#but just know i don't take that for granted

[ssahotchnerr]

Have you thought of doing a fic where Aaron and Reader are play fighting and Aaron ends up on top of reader? (Doesn’t have to be smut, but if you wanted…)

-🗣️

pinned down

i have not but now i'm OBSESSED cw; fem!reader, established relationship, small hurt to comfort, playful banter, fluff and some suggestion 💓

"Hi honey."

"Hi," you responded, keeping your face hidden in your drawer as Aaron entered the bedroom. He had stayed at the office late, kept by heaps of paperwork and reports. "Did you manage to get everything done?"

One thing about being in a relationship with a profiler, rarely anything got past him, noticing the smallest of shifts in your behavior. A slight change in the way you blinked, brief hesitation in your voice, even the way you held yourself could be enough for him to sense something was off.

Aaron didn't answer, but rather he came to your side, his hand finding your waist. It rest comfortably, his thumb grazing the exposed skin above your waistline. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you answered flatly, rearranging your socks as a way to keep yourself occupied.

"You sure?" His tone wavered in question, unconvinced.

"Mhm." With a shrug, you shut the drawer.

It just hadn't been your day, to simply put it. It had started off bumpy, waking up on the wrong side of the bed. You got Jack to school a little late, spent much more time at a store doing a return than you would have liked, and then got drenched by an unexpected downpour on your way to your car. To top it off, you came back to find a parking ticket waiting for you, all thanks to the meter running out.

Now, you turned and made your way back to the bed, where the laundry basket was waiting. You grabbed Aaron's clean pajamas, setting those out for his convenience.

However, just as your fingers brushed the fabric of the next shirt, Aaron swiftly intervened. He placed the basket on the floor, far out of reach.

You weren't mad at him; it was more that you were looking for any excuse to let your frustration spill onto something else. You met his eyes, a really? plastered across your face. "Aaron."

His choice of rebuttal - grabbing ahold of your waist and throwing you onto the bed, landing with you in a soft thud.

"Aaron!" His name left you in a whine, soon blending into your laughter.

You attempted to wiggle out of his grasp, but his position on top allowed him the leverage to pin you down tightly. That, and the simple fact that he was much stronger than you.

A mischievous glint filled in his eyes, his lips curved in an amused, sly smile. "Yes?"

"Lemme go!" You squeaked, fighting against his hold which he solidly maintained. All your worries seemed to vanish in an instant; the lingering, heavy weight in the middle of your chest lessening as each laugh left you.

"I don't know about that."

"I can't breathe." Tears rolled out from the corner of your eyes due to laughing so profusely. While partially true, you hoped he'd take the bait.

He let go, and you switched tactics. With all your weight, you shifted yourself, slipping out from under him and overpowering him next. You nudged into his side, causing him to fall.

That left you smirking above, straddling him as you held tightly onto his forearms.

"That's cute, sweetheart." He gazed up at you affectionately.

"Is it?" You taunted as your chest rose up and down, a breathless giggle leaving you.

"Y'know," his head tilted, feigning a light, offended pout. "You never gave me a kiss when I got home."

It was too easy to fall for his trap, the temptation to kiss him overtaking the desire to hold onto any remaining grudges you still held against this morning and your local Virginia-state parking attendant. All of which would've been easier to bear if he had been with you. You suddenly found yourself missing him, despite the fact he was right here.

The second you leaned in to grant his request, he bumped his hips up, causing you to lose your balance and topple off him - over to the side and onto the comforter.

Only a few seconds later, you were caged in again; Aaron was top of you, pinning your hands above your head. You relaxed, your posture succumbing to the mattress below; an open invitation for him to have his way with you.

"Do you want to tell me what's bothering you?" His face was a few centimeters away from yours, your skin warming from the heat of his breath. He adjusted his grasp, using one hand to hold both your wrists.

"No," you answered, gazing up at him with a spark of playful defiance.

You also took a moment to enjoy the view above you. Aaron's dark eyes, the cowlicks hanging over his forehead, his broad chest (in which the buttons of his shirt were clinging to for dear life), his cologne filling your nose. You were surrounded by him entirely.

"Can you be persuaded?" His eyebrows rose teasingly, leaning in to press a few kisses along your jaw. He let his lips linger, before trailing to your neck and doing the same thing there. He craned back to meet your gaze, inquisitively.

"Maybe. Depends on how convincing you can be." You quipped back, with an almost impish smile that hinted at your mood. It was clear that whatever you'd been upset about, long gone now. You'd still share the reasoning, but in due time.

A delightful laugh escaped him, filled with warmth and fondness. "Is that a challenge, sweetheart?"

[primofate]

Once upon a time there was this fanfiction that I read... [Genshin Spin]

TW: Death, angst, misunderstanding

It was a very, very long time ago, maybe in 2008. I can't even remember what anime it was anymore, but I'm taking those memories and that idea and spinning it into Genshin.

If anybody knows which fanfiction I'm talking about, please let me know as I would LOVE to read it again.

Pick a Genshin Character of your choice.

In the story, you were arranged into a marriage to him for efficiency's sake. As all arranged marriage tropes go, you gradually and actually fall in love with each other.

However, before the wedding happens, you find out that there's something undesirable about him.

For instance, Tartaglia's thirst for battle and his connections with Fatui.

Diluc's guardedness, and how you always felt like you never got the whole of him.

Wriothesley's past. How he has killed people.

Alhaitham's lack of emotion and his logic first approach.

Scaramouche's terrible mouth and lack of respect for anyone at all.

Xiao's unwillingness to open up to you.

Zhongli's experience which far surpasses yours. Sometimes it's like you're not even on the same wavelength.

He gives you a chance to back out of the arrangement. And you, being young and fearful, decide that there is still much of the world for you to see and more people for you to meet. This man can't be the one you'd spend your life with.

So you leave.

Years pass and the more you see of the world the more you realize that no one in this world is perfect at all and, strangely, you find yourself yearning for someone your heart already knows. Your past, arranged lover.

Sure, there were a lot of things wrong with him, but there were also a lot of things wrong with you and when you finally find him, he's even more guarded than before.

He did really take a liking to you back then, so now as he sees you approaching again, you can't blame him for the caution that he shows.

You don't exactly pine for his attention nor his love. But you accepted that you had to start all over again.

You start by getting to know him again, what he's been up to, what he likes to do, what his goals are in exchange for stories of your own. You support him as much as you can, and fondly take care of him as you did before, maybe even more.

Truthfully, to someone looking from the outside, it pretty much looks like you're clinging on to him and in some senses, you are. You took him for granted back then, but you're now willing to repay that mistake with genuine love and care.

Until one day, the enemies you've made come looking for him. You've just been sticking to him real close these days that it's hard to get a hold of you alone, when it's easier to bully you.

So, your enemies feed him lies.

"Duke Wriothesley, correct?"

"Master Diluc, right?"

"Iudex of Fontaine,"

"Former Geo Archon,"

"Balladeer"

and proceeds to tell them a secret that only you would know.

"Y/N? She's disgusted that you killed your own parents."

"She thinks you're pathetic, grovelling over your father's death,"

"Uncaring. Justice always comes first over everything else,"

"You bore her, talking about history the way you do,"

"Pah! Why would she bother with someone rude like you, really?"

and your enemies deal the final blow.

"We've paid her to follow you. Why do you think she's come all the way here looking for you again? You don't really think it was for you? All your secrets? She's sold them to us for a hefty price. Enough to cover her for a lifetime,"

and perhaps it's hard to imagine him believing it on first thought. But this was a man you had already turned away from once and then just happened to reappear into his life randomly again.

So the next time you come looking for him, smile on your face, packed lunch and all... He looks at you with a cold gaze, and accuses you of things you had no idea about.

"Leave. You've made yourself clear,"

"Get lost. You're even more disgusting than I am,"

"I know you're being paid, so cut the crap,"

"You can stop acting now,"

And you... Poor you who really just wanted to gain his favour. Who really just wanted a second chance to love him again, try to ask him what he means but he responds with despise.

"I know why you've been following me. Stop acting like you care and leave,"

Hurt, you leave without further questioning him. Not even a day later, your enemies come knocking at your door. Finally, you're alone.

Finally, they can make a move without worrying about that pesky man of yours.

And finally... they kill you. Just like that, in your own home.

Fortunately, he knows your new address.

Fortunately, he comes looking for you after a few days of mulling over his words. Perhaps he just had to hear your side of the story first. He didn't let you talk last time out of anger, but maybe this time it would be clearer.

Maybe this time it would be different.

Maybe this time...

...

...

...it would be the end.

Does it fit into a Genshin context?

If this is a trope, what trope is it?

What similar tropes like this have you read and liked? Would love to read them :D

Kinda reminds me of a MAFIA thing and I feel like it fits more into that but for the life of me I CANNOT find the fanfiction anymore. It used to be on fanfiction.net

:(

[kirain]

Can I request Emmrich giving Rook a message that gets a bit...spicy? 👀

Did you mean "massage"? I don't usually write stuff like this, but I gave it a go. Please let me know if it's sexy, because I genuinely have no idea. 😅

A dull ache coiled through Vae's body as she stirred awake, her limbs stiff from yesterday's battle. She inhaled sharply, blinking against the shimmering amber light that filtered through the curtains. The warmth beside her shifted as she did, and before she could school her expression, a silken voice murmured, "You're hurting."

Vae barely had time to glance at Emmrich before his fingers ghosted over her bare shoulder, her gown hanging lower than she usually allowed. She tried to wave her hand, feigning indifference.

"I'm fine," she lied, rolling towards the edge of the bed. But the moment she pushed herself upright, a piercing twinge shot through her back. She hissed, her muscles protesting the movement.

Emmrich was on her in an instant.

Large hands settled on her shoulders, warm and firm, kneading gently. The initial pressure sent a shiver down her spine, earning a breathy chuckle.

"Emmrich, really, it's nothing—"

"Shhh," he hushed her, pressing his thumbs into a tight knot near her shoulder blade.

Vae bit her lip, unable to suppress the low moan that escaped her throat. His touch was precise, reverent, as if he were committing every joint, every curve of her body to memory. His thumbs worked slow circles, his palms gliding down her arms; squeezing, stroking.

"You push yourself too hard," he whispered, his voice like velvet, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

Her breath hitched, heat surging in her belly as his fingers traced the delicate ridges of her spine, smoothing away the tension. Then his lips replaced his hands, pressing a lingering kiss at the base of her neck. Vae melted, tilting her head to grant him better access.

Insatiable, the older man took full advantage.

His kisses grew more insistent, more passionate, trailing inwards and nipping lightly before soothing a particularly sensitive spot with his tongue.

"Exquisite," he whirred, basking in the taste of her natural essence and leftover hints of perfume. "Divine."

Vae's head lolled back, her pulse quickening as his mouth worshipped every inch of exposed skin.

"Emmrich..." she breathed, a soft gasp echoing through the room when he sucked at the tender junction of her neck.

"Darling," he purred in response.

Suddenly, his body pressed flush against her back, solid and yearning, his heat sinking into her. One arm wrapped around her waist, fingers splayed possessively over her stomach.

"Let me take care of you," he rasped, his voice thick with intent.

Vae's fingers curled into the sheets, her body thrumming with anticipation. She arched back, craving more, her heart pounding as his kisses pressed deeper, wetter—his hand slipped between her thighs.

Knock, knock, knock!

They both froze.

With a growl of frustration, Emmrich's forehead dropped against her shoulder, and Vae groaned, choking back a curse.

"Are you two coming?" Taash yelled, the sound muffled by the door.

Vae forced a calming breath, ignoring the rousing sensation pooling in her core. "We'll be there soon," she called, keeping her voice genial despite her irritation.

It wasn't Taash's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.

Duty called.

There was a pause. Then Taash, oblivious as ever, said, "Hurry up. We're waiting for you downstairs, and Manfred's getting antsy without you around. I'm not a damn babysitter."

Footsteps retreated. The moment they were gone, Emmrich's lips found Vae's neck again. He kissed the spot he had just abandoned, slowly, sensually, almost teasing.

"Tonight," he muttered against her skin, "I'll work out all the kinks."

Vae shivered.

