful,” he said, his voice laced with a cold threat, “you’re in no position to make such demands, now are you?” he asked, the reminder of your compromised circumstances hanging in the air. “Believe it or not, my role is genuine in this exchange and I could approve a warrant for your arrest if you’re not careful, so you would be wise to calm down and listen to me. How does that sound?”

“Arrest?” you scoffed. “For what?”

“Well, it could be anything, really,” he mused, calmly driving once more, “but let’s try those narcotics that I planted in your home—quite bad ones too, they would get you into a whole wealth of trouble—especially given those paranoid reports you’ve been making. Am I really that bad that you consider me a daily nuisance? I haven’t done anything that wrong, surely.”

You blinked. “You have been stalking me.”

However, all that he could do was huff out a humourless laugh as he composed a response, “Interesting claims, but I think you’ll find that I have evidence of me being busy at work for the good remainder of the year, but…” he paused, considering a pint, “how sweet of you to think of me so often. Have I been on your mind that often? Maybe you’re seeing things you want to see.”

“I wouldn’t want to see you at any time at all, you damned stalker—” you repeated, only for him to interrupt you.

“—stalker?” he asked in a completely deadpan tone, though there was a thin jab of mockery laced within it. He parked the vehicle off to the side of a lesser traveled road where the lights couldn’t quite reach before sitting with you in a stagnant silence for a while. When he finally broke the quiet, he spoke up again in a hushed tone, as if careful to not be heard (even though it was just the two of you in the car), “your claims aren’t entirely baseless, I have been… keeping tabs, but I have been careful,” he admitted, “I have been eliminating all traces of evidence from the moment that anything surfaced, ridding myself of anything compromising. You can try and rattle me out to the authorities if you wish, I won’t stop you, but you won’t get very far.”

“Was the break-up that significant that you can’t leave me alone?” you redirected.

Another silence brewed between the two of you, but then he quickly composed himself. “How silly of you to make such outrageous claims as if we were an item to begin with, but, I suppose that you could say that our time together was significant enough for me to be… conflicted about our parting, for a lack of better words.”

“That’s a long and pointless answer to mean ‘yes’, but alright, you do you, Kenjaku,” you mumbled, crossing your arms as you sank back into the seat.

“And what would admitting such a thing do?” he asked, drumming his fingers along the hard leather of the wheel. “We were together for a moment and just as things were getting interesting, you walked out on me,” he added, not quite losing his track of words but still pausing for a moment to school their demeanour back into something better controlled. “...Let’s say that we did leave on a bad note, surely you can understand my confusion and… interest in picking up where things had left off?”

“I understand the need for wanting answers,” you admitted, “but it doesn’t justify stalking, surely.”

“It justifies my need for closure,” Kenjaku corrected, “and now that I have you back in my hands, I think you’re overdue for some long-awaited discipline, don’t you think? Luckily for you, I’m surprisingly fair with how I deliver it, so I won’t hurt you, but I do have something in mind for the way you humiliated me.”

“Humiliated?” you scoffed yet again, although given his lack of immediate reply, you had an uneasy wave of dread pass you by with the hanging implication of what was yet to come. Something felt off, but they weren’t being clear with their delivery.

Before you knew it, he suddenly got out of the car and slammed the door shut, leaving you alone in the back of the police car for a beat, and then, without warning, tore open the back door, yanking you right outside. You landed on your bottom initially, but then he leaned you forward, pressing your chest against the dirt and cuffing your wrists right behind your back.

Pulling you up after, he slammed you into his car, caging you in with his looming overhead frame, making you feel suddenly quite small and trapped. He leaned in with his breath hot against your neck, allowing his pressing arousal to push into the small of your back while holding you in place.

“Humiliation is a two-way street, you know,” he whispered as he pulled down your jeans to your knees with your underwear following suit, “and I don’t think I can forgive such abandonment, at least not so soon.”

You remained frozen in place, realising exactly what he was planning to do, letting him talk as words refused to leave your own lips, “I always did like the lack of fight you put up during our time together,” he purred, “I bet it’s because you secretly like submitting to me like this, huh?”

His words were intentionally full of spite and mockery, but you were still confused and barely recovered from the extreme relationship they had you trapped in prior; it was an overwhelming time that left you with a piled-up emotional burden and nothing else beyond that point… but their touch admittedly, always succeeded in making you feel good in a way that nothing else or nobody else could compare. So skilled was the feel of his fingers over your skin—the only time he would ever listen to you.

“And what happened to your snark?” Kenjaku hummed, unzipping his slacks, dropping the pair to gather at his thighs, “I thought you had a lot to say just now? Did that all disappear too? Do you want me to make you feel good again? I bet none of those late-night hookups you’ve been having have been satisfying you the same way I ever could.”

It was humiliating alright, he knew exactly what you wanted and how you wanted. You loved it when he bit at your neck and when he pulled your hair just enough to make you feel good, but without long-lasting pain. You loved the way his hands would smack and smooth over your tender skin, bruising galaxies from his feverish touch. How his teeth would graze along the sensitive spots, making your life feel like putty in his hands; so malleable and yet so rigid, and yet, you knew fully well that he was bad for you.

He didn’t give you much time beyond that point to seek out confirmation, readily lining up the tip of their hardened cock to press into your soaked entrance, finding it almost peculiar at just how desperately soaked you already seemed to be. With a gentle push inside, he buried his shaft within your slick walls, easing into you slowly, taking his good, sweet time to get used to the feel of you again. Almost achingly slow, he pushed himself into your hilt and then back out, feeling almost insultingly delicate.

Kenjaku’s lips then lined up with your neck, peppering lazy kisses against your throat, but not surrendering to the heat of the moment like you almost desperately, guiltily craved. Such burning need that was evidenced by the full year of not being able to let you go and yet, now that he had you—he held himself off.

Albeit involuntarily, you drawled off a low whirring whine, arching your back into his form, letting him deepen his shaft into your core, yet never once accelerating as you hoped. Kenjaku remained infuriatingly composed and controlled, never once losing his cool, gently rolling his hips out and then back in, letting the need build up in you, yet never satisfying it.

“Such a needy thing,” he murmured, “what’s the magic word?”

“P-pl—” you were about to say, stopping yourself right as you were about to give in.

Kenjaku sucked at his teeth. “We’ll get there. You could never make me soft.”

He continued to roll his hips back and forth against you, nice and slow, pressing your body straight up against the cold, uncomfortably hard surface of the car with his uniform uncomfortably digging into your back. The coarse material roughly chafed through the thin fabric of the top you wore, rubbing painfully against you as all the wrong sensations were tackled instead.

It was painful, almost, and yet you felt your composure letting slip earlier than you would have liked, wanting nothing more than to give into the moment and for once, forget about him and what he put you through prior and just… feel good.

“P-please,” you gasped and then bit your lips, curling them into your mouth to stifle the remainder of the confession—humiliating, indeed.

He stilled for a second and you swore that you could feel his eyes bore into you with an almost feral resolve. For a while, he didn’t say a single thing and then, without warning, you cried out a choked-out whimper without registering exactly what had happened.

Suddenly, a deep, searing pain flooded your senses, making your eyes well with tears and spill in a matter of seconds. The realisation hit just a moment later, recognising the sensation as pain as he thrust repeatedly into your teased cunt at full force; his cock hitting right where it hurt and then without stopping, doing it again and again. Your reactions were poorly timed as you moaned out of sync with his feverish movements, pistoning himself into you with the driving force of someone crazed with reckless abandon. With such sawing aggression that emphasised just how needy he truly was, no matter the claims that otherwise left his lips, pinning the blame on you.

His hands then snaked around your chest but didn’t settle, reaching to wrap around your neck instead. His palms squeezed against your sensitive skin, choking out whatever pretty little noises you had left behind.

Your body recoiled slightly in pained protest as he continued to impale you; his hot breath rolling steamy pants of air that prickled against your clammy skin, pushing you closer towards the edge. His breathing became sloppier too, as he fucked himself as rough as he could into your sopping heat, quite literally spearing his length into you, until he couldn’t anymore. With one stuttering, rough, and final thrust, he melted into you entirely, crashing his body against yours as he filled you up with his own pent-up need. For a moment after, his hips gently bucked, albeit seemingly involuntarily as he sought to ride out the aftermath of his near-violent orgasm, only parting when he could quickly recompose himself and regain control over both of the situation—as well as you.

And after a while of such recovery—after helping you find your balance and dress you back up with almost attentive care—a darker thought slipped into his mind. Helping you sit back inside of the car, into the front this time, he let you quietly recover as he drove off somewhere else this time. Not to your home, nor to his, but… somewhere else entirely, because, if he was being real about you, he already knew that you wouldn’t give up on trying to get him into trouble—wouldn’t you? You silly thing. Oh no, he had to do something about that, and luckily for you, he had no such intention to kill you off, because you were the only thing in his life that he wanted to keep around for good and he had a good idea that you wanted this too, even if you were being so stubborn lately.

“Wait,” you piped up at long last, “where are we going?”

Kenjaku snorted out a half-laugh, finding your late realisation to be amusing before clearing his throat and answering you, “I’m not letting you go this time, so we’re taking a little detour—I’m going to keep you holed up with me forever,” he revealed, “maybe in chains at first as I figure out something more… permanent, but it’s all for a good cause, you know?”

You huffed, only to be interrupted, “A good cau—”

“—yes,” he replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “a good cause. I want to keep you forever, but I can’t have you running off on me. At least not again.”

You found yourself reacting in a way that surprised you, trying to sink into the seat again and kicking at whatever you could, but not as a means of escape, but rather out of frustration at your own mind. You could only respond in an uncertain murmur, still exhausted from the rough encounter, “You’re impossible, just… let me go,” you requested instead, although not sounding convincing to either him or yourself, knowing that it would probably be easier to just surrender instead.

“Oh you”, he endearingly cooed, smoothing his hand over your thigh, “I can’t do that. Not to you. But just know this, if you try to run away from me again, I’ll figure something out, maybe plant something compromising on you,” he replied, pausing for a moment to plot something out on the spot, “maybe have you arrested and locked up, because that way I can be sure to keep you in one place forever.”

