#did you not pay attention to how nearly everyone treated his accuser

[beardedmrbean]

Sexual assault survivor Chessy Prout has slammed a judicial nomination by President Joe Biden.

She was 15 years old when she was assaulted by an older student at St Paul’s School, an elite institution in New Hampshire in 2014.

She anonymously testified against the perpetrator, Owen Labrie, at his trial, but she and her family were still the subjects of threats. She also faced off against the school as it tried to reach a settlement in a civil suit. The school’s strategy enraged Ms Prout to such an extent that she chose to share her story with the public, according to The Boston Globe.

Despite how it changed her life, Ms Prout told the paper that she feels like it has been worth it to speak out.

The lawyer who utilised the tactic that angered Ms Prout has now been nominated to be a federal judge, prompting her to speak out yet again.

“I am determined to have some sort of good, or some sort of change, come out of all the horrible things that have happened to me and my family,” she said.

Mr Biden nominated the former New Hampshire Attorney General Michael Delaney to take a seat at the US First Circuit Court of Appeals in Boston.

When Mr Delaney was in private practice, he represented St Paul’s in the civil lawsuit and filed a motion rejecting Ms Prout’s request that she remain anonymous in the event that the dispute went to trial.

The strategy was controversial and criticised as being intended to force a settlement.

Ms Prout and her family ensured that the Biden White House and the senators representing New Hampshire were aware of Mr Delaney’s actions when they became aware that he was being considered for the role last year.

But Mr Biden still proceeded to nominate Mr Delaney.

“I feel like bad actors get rewarded all the time,” Ms Prout told The Globe, which reported earlier this month that the family opposition has created problems for Mr Delaney’s nomination.

“I’m pretty jaded, even at the age of 24 ... but at the same time, I did have higher hopes for this White House,” she told the paper.

Ms Prout was inspired by Mr Biden’s efforts to fight sexual violence, such as the “It’s On Us” programme launched by the Obama White House in 2014 following her assault when Mr Biden was vice president.

“To see this issue be brought up in a really public and noticeable way right when I was going through this issue personally, it felt like kismet, it felt like it was meant to be,” she told The Globe. “I felt like the tides were turning.”

She added that she took part in a conference call in 2017 with Mr Biden after he left the White House during which he said he would continue to work on the issue.

Ms Prout now says she’s “extremely disappointed” by Mr Biden’s nomination of Mr Delaney.

“It is really disheartening that it’s this political party that has been so vocal about supporting survivors, and the fact that they now are throwing their wholehearted support behind a nominee who basically practiced ... victim intimidation tactics,” she told The Globe.

“It just blows my mind that there isn’t a better option,” she added.

The White House said last month that the administration “expects senators to take Mr Delaney’s full record into account when considering his nomination”.

New Hampshire’s two Democratic Senators, Jeanne Shaheen and Maggie Hassan, have said they support the nomination but they also voiced support for Ms Prout, something she said is meaningless if Mr Delaney’s nomination succeeds.

“There’s so much talk you can do, there’s so many posters you can hang, so many social media posts you can do to support survivors, but that means nothing – nothing – unless you support them ... in real life,” she told The Globe. “It’s been a lot of talk and not so much action.”

“I know that judge appointments are totally political and it’s all about ... how many judges the president can appoint,” she added. “I just wish that it didn’t have to be this way, which is pretty naïve and idealistic of me to say.”

Mr Delaney told senators at his confirmation hearing last month his motion wasn’t intended to intimidate Ms Prout and he asked the committee to “consider the totality of my record over nearly 30 years as it reviews my qualifications”.

The Independent has reached out to the White House, Mr Delaney, Ms Hassan, and Ms Shaheen for comment.

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

Writing ask:

Maybe LU modern Au thing? No pressure!

Anyway took a few days but here you go! I took this opportunity to finally write another crack fic with four so it's probably not what you're expecting lmao. Kinda lost what little plot there was halfway through too

---------

"Someone's pulling us over." Green said. Vio sighed, and pulled the car to the side of the road. 

"Is it the cops?" Blue twisted around. 

Green shoved him back down. "If it is the cops, do you want to get us in more trouble?"

"Anyone do anything illegal lately?" 

"Other than how we're harboring a criminal in our house?" Blue asked sarcastically. "No."

"Shadow isn't a criminal anymore." Vio reminded him. "Dot pardoned him."

"Then why does everyone keep calling the cops on us?" He accused. "Wild nearly sets his house on fire at least once a week and even he doesn't see the cops as often as we do."

Vio sniffed and turned away, pointedly refusing to answer his question. 

A cop walked up to the window a moment later, knocking on it.

"Hello, officer." Vio said, rolling down the window and plastering on a smile.

"Have you seen this man?" The officer asked. He held up a picture of Legend, and Vio had to hold in a groan. "He was seen in a car matching the description of yours headed this way."

"No, I'm afraid not." He lied. 

"What about you?" The officer peered into the car, and Vio hoped he couldn't see the swords they'd shoved under the back seat. It would probably be a bit hard to explain what they were for.

"Nope." Blue said, crossing his arms.

He pulled out another picture, this time of Warriors. "What about him?"

"No." Vio said. "If you don't mind me asking, officer, what did they do?"

"They stole a few bottles of alcohol, but they were covered in blood, so we're treating them as dangerous."