Emmrich smirked.

And with great reluctance, they finally got out of bed.

[leighsartworks216]

Stolen Kisses

Zayne x gn!Reader

Inspired by two gifs, right here and right here

I think Zayne kissing me like he's drowning and I'm his only source of air would change me. Make me worse. God I want it

Warnings: fluff, kissing, touch starved Zayne, light banter, light angst (if you squint?)

Word Count: 1,010

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Third Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Before you can lose your resolve, you grab Zayne by his collar and kiss him. It doesn't last long, but in the second or two that it does, you pour as much of your love for him into the kiss as you can.

You pull away quickly. Your anxieties have caught up to you. God, that was such a stupid move. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

You cover your mouth and squeak out an apology, avoiding looking at his face, completely missing the awed, dazed expression he held. Maybe if you can get outside fast enough you can escape this moment. Maybe you'll both ignore each other for a few days and then text each other promising never to talk about it ever again. You turn to make your escape.

A hand on your shoulder stops you before you can, however, turning you back around to face him. Another hand uncovers your mouth, and his lips are on yours again.

Your back hits the door, your head quickly cushioned by his hand, the other holding desperately to your waist. His breaths fill your senses as they fan against your cheek from his nose, as though he's trying so hard not to need to pull away. There's a slight tremor to them, too. A shaky sigh of relief.

You hold the back of his neck, tangling your fingers into his short black hair. Grab onto his open collar, keeping him close, never wanting him to part.

It takes so long before the kiss begins to soften. His breaths shuddering with overwhelming emotion as he slows to give you chaste pecks. Every single time his mouth is on yours, your heart aches, tortured from all the times you imagined what kissing him would be like. And now you know. And now you don't want to ever forget.

His nose brushes alongside yours as he pulls away. Breaths mingling together. He lets go of your waist in favor of cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking just under your eyes. "Open your eyes," he whispers, almost pleadingly.

Your brow furrows in worry. "I'm scared."

"Why?"

"Because... I don't want this to be a dream. I'm scared I'll open my eyes, and you won't be here... and none of this will have happened."

He doesn't say anything for a moment. You can feel his eyes flickering over your face, studying you up close in a way you've longed to do with him. His hand shifts from your cheek. You immediately miss the cool touch, the softness of his palm, the precision of his fingers.

He pinches your earlobe. You wince, leaning toward it instinctively. He chuckles softly as he soothes it between his thumb and finger. "Are you still dreaming?" he asks.

Your heart seems to lodge itself in your throat as you slowly open your eyes. He's still there, so close. Hazel green eyes shine with delight behind his glasses.

"There you are." He smiles at the heat he feels in your cheeks as he holds your face again. It's incredible to him how at ease he feels like this; your kiss, the catalyst to it all.

You experimentally play with the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes flutter briefly, a quiet gasp choked in his throat. It's as if your touch is the first he's felt in a millennium. Warm and gentle. It's dizzying, knowing you have this effect on him. With your hand on his collar, you brush your knuckles against his throat. You feel his Adam's apple bob against them.

You nudge your nose against his. "Can I kiss you again?"

With half-lidded eyes, he nods slightly, granting you permission. You tilt your chin up, kissing him in a slow, ghosting touch of lips. Your eyes linger open a crack just to see his expression. The way his eyes close, savoring anything you deign to give him.

He pulls away, letting go of you to pull off his glasses and set them carelessly in the key-bowl beside the door, before diving back in. His kiss is more insistent, more intent on tasting and indulging in you. He takes his time in the same breath that he seeks for more.

His tongue brushes curiously along your lip. You make such a sweet sound as you open your mouth to him, welcome him in. He licks into you with a groan, pressing you further against the door with his body right up to yours. Even still, he's not seeking for anything more than your kiss. He does not reach for your clothes, or slot his hips right up against yours. He just wants this - wants to kiss you for hours, to relieve himself of so many years pining after you and being too respectful not to do anything about it.

You sigh his name and you swear he whimpers at the sound of it like that, so breathy and wanton. It takes so much of his resolve to be able to draw away again, before he fully loses control. Before he gets so lost in you that his Evol starts acting up. Even still, when he pulls away, he stays close, forehead pressed to yours as he tries to get his breathing back under control.

His eyes flutter open at last. He looks at you with so much warmth, so much love. His lips curl into a soft smile, and he leans up to press a kiss to your forehead. "Sit with me a while longer," he whispers against your skin. You nod. Of course. You'd be hard pressed to leave now, when he's finally in your arms in ways you'd only dreamt of.

He steps away slowly, hands slipping from your face and the back of your head, to take hold of your own hands and lead you from the door.

The night carries on outside his house. Cars drive in the city lights, stars blink down from above. The world spins on, as two new lovers speak in hushed whispers about the wonderful start of their relationship between stolen kisses.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one

[assaultmystic]

ive shared this essay on tranmisogyny and nihilism with a few friends, and then realised u might as well all have it. circa 3k words. enjoy x

Apology

The complete and systematic account of transmisogyny is, of necessity, a hopeless exercise. Abjection is the mother of the totality after all. We are talking about the constitutive incompleteness of the world, the necessary impotence, the weeping lacuna of artifice that begets all things! If we theorised the whole world, we would not speak of transmisogyny once, because it is a condition on the possibility of theory, and so must be forever excepted

So, what little that follows is a betrayal. Partial by design (to let the light in) and necessity (I am tired. I am weak.), it is a betrayal nonetheless. Nothing could fail to be. So let's be honest. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to draw borders around its extent and its diffusion. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to construct and fortify its privileged subject -who is and is not transmisogynised. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to tell "the transmisogynised" what to do about it. I don't want to do any of these things, and I will fail. There is no conversational path into discussion of what's possible that does not foreclose some options. We, the disinherited, conduct our peculiar miracle by fleeing down paths others cannot even see. So, take what you like and laugh when I give away my limits. Have fun.

Preliminaries

All of this is play, everything is. Nothing really matters. The real, in fact, is a mesh of overlapping consensuses that have been built not merely incidentally, but structurally, on our expulsion. There is no serious, real, or proper way to be a tranny. In fact, it remains integral to the notion of consensus as such, and reality by extension, that we are delusional in our self-articulation, paranoid in our recognisance of our exclusion, and dangerous at the point at which we express any of this. We are thus freed to recognise everything as play, for though those involved in playing out the real have their stakes in us (though they are loathe to admit it) we are disbarred from ever really holding stakes in the real. Because that's what real means.

The enshrinement of this exclusion as unreal is both necessary for the sustaining of the real as really important, but is also absolutely critical to facilitating the social character of transmisogynisation. All affordances granted to us allow us to play, however temporarily, at admission to reality. Those on the inside know we ought to be grateful for this mercy. It is particularly advisable for those who would like more sway over consensus (those who do not see themselves as having that sway already) to let us play inside sometimes. We get cold out here. Some of us get so cold we become frozen, we forget we are playing, we become unable to move, so keen on coming in that we harden into fixed things, like those inside are. But we will know no benefit for it. Even if they wanted to, they could offer us no rewards. Whether they know it or not, it is just a game.

Each magic circle that defines with its border the games of the real is drawn in our blood. Each empire and every banner they flew. Every flag. Every cause. All of it, all of it had its stakes in us. All had to eject us. We were understood to stand for nothing. For annihilation, for nullification, for endings. The family line ends here. The revolutionary project will see no children. In fact, there only was a "we" insofar as we were taken to stand for nothing. We are unified in that we are constituted by resistance to that which ejects us from the social, every social. We are unified in this alone. The trappings of inheritance, family, reproduction, legacy, futurity. What world that is, or was, or is being built could truly love the tranny? At best they'll have us die in the shadow so that their gleaming future would shine more brightly for contrast. No. We have each other. There never was a world for us, because wherever a future was believed in we threatened it in our nihilising impotence. This keeps us vital. Keeps us dangerous. Keeps us laughing.

Strategy, or, how to play

We have no interest in talking about identity independent of conversations about strategy. The way we constitute ourselves is conversationally liquid. To rebuke a tranny for their identificatory strategy is to reproduce transmisogyny, to think you know what living her circumstances might take better than she does. We call ourselves what we need to to survive the imposition of gender upon us. Recalling our movements through the social this becomes trivially obvious. Confronted each with your boss, your local tboy callout artisan, the police, a John, your mother, your ex, the gender clinic, who wouldn't call herself what she did only as an attempt to get what she wanted? When we meet others like us then, we cannot presume they know that we would love them whatever they called themselves. They might see a cop in front of them, might see a John, might worry this'll come back around - the local scene might shun a girl for calling herself a crossdresser, even as a joke (let alone for 'real'). So can they trust you? Do you intend to make that clear? But between us, once we know we are among friends, identification is about options, about imaginative flight, about the proliferation of lifeworlds bleeding from the critical harm done to us. Because what could we stand to gain by insisting that girls cannot be faggots? That boys cannot be trannies? Every should've-been-man of us has run, by herself, the labyrinthine complex of gender as domestication. Are you going to begrudge him calling himself a sissy now, after a lifetime of living in the word's shadow? Get over it! You are being invited to play, to walk through walls! Fool that you are, you cannot see the smile on the face of the trannies you claim to love while they call themselves the things you promised yourself it was really unacceptable to be. You have lost sight of the game, and now you come back to your sisters and you ask them to sober up, to get real. After all, we have cisgenders to convince, don't you know? Real people. Why, if they heard you talking like that we'd all befucked! But they are not here. Or at least, they were not here until you started doing their work for them.

There is after all, no real identity. Or, rather, the claim to a real identity is one move among others, and holds no special weight. It is special only in that it invokes the game of the real, the inside of the magic circle, to push others out. This can be great when you are having sex and a tranny tells you that you're not a real woman like her and that you should [do what she wants] about it. Otherwise it's quite fucking boring. If it happens that the world has fallen at your feet in such a way that you find labels more personal to you, that is, they feel like more than social tools for communicating how you would like to occur to others in the world, we're glad for you. Just don't expect us to feel the same. There is nothing we really are underneath this, in fact there is no need for an underneath. What good has the legitimate, the true, the valid done for any of us?

Transmisogynisation, or, how to draw a circle

A popular school of thought sees transfemininity as intentionally performed through a succession of discrete speech acts through which one establishes a relationship with womanhood while cAMAB. More simply - we identify as trans women, or as transfeminine, and so become subject to transmisogyny. This is a hangover from a history of "born this way" queer sloganeering. That we must always have been settled on the inside, and our targetting is a matter of some transfeminine essence. It's bullshit, which is no problem, but the trouble is that it's bullshit with extremely low explanatory power.

More to the point, transmisogynisation describes a matrix of concrete social and institutional processes, through which cAMAB people may become (forcibly) disidentified with masculinity, and become a part of the gendered abject. What the prevailing model correctly understands, is that some of these transmisogynising processes can be willingly submitted to. We might choose self identification as trans woman or other locally prevailing transfemininity, working “as a woman”, engagement with legal or medical apparatus of gender. However, none of these social affordances (that are deployed by social institutions to effect the circumscription of transfemininity) are free from the potential for coercion. If we want access to any of the processes described we experience pressure to present a legible transfeminine gender identity. If you do not call yourself by the terms of the locally prevailing models of transfemininity your access to social, legal or medical affordances is immediately threatened. There is immediately a pressure to be a certain kind of tranny - the institutionally respectable kind, and this pressure weighs on our self descriptions whether we know it or not. Identity, then, is always already under pressure. What would I have called myself, if I had never had to call myself anything for the sake of estrogen, or for a job, or for community? I will never know. Neither will you. What the position outlined fails to account for at all, is that many processes of transfeminisation are straightforwardly coercive, have no choice element because they are inductive abuse. We did not choose our subjection to social practices of violent harassment and exclusion based on perceived difference, for example. Did not choose to be called faggots, sissies, or retards because of the position we were being forced into of not-a-real-man. Did not choose the rape, the beating, the manipulation that othered us from manhood, carried out in sacred silent complicity over a whole lifetime. Every cis woman ex who forced you into a feminised position of permanent care is in cahoots with your dad who hit you is in cahoots with the tboys you gave a bad vibe are in cahoots with the boys in your high school changing room are in cahoots with your rapists. There was, in fact, a conspiracy to forcibly feminise you. It just wasn't glamorous, sexy, or conscious. It doesn't make sense to speak of our transmisogynisation, then, as a matter of our personal identity so much as it does of our being identified. Target lock, y'know? Maybe something gave you away, maybe it didn't. But identifying a boy who's never gonna make it is socially critical, and you were picked. Picked so other boys could differentiate themselves from you, so girls could have you and know you weren't like other boys - they could hurt you and get away with it. So your ejection from your family could be justified. Even if none of them ever once called you a tranny, they were making one of you.