You tilted your head off to the side, catching a glimpse of his thinly concealed mania burning in the depths of his eyes. “You wouldn’t go through that much, would you? You’re not that insane…”

Kenjaku however just shrugged, finding the calm conversation to be amusing, knowing that by even humouring him to this extent, you had already given up. “Just keep it in mind, will you? If it ever did come down to that, then guess who’s going to be the one to get you out to begin with?”

He let the implication hang in the air for a moment longer, before pushing you back further into the seat and finally letting go. “Anyway, rest up, will you? You have a lot of apologising left to do when we’re there and I fully accept you to be awake and alert for everything I have in store for you.”

You gulped, but you did as you were told, finally broken down enough to listen to him at long, long last.

[izziessogay]

y'all I'm so mad with you Jayvik shippers. I get it, it was gay, I thought they were super fruity in season 1 already as well, but please have a critical thought. their arc in act 3 coopted the ENTIRE story including their storyline (referencing the last post I reblogged here): arcane is about classist oppression, Viktor got to suffer it firsthand as a Zaunite on Topside. this never was about an evil god, or the arcane, Zaun has been in shit since forever as far as I'm concerned. Viktor only started ascending to evil godhood in act 2 of this season. to make him or his delusion out as the real evil that needs to be combatted in order to fix everything is batshit. the villain isn't Viktor or Ambessa or Silco or Mel or Singed or whoever IT'S PILTOVER AS A SYSTEM. and I thought we were all agreeing on this already, but so many of you saw the poor gay Zaunite who just wanted to help turn evil and gobbled it up. Piltover got away without any blame, since Viktor wasn't even one of their people. Besides, I cannot be the only one who thinks that this all is incredibly out of character for Viktor and needed more explanation.

and don't get me wrong, the jayvik scene looked amazing and if my two faves astrally conected through divine bleach and tones while being existential about their relationship I'd also jump, trust me, I've watched she ra. and I can't even say I'd like it to be different, but it is taking up too much importance. it could've been a catalyst to unite Zaun and Piltover through a common cause and get them to work some systematic issues out, it could have been anything but this. none of Piltovers crimes were addressed, Zaun is still in poverty and the only systematic change that happened was one (1) Zaunite being allowed in the council, which really means nothing, because the council decides by vote and there is like seven Topside council members.

I'm very much disappointed by a show who I thought was really in synch with today's systematic issues up until now (and I'm mad at all you jayvik people for clogging up the tag, when there is so much to discuss) and that doesn't even take into account that they made the mentally ill character that most unstable and suicidal people relate to A LOT kill herself??

[rebelssvy]

drunk and needy

astumu x reader

LABELS: tipsy ego atsumu. sex. smut. he’s a flirt in this. *consensual sex duhhhhh

-my ushi fic is blowing up rn so go check it out!!!

stumbling through your shared apartment you found your roommate and his friend aran. you didn’t know either of them well at all. you had only been sharing an apartment with the setter for about two months now.

he was the type of guy that was intimidating. someone you chose to watch from a distance.

“s-so sorry about him. i can put him to bed. we just went out for drinks…” aran voiced as he helped his friend through your shared door way.

the professional volleyball player never seemed one to put away a drink. at least not in this manner. his eyes were litted low, and his cheeks glowed of rose colored blush.

he was conscious, more tipsy then drunk if anything.

“it’s ok, you’ve done enough. i can help out and get him to his room. get home safe.” you motioned patting a friendly hand on arans chest. before taking atsumu’s hand in yours.

“oh- ok! have a good night.” aran said while dismissing himself.

you and atsumu weren’t ever really that close. knowing surface level facts about him. and sharing your daily conversations. but you never really knew him.

“fuckkkkk…” he groaned out following behind you. hand still in yours.

you turned around to the man, seeing if there was a problem.

your eyes were met with a gaze you had never seen before.

you continued on to his room finally forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed.

you turned around to leave, but something stopped you. he suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist.

“y/nn… your so hot- fuck.” he said out of the blue. your heart stopped. did he really think that?

“you don’t even know it but you turn me on so bad. even just looking at your ass when you dragged me here. fuck- it gave me a boner.” he stated looking up at you. hands firm on your body.

“atsumu, you don’t mean that your just drunk.” you say in a serious tone.

“oh but i do mean it. and im not drunk. i just had some shots awhile ago. i pissed it out of my system.” he said in a vulgar tone.

what was his deal?

………..

but there he had you. doggy style. ass up as he pounded you from behind. your roommate that you had led to his room moments ago now had his cock in your gummy walls.

“fuck i knew you wanted this cock. your so fucking obvious with the way you look at me. you always wanted me to fuck you isn’t that right?” he said through pounds.

you really shouldn’t be doing this.

“nn..just shut up-“ you moaned out. you didn’t have anything to say. embarrassing enough as it is he had control of you right now.

“cmon y/n you know you like it” he said.

he was so dramatic.

you cletched at his words regardless. because you really did like it.

“ohh.. fuck- i felt that. you do like it huh baby..?” saying with a hard slap to your ass.

you grabbed at your sheets whatever you could claw at.

“mmm- yea. you like all of me don’t you. i notice the way you stare at me.” he pushed your back down making your arch more significant.

you could feel his cock everywhere.

the sensation was tooooo overwhelming.

“atsumu…” you moaned out.

“i know your almost there… cum on my cock baby girl. cmon.” he said plunging his length in and out of you.

“your such a pretty girl. you know it too. we would make su- ch a cute couple.” he groaned out.

your drool was starting to collect on the sheets.

you felt the coil in your core. you were really close. it was all. too. much.

his pace sped up, and his cock his deeper then before.

“mmm- yea cmon baby. cum on my cock.” he groaned giving your ass another slap.

before you knew it your body pulsed around his length. squeezing him, aching for him to stay inside you.

“f-fuck.” he moaned out. your gummy walls clenched around him.

you blabbered out randoms about how he was so hot and so so good.

his ego was on a next level high.

he stayed in you barley pulling out in time. cumming on your ass.

he stared at your fucked out expression.

“cmon doll dontcha’ think we would be a cute couple.” he said in a playful tone as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out.

……………………………………………………………………………….

- this could be so much better idk. help me.

[stillness-in-green]

Some thoughts on The Discourse about the last BNHA cover

(Note: This Discourse was on Twitter. I don’t know how much of this may have been said here on Tumblr, so consider this either my contribution or just me reporting back on drama from other fronts.)

So, I saw a lot of back and forth over there between people who didn’t like the cover and people who did, and I spent a little while mulling it over. It seemed to me that the people who didn’t like it had a good point, but one they were not articulating particularly well, possibly thanks to the character limit and possibly also because the people talking about it tended to phrase their objections in sarcastic, consciously exaggerated terms because that’s the language months and months of dealing with the truly insufferable Horikoshi Defense Squad on Twitter primed them to use.

So what is the point?  Basically this: In going for the lazy/easy callback in both the cover design and Dai (plate-hair kid)'s role in the final chapter more generally, Horikoshi landed on an "everything comes full circle" ending when what the story desperately needed was an indicator of change.

We didn't need to know that a kid with low self-confidence and nothing to speak of in the quirk department can still become a Pro Hero if he[1] wants to.  We already knew that because it's what the whole story of BNHA was about!  Deku passing the torch/paying it forward is nice if all you care about is Deku's personal arc, but it's sheer reductiveness if you care about literally anything else.  If there was going to be a kid getting Deku's encouragement and help at the end, if that's the ending Hori was absolutely set on, it shouldn't have been the Deku Redux kid; it shouldn't have been the weak kid who has already been metaphorically proven capable of becoming a Hero.

1: And of course it would be a boy.

It should have been the troubled kid, the one from the bad family situation, the one who isn't sure whether he even believes in this Hero thing.  It should have been the kid who, if nothing about Hero Society had changed, would’ve been rejected by the whole corrupt system—in so many words, the Tenko Redux kid.  That's the one who we saw could not become a Hero under the previous system.  That's who we needed to demonstrate the system's improvement.

Instead, all we get is Deku helping himself.  And it fits, I guess, because “himself” is the only sort of person Deku ever wanted to save anyway—remember that in the very first chapter, Deku tells All Might that he wants to be a Hero because he was never “saved” as a kid and so he thinks saving is the coolest thing ever.  Implicitly, then, Deku wanted to be the kind of Hero who could have saved the kid he was, and that tendency to reserve his compassion for people he can recognize himself in—the crying children and the Hero wannabes—is consistent throughout the series.  Dai, then, simply becomes the very last of these examples, the chance for Deku to tell his middle school self that he, too, can be a great Hero.

And that’s quite a choice, isn’t it?  Take a second to consider the implications there. The metaphorical parallel Deku helps is his middle school self, not his childhood self—there’s no evidence that Dai was bullied on the same level young Izuku was, and we sure didn’t see anyone telling him to jump off a roof.  So, who does save those children, then, in this grand, improved version of Hero Society?  Does anyone?

Well, not really. Not that we’re shown. Indeed, the child who was the closest analogue to young Izuku—a weak and seemingly quirkless boy who stuck his neck out for other rejected children, who still stubbornly wanted to be a Hero despite a parent's disapproval—was Tenko, and Deku pointedly did not save him.

To be clear, I don’t mean that just in the sense that Deku failed to save the adult Tenko became, but even in the emotional sense that the series clearly wants me to believe Deku succeeded at, the saving of the boy's heart? I don’t think Deku even managed that.  Sure, he might have protected the echo of that child from a few memories, might have held his hands for a few exchanges of dialogue, but then the boy transformed back into the form of the Villain he'd become and was swallowed down the spiritual maw of the man from whom society failed to save Tenko to begin with! And what was Deku doing as this happened? Absolutely nothing but yelling impotently as he got blown backward and out of the mindscape.

Imagine that Deku had found some way to cheer up Izumi Kouta only for Muscular to kill the kid thirty seconds later.  No one would be saying, “I think Deku still saved him—his heart, anyway,” if Deku got Kouta to smile and admit that Heroes were actually pretty cool only to do nothing but scream helplessly as he watched Muscular pulverize Kouta’s ribcage with one gentle squeeze.[2]

2: Mind you, this comparison is flawed!  Unlike AFO’s vestige, Muscular doesn’t turn up to kill a child as a direct result of Deku’s own actions. Also unlike the events of the final battle, Deku doesn't jump up and personally administer the killing blow to the still-screaming victim, either.