"Well, I'll let you know if we see them."

He nodded, and Vio rolled up his window. Once he had left, he pulled out his phone, bringing up Legend’s number. The call connected within a moment.

"Get out of my damn trunk." He hissed, not even waiting for an acknowledgement.

There was a thump from the back of the car, and an echoing one on Vio's phone.

"I'm not in your trunk." Legend said. 

"And pigs fly." Green said, rolling his eyes. "The cops just pulled us over."

"Oh shit, that's what that was?" Warriors whispered, clearly thinking they wouldn't be able to hear. 

"Are you drunk?" Red asked, leaning closer to Vio's phone.

"...No."

"Time's gonna get your ass." Blue snorted.

"Pfft, he's like four feet tall. He can't do anything to me."

Vio's eye twitched. As a proud and somewhat reluctant owner of four feet and four inches, he didn't really appreciate that comment.

"I think he's going nuts." Legend said. Now that Vio was paying attention, he could tell that he was drunk. "He keeps calling Time Mask and insisting he's like, really short."

"Are you injured?"

"Uh, no. I don't think this is our blood."

"You're paying to clean my car."

"What? No–"

Vio hung up. He leaned forward, forehead resting on the steering wheel, not even caring that he was pressed against the horn, and sighed. It was so much simpler when he was helping Shadow take over the world.

[lesbx]

it seems to be a growing trend on tiktok and youtube and wherever of people posting videos of themselves either almost or even actually crashing into kids while doing things like skateboarding or biking in public and every. single. time. the comments are full of the most vile people speaking as if the child in the situation is the one at fault if that happens for “being in the way” or just existing in a public area as a kid. or that they deserved it for “being stupid” or not paying attention or if they did notice but couldn’t get out of the way fast enough or panicked and accidentally stepped the wrong way into being hit and even more despicably just people expressing their glee at a kid getting hurt bc they’re just that kind of person that hates kids and has to make sure everyone knows it at all times. And this is just a very hyper specific scenario representing a broader issue with how we generally think and act towards children who deserve much more sympathy and attention than they often get (especially when they get used for videos like this) but i feel like i have to point out that it is never ever the kids fault in a situation like that. Never. No kid ever wants to get hurt so to insinuate that they purposely let themselves get hit by a bike or a scooter for attention is exactly the kind of shit adults accused you of when you were a kid too and you were actually hurt and were crying because you were hurt. there is no self awareness about this either when people go off about how much they hate kids and think they deserve everything they get, either despite the fact that they resented being treated that way when they were kids or even because they were, in a fucked up stupid “well it happened to me so they can put up with it too” mindset that makes me furious. to get back to my original point though, it’s never the kids fault no matter how they influenced an accident, either by not getting away or accidentally walking into it, because it is an adult’s responsibility to be aware of their surroundings. In one video i’ve seen, it was from a bikers gopro as he very nearly avoided a collision with like a 9 year old in the middle of a public park path, luckily only crashing his bike as he veered away, but he posted asking “ Who was at fault here?” like ?? legitimately in all of these videos that get posted, nearly without fail the comments point out that the kid should’ve seen them coming from a mile away, ignoring the inverse of that which is that the adult should’ve seen there was a child in their path and slowed down or stopped to avoid the accident, or if they couldn’t slow or stop, they need to crash into something else because even that reduces the potential for tragedy. I don’t care if your bike was $5000 it’s better to total it on a tree and take a ring to your bell because the alternative is unthinkable to me and i can’t believe it’s even a question

[nicnacsnonsense]

What Stede did wasn't "worse", and it's really fucking gross and pathetic of you to insist that it was.

Stede was traumatized. His actions hurt Ed, but they were not intentional, they were not deliberate. He was in shock, he disassociated. For fuck's sake, the man walked for miles, barefoot. You don't choose to do that.

You know who did, deliberately, choose to leave, and who hurt Stede when he did it?

Ed.

Ed, who never once stuck up for Stede (he never would have burnt a ship down for Stede, he fucking let Izzy undermine his authority and stab him, he let Calico Jack insult him and call him the wrong name), who never listened to Stede (every single time Stede tries to open up to Ed, Ed shuts him down).

I am so fucking sick of this fandom acting like Ed is somehow faultless and perfect when he treated Stede pretty fucking bad, actually, and rather than pay attention to Stede's obvious breakdown he was having on the beach, Ed made it about Ed's feelings and what Ed wanted.

Anon, my dear friend, if I may, I would like to speculate as to what happened here. You came across my post, perhaps it crossed your dashboard, perhaps you stumbled upon it in the stede bonnet or ofmd tag, and saw it as yet another example of everyone in this fandom being against Stede and never being willing to cut him any slack at all. And you felt so angry and frustrated by this constant barrage that you just had to say something. I understand, Anon. Why just the other day I was musing on my desire to go on anon and threaten to bite everyone who called Stede passive aggressive. And that is far from the only Stede take that has inspired that urge in me. You and I are kindred spirits in this, Anon.