All this to say, the representational force of specific visions of transfeminity cannot be substitute for solidarity along the lines of that we are transmisogynised. Personal identification, pronouns, these things are secondary - and are no substitute for attending to the specifics of our oppression. We can call ourselves what we want, but falling behind the banner of a fixed identity category just limits our solidarity, makes us rigid, makes us easier to kill.

Theory, or, giving the game away

Transmisogyny is itself transmisogynised. Like us, our oppression is always novel, always ready finallyfor a good welcoming into the fold, always unmapped, always a great way to sell a book. Yours could be the first real, definitive, proper text on transmisogyny! Imagine! Over the past decade alone (say nothing of techniques perfected in milennia gone), round after round of coordinated harassment campaign and social media clean up have left us with a legacy of articulating ourselves over and over, hashing out the same points for each new spawning. A neotenised theory, in a forced state of arrested development. Our place in history continues to be the damnatio memoriae.

The kinds of theorisation that tend to stick around share a basic structure - they are outreach oriented, interested in engaging with a "broader" feminist or queer or historical or marxist tradition. Of course the subsumption of transmisogyny as a mere articulation, a phenomena within this or that more important, more material, more real tendency follows.Theory looks to place transmisogyny on terms that others might recognise, fixing some points of reference in order to reach a presumed shared audience. The trouble of course is that now you are looking to share points of reference, an audience, with a cisfeminist, a twerf, a "transandrophobia" spewing tboy. You might tell yourself that this is only in order that you might convince the undecided, to win new people round, so they see the natural integration of the theorisation of transmisogyny into your school of thinking.

These institutionalising desires exact costs. Foremost amongst which is the need to identify a positive transfeminine subject. The identification of this subject (presently, the sID'd transgender woman) ensures that the framework shares identifiable points of reference with rival theories of gender that emerge within hegemony, in order to more legibly engage with them. Put more simply, it makes it easier to argue with the tmra, the cisfeminist, the twerf, if everybody arguing presumes themselves to already know what we’re talking about, but to just differ in attitude. Whether she's valid, whether she's more or less privileged, whether she's really a woman. Such fun!This is the process of theorisation as marketisation - an audience after all is just a cipher for a market. All debate is in fact spectacle, safely ensconced within its academic home. Irrecognisance is complicity.

By entering into the bloodsport of theory we can endlessly defer the practicalities of articulating relations between the transmisogynised that are aware of the endless hatred the real holds for us, and avoid responding to that weaponised reality lucidly. We can foreclose the conversation about what we do, so that we can settle, once and for all who we are. Of course, whoever finds themselves on the outside of our shining new identity (once we've settled it - won't take long) will perhaps lack our enthusiasm for whatever solidarity we seek to build without them after the fact.

I'll concede that I only speak in these terms (not my own) because you are my kin, and I want to reach you. I am a hypocrite. I made my apology already. I believe in you more than I ever believed in anything real, so I'm going to let you make a hypocrite of me.

For the road, or, from the sickbed

I am tired now, and quite sick. I caught what might be the flu, or might be covid the other day. Things occur to me through a thicker haze than usual. So I am going to be presumptive and pass on some things I have learned talking with my friends, as though you’ve any need.

Pay attention to the way that transmisogynisation picks at and worries received views of agency. When girls tell you that their transness is something they affirmed, they are of course right. The same girls are also right when they talk about how this was done to them. Histories are mobile, histories are strategic. Stories we tell about ourselves are social technologies. We never have to be one thing, never have to resolve (scorn anyone who tells you otherwise), we exist with contradictions of coercion and choice. We have to. What does this mean for the possibility of the transmisogynised historical “subject”? What might we have to say about the necessary diffusion of subjectivity experienced by many like us- what kinds of politics is it incompatible with?

Pay attention to the lines along which people draw their politics. What kind of insults do they use? They are telling you who is other to them. They are telling you who they do not feel they need to answer to, and so in whom the stakes of their real will be placed, alongside you. If they speak of lazy stoners wasting their time in queer organisation instead of joining this or that political project - in my opinion, they have told you more than enough. Anarchist or otherwise. These are the lines that need to be drawn so that a politics can be defined. Those who speak this way, our kin not least, hurt themselves. They do this for a cause.

Kindness is never, ever, called for. Will never be called for. It is not politically substantial. People will tell you that kindness is radical and they are wrong. People will tell you that kindness is no part of a coherent politics - not something you ever owe and they are right. You need never be kind. This is because kindness is an excess. Kindness is an inherently unjustified and unjustifiable gesture, an overabundance of care that no politics invested in its own reproduction could ask for. When you meet trannies, I would really appreciate it if you could be kind to them.

[ghiblinsm]

Objective 1: Make Anya's lock

Mouthwashing x Jimmy's Daughter! Reader

part 1-ish?

word count: 2,526 words and 13,690 characters

"Reality, such a strange thing to me,"

warning: jingle bob, reader is morally grey but not in a pussy curly way, you may end up hating her depending who your favorite character is.

You jerk awake look over to see Curly heaving and groaning in agony, thrashing as much as he can with...well with his situation. His pained sounds are like nails on chalkboard as you walk over to the small pile of pain killers on the table grabbing one and stepping towards Curly.

"Ok Grant, open wide..." The grossest part is having to touch his nasty jaw to open it wide enough for him to take the pills. Popping one in and closing it back up as shiver crawl up your spine from the sound of his swallowing. "eugh.."

You sit down on a spinning chair near Curly and rest your head on your hand, needing to wait for him to stop heaving and thrashing to know if the pain killer worked, again. God... He smells like shit, guess that's what would happen though if one were practically skinned and lost four limbs and couldn't shower.

He finally stops thrashing and his heart rate returns to normal, his staring problem hasn't been fixed though, his singular eye staring intensely at you and your permanent scowl which deepens as he continues to stare. You stand up and kick the chair away while maintaining eye contact with Curly's eye.

"...What? What'd you want?" His staring continues as his mouth breathing seems to be getting louder and more unbearable. "well?! Speak up!"

"The voices in my head,"

You look at him then to the table and back at him, sighing in frustration as your fist clench. It would be dumb to get mad at him for doing the only thing he can do, stare.

"Whatever," you finally turn to leave as his eye follows your movement, "Anya will come by later, have fun till then I guess."

The door closes behind your retreating figure with Curly still looking in your direction.

You walk past Anya and Swansea talking about Curly and Repairs or something, and head to the main area, where Daisuke is sitting down by the big screen that's displaying a sunset into water and playing on the small console you made a while back with only a singular pixelated game that crashes if the smallest thing goes wrong.

You could care less where he is so that doesn't matter right now.

Despite clearly seeing what Daisuke is doing you still ask, "Hey, Daisuke. What-um whatchu up to?.."

"My friends from my dreams,"

"Hey! Yeah, I'm just trying to get passed this level but it keeps crashing..." He looks a bit slump but hopeful as the game crashes again from one of his choices. "But I swear I'm gonna get it this time!-"

"uhuh, thats nice. Hey, when you were with Swansea earlier, did you guys find any extra parts that weren't needed for the ship to function?..." you lean against the wall to try and seem as if you don't care what the answer is but truthfully...you really need a few parts, to create at least one lock.

Daisuke looks at you for a moment, as if contemplating whether to tell you or not. On one hand, Swansea had told him not to give you any extra parts anymore because quote, 'who knows what she's doing with those parts', but on the other hand you haven't done anything weird with scraps yet...

"Nah, we didn't find anything, are you trying to make something?" Maybe if he knows what you're trying to make, then Swansea will let him give stuff to you!

"Nothing, nothing...was just wondering, don't worry about it i'll- i'll figure something out," you head to the door to leave the main area barely muttering a goodbye.

"Bye?..huh" Daisuke watches as you leave then focuses back on the botched console.

"They whisper to me,"

You mindlessly roam through the empty halls, deep in thought but not thinking of anything in particular. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, you hear this agitating, grating voice from this greasy haired, internalized homo bitch.

"And what are you doing?" you sigh out in annoyance at the slight accusatory tone in his voice.

"The devil's on my shoulder.."

You look up at his face, his brows furrowed but his eye's show irritation. "Nothing, Captain." you learned pretty quickly, after he appointed himself Captain, that for him to leave you alone most of the time, just fuel his ego to be better than Grant.

"Have you made what I asked for yet?" Right...his 'need' for a master key to the rooms that can lock.

"No, I haven't gotten to it." And even if you had the materials, his key wouldn't exactly be a priority.

"And why haven't you gotten to it?" Ugh, the piss baby's getting upset.

"I haven't gotten to it because there hasn't been as many free materials for me to use." Before he speaks you continue, "And even if I had the materials, Anya was the first to start bitching to me about something she needs."

That grabs his attention, what would Anya need? Before you can leave, he grabs your shoulder and turns you back around to face him. "What exactly did Anya say she needed?" his eyes with a sort of craze look.

"How the hell should I know? I told her not to bother me until i've got materials, which seem to be nonexistent anymore on this barren ship." Thats a lie, you know exactly what she wants and why, but you hate Jimmy more then you dislike Anya so why would you tell him?

He stares intently into your eyes, like he's trying to detect if you're lying or not. "You better not be lying."

"I'm not, she's only priority because I had her save her spot by trading me a few pills..." God, when is he going to leave you alone.

He finally backs up and walks away, purposefully knocking into your shoulder to make you stumble.

"But I like the way he sings,"

With a small, irritated smirk, you try to find Swansea. Considering the state of the ship, it's hard to believe that they truly haven't found any scraps you can use.

You find Daisuke and Swansea in a storage room, Daisuke halfway inside a vent and Swansea watching from below, holding the ladder and instructing Daisuke on what to do.

"Hey, Swansea?" He barely jerks in surprise but turns his head to look in your direction, still keeping a grip on the ladder Daisuke's on.

"What do you need?" His gruff, slight accented voice sounds tired...whatever anyway.

"Have y'all found any scraps? Anya has a request for me and I don't have any materials." You know Swansea knows that something happened to Anya, just not exactly what happened, so hopefully he'll give you something.

He contemplates for a bit, likely debating the pros and cons if you're lying. There's silence apart from Daisuke yelping from almost shocking himself which snaps Swansea back.

He's sighs and nods to his left, a pile of scraps that they did indeed find. "it's over there."

"Great, thanks.." Daisuke almost slips off the ladder from the tone of your voice, knowing his lost aura points with you and most definitely fumbled from lying earlier.

"Love me endlessly,"

You grab all the scraps, using your uniform jacket as a bag of sorts to carry the metal and frayed wires.

Once you leave the room Daisuke peek down the vent to look down at Swansea and whines. "You made me fumble the huzzzz."

Swansea looks at him with a confused look, "I made you fumbled the, what the fuck?"

Anya was in the medical room watching over Curly when you come walking in with the scrap, a few tools, and the pills she traded you for the lock.

Anya looks up at you from beside Curly with her half lidded, very much tired, eyes. They widen with some kind of hope at the sight of your splayed-out scrap and tools on the only table in the room.

"What kind of lock do you want?" You get some water from the sink to take one of the pills which will hopefully kick in before you start working so you focus better.

"Um, I guess any that can lock from inside the room." Anya's obviously apprehensive, not to blame her, it's not exactly reassuring to have someone on drugs, making a safety lock that supposed to be a secret from the captain whom she is also related to.

She receives a hum from you then turns back to Curly, surprised at the slight rise in his heart beats per minutes. She stands and walks over to the pile of pain killers. "How long has it been since you gave him his medicine?"