It just leaves me thinking about some of the stuff @codenamesazanka has said about how the narrative treats Shigaraki and Deku helping him: not as something Deku has a duty to do, not something Hero Society on the whole owes Shigaraki (and all the other metaphorical expy/future Shigarakis), but rather a bonus, a nice extra, a demonstration to shine up Deku's Hero cred because he's making efforts no one else would bother with and that no one would reasonably expect him to make. It's not Deku’s job to save the Tenkos or the young Izukus of the world; apparently that just falls to society at large.

So then, what was the point of making Tenko/Tomura such an extreme case of someone who started in a similar place to Deku?  Why make him, also, a weak kid who was told he couldn't be a Hero, if you're not going to have Deku save him in the way no one saved Deku himself?

From where I'm sitting, the answer is, "It seemed like a good idea to Horikoshi at the time, but proved to be poorly thought out."  But if Deku failing to save his own closest childhood analogue was where the story was going the whole time, then Shigaraki should never have been used to parallel Deku to begin with.  It's just a damned waste of Shigaraki as a character, an insult to everything he represented, to use him for ~the parallels~ throughout the entirety of the story except the very beginning and the very end.

Anyway, Pro Heroes are bullshit and the ending should have been them being radically reconceived from the ground up with input from all the people they failed to save.  But again, if you have to still have Heroes-qua-Heroes at the end, and you have to have some stupid thematic echo because you as an author think callbacks are the single most compelling storytelling tool of all time, then everything we got on Dai should have been for Scissors-kun instead, and here I am very much including Dai's scene before the first war. An unsettling scene of a strange child with his mouth sewn shut, stuck in a straitjacket in a dark room should have been the last thing we saw before launching into the day of the raids, an apparent element for the future in the same way that so many future Villains were first shown in the wake of Stain's arrest.

See, Shigaraki’s own destructiveness is what ultimately frees Scissors-kun from the basement, “saving” this rejected, abused child in a way no Hero ever managed or even knew to try, just as Shigaraki brought light and a strange sort of hope to the lives of so many others whom Heroes failed.  However, Shigaraki couldn't carry his ambitions through to the end. He was never able to meet the kid he indirectly saved, never able to offer that appallingly abused victim an avenue for his signature brand of rough justice. Heroes stopped him from doing so. So then, who will help Scissors-kun?

If we’re to believe that the story's protagonist has made a real difference, that Deku and his classmates have changed the world for the better, then we don't need to see them helping a kid who we already know is going to turn out fine because “he” aleady did. We need to see them help the people that previously only Villains would have helped, picking up the torch they struck from Shigaraki’s hands.

So sure, keep the scene with Granny Evil and Scissors-kun if you must, to show that it’s not only Heroes but also the broader Hero Society that’s changed. After that, though, show Deku stepping in.  Show him taking an interest in this kid as a way to keep his promises—to Shigaraki, that the rejection and obliviousness that he sought to destroy have indeed been destroyed and will remain so, and to Spinner, that Deku will remember Shigaraki for the rest of his life. 

When Deku is older and in a position to give advice to a kid who’s floundering and uncertain of what to do with his life because of what people around him say about him, make that character echo the characters the old system failed to save, not the character who the entire story proved would do just fine.

For god's sake, ditch Deku Redux.

Now, I know the obvious rejoinder here: We can’t use Deku’s story to say that BNHA already showed us that Dai would be fine because Dai has a quirk where Deku did not, therefore Deku’s path would not be open to Dai.  To this, I would reply that neither Deku nor Dai specify that Dai wants/is able to be a top Hero, merely that he be the kind of Hero people can admire—which the story has also already proven true!

Ojiro got into UA with nothing but one (1) extra limb.

Manual has a perfectly middling quirk that turned out to be absolutely crucial in two different wars because it was the right quirk at the right time.

Wash’s quirk makes strong bubbles. 

Like, this list is not short.  Manifest Plates might or might not make Dai Hero Billboard material, but one of the major points of the endgame was the sublime and noble value of helping when you can, in the way that you can.  So to reiterate, we didn’t need that to be proven again in the epilogue.

If anything, going the route of retreading the same story makes the epilogue much worse! Not only do we not get to see how this society is helping the people the old society most profoundly failed—victims who fall through the cracks and become Villains—but in seeing yet another a weak kid being mocked for his heroic aspirations, we find that we’ve barely moved a step beyond the exact same place we started.

That’s the message Horikoshi chose to go with, for both the closing chapters of the story and the story’s final volume cover.  Truly, as art that summarizes the story goes, it’s a masterful choice!  And that's the whole problem. The cover of Volume 42 is a perfect illustration of the self-absorbed, cynical, cyclical nature of BNHA's endgame. Little wonder, then, that it's hated by the same people who hated said endgame.

[ms-demeanor]

Someone asked, so let's talk about refurbished computers.

I think there are 2 legitimate reasons to get a refurbished computer:

It is an emergency and you can afford literally no other computer so you are using the refurb as a bandaid while you save up to buy another computer.

You are capable of upgrading, maintaining, and repairing the computer yourself so the risk associated with using a refurbished computer is minimized.

Because here's the thing, a refurbished computer is simply more likely to fail than a new computer. It's going to be older, it will have seen more use, it will have been power cycled more times - there are just a lot of reasons that it is more likely to die on you.

IF you want to buy refurb, I'd recommend a couple of guidelines:

Don't get anything with a processor that is more than five years old - for intel that means 10th gen or newer. ABSOLUTELY do not get any processor that is lower-level than an i5.

Don't max out on RAM or drive space - tons of refurb outfits will sell a piece of shit with 64GB of slow, old DDR4 in it or with a 2tb HDD. Get approximately what you need, or maybe one level up, not the absolute max.

Aim for reparability over portability - you will want to look for business-class computers that give you room to move around and swap in parts.

DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT spend more than $300 on a refurbished laptop or desktop. At that point, you are more than halfway to the cost of a decent new machine and paying more for a refurb will be detrimental to your ability to purchase a newer device down the line.

Buy a computer with the CURRENT operating system. Don't get a Win10 box, part of why it's a big deal to stay current with processors is because older processors aren't allowed by win11 and win10 has only one more year of support and security patches - unless you are planning on installing linux, get whatever the current mainline OS is.

All that being said: You can totally flip buying a refurbished computer into being someone who knows about hardware by working on your refurbished computer, and a refurbished computer is the IDEAL device to get your feet wet with linux because hey it was a cheap machine to start what's the harm you should try mint, mint is good, you'd like mint you should install mint.

SO. If I had to buy a computer for myself that was a personal computer that I didn't rely on for work, here's an ebay search with the parameters that I would use. Of those computers, if I were going to make a choice it would either be:

This 10th gen i7 ThinkPad

Or this 12th gen i5 IdeaPad

(my computer has a 10th gen i5 processor so either processor would be a step up and the SSD would double my storage but I'd have to throw more RAM in to get this to the level that I've currently got and i know that ideapad maxes out at 40gb and is *slightly* harder to crack open than the thinkpad) BUT either option would be more than half the cost of that Asus up there which has a newer processor and at least a one year warranty from the manufacturer.

Last year you made a post on buying a new laptop here

https://www.tumblr.com/ms-demeanor/726015098368475136?source=share

I was wondering if anything has changed since then, are there other things I should be looking for in a new laptop? Thank you!!

This information now lives on a page on my website that I update periodically; here's info that's current to November 2024.

Here's a Newegg search with all the search parameters that I would use that has a selection of very decent laptops in a wide range of prices. Also literally right now this week they've got black friday deals going on so there are some VERY good prices there.

If I had to buy a good computer for my teenage nephew that I would expect to last him a few years but that is a low price because he's a kid and kids sometimes destroy shit, this is the one I'd grab for him from that list.

If my work computer exploded today and I had to replace my laptop that I use daily for business and would expect to have a long lifespan with heavy use but gentle handling, this is the one I'd grab from that list.

Those are both good prices for those specific machines.

[charmandabear]

Office Hours: it's so easy to bite with your hands pinned (2/16)

Summary:

After fantasizing about it, Rosalind can't stop thinking about what it would be like to fuck Ancunín. Maybe Shadowheart is right, maybe she should just do it to get it out of her system.

Pairing: Astarion/named f!Tav Rating: explicit

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter tags/warnings: vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, p in v intercourse, blood/blood drinking, creampie/no breeding (full list on ao3)

Yayyyyyy chapter 2! I've been absolutely going through it personally, but your comments and kind words have brought me such joy. My goal will continue to be to upload Sunday/Monday so if I miss a day, I give you full permission to yell at me. (But please be nice, I'm very sensitive.)

Read it on AO3. ~ Masterlist (coming soon.) ~ Office Hours playlist on Spotify.

“Shadowheart, I think I fucked up.”

Rosalind picks at the cardboard sleeve on her coffee cup as Shadowheart grabs her latte from the counter. Her best friend’s eyebrows disappear into her platinum bangs as she fixes Rosalind with a cautious look. They had met six years ago while moving into adjacent apartments. Shadowheart was already working at BGU in the Divinity School, and a few years back she helped Rosalind get an interview with Volo in the theatre department.

“Do I need to kill someone or help you bury the body?” she says with a sly smile, and Rosalind groans, almost too ashamed to admit it. She has complained far too much about Ancunín for what happened last night not to be exceedingly embarrassing.

“No, not that,” she begins, then takes a sip of coffee to brace herself. “You know that snotty Renaissance Lit professor I’ve mentioned?” They tap their phones on the turnstile censor and file through one at a time.

“Yeah, the one you’re always going on about?” Shadowheart looks over her shoulder as she asks the question, and she’s treated to Rosalind’s dramatic eye roll.

“I’m not always going on about him,” she grumbles, and Shadowheart’s laugh reverberates off the metro walls.

“You absolutely are, but continue,” she smirks, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Okay well let me at least show you what he looks like before I lose service,” Rosalind preemptively defends herself, pulling out her phone and searching for the BGU English department faculty page. She scrolls down to Ancunín’s portrait and turns the screen towards Shadowheart.