But what I am certain you did not do is take a look at my blog and check my other posts before coming to your conclusions about my opinions on Stede. This was perhaps a failing on your part, but I do not fault you for it. Still, I would urge you to go take a peek through my stede bonnet tag now, as I suspect it will be quite to your liking. For what it will show you, and what anyone more familiar with me and my blog would have been able to tell you, is that here it is Protect Stede Bonnet hours all day every day. He is my cPTSD autistic son, who has done some things wrong in his life, yes, but not nearly so many as he is accused of and has been treated very unfairly by the fandom. In fact I suspect the only reason I am not an outright Stede Apologist is there just isn't much in the way of a Stede apologia echo chamber to get sucked into in this fandom, so I am regularly exposed to the opinions of people who think less highly of him.

It's actually very frustrating at times -- if I may vent to you here for a minute, Anon, as I think you'll understand -- because whenever I make a post supporting Stede or criticizing other characters in relation to him, I almost always feel this pressure to qualify it. To acknowledge that Stede still made mistakes too, or that ultimately the evidence isn't completely conclusive and other things could be true, or settle on suggesting equal fault even when I really think that Stede was the party done the greater wrong overall. I just wish I could make a post about how great a person I think Stede is without feeling like I have to add caveats because otherwise no one will engage with it, or they'll come at me accusing me of who knows what. (Not you, Anon. While I would encourage you to come on a little less strongly at least in initial approach and assume people are acting in good faith in the future, rest assured that I received your ask in all good humor.)

Now that I've rambled for quite a bit, let's move on to your actual concerns, yes? To start with let me assure you that I am fully aware of Stede's extremely traumatized state when he left Ed; it is even referenced in the tags of the original post. I am also generally in agreement with you that Stede was dissociating for his journey back to his house, though I know others disagree and I find those interpretations to be perfectly reasonable as long as we are all in agreement that he was not in a mentally stable place from which to be making sound & rational decisions.

As to saying what Stede did was worse, first I wish to make certain I was clear in my original post that I only intended to compare Stede's failure to meet Ed at the dock to Ed's failure to leave the dock to make sure Stede's absence wasn't because he had found himself in trouble. If we do understand that, well then you bring up an interesting question, Anon. How do we judge the morality of an action? Do we base it on the outcomes, the good done and harm caused, or on the intentions of the person acting? If circumstances make it harder for a given person in a given situation to make the right choice, then how does that impact our judgement, especially in situations where so much of the circumstances are internal and we as external viewers have no way of truly assessing how much more difficult it actually is? How much allowance do we make for a person acting from ignorance rather than knowledge? How do we compare an action with certain outcomes versus one with uncertain outcomes?

And that's before we even get to your addition, Anon, of the time when Ed left Stede in episode 8. Because comparing that to Stede's leaving highlights another important part to this conversation; that this is all happening within a fictional narrative where the characters serve as narrative tools to further the story and messages. Now, I believe there is much value in analyzing characters as though they were real people making real decisions and find people who insist characters should always be approached from the lens of being fictional to be perhaps well-intentioned, but frequently rather elitist. Still, there is also value in approaching characters with the idea in mind that they are specifically designed beings who live in a specifically designed world that is presented through specifically designed framing. The framing of these two moments treats Ed leaving Stede as something serious, but Stede leaving Ed as being nearly catastrophic. This framing gets internalized by large portions of the audience, which affects how they feel about each of these actions, which can shape their moral judgement of the actions. And perhaps that was the intended message of the writers, or perhaps the comparison was intended to communicate something else, or perhaps the framing of each of these moments was intended to convey something about the moments themselves, but not in a way that would allow them to be directly comparable.

I'm afraid in all this I have no definite answers for you, Anon. All I can say is for my part, I do still consider Stede leaving Ed at the docks to be worse than Ed staying at the docks and failing to check on Stede. For, while there are aspects of each of these two decisions wherein Ed comes off worse, they are not enough for me to override the fact that Stede's actions were guaranteed to directly harm Ed whereas Ed's actions only had the potential to allow Stede to harm through inaction. As to comparing each of the moments where one of them leaves the other, I truly couldn't say, so I leave deciding which is worse as an exercise to the reader, presuming they find value in such a pursuit in the first place.

Next we come to the other accusations you level at Ed, some of which I feel have merit, but others of which I think are perhaps you allowing your affinity for Stede and desire to defend him get the better of you. Certainly there were occasions where Ed failed to stick up for Stede when, as a good friend and partner, he should have, but I think in your heart you know that it's not true that he never did. Otherwise, what would you call it when Ed stood between Stede and a firing squad and willingly signed away ten years of his life to the British Navy to save Stede?

In regards to Izzy, there is a scenario where Stede did not accept Izzy's challenge to a duel, and in that scenario it would indeed be Ed's responsibility to force Izzy to back down and fall in line. But once Stede accepted the challenge, it was taken out of Ed's hands. He could not force Izzy to bow out of the duel at that point without undermining Stede's own authority to accept the duel nor without communicating to all present that Ed has no faith in Stede and his abilities. Stede chose to accept the duel and Ed is obligated to honor those choices.

To the matter of Calico Jack, I have no defense that could excuse Ed's actions, nor do I have any wish to do so. Certainly a fair accounting of Ed's actions here should include consideration of Jack's manipulations of him and even that Stede's attempts to communicate his displeasure did happen to hit upon some of Ed's own insecurities, but none of that negates that Ed is a full grown man responsible for his own actions and choices and who was perfectly capable of realizing Stede was feeling hurt by what was going on and addressing it, but failed to do so.