You look up from your botched looking layout to Anya, "what time is it now?"

"And when I wake, have my soul to keep,"

She groans and grabs about 2-3 pills and walks back to Curly but hesitates to touch his jaw, quietly gagging. Annoyed at her for taking so long and acting like a baby you get up from where you were sitting and walk over, "I got it, just don't throw up in here."

She rushes out the room with a trashcan, leaving you to once again touch Curly's buck nasty bloody, burnt, bandaged jaw.

After giving him his medicine, and Anya has yet to return, probably yakking her guts out. The drugs start kicking in and well, the thin filter you had sorta slips as you get to making Anya's lock.

"This was your fault, know," Curly's one eye looks over at you as you talk to him, "you were the one to enable him," you turn in the spinning chair to face his direction but not looking up from a stubborn sheet of metal that won't bend correctly.

"I may have known what he did, but Anya didn't tell me, she told you, and you barely believed her until you saw him having a pussy breakdown in the halls." You look up from finally getting the metal into the right shape and see Curly staring at you with a shaky chest.

"You're worse than me." He sees your dilated pupils before you turn your back to him again as Anya enters.

"Desperately, they beg me not to leave,"

"Hey, Anya?" She turns to see you holding a few weird mashed pieces.

"Hm?"

"Where do you this to be placed?" Oh! oh... that- that does not look like it'll keep her sleeping quarters locked...

"Uh, yeah, just over here." She walks you over to her sleeping quarters and opens the door. Turning once you got inside and points to a spot on the door frame. "Can it be placed here?"

"Yeah, I guess," you grab a soldering gun to attach it to the frame, "here's the key," your hand pulls out a small key from your pocket with your other holding the soldering gun. "DON'T LOSE IT, I don't have enough materials to create another one."

"Okay, thank you." There's a hint of gratitude in her tone as she grabs the key and leaves her sleeping quarters.

"The fire in my eyes,"

You easily attach the new lock onto the door and frame and make sure it's not loose or anything, otherwise some people may be able to break in. It's still weird that the sleeping quarters don't have locks but at least you can actually add them now without getting credits docked, considering pony express, dumb name btw, went bankrupt.

You leave her room and see Daisuke trying to act nonchalant and leaning on a wall nearby...he's not subtle in his motives with the way his eyes rapidly glance at you to see if you're looking. looking at the look then back at him you get an idea.

"Hey, Daisuke?" you're surprised at how fast his head turns to you with the most...irritating small smile rather than his usual, goofy, big one. "Can you help me test out this lock?"

He tries to cooly stride over but stumbles over a few dead wires and then just walks over. "Yeah! totally, what do I need to do?"

"Go into Anya's room, lock the new lock on her door, there should be a latch option.., and tell me when so I'll try to barge in. Tell me if the lock loosens or twitches or something." you make sure to explain in the simplest way possible, so Daisuke understands.

"Got it!" He enters the Anya's room and you hear a fumble of a switch, another sound of a switch, the jingle of the lock, and then the latch.

"is burning at my feet,"

A heavy sigh leaves from you as he probably thought something else was the lock, something turned on, so he turned it off, looked at the keyhole of the lock then finally saw the latch. "Ready!"

You back up a bit then throw yourself into the door, repeating a few times till getting an answer from Daisuke, a very scared Daisuke who genuinely felt a tad afraid from the aggressiveness of the shoves into the door, like you actually were trying to break it down instead of checking the lock.

He comes out a bit shaken but acts really tough, "Didn't even move an inch," he seems a bit proud until...

"You or the lock?" you snicker at his faux offended look on his face.

"For your information, the lock did infact stay put and so did I." He crosses his arms proudly but melts when he hears your words.

"Mhm, you were a very brave baby." you said it jokingly, obviously, so he quickly regains his composure once he realized.

"miles away from his life,"

You bend down to grab your tools as Daisuke seems to want to ask you something but is hesitant to. "He-Hey? do you want to come to my-"

Here comes the father-in-law, the fun crusher, the erratic homo, Jimmy. "What's going on here?"

Daisuke stifles a snicker at the sight of you rolling your eyes as you turn towards Jimmy's direction. "Nothing, I was talking with Daisuke about dumb stuff."

Seems like he grew something down there since he starts demanding shit you definitely ain't gonna follow. "Listen, I am the captain now and my key should be made first, it should be top priority!-"

Shaking your head you cut him off, "Yeah, yeah, you're right, once I get the materials, I'll get started on your key right away." a big fat lie since you definitely won't be working on it anytime soon, it'd be a waste of time and a waste of material. It's better to just put it off and say stuff to make him happy.

"without his love i'm not alright,"

"You better.." wow. . . so ominous and scary better get to work on that key card right away!

"Don't worry your pretty lil head, okay Jimmy? I've got it, you just go do your important little captain things, okay?" you gently start pushing him back towards the cockpit till he eventually grumbles and walks away.

You turn towards Daisuke, "Get a load of this guy." pointing your thumb back at Jimmy's retreating figure. Daisuke bursts into laughter(calm down it ain't that funny) and you two head to the main area.

Objective completed:

Anya will remember your generosity.

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Curly's relationship with you:❤️❤️

Becoming strained as your rambles become more personal and targeted.

Anya's relationship with you:💜💜💜

She trusts you enough and doesnt hate you but can't help but feel uneasy around because of yimpy.

Swansea's relationship with you:🧡🧡🧡

Doesn't hate you but because of your relationship to Jimmy he doesn't always trust you to give you scraps.

Daisukes relationship with you:💛💛💛💛

He's glad to have someone near his age to talk to and hang with that knows what references he makes, his heart beat raises when you two talk.

Jimmy's relationship with you:💙

Very strained from y'all's relationship, he didn't exactly raise you, was only obligated to give you shelter when your mom died, but when you were 18 you moved away and y'all only met again 2 years ago when his was 'introduced' to you from Curly before a shipment trip.

A/N: i feel like daisuke is the most out of character, oof.. but yay! first mouthwashing fic!

[ngage2003]

Hi I love your mh character analysis posts they are so GOOD, would you be able to do more about Tim pretty please :]

First of all, Thank you :-)! Second of all, yeah I have some things I can say about Tim, though a bit funnily, they are a bit discoordinated compared to some of my other analyses.

After all, out of all the characters in Marble Hornets, Tim Wright is the one we know most about, as his life is laid out for us pretty definitely over the course of the series. Because of this, my focus tends to be on his metaphorical other half, Masky, but I do have some things to say about the two of them and their upbringing, and a few unanswered questions which I will try to satisfactorily put my pen to.

⟦content warning: discussions of child abuse/dangerous households, suicide, hospitals, and wildly off the rails theorycrafting⟧

Alright, so why is Tim a system? This is a question some of you may raise your eyebrow at if you're unfamiliar with DID but stick with me here. We know that Tim only started being taken by the Operator and having seizures in 1995, when he was a child, but over seven years old. (I'll get into how we know this later.) We as a society honestly don't know a lot about Dissociative Identity Disorder and its sisters but one thing we do know is it is caused by extensive stress/trauma inducing dissociation in a extremely young childhood, usually under the age of seven if not even younger, where the mind dissociating from trauma to protect itself causes it to fail to coalesce/develop properly into one identity. That is the main theory behind how DID forms, and given that Tim is only seeming to be extensively exposed to the Operator at seven, but would that be enough for Tim to develop DID? Alex didn't develop it, despite also being hinted at having been exposed to it at the same age.

Note: In enttry #37, we see a home video of Alex at 6 years old in 1991, with heavy Operator distortion implying that it has somehow corrupted this tape and/or was here. This combined with the fact Alex repeatedly goes to a playground to confront/find the Operator in my opinion more or less guarantees that he saw it as a young child. This makes sense especially considering the original "Something Awful" forum pictures in my opinion. Alex's backstory with the Operator basically directly references them, which would make sense since they literally inspired the series.

Granted, you could just hand wave this or go "ok but who cares, they probably weren't even trying to make a character with DID," and yeah, you're right, but I want to actually look at Tim's character and explore his childhood a bit to try to understand it, especially in relation to this fact.

Our main fount of information in relation to Tim's childhood is Entry 66 and Entry 60.5. I am going to start with the latter, for a few very specific reasons.

See, in Entry 60.5, we actually get to see 5 of Tim's medical documents, not just one. This is a fact that is seemingly forgotten a lot by the fandom, and I wanted to get into it for my speculation.

The first document we see though is a Pediatric Admissions Profile from December 12th 1995, followed up by a Pediatric Admissions Assessment of the same year at 11:45 A.M. I do not believe these records are from his institutionalization, but rather a hospital visit that directly proceeded it, one that was probably caused by Tim having a seizure at home and needing to go to the hospital, but lets take this one step at a time.

These Admissions forms explain that Tim's conditions and symptoms at his time of admittance, ones we know well as products of Operator exposure. They also give us a precious piece of information that never comes up again though.

Tim's mom's name.

Janet Wright answers all the questions on the Pediatric Admissions Profile, and it is through her answers that we learn several facts, like that Tim has completed 2nd grade at the time of these papers, (meaning he is probably in 3rd,) and that he is on an anti-convulsant, along with the fact he has a history of falls, apparently needs/has glasses, has emotional barriers to learning, that someone has smoked in the house in the past year, and that Tim lives at home alone with her.

This is something reaffirmed on the PA Assessment, which was probably something that either a nurse or his Psychiatrist filled out by asking Tim himself questions.

Under Category 5., Assistance required for Care, there is a part where it says that for emotional support, "Child relys on: Mother (✓) Father ( ) Sibling ( )". Additionally, it also says asks, "who else besides parents might be staying with child?" Which is answered with a Not Applicable, along with the question, "has your family had any recent changes in your life? (moved, divorce, birth, death, new job, etc.)" Which is also answered with a no.

It continues, and we learn from it that Tim has poor orientation to time along with his chronic headaches, as well as signs and symptoms of depression, as well as that he struggles to engage with peers his age and doesn't have/begin hobbies.

Most importantly though, it is mentioned that his condition isn't affected by his household, which could refer to simply his seizures, but I think is important to mention given his depressive symptoms. At least in this moment, it doesn't seem like to the person doing the assessment that Tim is depressed due to his mom.

(Though that can be hard to pick up on but regardless.)

We also learn that he experiences high risk on a Fall Assessment Scale, as he is checked off as "confused, disoriented, hallucinating, combative," and having a history of "syncope, seizures,"—which is underlined—"postural hypotension".

I believe he only really started to have seizures this year though, as it is mentioned under "Plan of Care" that he ran away from home two "somethings" ago before being found at Rosswood, which I believe to be weeks or months. (If it was two years, why still mention it here?) I don't think that Tim ran away though, but rather, was taken and teleported by the Operator and Operatortured, an event that left him having chronic seizures. After all, despite Jay being exposed to the Operator for years, we only see him begin to have those only after the Operator snatches him in Entry 72. I think this snatching/possible Operatorture is key in it inducing/beginning to induce seizures.

Moving on though, two of the next three documents are from the same day, with both being from 7/8/02.

The first (Delayed Therapy Communication Form) that we are shown being filled out at 15:10 or 3:10 PM, and the second being an assessment (Suicide/Self-Harm Assessment Tool) that was filled out at 8:45 in the morning, probably by hospital staff in preparation for therapy later in the day. On the latter, Tim was left with a rather high suicide risk score, and a comment of supposedly untrustworthy answers.

There is a document that Jay reads sandwiched between these two though, from 1/10/Year Redacted. It is a Brief Operative Progress Note, about a procedure seemingly in relation to an unmedical wound with a ton of redacted information, and based on placement and the fact "Hoody" purposefully arranged the papers like this, I believe he was trying to imply to Jay that this was a suicide attempt by Tim at the start of 1996, which led to his hospitalization.

-

Wow. Ok. That was a lot. Let's summarize and break down the facts though.

At the end of 1995, Tim Wright is being raised by his single mother, Janet Wright, with it being unclear if his dad was ever in the picture. Tim was probably in 3rd grade at the end of 1995, which puts him at around eight to nine years old. At this point, he seemingly had a history of seizures, but around this time he also started showing symptoms of depression, hallucinations and even supposedly "ran away" from home at one point.