It looks like a candid photo but it’s very clearly composed. He’s sitting pitched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s looking off to the side and his brow is furrowed like he’s engaged in vigorous academic debate. It’s wildly pretentious.

“Oh. Oh,” she says in a low tone as her eyes study the screen. Suddenly she gasps and looks at her friend with wide eyes. “Rosalind, no, tell me you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t!” Rosalind shouts, perfectly scandalized. Then, in a much lower voice that ultimately gets drowned out by the roar of a train flying by, she says, “I just thought about it.”

“What?” Shadowheart shouts, pulling her scarf in a little closer to protect herself from the wind cast off by the train.

“I just thought about it!” Rosalind shouts back, wishing she had just waited to speak.

“Thought about what?”

“Fucking him!” Of course, she shouts this last bit just as the train has fully passed, which means everyone else waiting on the platform hears her clear as day. Rosalind hides her flushed face behind her cup, praying that no one from the school is also taking the metro today.

“And?” Shadowheart looks at Rosalind expectantly.

“And what?”

“How was it?”

Rosalind scoffs and looks down the tunnel at the train’s headlights in the distance in order to avoid answering her question for a second longer. “I mean, it was my imagination, so like good I guess?”

“Well sure, but would you want to do it in real life?” As Shadowheart answers, the train comes to a screeching stop and the two of them board, snagging a two-seater as far away from both entrances as possible. Shadowheart pinches her knees together and places her bag delicately on her lap.

Rosalind sighs heavily before answering. “Man, I dunno. I’ve never really been into the idea of hate sex, at least not since Aradin.”

Shadowheart makes a face of abject disgust. “He doesn’t even know how lucky he is that I’ve never been in the same room as him.”

“Trust me, I’ve never been more appreciative of having someone so eager to commit murder for me,” Rosalind laughs, putting her hand on Shadowheart’s knee. They sit in silence for a few minutes, and Rosalind looks out the window at the other platforms whizzing by. 

“I think you should go for it,” Shadowheart says suddenly, and Rosalind chokes on her coffee.

“Excuse me?” she coughs as she wipes her mouth.

“What’s the worst that could happen? If it doesn’t work out, you can just go back to hating him like before, and at least then you won’t need to wonder anymore,” Shadowheart says matter-of-factly. She’s awfully nonchalant about having just described the literal nightmare scenario.

“Excuse me, how is that possibly meant to make me feel better?” Rosalind gapes at her.

“At least you get a good shagging out of the deal, right?” Shadowheart flashes a coffee-stained grin and Rosalind pushes her face away.

“Maybe not, he could be terrible for all we know,” she replies smugly as the train slides into the University stop. They funnel out with the hoard of students and other professors who also get out onto the platform. “Man, Shade, we need to get you laid, don’t we?” Rosalind teases her as they trash their empty coffee cups.

“Listen, you’re closer to getting some than I’ve been in months, it’s not that good out here for most of us,” she groans.

“Hey, if I end up getting lucky, maybe he’s got some pretty colleague he can hook you up with,” Rosalind says with a shit-eating grin and Shadowheart rolls her eyes.

“Absolutely not, English academics are the worst.”

***

Rosalind and Shadowheart split ways in front of the student union, each of them heading to their respective sides of campus. Rosalind goes directly to her office and immediately closes the door — usually an unthinkable act but entirely necessary today. She can’t look at his face right now. She can’t possibly look him in the eye.

She spends the majority of the day locked in her office, double checking the hallway before leaving to teach Voice and Speech. She even avoids the main office for fear of running into him there. 

When 5:00 rolls around, she takes a peek outside her door to see most of the other professors leaving. To play it safe, she decides to work until six so she can be absolutely sure he’s gone by the time she leaves. She passes the time by absentmindedly grading weekly reflections. It’s only when she realizes that she’s read one paragraph about Miss Julie about a half dozen times, she figures it’s time to leave.

She pokes her head into the hallway, but can’t tell from this angle whether or not his door is closed. She grabs her bag and coat, takes a deep breath, and makes a beeline for the stairs. It’s only when she approaches his office door that she realizes it’s open. 

Fuck.

It’s fine. She can just walk past it and get to the stairs and then she won’t need to worry about it. He might not even be in there. Or if he is, he probably has his head down and won’t notice her walk by. It’s fine. She can feel her heart pounding in her ears nonetheless.

“Oh, professor, a word?” His voice floats into the hallway right as Rosalind passes his door. Are you fucking kidding me? She turns to see him sitting at his desk, head down, writing something. He doesn’t even bother looking up at her. Prick.

“Yes?” she asks coldly, not budging from her spot in the hall. He glances up and looks at her over his glasses. Those fucking glasses. Rosalind wants to rip them off his face and throw them out the window.

“Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk.” His voice is low and cool. Does he fucking know? There’s no way he can know.

Right?

Rosalind takes a tentative step into his office. It’s surprisingly cluttered for a man who always looks so put together, but it’s somehow warm and inviting. She can barely see the walls from being covered corner to corner in overfull bookshelves. He’s got a big mahogany desk in the middle of the room — significantly nicer than the university-issued ones. It’s covered in stacks of papers, books, weird little knick knacks; it’s amazing how he’s able to get anything done on it, honestly. Two chairs face his desk, but they’re covered in a rich plush velvet instead of a scratchy cotton weave like the ones in Rosalind’s office. He’s got a scent diffuser somewhere, giving the room an aroma like an earthy spiced tea. 

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the cushy red chairs across from him. Rosalind stands still, clutching her bag, staring at him like a deer in the headlights. When he realizes she’s not going to sit, he gets up and crosses over to the door.

“Do you mind if I close this? It’s… a bit embarrassing,” he asks with a crooked smile. She can feel the heat in her cheeks rising. Her mouth goes dry as she tries to swallow the lump forming in her throat.

There’s no way he knows.

Right?

But something compels her to nod, so he closes the door and walks back to his desk. He leans casually on the edge of it, facing her and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He’s taken off the blazer he usually wears and is down to just the turtleneck, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Rosalind watches him carefully, waiting.

“I wanted to… apologize. For yesterday.”

Rosalind blinks at him, the conversation immediately not going in the direction she expected. She still feels so much shame about last night that it takes her a moment to realize what he’s referring to.

He sees the gears turning in her brain and decides to continue. “It was inappropriate to barge in on your meeting with your student. You were mid-instruction, and I needn’t have inserted myself into your conversation.” He leans back on his hands, stretching out his lithe figure to impossible proportions. Rosalind’s grip on her bag slackens and she can’t help but drag her gaze over the length of his body. He looks back at her quizzically.

“I get the sense that you don’t very much like me,” he muses. Now it’s his turn to give the once-over, and Rosalind feels practically naked before him with the way he leers at her. “Then again,” he adds, and pushes himself off his desk. He slowly advances toward her, though whether like someone approaching a vicious beast or a predator stalking its prey, it’s unclear. She retreats while holding his gaze until her back is flush against the door. 

No escape now.

He gets precariously close and takes an unsettling whiff. When he speaks again, his voice is a husky growl.

“I think it’s entirely possible you like me… quite a bit.” He’s at least a half foot taller than Rosalind, and he looks down on her with heavy-lidded eyes. The heat in her face has fully reached the tips of her ears now, and her breath comes out ragged. 

“I’m sure I—” she begins, but it comes out thick and raspy. She clears her throat and tries again. “I’m sure I don't know what you mean,” she finally manages with all of the composure she can muster. He cocks an eyebrow, then slowly takes off those infuriating glasses.

“No? Then perhaps I’m mistaken, and your heart rate hasn’t drastically increased in the past few minutes.” His eyes continue boring into her. “And maybe that smell between your legs is completely unrelated.”

An undignified splutter escapes Rosalind as she presses her thighs closer together. He takes a half step back to let her respond. 

“If I am indeed mistaken, then I’ve said my piece and you’re free to go.” The seductive honey is gone from his voice, and in its place is a politely professional tone. He’s giving me an out, she realizes. He’s saying that we can both laugh at this as an embarrassing moment and never bring it up ever again.

But on the other hand… Rosalind thinks back on her conversation with Shadowheart and swallows thickly.

“You’re not mistaken,” she manages to choke out in a whisper. The lazy smile is back and he lifts her chin with his index finger.

“What was that? Speak up.” His command makes Rosalind’s knees go weak and she withers under his gaze.

“You’re not wrong,” she says more boldly, trying to meet his energy. His smile broadens, and for the first time she notices two pointy fangs slip out beneath his upper lip.

Fucking

vampire??

That explains why he could track Rosalind’s heartbeat, and even more his ridiculously keen sense of smell. Doesn’t make it any less humiliating. 

“No, I don’t suppose I am,” he snarls and suddenly he’s kissing her roughly, hands twisting in her hair and one knee sliding up between her legs. He pushes her against the door, lifting her up onto her toes. She’s desperate just to keep up as he devours her, her hands weakly grasping at his hips, shoulders, neck. But he’s fully in control of the kiss, and after a moment she lets him take her.

He breaks the kiss but doesn’t pull away as they both breathe heavily, air cycling between their lungs. Rosalind’s head is full of a thick fog and she can’t see straight. His hands are still in her hair, tight but not pulling — yet. Why do I get the sense that might not last long?

He drops to his knees and she nearly doubles over from the sudden lack of support. He runs his nose and lips across the hem of her black denim skirt, inhaling again. Her fingers lace into his hair, but not even remotely in the dominant way from her fantasy. At this point she’s just trying not to collapse. 

He looks up at her, flashing another fang-bearing grin. His hand slips up her skirt and his thumb runs across her pussy, barricaded by sheer tights and panties.

“Darling, you’re positively soaked,” he hums contentedly. “You’d have a hard time hiding this from anyone.” She bites her lower lip, trying to keep the needy whines at bay. But when he fiercely rips the crotch of her tights and presses the flat of his tongue against the drenched gusset, she can’t stop the cry from escaping her throat. He sucks lasciviously, the debauched slurping noise ringing in her ears. Her knees buckle and he grabs hold of her hips, hiking up her skirt to get better access to her dripping cunt. He presses a finger past her panties and slips it into her, and she gasps at the stark temperature difference. 