And now to your last accusation, that Ed never listened to Stede and his feelings. I will say that I disagree with your specific claim that Ed ignored Stede's clear breakdown on the beach, because I do not see Stede's reaction there as being outwardly extreme enough to constitute a clear breakdown. However to your broader point that fandom in general has it backwards and the lack of communication between Ed and Stede, especially as concerns Stede's emotions, has more to do with Ed's failure to listen than Stede's failure to be open, I do very much agree and have enumerated on it at length, and plan to continue to do so in the future. I even agree that Ed ignored a clear breakdown that Stede was having, though I tie that to Stede's breakdown in episode 4 rather than the beach scene. It's very odd that the perception seems to be that Ed is emotionally open while Stede is not, when the reality is Stede frequently asks after how Ed is feeling, while Ed does not.

And in conclusion, Anon, I do have one last thought to offer in response to one of your comments:

I am so fucking sick of this fandom acting like Ed is somehow faultless and perfect when he treated Stede pretty fucking bad

Girl, same.

[idy-ll-ique]

One And Only.

Pairing: Mob Boss!Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: s*x

Requested: nope

Summary: Their marriage is for business purposes only but they fall in love. Until Y/N starts having a doubt... does Steve Rogers have a mistress? It's all a misunderstanding...

Author's Note: Hiya peeps, iw!Steve in this one. Enjoy!

---

"Hey, you doing okay?" Y/N turned away from the mirror and smiled at Natasha and Wanda. "As well as a bride could be minutes before her wedding," she jabbed, making the ladies chuckle. "It's going to be fine, Y/N, Steve will treat you well. We've been friends with him for years, one thing we know about him is that he never treats women wrong."

"I don't doubt that, it's just that— I met him a week ago. One time. I don't even know him, anything about him, other than the fact that he leads the most feared crime gang in the entire country," Y/N muttered, tugging at the sapphire necklace she was wearing. Something blue. "You will get to know him soon enough, though. Come on now, everyone is waiting."

Her father stood outside the door, a soft smile on his face. "You look lovely, honey," he cooed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as the two ladies sauntered past them into the Hall with their partners. "Thank you, papa." The two people walked into the Hall and everyone stood up to greet the bride. At the end of the aisle stood Steve, tall and proud, a huge smile on his face.

Y/N couldn't help but smile back. As soon as she reached near him her father let go, but not before pressing a kiss to her cheek. Steve took her hand and brought it to his lips when she stood in front of him. The priest standing next to them began his usual recitations; Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today… Y/N didn't really pay attention to his speech.

She was busy staring at Steve, who looked magnificent in an all black suit, his dirty blond hair and full beard making her feel all sorts of things. His smile softened a bit, also not listening to the priest. He was observing her. It was supposed to be purely transactional, the marriage, but he knew it wasn't gonna end like one. It would be a proper marriage.

Happily married.

She looked wonderful. He met her a week ago; a bit wary at the concept of merging two mobs by marriage but the moment he saw her, he knew he had to have her. She was his, no one else's. The two quickly exchanged their vows as the ring bearers came forward with the rings. The bride and the groom took the rings with smiles and turned to face each other.

"Steve Rogers, do you take Y/N Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her, for as long as you both shall live?" The priest turned to Steve expectantly.

"I do," Steve spoke, loud and clear, as he slipped the ring on Y/N's finger. Y/N had to admit, she felt a bit giddy when those words left his mouth.

"Y/N Y/L/N, do you take Steve Rogers to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?" Y/N smiled shyly at Steve. "I do."

Steve grinned widely when she neatly placed the ring on his finger. "You may now kiss the bride." And the whole room erupted into stentorian cheering as Steve gathered his wife in his arms, pressing his lips to hers in a deep kiss. Only when he heard a wolf-whistle coming from the crowd did Steve stop, pulling away to look at his out-of-breath wife.

"Mrs Rogers," he spoke fondly and she giggled. "Mr Rogers," she teased as they turned to the crowd, Y/N clutching Steve's arm as they smiled widely. Not many people had attended the impromptu wedding; just Steve's close friends and Y/N's father. Her bridesmaids were Natasha and Sharon, with Wanda being her maid-of-honor.

Steve's groomsmen were Sam and Tony, with Bucky being his best man. "Well, the first dance goes to the bride and her father, I'd say," Clint called out, already helping himself to a bottle of beer as music started playing. Steve reluctantly handed his wife over to her father, bidding her with a sweet kiss on her cheek.

"I hope you know why I had to do this, honey," her father sighed as they danced in the middle of the Hall. "I know, papa. Don't feel bad, I think I'm starting to like Steve. He seems friendly enough and Nat and Wan told me he's good to women." Her dad chuckled. "Well, he doesn't have the label of promiscuity that other leaders do." He was right.

Steve Rogers never really had time for dating, too busy leading the salient mafia. Also, the thought of having women just for a night or two didn't sit right with him, so he never went in that direction. "Can I have this dance now?" As soon as the song changed Steve appeared on her side, holding his hand out. She smiled and took his hand.

He easily slid an arm around her waist as the music slowed. One hand around her waist and the other holding her hand in classic ballroom dancing position, he pulled her closer. She rested her head on his chest, the arm which was around his neck lowering to his middle. "I'll treat you well," Steve whispered as they languidly swayed in the middle of the room.