It seems like Hoody, based on how he organized these papers, seems to want us to think that at the start of 1996, Tim had either a suicide attempt, or a violent episode that could've been misconstrued as a suicide attempt.

Note: Personally, I think it was misconstrued. I say this because well, we know how the Operator can warp reality, and in Entry 66 Tim says, "My mom [sent me inpatient] when I was really young, but she never told me exactly why," and that the doctors seemingly gossiped about the fact he had violent episodes and hallucinations which led to him being institutionalized, which he doesn't remember. Of course, maybe Tim was just lying to Jay and leaving stuff out, but based on the rest of this scene and everything else he says, I find that unlikely. I think it is possible that Masky tried to defend himself and Tim from the Operator and got hurt in the process, and due to his lack of verbality and strange/differing behavior from Tim's, it was interpreted as a violent and/or suicidal episode cause by a hallucination. Either way, none of this does align with the fact the wound is "clean," but that could be more about it not being infected and/or recent than a clean cut.

Either way, after this, in conjunction with advice from doctors and the stress of caring for a mentally ill child and hospital visits/bills, Janet Wright admitted Tim into inpatient care.

It is after this point, (based on dialogue from Entry 66,) that we know Tim sort of fell out with his mother, as she "wasn't really around" for him to ask things. I can't say why she distanced herself from him, and honestly that is where my sympathy runs dry for her, but we know based on what Tim doesn't say that he more or less didn't have any family. His mother was probably raising him on her own, and her decision to put him inpatient probably had to do with the fact she just couldn't care for him and genuinely thought it would be better/safer.

Ok. Cool. Unfortunately, still none of this answers the question as to why Tim is a system. Based on all this supplementary evidence though, I do have two kind of routes/ideas I could see as possible/likely which I want to share, so pick your poison.

A】 Janet Wright was neglectful, either by accident or on purpose.

Neglect can cause DID, especially severe emotional neglect causing a disruption in child development, and if Tim's dad was never in the picture, along with the stresses of being a single mom, it could be hard for Ms Wright to meet Tim's needs. Maybe she didn't even want to be a parent, but found out she was pregnant to late, and so decided to "give it a shot."

The real mold in the juice box for this theory though is the fact that Tim's medical records (Pediatric Admission Assessment, Page 2, 6. Abuse/Neglect/Exploitation Screen) answers no to "evidence of neglect by caretakers." Granted however, this is when Tim is in 3rd grade, and it can be hard to always pick up on emotional neglect. Perhaps it could be misconstrued as depressive symptoms for example, and Tim's issues with starting hobbies and connecting with peers could be due to him not being properly socially met/developed growing up, but honestly I am unsure how I fully feel about this theory.

What it comes down to is just that, besides knowing she smokes regularly, we don't know much about Janet Wright, and while she fell out of touch with Tim, that could be for literally any number of reasons. Demonizing her or deifying her both kind of make me grimace. Maybe she blames herself for his condition and her guilt drives her away, and after a while she felt it would be wrong of her to go back after abandoning Tim in the first place. Maybe she just never wanted a kid and took the option to ditch him. The point I am getting at is we just don't know.

Which is what brings me to theory two.

B】 Tim's dad was in some way abusive, causing Janet to leave him to protect Tim but leaving him with trauma.

It would explain why Tim's dad isn't in the picture in a way that feels concrete, and why Tim never tried to reach out to his dad's side along with why he has DID. Maybe too, if Janet was in an abusive relationship, that somehow got in the way of her reaching out to her side of the family, which is why Tim never did either and why she didn't have any help for raising him and dealing with his conditions.

I don't really have much to say on this one either, but it would explain why there isn't direct evidence of neglect along with why his mom isn't blamed for his depressive symptoms by the doctor and why Tim said in his Assessment that he relies on his mom for emotional support. That is because he does, but they were just unfortunately in a situation for a while where he couldn't properly get it.

Sure, she probably isn't perfect, but in this reading she does care for him, and did try to get him a better life.

I think this would especially make sense when you consider the fact that Masky, Tim's protector alter, has a feminine presentation.

Often alters formed in especially early youth will take heavy direct inspiration from their environment, especially parents. Maybe since Tim's mom did protect him some of the time and eventually got him away from his dad, this idea of her and by extension femininity as a whole being this unstoppable, almost deified force of nature stuck with him on a subconscious level. She was fierce and seemed impenetrable, especially to a little kid who idolizes their caregiver in the face of abuse, and I think that influenced why Tim's brain made a protector like Masky that is simultaneously feminine aligned out of the blue and so aligned with defending people/defensive violence.

Because yes, Masky is violent, and often they do threaten/attack Alex with "Hoody," but that could easily be because they remember the fact Alex attacked them in Entry 56/57 along with stuff like the fact "Hoody" most likely told them about how Alex killed him and needs to be taken care of. They know Alex is dangerous, and so a lot of their actions are protective or in an attempt to save other people.

Like, in Entry 35, their motives can be hard to read, yes, but if they just wanted to fight someone they could have easily gone for Jay instead of running past him to get Alex. I actually think they could've easily been waiting here because they knew Alex was following Jay and this was the last place Jay was, and they wanted to stop Alex from getting to him because he could (and literally does) try to kill Jay. Along with this incident, they stop Alex from shooting Jay and Jessica in Entry 52, and seemingly distract him while those two escape and drive away to safety. They also act to protect/save Jessica from the Operator and Alex with Hoody in Entry 76. They also seemingly only stop directly working with Hoody after he hurts Tim, i.e. causing him to have a seizure to trigger them out, which Masky seeming to sever their partnership over.

Listen, there's no answer as to why Masky is feminine, and maybe there doesn't need to be, but based on how DID works and Masky's general behavior, to me it is obvious that they took subconscious inspiration from something, and I think it could be how their mom protected them and Tim.

Note: This is not to say Masky and Tim have a maternal/parental relationship, even if Masky is partially based on their mom in an abstract sense. In my opinion, they have a relationship almost similar to like, how siblings will go through trauma together and be bonded by that fact because they wholly understand what the other person is going through, or how a slightly older child might try to take care of a younger one and be parent-ified but still while not holding the authority and control of a parent, though obviously different because they're a system. I guess my main point though is that they're equals, and Masky loves Tim very much. Masky does have some power over Tim because they cause amnesia when they front during traumatic episodes and accidentally puts him in danger sometimes, but ultimately they have a more push-pull relationship to me, even if Tim isn't aware of it. Because, even if Masky does front sometimes, Tim is usually the one in control almost all of the time. But really that's another post I could make lmao.

Either way, whatever way you think Tim got DID, one thing is clear. His life fucking sucks.

-

If you want my personal belief on what his childhood is like, taken with a bit of salt, I don't think Janet Wright is purely innocent, (she could've very easily been incidentally neglectful given the vagueness of the circumstances,) but I do think that Tim's dad could have been a shithead if only because of how it parallels my Alex headcanons and I like that, along with Masky being based on their mom aesthetically to some extent.

(As a system, I loveee system weirdness.)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.

[anarchistkale]

What the fuck were the character designs in Castlevania Judgement

Weird first post for a blog supposedly about anarchism and/or game design, but it includes designs in a game and I do what I want so fuck it. I just became aware of Castlevania Judgement, a 2009 fighting game featuring a grab bag of characters from across the Castlevania franchise. And the visual designs of the characters in this game are absolutely fucking BATSHIT, and not (in my opinion) in a good way. I'm gonna show you (with "you" being the roughly two hypothetical people who might actually see this post) a few examples to demonstrate what I mean.

First we got Trevor Belmont. Why is he called Ralph in this? Fucked if I know. Look at the straps on this son of a bitch's chest! Why the everloving fuck would an outfit need this many straps? Are the gray bits meant to be metal or leather? Genuinely can't tell. And would you believe me if I told you this is one of the least insane designs in this game?

This is Grant Danasty. Why? Why any of this? He's not fucking mummified in the game he originally appears in. He's just a dude. What is going on with his proportions, how is he supposed to use that weapon without shredding his arm, and what the fuck is up with those inward-facing spikes on his wrist? Weird shit on the wrists and feet is going to be a common theme with these designs. That and random, unnecessary spikes sticking off of everything.

Then there's Sypha Belnades. Setting aside that goofy-looking bulbous staff, just take a look at those boots. What the fuck are those metal crosses doing sticking off the front of her high heels? Are they supposed to be armour? How are they even attached? And what in the world is that on her wrist? Utterly unhinged. That's not even to mention the egregiously tight pants and the unbelievably tittieful top they've got her in: we'll see much worse in that department later on.

Next up is Maria Renard. So much "what the fuck" going on here. Again, the shoes are unhinged. The pink front bits, the boosted heeled soles, and the black parts look like pieces of three separate pieces of footwear stitched together very poorly. What are those black straps just above the boots? Part of the tights? Individual straps that she puts on one at a time over the tights? Madness. What are those plus-shaped things holding her pigtails? The dress is just four different 2012 Hot Topic outfits torn up and haphazardly sewn together, and that staff. What in the holy blessed fuck is that staff? Fucking candelabra-ass base, tiny little narrow bit connecting the cage to the rest of it about to snap off at any moment, and is that bird meant to be in horrible agony inside that twisted metal cage? Because it definitely is. Also, deduct 1,000 points for putting the small child in such a short skirt, obviously. Disgusting, hate to see it, moving on.

Alucard, my beloved. What have they done to you? Look at those gauntlets. The upward pointing spike. The looping bit of metal from the wrist to the elbow. What would possess someone to design gauntlets that way? More random spikes on the pointless red line curving across his chest. And again, the boots are unbelievable. Look at the ankles. Why is there that bulging out bit? What purpose does that serve other than to make the wearer trip on their own feet constantly? Outrageous.

Motherfucking Dracula. Lord of Darkness, most powerful vampire in history, etc. He has two rows of what appear to be golden nipples running down his chest. They're not spikes, they're clearly hollow. What the fuck else would you even call them? And then of course there's the exorbitant amount of pointless spikes coming off of his back and the mantle behind his head. Why the squiggly lines along his sleeve? Thank fuck we can't see his feet so we're not subjected to more atrocious boots. But don't you motherfuckers worry. I saved the worst for last.

Carmilla. For the love of all that is holy, what the FUCK have they done to Carmilla? Look at this! Where do I even start? Of course there's the elephant in the room, and the elephant is tits. The design is hyper-sexualized to a comical degree, of course, but that's not uncommon. It's not that she's in elaborate BDSM gear that melts my brain here. What is going on with that...weapon? Oddly shaped, spikey shield with two spikey balls sticking off the side and a bizarrely curved blade protruding out from the front? Never mind how that blade seems barely attached and liable to snap off on the first swing, how is she supposed to even use it? I've looked up gameplay clips of her fighting, but everything is so visually messy in the clips I've found that it's hard to tell what's meant to be happening. The only thing the camera ever focuses clearly on is her boobs jiggling. Then of course there's the outrageous gauntlet on her off-hand, with another precariously attached, oddly shaped, utterly pointless blade sticking off her forearm. Obviously there's the ubiquitous unnecessary spikes all over everything. But worst of all, as usual, is the boots. I've run out of different ways to say what the fuck in this post, so I'll do it in caps: WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE? The blades sticking up in the back that look like they'd shred her calves when she walks. The protruding bladed disks coming off the heels that would shred her ankles when she walks. The oddly angled spikes on either side of the front. Perhaps most nonsensically, the fact that the boots don't seem to be secured to her feet in any way: looks like she just slips her feet into them, no straps or anything. She's supposed to be FIGHTING in these! This shit is insane, I feel like I'm losing my mind.

What was the art director thinking? What could have possibly been the rationale for this design philosophy? I don't know, but I needed to share. If anyone sees this rambling mess of a post and wants to share their own favourite examples of bugfuck nonsense videogame character designs, I'd love to see them.

[sadgirlglimmeringdarling]

Are you able to access the whitestripesfans instagram account? I don't see it. I don't know if I was blocked or if the page is gone. 😳

I don't think you were blocked. I can't see the page either. It's actually gone. Like gone gone.