“Gods, fuck,” she groans under her breath, and she runs a hand through her hair as her head drops back against the door. He presses his nose into the flesh of her lower belly, licking and kissing it as he slides in a second finger into her. She can feel her legs beginning to shake as he pumps into her, stretching her out. She grasps the handle of the door trying to brace herself on something. When her hips begin to subconsciously roll against his hand, he yanks his fingers out and she whines at the sudden emptiness. 

“Someone’s needy,” he sings as he stands before sucking her arousal off his fingers. He pulls her into another searing kiss and the taste of her lingers on his lips. He grabs her ass and digs his fingers into her flesh, spreading her cheeks until she gasps into the kiss. In one fluid motion he sweeps up her legs and wraps them around his waist. She yelps in surprise; he’s significantly stronger than he looks.

He carries her over to that incredible mahogany desk, plopping her down on the hardwood and sending books and papers tumbling to the floor. He presses his bulge into her mound, this time the sound of both of their groans mingling pleasingly. He tears at her chiffon button down, trailing hungry kisses down her chest as she throws her head back in pleasure. He makes quick work of fully removing her top, though she’s certain he sacrificed some buttons in the process. She can hardly bring herself to care as she paws wantonly at the back of his neck, desperate for him to get his lips onto every single inch of her. He pulls down the lace cup of her bra with his teeth and starts sucking on her nipple, pressing his hand into the small of her back. She arches into him, his hands working her like a soft clay.

So much for the pleading mess that she pictured last night. Instead, Rosalind has been reduced to shambles, begging for his satisfaction.

“Puh-please,” she stutters, and those devilish eyes lock onto hers again. He snakes his way back up her chest and bites her lower lip.

“Puh-please what?” he mocks her stammering, but makes up for it when he rolls his hips forward, dragging that delicious hardness against her. She squirms, trying to pull him closer but he’s got her arms locked in his grip. His lips leave hers and ghost over the flesh of her neck. He very gently scrapes his fangs across her jugular, eliciting a ghoulish moan from her in return. By all the gods, Rosalind hadn’t even considered that as a part of it. His movement makes it clear that he won’t bite unless she wants him to.

But holy hells does she want him to.

“Gods Astarion,” she gasps, and she’s almost certain she can feel his cock twitch at the sound of his own name. “Fuck me then bite me, or the other way around I don’t care, but please get inside me!” The string of words almost sounds foreign to her, but she’s well beyond the point of trying to sound clever. In an instant, he’s undone his belt buckle and his erection springs forth, bouncing and already dripping precum. He roughly shoves her panties to the side and sinks his cock and teeth into her simultaneously, drawing out her cry of both pain and pleasure. She wraps her legs and arms around him, trying to pull him in deeper. She feels his mouth filling up with hot blood just as her cunt fills up with his dick. 

His pumps are slow, taking his time as he swallows gulps of her blood. The obscene slurping noise mixed with his heavy breathing and occasional grunts that tickle her ear send her reeling. She’s always had a sensitive neck and more than enjoys the occasional hickey. But this is a whole new level of pain mixed with pleasure. His lips grow warm with her blood and she bucks against him, her whines getting swallowed by his curls. Her hands cup his ears, and she’s unable to stop herself from playing with those tiny silver hoops. He lurches and pulls away from her neck, looking absolutely feral with her blood dripping down his chin, which only sets her off more. 

“Please, I-I need more,” she whimpers breathlessly, angling her hips towards him and trying to get him to thrust faster.

“You eager little thing,” he growls, and the animalistic sound pulls another desperate whine from deep within her. He pushes her back down onto the desk and hooks his elbows beneath her knee high boots, pressing her thighs against her chest. He begins to pound into her properly, sending her hurtling towards climax. She grabs onto the edge of the desk as he revs up his pace, his cock stretching her out as he keeps her feet up by his shoulders. The heat begins to mount in her core and she knows it won’t be long before she comes. But at this point she’s just trying to hold on for dear life.

“Fuck, gods, Astarion, I’m—” She finishes before her sentence does. He doesn’t relent as the orgasm wracks her body, if anything, he fucks into her harder. Just as she’s barely come down from her climax, he pulls out and yanks her off the desk, spinning her around and pushing her face down into the smooth mahogany, warmed from her back. He pushes her skirt up to her hips and grabs a hold of her ass, his nails digging into the part of the tights still in-tact. He slides into her again with a groan, and already she can tell that she’s working her way up to a second one. Her bare tits squish against the polished surface and he grabs her hair, pulling her head up and arching her back into him. 

She desperately wishes that she could see his face because she can feel his thrusts getting more uneven and erratic. She tries to turn to get a glimpse of him, but his grip on her hair remains tight. But even if she can’t see him, she can still hear him, his grunts and the low string of incoherent swears pouring out of his mouth. The sound of him getting lost in her is enough, and her own moans start building and mixing with his, an utter symphony of epicurism. 

His hips give a few more broken thrusts and she can feel his climax, setting off a second for her. The throbbing of his cock matches that in her cunt, and she holds onto the edge of the desk as the waves wash over her. Once the ripples have settled he pulls out, and she can feel his semen dripping out of the sudden emptiness and running down her leg. She silently says a thankful prayer for her IUD.

They’re both panting as he collapses onto her back, planting a half-hearted kiss on her spine. She weakly pushes herself up off the desk and sees the devastation of papers, smears and fluids. She turns around to relish in his appearance. Her blood is splattered on his fine cream sweater, his usually perfectly coiffed curls damp and sticking to his forehead. She reaches up and wipes the remainder of her blood off his chin. He smirks and gives her a surprisingly gentle kiss. 

“That was good,” she murmurs through steadying breaths, “but next time, keep the fucking glasses on.”

[demonvampire180writes]

Stacie's Master List of 9-1-1 Fics:

(Mostly BuckTommy)

As We Go Along Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary: Buck still bakes every time he thinks about Tommy. And he thinks about Tommy a lot. In fact, he thinks about him so much that sometimes the man manifests in the things Buck creates without him even trying. Especially with Christmas just around the corner.

No "happy" ending

It Was Dinner and a Movie Rated: T

BuckTommy

CW: Mild homophobic language

Summary: The boys decide to do a first date do-over now that Buck is more comfortable in his skin. And while things go mostly smooth, something small always has to interfere, and Tommy is over it. He was afraid to speak his mind once, but he's older, wiser, and has a much lower tolerance for others intolerances now. While this date won't be perfect, he refuses to let the small-minded make it worse.

LA's Link to the Sky Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary: Buck and Tommy have a full week of opposing schedules and Buck is excited because he has something special planned for Tommy, and he can't have him catching onto it until Buck is ready.

Shine Bright Like a Northern Star Explicit Version Rated: M

BuckTommy

Summary:

Buck surprises Tommy with a late night beach date and things get a little bit emotional.

For the rated G version of this story, please check out Chapter 5 in my previously published work "A Thousand Butterfly Kisses."

A Thousand Butterfly Kisses Rated: G

BuckTommy (Incomplete 5/8 Chapters, All individual one-shots)

Summary:

A collection of short stories about various dates Buck and Tommy go on, including taking the kids to the zoo, picnics under the stars, ferris wheels and roller skating at the pier and so much more. Nothing but fluff and happiness for these two! (Except in one instance.)

Each story is completely independent of the other. At least one story will contain age related death but there will be a warning in the author's notes at the beginning if that's something you're triggered by. Any other triggers will be in the A/N each chapter as well as a short description of the story.

Soft Kitty, Warm Kitty Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary:

Tommy keeps his promises, and even though he's late, he still shows up, tired and exhausted as he is. In thanks, Evan shows him what it means to be taken care of and prioritized.

The beginning is just like the end of 7x06 but hopefully it's only a small part of it.

Someone Like You Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary: Buck manages to keep it hidden from everyone for over a month, but one day he just breaks. When he does, the only thing he wants, more than Tommy, is his big sister to hold him and tell him everything will be alright.

Post 8.06 Canon Compliant - No "happy" ending!

Right as Rain Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary: The cat distribution system hits Buck while Tommy is at work.

Walk With Me Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary: Buck and Tommy go for an early morning walk together.

Satin and Lace Rated: E

BuckTommy

Summary: Tommy likes to wear lace once in awhile, trying to be true to himself and getting out of the mindset of toxic masculinity, but he's never told Evan. One day, Evan walks into his bedroom after Tommy has gone to change after a very windy date, and to say Tommy is caught unawares is an understatement. Only Evan's reaction is totally unexpected and shenanigans Tommy has never experienced before ensue.

Oh Captain, My Captain! Rated: G

Bobby centric, includes all main couples

CW: Mentions of depression/poor mental health

Summary: Bobby has no issues being honest about his feelings. Until he does. It's been months since he left the 118, and he wakes up every morning regretting it, but he made this bed and now he's being forced to lay in it. But he doesn't want anyone to know. Can't let anyone know his weakness. Athena, the amazing woman and wife that she is, does notice however, and she makes it her mission to bring that smile back to her husbands face, and bring his family back to him, any way she can.

[russeliarat]

So I've encountered some WILD vague posting about the CCCC fandom and it's arguments about gore fics. I haven't directly interacted with this fandom for over a year - not because of anything bad, I just moved on to other interests to be clear, however the fact that this issue that I encountered a full YEAR ago is still a prominent issue in the fandom is crazy. And according to my boyfriend, who still actively engages with the main section of the fandom and their fanfictions, it's apparently gotten a LOT worse.

So I'm gonna be clear, I still engage with CCCC and CJ's media. I still listen to his music, I still engage with art on tumblr, as well as headcanons, I still draw HMSW (plus two of my system's cohosts are directly sourced from the media). I just haven't read the fanfiction or gone on CJFS for a while. Hearing that this has been so bad, it's come to vague posting back and forth on tumblr makes me so fuckin fed up with this shit.

Read to the end of my post before you form an opinion on this, I have nuance, okay?

Hi people, maybe it doesn't take a genius to take a step back and figure out that saying that you should be allowed to make reasonless and intense gore, abuse, and torture fics about a REAL GUY'S personification of his own personal struggles with mental health and suicide is insanely entitled /neg.