"I know. If it's not much, um, I think I'd like to take things slow…" she hinted, hoping he'd notice. And he did. "Of course, of course, we can do that. I don't want to make you uncomfortable in any way," he assured her. "Thank you, Mr Rogers," she mumbled. "My pleasure, Mrs Rogers." The rest of the ceremony was enjoyable to say the least.

---

10 months had passed since the wedding.

Steve and Y/N were still taking things slow, against their own wishes.

It was a misunderstanding.

They loved each other; they really did, but they couldn't bring themselves to say the words to the other. Steve was purposely not making the first move, in fear that his wife would think he was rushing things. Y/N, on the other hand, had started severely doubting herself because 10 months have passed, does he not want to be with me anymore?

She was expecting him to make the first move, and he was expecting her to give him the permission first. It was annoying, to say the least. They were still friendly with each other, so Steve didn't pay much attention to the anxiety his wife was feeling. Y/N was beside herself with worry that had increased tenfold since... well, 15 minutes ago. She had overheard a conversation.

"So, how's Smith treating ya?"

"Same old, ya know. He has like 3 bitches as mistresses, thinks I don't know about 'em. Which mob man doesn't have a mistress in today's world, ha?"

"Preach, sister. I'd think even Rogers has one, heard somewhere that he and his little wife haven't even consummated their marriage. Probably doesn't even wanna be with her, he did marry her for the business."

"Mmhm, I agree. What about you, Lin?"

"Oh, Danny? Probably out there sleeping with Denise."

She didn't mean to eavesdrop on their personal conversation, but she couldn't help it. Mistress? She was familiar with the term, but what she was not familiar with was the fact that nearly all married mobsters had one. And when they mentioned Steve, she was done for. Crying, she had gone back to her room, collapsing on the bed, sobbing.

In her crying state, she failed to notice Steve also in the room as she raked her brain, thinking about all the times Steve had come home from work. He had given her no reason to believe that he had another woman, but what if he was just that good at hiding it? "Sweetheart? My love, why are you crying?" The bed dipped next to her.

Steve had just stepped out of the shower when his wife had thrown the door of their shared suite open, falling on the bed with a nerve-wracking sob. Why was she crying? "S-Steve…" she stammered and he pulled her on his lap, rocking her back and forth, getting her to calm down. It worked as Y/N's heart rate slowed down.

"Y/N, tell me, what happened? Who hurt you, tell me their names." Steve suddenly saw red at the prospect of someone hurting his wife. "N-No one hurt me, I just… I accidentally overheard a conversation I shouldn't have and—" She trailed off when her breath hitched. Steve soothingly rubbed her back, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

"What were they talking about?"

"Mistresses. One of the ladies said that nearly all mob men had mistresses and I— We haven't even consummated our marriage, haven't done anything besides kissing so I just thought— Do you have a mistress?" Her question shocked him. Him? Keeping a mistress when he had a wife he was head-over-heels for? "My darling, I love you."

She looked up at his words. "You do?" she mumbled, taking a deep breath. "Of course I do. The only reason I didn't say anything was because you told me, on the day of our wedding, that you wanted to take things slow. Before doing something, I needed your permission and that's why I haven't made a move on you." Y/N felt very silly all of a sudden.

"I'm so sorry for accusing you—"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Don't apologize to me, princess. Come here." He hugged her tightly, cradling the back of her head as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Do you know how many of my colleagues have asked me the same question?" She gently shook her head. "One too many. Do you know what I say to them each time?"

"No…"

"I say, why would I have a mistress when my wife makes me the happiest person on the planet? Why would I have a mistress when my wife is an angel personified? You guys are just jealous that she's mine and not yours." Y/N's skin burnt at his praise and she burrowed closer to him. "Steve," she muttered bashfully and felt him chuckle underneath her.

"Will you allow me to show you just how much I love you?"

"Yes."

He gently lowered her on the bed and hovered above her, one large hand coming to rest on her cheek. Then he made quick work of their clothes until they were bare in front of each other; Steve's eyes went wide with awe when he saw her body. "You are perfect," he declared, his warm hands grabbing every bit of skin it came in contact with as his lips touched her neck.

Y/N mewled underneath him when he shamelessly groped both her breasts, groaning. "So perfect. So beautiful. Only mine, my one and only," he whispered, pressing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss as he felt his shaft harden. "I love you," she blurted out as one of his hands found her core, his fingers scissoring her open, getting her ready for penetration.

"I love you too, my sweet," he smiled at her before lining his shaft against her core. He pushed in inch-by-inch, giving her some time to adjust to his size. He was bigger than anyone she had previously been with, much bigger. Y/N bit her lip to stifle a moan as he bottomed out inside her, grunting. "None of that," he rasped, "I want to hear you."

Y/N groaned when he lazily rotated his hips, not holding back, just like he asked. "That's it, baby girl. Just like that." He sped up inside her, grabbing the headboard of the bed, each snap of his hips sending waves of pleasure washing over Y/N. "Oh, Steve," she whimpered, her hands balling into fists around the bedsheets she was clutching, moving weightlessly against him.