I don't know what happened with "whitestripesfans" IG account. I only followed them. I had no personal conversations with them and I never DM them either. I just followed them.

In my opinion, I think what happened was what always happens on IG. Someone got jealous and petty and clicked on the report button. It's as simple as that.

There's a few very much active Jack White/White Stripes fan accounts on IG that are tacky as hell. If they're not talking about how nice and tight black pants look on Jack's thighs, they are talking about his fucking "fluffy" hair.

They would also occasionally take nasty swipes at "thewhitestripesfans" IG account. The "whitestripesfans" never responded to them or attacked them back, which was honorable of them. They stayed on their lane, updating their page and staying away from that drama.

As I said on my previous post, there was a large amount of important people who were following "thewhitestripesfans" IG page.

Ben Blackwell literally followed them and helped "thewhitestripesfans" with crediting the pics and the story behind the pics. You had legendary photographers following them and talking to them about the pics they took of the band. Marcie Bolen followed them. Thirdman Records followed them. Jack's other nephew (who is a musician) was liking their pics.

None of these important people in the story of The White Stripes would go near any of these other tacky ass Jack White/ White Stripes fanpages. None. Imagine Ben following a fan account that talked about his uncle's "fluffy" hair or his uncle's thighs looking sexy?

That's why nobody important to The White Stripes story went near those stupid fanpages. They followed "thewhitestripesfans" IG because they were respectful and kept it about the music - not the drama or Jack's "fluffy" hair.

You also never saw "thewhitestripesfans" fawning over Jack or kissing anyone's ass.

Like I said, in my opinion, I speculate that someone got jealous and clicked on the report button, having "whitestripesfans" IG page purposely deleted.

This is the same exact fucked up situation with Lana Del Rey IG fanpages.

As soon as Lana follows a fan's IG account, the page is gone within days. Every single fucking time. There have been over 40 Lana IG fanpages that were taken down this year for "impersonation" and it always happens as soon as Lana follows the account.

The latest victim is "Lizzytropicana" who posted old school Lizzy Grant pics and old music videos. "Saifdelrey" lost his account a week ago. Lana followed him and loved the way he edited her songs. Not only did a bitter jealous fan report his IG page, but they also reported his YouTube channel where he posted his beautiful video edits. "Saifdelrey" lost everything. IG gone and videos on YouTube gone. This is fucked up.

I'm also seeing many Sharon Tate IG fan accounts disappearing too. You got Sharon fanpages bickering with each other over stupid things. Like "that's my picture!" or "why are you stealing my photos!" - before you know it, these idiots are reporting each others accounts.

Mind you, Sharon Tate has been dead for close to 60 years.

IG is the worst place to have any fan account because anyone can literally click on the report button on a profile and get the account deleted. IG doesn't even fucking investigate. They just delete.

One thing IG is great at is when it comes to blocking people. They use a system where you block the person straight to their device along with their other accounts - (something Tumblr lacks which is why I had to buy software doing that for me here) but when it comes to deleting accounts without investigating - IG is absolute garbage.

The sad part is all these Lana fans get "backup" IG accounts and their backup accounts get taken down too. Lana re-follows them, they get reported and the account gets deleted again.

That was the perfect case with Lanaboard's IG. That heffa got like 5 backup accounts and as soon as Lana followed them again, it gets deleted. Lana tries to help these fans but there's nothing she can do. She doesn't work at Meta's IT department. She's a songwriter.

All this ridiculous drama because some asshole is jealous that Lana Del Rey follows them! That's the same case with "whitestripesfans" account. Petty jealousy because so and so follows them but not you.

I got an IG account simply to follow my favorite artists, singers and fan accounts. I came late to the IG party. For years I refused to get an account. I don't even update it. I don't fuck with it. I just follow people.

People are leaving IG in droves. They're going on X instead. X doesn't delete anyone like that for shits and giggles. That's where IG loses.

Tumblr doesn't delete anyone like that either. The only time I seen Tumblr delete an account is usually if you're running a hardcore porn page or a pro-ana account. They don't even touch any of those hateful racist Free Palestine Tumblr pages that are full of hatred for mankind. Freedom of Speech and such.

So yeah, I think that's what happened to "whitestripesfans" page. Jealousy and pettiness runs rampant in IG. A fucking shame because I liked their page. "Whitestripesfans" page was even better then the official White Stripes page. That's why so many important people followed them. I wonder if their making another account? If that person was smart, they would go somewhere else. Opening a new IG page will only have those same petty jealous twats report them all over again and have their page deleted.

A fucking shame that now their gone.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

I've been thinking about this dilemma for so long, so I decided to make a poll.

All I can say for now is that I fall into the "situational" category. In my opinion, unless I've forgotten some critical, concrete evidence, it's so hard to tell, to the point that I think it must be nuanced and situational, or simply a non-explicitly-addressed point in canon.

We've nearly always seen him in a position of authority and he's a disciplined character, so we could say "rule-follower." Why would he sabotage his own rules, even if he had authority to supersede them as their creator. So, yes, he is (even tentatively) pro-rules or potentially pro-rule-of-law because of how he wields authority. Indeed, he is kind of a walking rulebook.

But that's no fun. Let's complicate matters, shall we?: he deserts the School in Rise. A notable exception.

(His Monrovia Prison prison-break doesn't count at the moment because that "had to be done," in the spirit of self-preservation.)

Then, what of others' rules?

Maybe he'd follow them only at his convenience? Because he's used to being the authority in every room?

Any rule that doesn't make sense, that would seem beneath him, or just wouldn't fly—he wouldn't follow or allow it.

But... isn't he also intentionally a contrarian over 50% of the time? So, maybe he'd flout the rules just because he can, or, i.e., because he (usually) has immunity from them in his authoritative position.

Yet, if he didn't have that position, would he still rebel? Hard to say.

If he already benefited, he'd have little to no reason to rebel for others' sakes, even if they were suffering, so he's no classic, rebel protagonist vs. a dystopian government. Seems too idealistic for his character.

If he were on the oppressed side of a society, what would he do?

Perhaps, just game the system for himself and himself only, climb the ladder for status, to reach a position of power and erase all evidence of his formerly being oppressed. Bury the old identity, supplant a dictator? (This hypothetical brings to mind Coriolanus Snow, haha.)

How do I know? Or how would I speculate that this would happen in the dystopian scenario?:

1. This "elevating himself" course of action would be the route of least resistance and the least effort, logically. No messy overturning of society as he's just one person. You can make a case for one person, if that person can prove they're "deserving" of more.

2. Canonically, he was willing to install himself in a position of power while others weren't impacted or were negatively impacted, by his conscious-or-not choices.

With sorcery, I feel as if his being oppressed couldn't happen believably. (Search up the logistical problem with the "oppressed mages trope" and you'll probably see a few world-building articles, if you don't know what I'm talking about.)

Ok, then, moving on, there'd still be evidence, internal evidence, in his mind that he was once in some form of some low (social) position (not even referring to Nevers in-narrative, no, I mean as a hypothetical).

Just take the oppressed fantasy class trope—like the Grisha (they are sorcerers/witches, to a degree, and the Small Sciences are nearly indistinguishable from magic, right?).

What would he do there?

Well, I'm tempted to say he'd be like the Darkling, side with those in power (Tsar) and just... grant himself every advantage, secure rights for his own kind (magic-users).

The problem: he may not even reach Darkling levels of "selflessness" or solidarity. At least, he wouldn't view himself as lesser-than, which feels impossible by default, given his ego.

But, we're still left with the question, and I guess the answer is just situational. That's all.

So, the best, approximate answer I have (now) is that he is a rule-follower—until something affects him and his own self-interest personally.

I don't think he could be the rebel-without-a-cause type, but that's already unspecific and a useless categorization.

I view him as a loophole abuser or exploiter (of the literal) because of the one, weight-in-gold, Man-Wolf-involved, Rufius-death scene from Fall.

Classic trickster archetype, as I tend to label him, or The Man of Exact Words and Clauses. And that's within the rules! Of language!

Thus, I'm (currently—you're welcome to try to change my mind) compelled to say: rule-follower at heart, with a rebellious streak, given extenuating circumstances.

Or, alternatively, True Neutral (literally his apathy) in most cases, with a self-serving streak and a severe case of monotropism/one-track mind.

Does any motive or incentive to dismantle anything, systems(?), lurk in the shadows of his mind? Possibly. Well—for anything that serves him (and his causes).

See the problem? Caveats to everything.

Any thoughts or more condemning-or-not judgments, anyone?

[brucespringsteen]

everyday i am surprised by how much i enjoy cosmetology school. i've never been so excited about anything. which bamboozled me because my whole life i never considered the idea of being a hairstylist. so i don't blame myself for starting "late" (among other reasons. i dont believe in timekeeping a life LOL im going to know and figure out everything about anything i can). i grew up with at home haircuts to cutting my own hair with craft scissors and box dye and drugstore bleaching my hair and having a baller time with it because it is just about freedom and feeling ok and in charge of yourself (especially when you can't control anything else in your life). i've only ever had my hair cut at a great clips a handful of times in my life. anyway on top of that. even now idgaf about the beauty industry since a lot of it feels very constrictive to me. (another reason why i was intimated to enter this field). but i get in my head and forget there is room for me here. because it still is about freedom and feeling ok and in charge of yourself. and it is so relieving to be able to just be myself and vibe one on one with someone. i know at the end of the day this is justa Job but who gives a shit there is something sacred about it to me. i've only had the pleasure to do a handful of services so far but getting to see people smile like that at the end. that's crazy. i don't think i could ever take that for granted

[xxgoldie]

long ass summary of a fic I'll probably never write even tho I think abt it all the time. sex mention but nothing explicit.

----

i have a lot of thoughts about lighter and a reader that he knew back in his mercenary days. he's said himself he was reckless and cocky in those days, and I think it was probably the closest he had to a fuckboy phase - he was younger and stupider and high on the power and attention, so he took advantage of the fact he seemed able to get anyone he wanted.

except you. you never took the bait, rolling your eyes and telling him you don't mess around with mercs. especially not such overconfident ones. at first, you're a challenge, a puzzle for him to figure out. he follows you around all full of teasing and flirting as you reject him on every turn. but at some point it turns into a weird fondness - he begins to think of you as a friend, and you start to care for him and worry when he's not around.

maybe at some point, you both have too many drinks and you finally get with him. maybe you make out against the wall of some dingy dive bar. maybe you end up in his bed. and maybe you wake up the next morning filled with regret, not because it was a bad experience or because you abandoned the principles that had kept you rejecting him, but because you could feel yourself getting attached to him and, from your perspective, he'd treated your entire relationship as a game of getting in your pants. fine, then. he won. you slip out before he wakes up and stop answering his calls.

you never do get a chance to talk it out, because just over a week later, lighter's friends die in that hollow and his entire life crumbles. you hear about it through the grapevine, and with your entire community, you mourn quietly. they were common faces in the area, acquaintances if not friends to all. lighter is nowhere to be seen - the grapevine says he disbanded the rest of the group and disappeared. you wonder how he's doing, how he's handling it, but you can never bring yourself to pick up the phone and ask. it doesn't take long for you to figure you'll never see him again and try to push the memories to the back of your mind.

except you do see him again, years later, with a red scarf around his neck and sunglasses on his face and a gentler, more mature aura that has you questioning if it's really him. but if the way he flicks his lighter around isn't proof that this is the guy you used to know, then someone calling his name from the nearby bar definitely is.

when he sees you, lighter nearly turns tail and runs. he's sure he turns white as a ghost, which is ironic considering you're the one that feels more like a ghost to him. you're a stark, haunting reminder, not just of the times before he'd lost everything, but of the exact reasons it had happened. he had treated you how he had treated life back then; confident, selfish, taking every good thing around him for granted. and that was what had killed them. but despite his gut-wrenching instincts to avoid avoid avoid, lighter is not one to run from his problems. so he gives you an awkward smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes, and he waves.

you're not sure if it's the new energy he's giving off or just sheer curiosity, but you walk over to him. and during the reintroductions, lighter realises that maybe he can salvage this. maybe you could be friends, and he could make up for the person he used to be. it wouldn't bring his friends back, but it would be a small sort of atonement.