Heart, Mind, Soul, and Whole are not just independent characters from Chonny Jash. They are his (self-admitted) personifications of his mental health struggles, thusly, they are him. CJ has said that Whole is just him.

Excusing making fanfiction about intense abuse and gore and torture and cannibalism and god knows what else about HMSW on 'they're AUs' or 'they're interpretations' is not okay. Usually, I'd agree that you should be allowed to make fanfiction freely without people telling you what to do. HOWEVER! This is a real man's struggle with his mental health so I think that there are certain lines and boundaries that should be placed out of respect for CJ. Reasonless gore isn't necessarily bad, but reasonless gore about a real person's struggles is above and beyond disgusting. I've seen someone argue that saying that is government state censorship...

Guys, there is a distinctive difference between 'reasonless fluff' and 'reasonless gore'. One is wanting them to get along and be nice. The other is wanting them to torture each other. I don't think it takes a genius to understand there's a huge difference between 'I want them to snuggle' and 'I want violence to be done upon them'.

I think over the past year, I've kept this idea to myself because I wasn't directly involved and I didn't want to face the backlash at the time. Then my boyfriend got slammed in dms by someone who had these views, so now I'm pissed. I have personal shit in the game now and I cannot hold myself at bay anymore because I'm at my wits fucking end.

I think a lot of writers who delve into these intense topics should keep in mind 'what would CJ think if he saw that I was making fics about gore/abuse/torture with characters that personify himself?' Not because all gore or abuse is bad, they can be used for some wonderful symbolism or tension when pulled off with meaning and though and tact - rather, it's because some people take it way too far, sometimes without realising. I've seen a lot of people I was close to get stuck in an echo-chamber and not realise they spiraled from the headcanon that The Juno Incident was a violent blinding to something as intense as frequent abuse or gore between HMS.

I want the people on the opposing side to realise that I'm not going after gore or violence or intense themes. Some of my favourite pieces of media contain very violent, gory, abusive, intensely triggering themes, and sometimes, they are reasonless and because the developer or writer wanted to explore different forms of horror and fear. I don't personally believe that those kinds of themes should carry over to CCCC because (for the fifth time I'm mentioning it but I feel like I really need to drill it into some people's heads) the album is about a real person's struggle with suicide and his own mental health.

I'm not trying to censor anyone's views, it's just that I think sometimes there's just general common sense boundaries surrounding fandoms that are about someone's mental health.

An additional point is how often these fics tend to be quite ableist and I do see these writers project their internalised ableism onto HMS, which is a much bigger issue in the fandom since about 90% of people headcanon Heart as being somewhere on the blind spectrum and Mind as having some sort of issue with his voice that means he needs to use a vocal implant/Mind being a robot (which can very quickly spiral into ableism depending on how it's used).

Frequently, I see people portray Heart's blindness as making him weak or helpless and the same with Mind and Soul if people headcanon them as having implants or prosthetics or some form of disability and use it in their gore fics. Due to a lot of gore/torture fics using helplessness from injury as horror, it can very easily become quite ableist. I've been in fandoms with a whole month dedicated to harming their faves, and this can be an issue with them as well, not just the CCCC fandom. It can be done without ableism, but more often than not (especially in the CCCC fandom) people aren't looking for it when they write and can create ableist fics about a helpless character because their new/old disabilities.

I also saw someone talking about mischaracterisation and how that ties into this whole thing, but that's for another time because it's partially a separate topic that I could do a full length thesis essay on, so I'll do it another time.

TLDR; Don't make gore/torture/abuse fics about a real person's personifications of himself and his mental health/suicide struggle. That's fucked???

[i-love-ptv]

Family Reunion Whenever I’m Home ᓚᘏᗢ

Pairing: Boyfriend!JJ Maybank x Witch!Girlfriend!Reader

Based on the prompt: “Wait, wait, wait! What are you doing?” “What? I need to heat up the potion.” “In the microwave?” (another pinterest prompt, ik guys..)

Wc: 1,661

Fluff—Thanksgiving diner!! JJ gets a boner but no smut or anything like that!

An: First off, HI GUYS!!! thought i’d put this out for yall cause i think it’s cute, better than thanksgiving (i hate thanksgiving sorry) so ya!!

also!!!!! reader is written to kind-of be like a fairytail witch? i’m not super like, educated on witchcraft n all that jazz, so i tried to make sure it wouldn’t offend anyone in any way!! (lmk if there’s any problems i love you all)

Feedback is always appreciated and welcomed!! xoxo

“JJ, they’re almost here! Hurry up and set the table!” You giggle as JJ pressed another kiss to the crook of your neck.

“‘S fine…I’m sure they’ll be willin’ to help anyways.” JJ murmurs against your cold skin.

November 28th; Thanksgiving. The day where you get together with your friends and family, and spend the day together sharing thanks, food, and laughs.

Hence why the pogues, alongside the soon-to-be born baby pogue, are coming over to your and JJ’s shared home for dinner.

You’ve been cooking all day, finishing up what you didn’t yesterday, with no help from JJ of course.

It’s not like he didn’t offer, he definitely tried to take ahold of your cooking spoon.

…Which resulted in a swat sent to his hand.

You “banished” —JJ’s words, not yours, to clean the house while you cooked. It’s very apparent that JJ can’t cook to save his life, you also can’t rely on him to get a real meal in his system, or anything healthy.

You still think about the time where he ate moldy bread to this very day.

Thankfully, the rest of the pogues agreed to bring food as well, so you didn’t have to make much; the only problem is, they’re arriving soon and for some reason, the table is still not set.

Your boyfriend's hands continue to wander down your body, which doesn’t help your growing irritation. Not necessarily at him, but at the lack of acknowledgement to your pleas.

“Jackson,” You speak lowly, immediately catching JJ’s attention. You’re using that voice that’ll make him do anything you please in a heartbeat. He’s obsessed with the fact that his normally soft-spoken girl can straighten him out.

You continue, “Can you set the table for me, baby?” JJ breaks away, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course…” He mutters before turning around to the table. You start to feel bad, but all your feelings of guilt disappear once you notice the pink tint on his cheeks and the ever-growing boner he’s sporting.

“God, Jay. I mean, what the hell?”

The golden-haired boy puts his hands up as his mouth practically hits the floor.

“Well, what do you expect?! My super hot, witch girlfriend gets all stern with me, and-and you expect me not to feel some ‘typa way?!” JJ exclaims.

You roll your eyes at his antics, but your attention is drawn elsewhere when you notice your cat lurking on the counter.

“Down! Get down, Lottie!” You half-heartedly yelp, making a ‘shoo’ motion towards her; her wide eyes merely bore back at you.

You grab her then hear your doorbell ring, which makes the three of you jump, Lottie ends up wandering away.

“Go fix that, Jay.” You’re moving quickly, mainly to distract yourself from looking at the boy you’ve grown to love. You know that one glance will start something that neither of you are able to finish.

JJ hobbles off to your shared bathroom, murmuring curse words under his breath as you reach the door.

When it opens, Sarah pushes her way through first—well, her bump does.

“Oh my gosh! I’ve missed you so much!” She yells, making you wince, but your smile never leaves your lips. It’s an awkward hug for sure, but neither of you mind.

John B comes through next, sheepishly. He lets out a “sorry about her” while he adjusts the pan in his hands.

“Uh, where do you want me to put this?” John B asks, his eyes lingering on the half-set table.

You purse your lips, taking one between your teeth, “On the counter is fine for now.”

“—Please don’t drop it…” “I’m not going to drop it!” You hear shouts coming from the front lawn. You wobble your way over with Sarah still latched onto you when you see Cleo and Pope walking towards you.

Pope’s carrying what you assume is mac and cheese, and Cleo holds a ham, which is rather big in her hands.

They greet you both warmly, to which you reply timidly. It’s not that you had any problem with them, quite the opposite! But the only person to really get you out of your shell was JJ. Kie claims that it’s probably because he was your “first love” since the beginning.

Speaking of her, Kiara, alongside her girlfriend Monica, is walking up to your door with a dazzling grin. Everyone exchanges kind words; the boys offer to set the table, making you accept their act of service almost immediately.

“Mmm, it smells so good Bats!” Sarah groans, wafting the air, Kiara agrees with her.

“Where’s rude boy?” Cleo asks with a smirk. But before you could respond, JJ comes out of the bedroom with his arms stretched out wide.

“Right here, howdy y’all!” JJ nearly throws himself at the pogues, welcoming them all in a group hug.

“Hey, Jay?”

“Yeah B?” JJ turns to the brunette.

“Your fly’s down, bud.” John B snickers, then pats JJ on the back, leaving JJ fumbling with his pants with his ears burning red.

Boisterous laughter rings throughout the halls of the cluttered but cozy home; the table’s been set, the food is ready, and everyone’s in place to eat.

Pope’s rambling on about god knows what as of right now, so you take the opportunity to head to the kitchen undetected.

JJ can hardly hear over the [somewhat] playful screaming match between John B and Kiara. But faintly, he can hear the sound of bottles and pots clanging about in the kitchen.

He gets up from his seat, and JJ’s nearly tip-toeing over. He hears a few mumbled curse words followed by a few clicks and beeps.

JJ sees you: his sweet, gentle, oblivious, spell-casting lover. —And soon to be wife. Your frame blocks his view of what you’re standing in front of, but JJ can easily identify the low humming coming from the microwave.

You take a step back, making JJ take one forward towards you. Your hands are cupped together but remain low in front of you, and he can just barely make out the sight of you looking fondly into the lit up glass.

JJ looks over your shoulder, and his charming smile fades as he sees the glass bottle filled with a liquid he can’t even distinguish spinning slowly in circles.

“Wait, wait, wait! What are you doing?” JJ whisper-shouts.

You jump at the unexpected hands placed on your shoulder, letting out a gasp as you turn around.

You blink at him all doe-like, and JJ feels his resolve slipping all ready. “What? I need to heat up the potion.”

“In the microwave? Really, baby?” JJ tilts his head at you, it reminds you of a puppy-dog. His warm hands continue to rub up and down on your sleeve-covered arms.