"Are you close, my dear?" he growled when her walls clenched around him. She meekly nodded, throwing her head back as she tried to hold in. "Only one moment, love, I'm close too." His thrusts soon got sloppier. "Cum with me," he ground out before letting go, shooting his load inside her. Y/N came just moments later, her arms wrapping around Steve's shoulders when he slumped on her.

"There we go, our marriage is sealed," he joked and she laughed tiredly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Steve rolled off of her, smiling gently when he saw her drifting in and out of consciousness. "Go to sleep, I'm right here. I'll take care of you." He got up and walked to the closet, taking out a spare towel. Running it under some hot water, he sat next to her and cleaned her up.

Then he cleaned himself up, put on a pair of pyjama pants and lay down next to his sleeping wife, an automatic smile blooming on his face. He'd dreamed that their first time would be unforgettable, and it was, but he also wished it was… longer. God knew he was an insatiable man; but he also didn't want to pressure the woman he had grown to love.

There's always a next time, anyway.

"Sleep tight, my dear."

---

A/N: Leave a like if you enjoyed, thanks for reading!

[nuklearis-sutotok]

Okay... I share but I don't share much... Yet I want to say something on the subject of Professor T and Ben Miller's portrayal because it's more important than I think a lot of "normal" people are giving it credit for.

For one it's on the PLUS channels, which makes it far more accessible and likely to be seen than the original version (which is on my watch list). That could be huge with what I have to say...

Ben has admitted to being a bit different from the norm, to being somewhat like the Professor which puts him in a far better place to play such a character than a neurotypical person may be in. There is finally someone somewhat like the character they are playing instead of someone doing lousy guesswork with zero consultation. A lot of people think, from what I am reading, that his behaviors are a bit over the top but here's the thing, although visually allegorical, they are not. Some people's minds legitimately work like this and I've seen people using these scenes to try and describe their experiences to others, and finally, finally, other people are getting it. People are starting to understand after God knows how long.

In my personal experience the first episode did something for me that only one other piece of media ever has in nearly thirty years. For once I didn't feel like a lonely freak, here was someone like me in a field I've been encouraged for years to work in.

But this series didn't stop there. Not only did Professor T come right out with it (ASD, OCD, etc), it also handed a torch to Sophie (ASD, down syndrome). Sophie was treated like a real human being with respect, asked questions, shown to be who she really is. By the people close to her? No, not by everyone, but by the Professor and a few others. It gave a cold truth, but it also gave a voice to groups that are often voiceless or lacking the media representation to be truly understood. The actress, Kathleen Humberstone, is a brilliant young adult with downs dead set on making it big in the industry and she's got a good start. She'll do amazing.

Did it stop at that? No, of course not. Some of the subject matter, especially the first episode dealing with a serial rapist, despite its origins being in other previous renditions of the series, has been heavily criticized for being treated bluntly and without bothering to cover up the gruesome details. It's been accused of doing things for the shock value, but that's not at all the reason if you pay any attention. The series comes out in the first episode to explain that crime is inherently traumatic, and that trauma doesn't just go away because the case is closed or because years have passed. It's been called a gross use of the subject, but it isn't, it's the harsh reality of it.

These are harsh subjects and truths that need to be treated openly and given a place. It's so sorely needed that people are running from it instead of trying to think about it critically while those who are finally being fed something besides rotting table scraps are going nuts.

Go watch Professor T.

[thatstupidpotato]

POSSESSIVE MUCH // Katuski Bakugou//

synopsis: after being able to tolerate and date each other for a full three years, both the bakusquad and dekusquad decide to celebrate their last few days together:)

warnings: possessive y/n and curse words :)

this is my first time in tumblr:) and english is not my first language so i am sorry for all the errors:' anywayy i hope you enjoyy:)

cr: to the owner of the masterpiece:)

"Do you think he will ever man up?" Kirishima says as he looks at his friend blushing profoundly at his crush while screaming death threats at her at the same time and she looks as equally pissed and flustered. "Man it is giving me real headache seeing how oblivious they are about their feelings for each other."  Kaminari frowns as Bakugou raises his hands ready to blow his crush' face off. Now this was some free shit fucked up romance the bakusquad got to witness every day and if i am being honest? they would pay a thousand million dollar just to get away from them. For this shit show to end. For maybe Bakugou to man up and confess his feelings or for y/n to women up and do something about hers as Kirishima says. " Dang it mann i cannot see this anymore.... i will have to get myself involved now." Everybody looks at Mina for a split second and then looks back at the duo... currently Bakugou was desperately trying to push y/n away from him as she was very harshly pulling on his hair and kickin his legs. They could see a panicked Midoriya and Uraraka trying to prey their friend of off a very desperate explosive time bomb and Ilda telling them that if they don't stop fighting then he'd have to go get Aizawa sensei while doing his usual air chopping gesture. At the very mention of their teacher both the mentally frustrated teenagers quickly push themselves away from each other. They glare at each other as Midoriya pulls y/n by her wrist and while Bakugou makes his way towards his friends.