"if you've got time now, let's catch up. let me buy you a drink-" "a lot has changed the last few years, but I still don't mess around with mercs, lighter" "that's... not how I meant it, sorry. honestly, I'm sorry for how... persistent I was back then."

you watch him ignore the fact that the last time you saw each other, you'd been in a naked tipsy afterglow in his bed. he watches you laugh at his words like you'd forgiven him years ago. and you sit down and talk. he tells you where he's been the last few years, maybe giving more details than he's given anybody else, but after a time, you both turn to talking about your current lives. and he remembers just how easy talking to you is, and how there was always something about you that made it just impossible to give up, something that had drawn him in past the cat and mouse game he'd imposed on you even back then.

he won't pursue you this time, though. he can't. it's his penance. if he has a chance, which he highly doubts, it needs to come from you. he wants your friendship more than anything right now, to salvage a scrap of his past like the dogtags he wears around his neck. if, in the back of his mind, sometime over the midday drinks on the first time you've seen him in years, he realises he's loved you all along, then that is his cross to bear and he will bear it in silence.

but, much to his surprise, you Do initiate. before he knows it, your number's in his phone and you're inviting him for drinks and coffee every week and you press a quick kiss to his cheek when he drops you home. and lighter can't quite stop himself from flirting back, just a little, the occasional protective hand around your shoulder or teasing quip.

it's ironic, really, that it's once again a drunken night where you end up in his bed that tips the two of you over the edge. it doesn't feel like some casual hookup this time - it can't, with everything the two of you have been through and everything that hangs over you. he tells you he loves you and you're too dizzy with pleasure to process it until the next day.

in the morning, he wakes up with you in his arms, skin against skin. he holds you tighter, pushing your slowly waking mind past the threshold out of sleep.

"you didn't leave this time." he mutters sleepily into your hair.

"mm, less scared I'll get hurt if I get attached this time," you confess, and something about it feels natural to both of you, not like some great revelation.

"you should stay," is all he responds, as if the way he's holding you would let you leave even if you wanted to. then, before he can think better of it, "stay forever."

you giggle, pressing a kiss to the nearest patch of his skin you can find - his shoulder - before snuggling up to go back to sleep.

"I'm not going anywhere."

----

the fact this is as long as it is as like a summary can explain why I will probably never get round to writing this properly let alone finishing it

[coolmika745]

Why Doesn't Vicky Do Anything With the Knowledge She Has on Magical Beings?

In the comic "It is Not Over Until the Babysitter Sings", Vicky saw HP and Sanderson float in the air but doesn't react to it, and just panic at the fact that she won't be able to torture Timmy.

I know her memory was erased in Wishology when she figured out that fairies exist, but in Scary Godcouple the Anti-Fairies Council forced Foop to become Vicky's Godparents and she found out about Cosmo, Wanda, and Poof because she asked Foop about what was interfering with his wish granting and Foop told her that Timmy had fairies. After Vicky learned that, she went to Crocker to borrow a magical cooking pot and trapped Cosmo, Wanda, and Poof in it. Her memories wasn't erased of the event that time unlike in Wishology.

In A New Wishwhich take place decades later, she still had done anything with the knowledge of magical beings. She could question Crocker where this magical beings comes from but after she didn't let him help her capture Cosmo, Wanda, and Poof and trapped him in a locker, I don't think he would help her unless there is an alternative motive. As a matter of fact I think they would both end up betraying each other to get their hands on fairy magic.

Also, Vicky didn't recognize Cosmo and Wanda in their human form when she visited the Dimmadome Tower in "Operation Birthday Takeback", which I could understand as it has been decades since she has seen them and they were in their human form.

If she went to the Galax Institute to inquire about fairies, AJ probably wouldn't want her there after how she treated him as a kid, but he let Crocker in the place even though he gave him a job as a janitor, but he might just refuse to let her in; however, she could ask his employees for help without meeting him, which would make a good plot, but I would think she would have at least tried that way before now?

She could also spy on the Dimmadome Tower just like Dale is spying on Hazel and figures out that Hazel has godparents by looking at Project H. Dev did scribble on the screen, but she probably may just observe Dale trying to uncover Hazel's secret.

There is also the fact that Vicky may have recorded Dev revealing the existence of fairies, but if that is the case then about anybody can figure out by playing that record back since mobile devices and computers can record. Principal Krentz was shown with a laptop and may have recorded the scene though Jorgen did say that fairies were not real and it was all a hoax probably because he knew that people would probably play the video back after their memories were erase and his sentence would cause them doubt about fairy existence.

[shieldedreams]

come with me (where you go i'll follow) (m.m.)

summary ⇾ minho's going on a journey of self-discovery over the summer... but he'd like to have you by his side details ⇾ 3,339 words / minho moon (xo, kitty) x female!reader / 🌸 a bunch of soft feels / a sprinkle of curse words / reader calls minho 'min' / kitty being the biggest shipper / reader shares a couple dorm with kitty only [!] spoiler disclaimer below the cut! + very stinking cheesy rom-com plot

[!] spoiler disclaimer: in an au where the roles of minho and kitty are somehow switched at the end of season two! (just a little!)

minho has had the million-dollar question in his head as the days count down in his mind to his departure for the summer break. more and more students begin to leave campus with luggages in tow; some askew, some perfectly wrapped and some... a work in progress whenever minho swings by your shared dorm with kitty (feigning the need to check on her only to constantly peep if you're anywhere near done packing or pry a little on your plans for summer).

today is the last day minho'll have that chance considering–"w-what? you're almost here?!" minho tries to keep his voice leveled, but with the way kitty gasps from the spot on her bed and the soft thud from the kitchen, she has an inkling of what's about to happen.

"yeah, sure," minho sighs, rubbing his face, "n-no, i haven't asked yet. i don't–"he groans–"okay, okay! i'll get to it now. give me at least thirty minutes!"

with one last sigh, he hangs up and now looks up to meet with kitty's eyes as she shakes her head.

"minho, you have to ask her now!"

"i don't know what you're talking about," minho clears his throat, stepping out of the kitchen but kitty scurries to get in his way, "minho!" she grabs his arm, giving him a good shake when he faces her with wide eyes.

"this is it," she grips onto his arm, "when will you ever get a chance like this again?"

the boy opens his mouth, only to find himself at a lost for words when he glances over kitty's shoulder to see your packed suitcase, ready for the leaving... and he has no idea where you're headed... but he'd like to be with you wherever that destination may be. that's what scares him. that despite the uncertainty... he's willing to take a chance on it with you.

but he has a bigger fish to catch when he doesn't even know what your plans are.

a bigger, bigger fish?

his flight leaves in an hour.

and it's not to say he left it down to the last minute but–

"c'mon, minho. you can do this," he mutters under his breath, shaking his hands dry as he turns off the faucet. clearing his throat, he tries to man up as he exits the bathroom and heads on out to the living room.

he stands a distance away, watching you play uno with kitty, q and yuri. there's occasional banter and the flicking of cards back and forth but just as minho's about to call for you, it seems like you're a step ahead when–"min!" you wave him over, "come play!"

the boy gulps, swallowing the lump in his throat as he shakily replies: "y-yeah, sure. in a second. but could you–"he clears his throat, "c-could i ask you something?"

that grants the attention of everyone in the room to look at his direction, following your line of sight as you watch him with a small smile. "of course. what is it?"

like a deer in headlights, he did not expect you to respond in that way, but now he looks back and realises he should have called you out to speak with him rather than ask in front of everyone. he tries to think of a way to get out of this situation, only for kitty to catch on to save minho's ass with: "oh! i think we were thinking of ordering pizza earlier,"

that seems to draw the crowd to kitty as she whips out her phone to order, even your attention is now on her. minho mouths a quick thank you, covey, only for kitty to snort and act invested in which pizza flavour to get. another time, minho thinks, now joining your side physically, and decision-wise in supporting which pizza toppings you wanted.

fast-forward to a couple of days later... this is it, now's the time, minho thinks. in the space of the kitchen where the two of you are alone (kitty gave him a heads up she'll only be back in an hour so now would be a great time), cups of warm tea in possession and him... being lost in the conversation with you as he always does makes him lose track of time.

maybe it was the way you always give him your undivided attention. with the things he's able to talk to you off the bat; the good, the bad, the things that keep minho up at night and you see him past all of the things that hold him captive. being in his father's shadow, drowning in his parents' wealth, his status–it all seems to strip to nothing to just... himself.

and you look at him like love is ever-present in him.

like it is in you.

he doesn't know how to bring it up or whether he can bring it up but when the door swings open, minho sighs when you giddily set your cup down to–"kitty! i got you something!"

the girl remains frozen as she watches you flee from the kitchen, grabbing something from your bag discarded on the floor next to the sofa. kitty turns the cheek to look at minho, who remains his head hanging low as he sinks so far down he might as well be glued to the kitchen counter. that alone gives her the answer that he probably has not asked you the important question and that brings you to–"minho!"

the boy blinks back to reality and kitty sees that. this reality where he minho hasn't manned up and at least give it a try, he's going to regret it for the next few weeks. he frantically fishes out his phone and–"she's not answering her phone!" minho yells. oh my god, he's yelling. he can't help it, the volume came out louder than he had intended but–"go find her! at least try!" kitty spins him around and gives him a nudge. minho can't think straight but his body kicks into overdrive as he dashes out of the room.

once he's out and the door slams behind him, he freezes on the spot. his heart is pacing so fast, he thinks he's about to pass out but... no. no, no, no. this can't be the way. not like this. minho keeps trying to dial your number as he starts going down the list of places you might be at.

library? no. cafeteria? not there either. in one of the classrooms you decide to linger around every now and then–fuck's sake, classes aren't even on anymore, why is he checking here?!

his feet reroutes him to the next best thing: out of the buildings and in the open where he can think of where to go to next. through it all, though, he keeps cursing himself in plenty colourful languages in his mind. the one that keeps repeating itself is: i can't believe i'm a fucking idiot!

his mind is haywire, nearly set on fire the entire time he's scouring the campus for a glimpse of you. he feels like the upper hands of the universe must be laughing at the turn of events. mocking him for his failure with each location he tries to go to only to no avail; left with the dust of loneliness when you're nowhere to be found. he curses under his breath, not knowing where the hell you are especially when you're not reachable through phone.

his feet brings him out of the buildings, through the flush greenery and–the familiar sound of his ringtone vibrates in his pocket. he frantically pulls it out and processes your name flashing across the screen. he manages to answer the call with trembling hands, only to be greeted with: "hey, min! sorry i didn't get to your calls. i didn't realise my phone was dead and i just plugged it into my power bank–"

"where are you, y/n?" minho cuts you off, almost feeling bad for doing so but he doesn't have much time. hell, he hasn't been keeping track of it just so it feels like he has more time to get to you.

he hears you chuckling, and he hates that at a time like this, he can't indulge in the feeling of making you laugh; be it intentional or not.

"turn around, min."

it takes the boy a second or two before he processes your words. he spins around once his mind registers your words and... and there you are. phone to your ear with your power bank plugged to it and... that stupid smile on your face that renders him breathless (including all that running he's been doing for the past ten to fifteen minutes).

his eyes soften at the sight of you, despite his heart doing somersaults because that was the effect you had on him. the power that makes his knees weak and... and...

"are you okay?" you snort, waving a hand in front of his face as you've shoved your phone into your bag, tilting your head at him. he's still catching his breath, heaving as the sweat trickles down his forehead. it seems to catch your attention when you use the sleeve of your sweater, lightly dabbing it to his forehead, "jeez, what were you doing? running a marathon?"

he answers truthfully: "i was looking for you."

"oh," you chuckle, retracting your hand to gesture it to yourself, as if to silently say well, you've found me.

"min," you call softly, swallowing thickly after, "i-is everything alright?"

minho doesn't know where to begin or how to begin. but with the countdown he has in his mind, he knows he has to start somewhere.

"i'm leaving," the words fly out of his mouth quicker than he can stop himself, and when he manages another deep inhale, he appreciates that you wait until he continues. "f-for summer, i'm following my family on the summer tour. my flight's in an hour."