“…Well, we haven’t been able to fully unpack all of my stuff, remember? You’ve been busy with work this week.” Your confusion never leaves your face. That’s when JJ remembers.

JJ and you have finally moved in together; meaning no more bed hopping between the chateau and your parents’ house. Everything’s been unpacked and placed carefully throughout the small house, except for your cauldron; alongside your books, bowls, daggers, and pretty much all of your stuff unfortunately.

JJ’s guilt is crawling up his throat; you had reassured him several times that you didn’t mind, and it wasn’t a pressing matter. But when you’re looking at him so sweetly, and your obliviousness to the situation rings deep, JJ’s heart can’t help but feel a pang.

You tear your eyes away from the boy once you hear the ‘beep, beep, beep’ from the rickety appliance.

You grab the bottle out of the microwave, and hold it so that it’s leveled with JJ’s eyes. Now that he can get a good look at it, JJ takes in its appearance. The liquid is somewhat of a sage green color (JJ barely even knows what that is), and it has some floating bits inside, but it doesn’t look nearly as gnarly as some of the other things you’ve concocted.

“Do ya think Sarah would drink this if I asked her to? It’s an elixir made to help and protect her and the baby. I’m not very worried about John B.” JJ swears he’s listening, honestly! He is! But at the same time, he’s really only focusing on the cute scrunch your face is making and your curious eyes.

You look at him awaiting an answer, “Mmm, how about we wait a little bit before we start giving Sarah all your fancy potions, huh cupcake?”

JJ’s flashing that grin at you that makes you weak in the knees, and all you can do is pout at him.

“Awee..Okay,” you drag out, your voice remains hushed.

JJ takes your hand in his, and you let him guide you to the table, where you’re met with boasting and a few questions directed from John B of course.

JJ pulls your chair out for you, and then sits himself right beside you, even going as far as to scoot his wooden chair even closer to yours. You both are sitting so close that your thighs are smushed together, and you find yourself craving it; craving his warmth.

“So were you guys boning in there or what?” There's a chorus of “John B!”’s and “oh my god”’s let out amongst the entire group. You cover your face and cower into JJ’s side.

“Alright, shut up man!” JJ yells, but you know there’s no form of malice in it.

You let out a giggle once you uncover your eyes and see Kiara and John B going back and forth once more; Pope and Cleo also jumping in from time to time. JJ looks down at you: leaning on him, with a bright smile on your face, he can’t help but feel a sense of pride.

This was his family, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

[maniacwatchestheworld]

The Aesthetics and Environmental Storytelling of the Society of the Blind Eye

This is the third post to try and make sure that we're all on the same page as to where I get my ideas and thoughts about the Society of the Blind Eye! So in the last part I discussed the Blind Eye's symbol and how it can be used to indicate that they oppose Bill Cipher. If you thought that I was pulling that idea out of my ass in the previous post, then guess what! I have further evidence of it! And that evidence is the hideout of the Society of the Blind Eye itself! Because if you pay attention, it seems that the Society's hideout was built on top of the bones of a temple dedicated to Bill Cipher!

Now it's not too outrageous to think that there was probably a cult dedicated to Bill Cipher in Gravity Falls at some point, right? It's never mentioned in Journal 3 nor the Book of Bill, but Gravity Falls is very much a place of interest to Bill Cipher, and his influence there stretches back thousands upon thousands of years. And the hideout where the Society now resides... It honestly doesn't seem like something they would have constructed themselves. In fact, it seems to have originally been a temple to Bill Cipher that the Society has since retrofitted to fit their own purposes.

The connections between Bill Cipher and the Society's hideout are evident from the very outset with trying to get into the hideout in the first place.

Now obviously eyes are a symbol and motif that Bill Cipher and the Blind Eye both share. This room doesn't necessarily hint at a connection to the hideout and Bill Cipher inherently, right? To that I say, look at image above the door and secondly, to get into the Blind Eye's lair...

Well then, that's just a Bill Cipher right there! A triangle with an eye in the middle of it? You could even make the argument that the etchings indicating the X could be a stylized depiction of Bill's eyelashes! No hat or bow tie, sure, but that's still very much a Bill within the context of this series!

Now once you start making your way into the Blind Eye's lair, it's very clear that this place is old. Very old. Much much older than the building above it.

This place is entirely made of stone with no insulation. It's lit and probably heated by fire. This place is starting to crumble and fall apart, the cracks in the walls being held together by metal brackets.

By contrast the building above it...

It's a modern building with the electricity being wired through the walls and a modern lighting and heating system that's not dissimilar to what you'd normally expect out of any other building in Gravity Falls! Sure, it looks like there might be some cracks and dents in the plaster on the walls, but it's nothing too worrying or indicative of these structures falling apart! The building's been around for a while. And given the pneumatic tubes that Fiddleford likely had to have installed both within the Blind Eye's lair and the museum above it himself, that means that this building had to have been around for ~30 years at minimum. But that's nothing compared to how old the structure beneath it seems to be. It really does seem that the hideout had to have been built first and then the museum was later built on top of it. And the Society has just not been around long enough for them to have been the ones to have built the hideout!

Besides. It's a bit of an odd fit, right? A cult built around the idea of forgetting their own pasts placed underneath a location dedicated to remembering and maintaining objects from the past...? Or maybe it's just some delicious irony. I mean, the memories that they had erased are kept down there too after all. But if this building was originally run by a Bill Cipher cult...? Oh yeah! That absolutely makes sense! Of COURSE Bill would want his temple hidden underneath a museum! He basically IS human history after all, right!? He's had a hand in so many historical people's lives, events, and is part of their cultures! A temple dedicated to him underneath a museum that would basically be a shrine full of artifacts dedicated to him? He'd LOVE that! I mean, Ford had to get his various pieces of Bill Cipher memorabilia for his shrine/home from SOMEWHERE, right!? Additionally...

What right and under what circumstances would the Society be allowed to have these ancient Egyptian artifacts!??? Why would the Society even WANT something like these!? The Society has nothing to do with Egypt and their artifacts, so why are these here!??? But if this place was originally dedicated to Bill Cipher... Well then... That ENTIRELY makes sense!! OF COURSE there would be ancient Egyptian artifacts in a temple to Bill Cipher! He was the inspiration for the pyramids!

I also want you to take note of that light and how you can see the electrical wiring that powers it coming out of it and running along the wall. That's a clear indication that this building was built before electricity would or could have been installed into this lair and that the electricity was installed later. Another indication that the hideout is likely much MUCH older than the building on top of it!

And as one more pretty definitive piece of evidence that this lair had originally been built by a Bill Cipher cult... THESE PILLARS!!!

Now do those symbols look familiar from somewhere...? Well, some of them pretty heavily feature triangles and have a very Bill-adjacent aesthetic to them... But then there's also THIS!

Here you can see that those symbols on the pillars ARE Bill Cipher symbols! It's very likely that those symbols have always been there, long long before the Society took up residence within these temple walls! From this, I think that it's pretty clear to say that this hideout existed LONG before the Society of the Blind Eye existed, and that a group of people who dedicated themselves to Bill Cipher inhabited it long before the Society became the modern, current day inhabitants of it.

... But as the modern day inhabitants of this space, it doesn't seem that the Blind Eye cares much for preserving the historical sanctity of this place.

The Society seems to have taken what was there since long before them and vandalized it to suit their own iconograpy and purposes. Just like their very symbol. The evidence that I've shown thus far could be used to suggest that Bill Cipher had influence on the Society of the Blind Eye and perhaps used the Society to enact his own desires in the physical world, but I don't personally buy that idea because A) It would be EXCEEDINGLY dangerous for Bill to do so and B) The lack of care and in fact blatant defacing of this temple's features suggests the opposite to me! Hell, they don't even keep the place clean!!

Other than the main chamber: Canisters. EVERYWHERE! Entirely unorganized as far as we can tell. Hoarded in piles on the floors, not even on the tables that seem to have just been placed in here willy-nilly! Put into crates without a care. It's a mess! And that's not even mentioning the pneumatic tubes!

The pneumatic tubes were certainly not built at the same time as this structure and must have been installed later, likely by Fiddleford himself! They curve around everything, bracketed into place along walls and columns alike! And when they do go through the pillars...

Where the tubes go through the walls and columns, the stone is cracked, holes probably having been driven into them without a care or thought about how that would effect the building's structural integrity. The sheer number of pneumatic tubes and the haphazard way they seem to have been placed everywhere is likely even more of a reflection to how much Fiddleford had damaged himself and his own mind as he desperately sought to forget. And in that state, Fiddleford probably didn't even think nor care to think about what he was doing and how it would effect this base of theirs. And besides. What would it matter? This was a temple to Bill Cipher before them. And certainly no one would remember being in such a cult after the Society was done with the town.

And so that's all I really have to say about that. The Society's aesthetic is cool! You could call it something akin to Steampunk, but I think that the better keyword here is retrofitted. Or perhaps its darker counterpart- defaced. After all, retrofitting is something that Fiddleford does all the time and is all about!

Using bottle caps to make memory guns, mattress springs and jugs to make sea monsters. And I imagine that the Society was built much the same way... But in a darker sense. Taking the remnants of a temple to Bill Cipher, destroying its previous aesthetic and purpose and making it suit his own to create a cult of his own that would wipe away people's memories from them until he himself would deface his own memories so thoroughly that he could only become a mere shadow of who he used to be. Very tragic for Fiddleford himself. But a very interesting implied history and aesthetic for the rest of us!

[cemetegee]

The Tridentarii Power Shift System

Lately, I've thought a lot about the Tridentarii power dynamic. And I've come to some interesting results. My main point I will explain below is: Corona is not a "Third House Twin puppet" and Ianthe is not her "puppeteer". In fact there is no "twin in charge". But it's a little complicated to explain. While I could do it by presenting you my (very confusing) train of thought, I'll do it by first giving you the infos my subconscious apparently had when I started to think about it.

(Fun fact: your subconcious owns 80 % more information than your concious. That means that it's not even a bad idea to follow "your heart".)

To even think about their power dynamic we need to remind (or find out) their negotiating positions:

For Ianthe, it seems to be pretty easy. She has the ability to do necromancy and that's something that Corona needs of her. Maybe it's interesting that she doesn't seem to have interest in it, though.