Bakugou scowls as he sits next to Kirishima and snatches his water and gulps everything down. " So now do YOU want our help or do you still think that you got it?" Sero smugly askes as Bakugou glares at him. Not directly being able to say he wants help Bakugou starts mumbling under his breath. "Bakubro you need to tell us to help you so we can actually help you and clearly you need help dude. You don't got this at all." Kiri can't help but laugh remembering the situation his friend was in a few moments ago. "Fine i need your help"

Y/n grunts as she sits down in a chair somewhere far away from the boy and his group of friends whoes hair she just nearly ripped of off.  "Why? i just need to know why you would treat the person you like like that. You just nearly made him go bald  y/n?!?!"  Now Uraraka was a very sweet and patient girl but seeing the way they treated each other was surely gonna be the last straw to her patience as well. "It's not me this time!! That piece of shit started it!" y/n points an accusing finger at Bakugou's direction. "WHY THE HELL ARE YOU POINTING A FINGER AT ME HUH YOU WORTHLESS BITCH?!!?!" "SEE!!"  This was going to be way more harder than they thought.

This was reallyy not that hard at all. And it was hard to believe at first but Bakugou being the desperate hot-head desperately trying to get his crush to actually like him back and not rip his hair was willingly cooperative. And y/n being a bold bitch that she was, she also willingly obeyed to everything her friends said. And now that leads to this current situation. Kirishima had briefly explained Bakugou what he was suppose to do and not do. Now he was patiently waiting for the girl to show up. Y/n on the other hand was ready to rip Bakugou's limps off his nicely built body. So apparently y/n was not willing to get out of her bed so Uraraka might have told her that Bakugou beat the shit out of Midoriya... well now that was chaos.

Let's not discuss in details how they both nearly killed each other. Just as y/n entered the room, Bakugou was ready to be sweet and cringe for the very first and the last time in his life but nah-uh. Y/n pounced on his and tackled him down. That was the last thing he expected to happen and this is Bakugou we are talking about so of course he fought back. Both dekusquad and bakusquad could only watch in pain as they once again indulged in a physical fight.

"WHAT THE HELL YOU CRAZY BITCH?!"

"YOU BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF IZUKU YOU MOTHERFUCKING FUCKED UP PIECE OF SHIT!!"

"WHAT THE HELL YA TALKIN' BOUT?? I NEVER TOUCHED THAT DAMN NERD!!"

and just like that Bakugou understood what the hell was happening. This came as a shock to everyone but before y/n could say anything else, Bakugou quickly ran up to y/n and put his lips on hers. Luckly Kaminari got everything on camera:)

So now here they were a few years later. They had just recently graduated and to celebrate their hard work they all had decided to go out. They were all at some club and y/n was tired of glaring at the damn fucking hoes who were shamelessly eye fucking her boyfriend. And Bakugou? oh boy he enjoyed watching his girlfriend shoot daggers at each and every girl who laid their eyes on him.  "I have a very bad feeling about this guys..."  Midoriya wasn't very wrong about that. If this continued for any longer you bet your ass y/n was gonna flip out and no one could stop her... "Midoriya chill out bro. I'm sure nothing will happen right... right Y/n???!!" Every inch of Kirishima shivered at the look on y/n's face.

"Ohh hoo i can't promise anything to you right now Kiri." y/n had this creepy smile and her brows were frowned as a group of girls make their way toward them. Each of them sitting in between one of the boys. These bitches be blind.  And then they openly started flirting making everyone in the table uncomfortable and making y/n more annoyed. 

slut flirting with Katsu - "hey there hot stuff. I am Britney and you are?" she got no answer back as Bakugou ignored her and foucsed on how y/n eyebrows were furrow real hard and she had a disgusted look on her face. Was this slut really doing this? they paid no damn attention as all the fucking sluts desperately tried flirting.

Y/n glances at Midoriya and see that the slut was now clinging onto him and how he couldn't do anything to prey her of off him and poor Uraraka looked in pain as the girl ignored her attempts to get her to get off her friend. Y/n flinched when that slut pushed Uraraka making her stumble a little, Kirishima caching her before she fell. Ok so that's it you bitch.

"Hey you bitch you just pushed my friend and i don't know what the hell you and your little slut friends are doing here because nunna us want any of you here. You're making all of my friends uncomfortable so leave before this takes a bad turn." to say that the slut girl looked a little scared was understandable. After all y/n did have a bad temper so everyone tried their best to stay at her good side. She slowly let go of Midoriya and he look really relieved. That slut girl looked at the girl behind y/n. The one that has been eye fucking Bakugou the moment he stepped his foot inside that club. Ok so everyone was holding their breath no one saying anything, too scared to speak. All the slut girls stopped doing their shit and just started at y/n who turned around and looked at the 'Britney' slut. Now Britney was not one to get scared easily it seems. Bitch looked y/n up and down before rolling her eyes at her and turning her attention at Bakugou again. "So tell me moree about yourself ~"