"that's great!" was your immediate response, but when the seconds pass by and the longer you're staring into minho's eyes, it seems like there's more than meets the eye. "w-wait, is that not good? am i supposed to have another reaction?"

minho hates how you're hesitant to say anything further when the smile you have on your face is slowly fading. it's not that he doesn't want to smile, but it just feels like he can't. you see how minho's not returning your smile and something feels off. you can't put your tongue on it and it begins to near scare you but everything comes to a halt when you watch as minho puts his phone into his pocket so his hands are free to... reach for your hand.

he's gentle, as if any sudden movement will scare you away. you're trying to make sense of the situation when minho gives your hand a squeeze, cupping them in his hands as he builds the courage to look up to you, connecting your eyes once more.

"a-and i'd like it if you'd come with me."

he watches as his words sink into your system. how your eyes grow wide and your jaw hangs open but it doesn't look negative... yet. minho feels his heart racing; this could either make or break his summer. him knowing very well despite him going on the tour will unlock new sides to himself... he would love it if he got to spend it with you and just... exist in the world with you while experiencing new sides of the world. the thoughts alone has left him dreaming with a smile... and that's when he knew he wanted to try to make it a reality. to at least give it a shot and now, in this moment with you... he's well-aware it was a fifty-fifty chance.

and that was a chance he was willing to take.

"me? on the summer tour?" you glance down to your hand in his and gulp, blinking back up to him as the words try to formulate themselves: "is there something i'm not catching on here or–"minho's actions makes your words fall into themselves when he steps closer into your personal space bubble. he's... gentle with his advancements despite the urgency lacing his words. yet, the sudden movement doesn't make you back away.

if anything, you lean in when minho's closer to you.

"i... i know it sounds crazy but," he licks his lips, blinking down to the gap between your bodies because he doesn't know if he can look you in the eye as he says: "i wouldn't have anyone else to come with me if it's not you."

the silence is deafening; past the ruffles of the leaves that float on the ground. the low murmurs of passerbys and their footsteps padding away in the distance. the heavy breathing from minho, catching his breath from all the running and the anxiety biting at the back of his neck.

"what if i said no?" you try asking, not that it was your intention but it was a thought you let out loud. you watch as your question makes minho a little sad but he still manages a smile. bittersweet. "then i'd wish you a good summer break... and hope i'd still see you back here."

you nod slowly, your eyes gazing down to watch your hand in his both. you give his hands a squeeze and he reciprocates, still cupping your hand tenderly.

"and what if i said yes?"

those words alone sparked hope into minho's eyes, and you feel it when he tightens the grip out of his subconscious. he takes in a deep breath and exhales shakily, licking his lips before he says: "i can't begin to imagine what it would be like if you said yes. but for starters," he looks up to you, the glint in his eyes is what makes your heart race and calm at the same time–this unspeakable comfort that makes you know, no, feel that being with minho... feels right. "it would make me happy," he murmurs, lowering his eyes from yours to smile to himself, seeing how your feet goes between his feet due to the proximity, "very, very happy."

though it was sudden, though it was out of nowhere, you can't deny that in your heart, this... felt right. it scared you and makes you wonder of all the possibilities of what could go right, wrong but you know regardless of it all, not going with minho would be something you'd regret if you let this chance go. (plus, you didn't have much of a real plan of where to go for the summer anyway. so this was a big step ahead.)

"we have so much to unpack here," you chuckle, shaking your head as you grip onto minho's hand, feeling him return the gesture as he uses a hand to hold onto yours properly, the other cupping the back of the hand of yours he has captive.

"and we'll have time," he says, gazing up to your eyes with the kind of happiness that makes your heart swoon.

"my luggages are still in the dorm," you snort, just now realising they're in the corner of your dorm living room.

"not exactly," minho chuckles, using his eyes to point over your shoulder and you look over it to see kitty and q, out of breath, hunched over your couple of luggages as they try to keep themselves upright with a feeble thumbs up from a distance. you can't help but laugh at the sight before the feeling of minho holding your hand reels your attention back to him.

you watch as he gulps, his hands are beginning to get clammy and you know when minho's nervous. it wasn't your intention to keep him waiting but it's not everyday that someone just asks you to join them to tour several countries in less than an hour. it makes your heart race just thinking about it but... one thing's for certain that you need to clarify: "are you sure?"

minho can't help but laugh. he's been thinking about this for the longest time since he's made the decision to go on the summer tour alone. when the thought of you joining him became a possible equation, it's–"i've been right and wrong about a lot of things," minho murmurs, taking the brave step to lean his forehead onto yours, "but this..." he's already looking at you when you tilt your eyes up to meet with his, "this i'm certain of."

you let your eyes flutter shut with a soft exhale. minho feels the nervousness take over his system with each second that goes by and you don't say anything. then, he feels your fingers filling between his own. before he can bask in the feeling, before he can jump to his conclusions, you say a single word that makes his breath hitch.

"okay."

it's like radio silence. the only thing minho can hear is your voice that he has to be clear on this.

"o-okay?" he leans back, eyes widening with the flood of joy he can't contain when your smile grows first, before your eyes open and now the two of you are a pair of smiling idiots.

"yes, i would love to!"

minho lets go of your hand to pull you into his arms. you're surprised, but it's like your body and heart knows what to do when your arms welcome him in to wrap around his neck. you squeal when he spins you around; feeling him laugh against the side of your ear as he squeezes you tight.

the two of you are about to indulge in the feeling; being in each other's arms but–"i hate to be the bearer of bad news but minho, y/n, continue this at the airport!"

"oh, shit!" minho pulls away from you to let you know that–"the driver's here! we have to go!"

"what?!" is the only thing that comes out from your mouth, the shock renders you speechless that you've conveniently forgot that minho clearly mentioned flight's in an hour.

"hug, kiss, do whatever you want but later! get to the airport!" kitty's voice gives you the nudge you need. you barely have enough time to hug either kitty or q properly and say your goodbyes. minho's grabbing onto your hand, the other grabbing some of your bags and nudging you to do the same before you're left running to where his driver's parked.

from a distance, you can hear kitty and q squealing, but really, all you can focus on is the adrenaline fueling your veins with minho's hand in yours and occasionally glancing to his smile.

(("all of this feels surreal," your words come out in a mere whisper as your eyes drink in the details of the lavish seats; marble panels, the vast space between the seats and quite frankly, the lack of seats which makes everything feel more spacious. you hadn't realised you had said it out loud when you hear minho saying: "yeah, it does," while you're talking about the grandeur of it all, it seems like minho's talking about something else when you meet with his gaze. the warmth and excitement that radiates his pupils makes you smile, even more when you follow his line of sight down to between your bodies. he has his palm facing up, resting in the space between your bodies. his fingers are a little shaky as he lifts his hand up and rests it on your thigh, close to your knee. you try to be calm and collected but minho doesn't miss the way you press your lips together to avoid smiling too wide as you place your hand in his. his fingers fill the spaces between yours; like you were made for him to hold and he cherishes it. he gives your hand a squeeze before he decides to close his eyes. you do the same, only difference is that you scoot a little closer towards him to rest your head on his shoulder. he instinctively shifts lower to let you slot your head perfectly and minho's already smiling as he drifts away to sleep. knowing that the weeks ahead, the dream he has of you following him on the summer tour, is now a reality when he feels you close to him and the fingers of yours between his own.))

[burning-academia-if]

Hello and welcome to another update! January was busy with work and my health is still on the mend lol however!!

Writing for Chapter 3 is finally done! Now I just need to go through and edit/code in everything! Granted, coding will probably take up all of February due to the fact that I've rarely been home for a variety of reasons and thus don't really have access to my computer but honestly the fact the writing is done is such a relief LMAO I've been working on it on and off for so long, it's nice to almost be done with. I haven't put together all the scenes, so I don't know the exact word count, but I know for a fact it's the size of an average novel at this point and I hope it being that long makes the wait worth it! There's a lot of branching in chapter 3, which is where most of the word count came from, so it definitely won't feel that long playing it but I hope people who replay have fun with all the little things to do and different branches lol

With that said! I'll be looking for beta readers to help with Chapter 3. I'm mostly just hoping to catch all the coding issues I'll 100000% miss. The forms for that will probably go up in either late February or early March if everything goes well! I want to have most of the coding done before I set that up. I'll keep y'all posted in case anyone is interested in that.

Thanks for the patience will I figure out irl things LOL we're almost there for real this time!

And finally, here's the monthly preview:

[johanna-swann]

So I've been complaining for a while that 911 has nothing exciting going on anymore, but there is actually one thing that I am super curious to watch play out. Not even just in universe, I'm curious to see how the show handles this:

How are they going to resolve the Christopher problem?

If the rumors are correct the actor moved away and he is mostly leaving the show. We've had a situation similar to this before with Harry and his actor, but despite the similarities there are also differences that will be difficult if not impossible to navigate.

Harry left to live with his dad. Everyone in the Grant family was on board with this because they all had a good relationship to each other and Harry had already stayed with Michael during covid. It made sense that Harry would want to stay with his dad and stepdad.

Christopher left LA not because he wanted to stay with his grandparents so badly, but because he didn't want to stay with his dad. He didn't leave because he loves his grandparents that much, he left because he was angry with his dad. Eddie was not okay with this decision, but let Chris go anyway because he felt it was the right thing to do. Ramon and Helena don't officially have custody of Christopher or any other form of guardianship agreement (afaik), so even legally this could get complicated.

Harry left the show in a way that was satisfying storywise. I was sad to see him go, but David had this huge opportunity and of course Michael went with him. Harry going as well was okay because it was a happy parting of the ways even if I miss all three of them.

Christopher left in a way that needs a resolution. There is still conflict here and the only way to end this in a satisfying way is to reunite Eddie and Chris. Ideally not 3 seasons from now, but asap. It has already been 8(?) months.

(This entire plot is madness btw. Like. Even when you have a bad argument you don't just let your child move 800 miles away from you permanently. Especially when the grandparents in question have a history of trying to get guardianship. After the summer break at the latest Eddie should've put his foot down about this. But I digress and they probably had to do it like this because Chris' actor wasn't available.)

My point is: There are 2 ways this can go.

1, Eddie and Christopher reunite in El Paso. Eddie leaves LA, Ryan Guzman leaves the show, a notoriously angry fanbase will send death threats to the showrunner and producers like they never have before. You know, fun stuff.

("Not all Buddie fans", I know I know, but there is a significant portion of shippers in this fandom who have become very fond of online harrassment and bullying, icluding death threats and suicide baiting. Need I remind you that only recently the 911-bts account was bullied offline? They were completely neutral on the ship question and only posted about official info, they really didn't do anything wrong and yet, here we are.)

2, Eddie and Christopher reunite in LA. Chris comes back, they talk things out, work on their relationship. Sounds better, right? Yeah, tiny problem though. How?

How, if Chris' actor isn't available? Do they just have Eddie talk about Chris without ever showing him again? What about Chris and Buck's relationship? They throw that out the window too? I imagine recasting is quite difficult, how many child actors with CP who fit the bill can there be in LA?

Besides, don't get mad at me, but Christopher kinda makes up 80% of Eddie's personality. He's the single dad, that's his constant. What else does he have? The panic attacks, the military trauma, the anger issues - all of those things are stuff the show brought up once for rather short arcs and then never again. If you look for things that are always true about Eddie there's two of them: He's a single father and he's still hung up on Shannon.

They can't drag Shannon's corpse around forever (though they do try). Take Christopher out of the equation too and forget about Chris himself, what is this show going to do with Eddie? He has never shown any ambition to further his career in any way. He doesn't seem to have close ties to any of his relatives outside of Pepa. Like. Dude has two sisters and he never even mentions them. Carla apparently also left the show. He doesn't really have other friends outside the 118 (he hasn't talked to Linda since season 5 and Tommy left the show too). And even within the 118, who is he particularly close to other than Buck?

They could of course actually go for Buddie, but is that a good idea right now? Eddie still hasn't worked out his Shannon complex, Buck is not over Tommy yet and it doesn't solve the Christopher problem.

So yeah. Very curious about how they'll solve this pickle. I'd love to hear some other people's thoughts about this.