It's something she needs, but she doesn't want to have it herself.

For Corona it's more complicated. She has no necromancy. But she does in fact have something Ianthe needs of her:

Ianthe doesn't want to be the Crown Princess. Being the Crown Princess is of course more than a title. It's about the whole social & representative aspect. It's therefore understandable that she doesn't want to do that - her social skills are terrible. But it means that Ianthe can't represent (herself and) the twin couple appropriatly and needs Corona to do that for her.

And that makes Corona's negotiating position way stronger than it seems like at first.

With that knowledge we can finally analyse the Challenging scene. Judith challenges the Sixth and Corona tries to offer Third help - and fails. And this moment is interesting:

As it's been pointed out before by others: Corona seems to be surprised about that. Ianthe contradicting her in public is no familar experience to her. She was expecting to get her way. Apparently, Ianthe wouldn't have questioned here before Canaan House.

And that shows us, that Corona has (had) not only pro forma, but in fact the control in public situations. It's not only for show that they tell each other they'd need each other. It was true before Canaan House. What we see confirmed in right the same scene:

Corona can take the lead over the talk and reprimand her. Their dynamic is not "one evil twin in the shadows and in charge" but more a kind of power shift system. Corona takes the public shifts and Ianthe takes the shadow shifts.

Before Canaan House Ianthe would never have questioned Corona in public. The only reason why she can suddenly do it is, that she knows that she will ascend to Lyctorhood and therefore to the First House. She knows, that won't need a Third House Crown Princess there. The scene doesn't portray their usual power dynamic. It's a break point. The power dynamic shifts during Gideon the Ninth.

But it was different before.

[joanofarcs-stigmata]

gave up studying for my midterms so hello here i am! first, i want to give a few disclaimers: i have a degree in sociology, specifically in regards to trauma informed childcare and the school to prison pipeline, and i teach, so while i interact with the prison system i do not have a law degree, and i only know so much. also, i am trans and schizophrenic, both of which have crazy high rates of discrimination by police (especially schizophrenia. out of all people that face police brutality in the usa, 20.1% are schizophrenic!) so i am definitely biased. i'm also from the southern united states. my state has the highest # of people ever killed by the state in prison in the usa, and our last governor swears with his life that we have never executed an innocent person, despite plenty of people being cleared posthumously. (horrifying, i know. i love my home but also gosh i hate it here). so that's where im coming from, life experience wise. also, i apologize if my wording comes off as gruff; being schizophrenic, i have a hard time conveying tone. i 100% mean everything kindly.

also: im not an anarchist or anything lol. i promise

first, police aren't 'problematic'-- they're a militarized institution. they're a system built into the fabric of society. that's far more than problematic. in my state (which i'm keeping vague bc of privacy, but you can probably figure it out real easy at the end of this lol), the police, rangers, and sheriffs were all started for two reasons: genocide and slave catching. "hey, local farmer, need an *insert whatever slur for indigenous person you can think of* to give up their land? just have them bullied off the property by rangers!" "hey, plantation owner, your slave ran away? call the sheriff to come find them!" the police exist to enforce laws, and when the laws are genocidal and pro-slavery, these institutions are founded as colonialist and antiblack. policing in the usa exists because of slavery and genocide. the justice system hasn't 'failed' because it wasn't moral to begin with.

of course, the history of policing in america doesnt 100% start with slavery/indigenous genocide. but, prior to these laws that supported state sanctioned violence, most law enforcement was done by militias. you see a lot of these still in my state, especially in sundown towns and near the mexican border, and a lot of these people get slaps on the wrist for brutalizing others while the people they are harassing-- black people, people of color, immigrants-- are jailed for nothing, which is just the system working as intended. historically, militias were only formalized into a police force when it came time to murder and attack people of color, ESPECIALLY in the case of slave catching. there is an entire department in the police force in my state that still shares a name with a slave catching group.

and that's just historically. in the modern day, the poor and unhoused, black people, indigenous people, other people of color, the severely mentally ill, and in some areas, lgbt people, make up the statistically disproportionately high percentage of american prisoners, and they certainly make up a higher proportion of solitary confinement (which has been outlawed in other countries and actively used for torture in the usa!) and those on death row. people who are the 'undesirables' make up the most of our prisons, and are the first to get murdered by police. in my state, just this month, a family was only just awarded money in damages for the police murder of their son six years ago that a major city here covered up. not some rural backwater town by a hillbilly cop-- one of the biggest metropolises in the state by a decorated officer. and do police do their job? do they stop sexual assaults? thefts? murders? hate crimes? no. often the police are the ones doing these things, and when they aren't, they are just there to do paperwork documenting what happened. this isn't the movies. most of them don't care, and the ones that do dont stay cops long. how many cases in this year alone have there been of schizophrenic people (often black) calling the police for help/getting a wellness check called on them, just to be murdered? or brutalized? police are on the side of the state, not you. there's a reason why i only share hotlines that DONT call the cops.

okay, so the history of policing is bad, and the vulnerable are being imprisoned and killed at disproportionate rates, but we need people to go to prison, right? so here is where religion comes into play for me. first, Jesus calls for us to protect the marginalized: the poor, unhoused, oppressed.... huh, the people most targeted by policing. then, Jesus calls for us to support the prisoner (Matthew 25:36-40) and to radically, radically forgive.

not to get too personal, but i was a victim of medical abuse as a teenager by a doctor who violated my rights and by all means should be in prison. but i don't want him to go to prison. should he face consequences? yeah. strip him of his license and make sure he never gets near patients again. but imprisoning him, placing him in a deeply corrupt system that constantly violates the rights of the people inside it and leaving him to rot? that's not radical forgiveness. that's not Christlike. our criminal justice system is NOT just. It's punitive. it is not focused on rehabilitation, community building, and harm reduction. it is focused on punishing. And who does that help? Not the victims of crimes, that's for sure. Not the community. Not the person in jail. It helps the STATE. Because prisoners are unpaid slave labor, and prisons can be used to beat down the undesirable and get them out of sight where they can be beaten into submission and quietly done away with. As long as prisons are used to punish instead of rehabilitate, build community, and reduce harm, they are a violation of human dignity and decency. and unfortunately, they never will be rehabilitation, community, and harm reduction focused, because a punitive system based on fear and violence gives the state (and corporations!) money and power.

if you would like to hear from people smarter than I, i have some (so many) books to recommend!

Are Prisons Obsolete? - Angela Y. Davis (anything by her, tbh)

Abolition for the People: The Movement For a Future without Policing and Prisons - Colin Kaepernick

Instead Of Prisons - Prison Research Education Action Project

Locked Down, Locked Out: Why Prison Doesn't Work and How We Can Do Better - Maya Schenwar

Until We Reckon: Violence, Mass Incarceration, and a Road to Repair - Danielle Sered

"Prisons Make Us Safer": And 20 Other Myths about Mass Incarceration - Victoria Law

We Keep Us Safe: Building Secure, Just, and Inclusive Communities - Zach Norris

Resist the Punitive State: Grassroots Struggles Across Welfare, Housing, Education and Prisons - Emily Luise Hart, Joe Greener, Rich Moth

PLEASE let me know if you have any questions!!

to be Christian is to be called to love, but to be Christian is also to be called to love the poor, the oppressed, the marginalized, and the imprisoned specifically and explicitly. To be Christian is to abolish police and prisons, because with these institutions the poor, the oppressed, the marginalized, and the imprisoned will never be free. We are called to make Heaven on Earth, and that includes doing away with institutions that enforce worldly shackles.

[snazzy-snapple]

Arcane Season 2 was great and all; there were definitely some stand-out moments, and the animation GOD THE ANIMATION *chefs kiss* I can't fault anyone for loving it. But honestly, I was kinda disappointed with alot of it. Especially the ending. Piltover's treatment of Zaun has been historically shitty; Zaun should've left their asses by the end. 

Even after the war Piltover is still screwing Zaun over like- one seat at the council-one???? Idk how accurate the maps of Piltover and Zaun are, but they look to be about equal size; some even portray Zaun as bigger. The amount of Council Members representing/ from the Undercity should equate. Also, from my limited understanding of the lore told outside of Arcane, there is fluctuation in the amount of wealth and comfort in the layers of Zaun, so not every part of it is in desperate need as the Fissures. Maybe the places more well-off wouldn't mind Piltover representations- but honestly, I feel like this only adds to my argument. Every part of the Undercity has a differing aspect of and problem that needs to be addressed and well… represented. (congrats to Sevika though she deserves it).

 Honestly, I don't even think an equal Zaun/Piltover council is enough for me; let's take a look at Piltover's leadership, more specifically, how they picked. We only really get one example of this when Jayce replaces Heimerdinger where the other Councilors vote on the decision. The circumstances around Jayce being added, while unorthodox, shouldn't have that different of a system from when a Council member just dies. This means all the power and decision making of thousands and thousands of people is put in the hands of 8 rich assholes who get to pick who they make said decisions alongside. No wonder corruption is a problem. Piltover's own system of governance is in dire need of repair, which would never happen voluntarily because it'd require the Council members to give up their own power. What Arcane needs is a good old-fashioned social revolution. And maybe an actual revolution in Zauns case. 

Please keep in mind I'm looking at this from a show-watcher, not a LOL player pov, and I didn't take the time to learn all the lore surrounding the games. What I know mainly came from the show itself. Not to mention because Arcane is tied to LOL the characters and story have to follow a certain trajectory. 

Anyways, Arcane should've ended with Zaun and Piltover Divorced, Ekko in charge of everything everywhere all the time, and Jinx/Viktor are alive, The End. 

In all seriousness, though, I had a lot more problems than this. Piltover's bullshit is what really hit me hard with recent historical events and my own fears about the future. I hope no one takes this the wrong way; I'm pretty good at ignoring problems in media and just loving it because, well.. loving stuff is fun. Its fun to turn your brain off and be happy. And I've definitely done this with this Season at times. Thanks for listening; overall, the Season felt like a mess. But hey, I had fun.

[raptorrobot]

call a guy a good kitty and he'll crumble like a house of cards

[gods-perfect-idiots]

something something blood-soaked hands cradling your face something something

anyway here's the post btw