And what did Bakugou do? He stared her in the face real hard. Like a blank face just started at her. Britney flinched a little before shifting uncomfortably. Oh ho did that bitch get an idea on how to get into his pants. Britney slowly turned toward Bakugou and crossed her legs, he dress moving up just a little bit more. She put one hand on her lap while the other one lifts her glass as she takes a sip of her drink. So now i think what she wanted to do was make it look sexy? but did it? nah-uh. Everyone made a disgusted face at her attempt. By now the people around their table had their attention turned to them as well. Y/n was trying really hard to keep her anger at bay. After all they were gonna be heroes so they had to have a nice reputation and y/n didn't wanna drag the others with her. "Britney? honey? i don't really know what you think of yourself but right now not only me but everyone here can see how dumb and a little slut you look like. So if you don't wanna humiliate yourself anymore, my advice? You turn around and you leave." and then y/n gave her a sarcastic smile. Britney looked around and saw that now half of the people were looking at her. Oh honey Britney wasn't going down without a fight.  She smirks smugly at y/n " I am sorry? but who are you again. You don't look that important to me." yes now she had done the it. Everyone looked prepare to hold y/n back. Y/n once again laughs sarcastically before slowly walking up to her. "You just had to do it didn't you Britney? you don't realise who you messing with bitch. But let me tell you loud and clear. You know the boy who you've been eye fucking all this time? yeah i am his girlfriend and i am far more important than you will ever be." y/n leans down to her eye level, starting her right in the eye and she could see how embarrassed she looked. Right now? y/n really didn't care about their reputation. She had crossed the line. And honestly? i think it'd be humiliating for her to just walk away from Britney. She just looked down on the future hero so of course she had to do something right? Y/n stands up straight and everyone sighs a breath of relief because she's not gonna beat that bitch up so now they could leave without anyone getting hurt. But that's not all was it? y/n picks up Britney drink more like snatches it from her hands before examining it properly and pouring it on her. Everyone gaps before laughing at her. Britney looks at Y/n with so much rage and y/n just smirks at her. Britney stands up ready to throw a fist at her. But before she could even take a step Bakugou stands up and pulls y/n towards her before crashing his lips on hers. Y/n kisses back. Their lips moving together in sync. Bakugou licks her bottom lip before sucking on them hard making y/n gaps at the painful pleasure. Bakugou shoves his tongue inside her mouth, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth. He pulls her closer to him as his hands travels down to her ass, squeezing it hard making y/n bite on his tongue as hee hand tugs on his hair harder making Bakugou grunt. Yes they were having a full on make out session in the middle of a club and everyone was looking at them in shock. Britney looked more than humiliated as she stool still. Her drink making her hair and clothes sticky as she stares at the couple making out. She could hear a few snickers directed at her. Bakugou pulls away first looking at her with his eyes all soft and whipped as he smiles softly at her. Pecking her lips hardly one last time, he smugly looks at that Britney bitch as his hands stay around his girlfriend. Did you really think he was gonna waste his breath on her? no.

Bakugou smirks at Britney, his hands dropping down to intertwine with his girlfriend.

"Come on babe filthy whores don't deserve this much attention. You're just wasting your breathing talking to trash." and then mr. hot stuffs winks and walks away pulling y/n with him, others following behind laughing at the shook Britney. Few minutes after they leave the club everyone erupts in laughter.  Someone from the crowd screams "MAN I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU JUST FLIRTED WITH THE FUTURE PRO HERO AND GOT MADE FUN OF BY ANOTHER FUTUR HERO" and all she could do now was run home and cry like a little pussy.

When they were back at the dorm y/n apologised for the way she behaved. "Chill y/n. You don't gotta be sorry. Infact it was really fun yk seeing her face." y/n smiled at all of them. Bakugou looks at y/n smugly "Possessive much?"

"Of course i am going to be possessive over you. You're mine."

________

that's all:) i hope you enjoyed:)

[whumpmatsus]

Hmm could do one where one one of boys has rough day, that leads to emotional overeating, and bellyache that they try to hide until they can't. Please and thank.

aaaaaa, lovely!

I went with Totty because it feels like I haven't written him in a while

and there's a tiny bit of Allmatsu, buuuut really it's mostly Cybermatsu :D

hope you like it, I had a lot of fun with it!

-

Most of the time, Totty thinks he does a pretty good job being composed at work.

However, that’s easy to do when the majority of the days are okay. Sometimes there’s a bad moment or two that he can recover from by the time he gets home; never before has it been an entire day full of nothing but bad moments.

Until today, of course.

It’s just been one awful thing after another. One of his brothers accidentally turned off the alarm clock, probably by hitting it or steadying themself against it while going to the bathroom… so he was late to work. When he finally got behind the register, there was already a decent-sized line and the early morning customers were irritable before their coffee. Nearly every single customer during his shift snapped at him in some way even when he was trying to be helpful.

His coworkers were less than pleasant, especially after a couple hours when one of them had to take over for him because he had to go pee. To make things worse, toward the end of the day he managed to smash his fingers in the cash drawer while closing it.

The highlight of the day was when he was on his way out and a customer wanted help. Company policy being that he wasn’t allowed to work in any way while he was off the clock, he told them he was actually heading home and pointed to one of his coworkers. Which apparently wasn’t good enough, as he was accused of being lazy and not wanting to do his job and told that the customer was going to talk to his manager and have him fired.

Is it any wonder he’s spent almost the whole train ride home in tears? It hasn’t been a great day to be Matsuno Todomatsu.

He feels a little better by the time he gets home, but he’s exhausted and overwhelmed by everything that went wrong. Part of him wants to find one of his brothers and bitch his heart out. The other part just wants to shove food into his mouth and pretend none of it ever happened.

Sutabaa allows employees to eat some of the cheap things for free during their break, which Totty doesn’t often take advantage of. He’d rather have a snack at home so he doesn’t have to scarf it down in ten minutes. Today, though, he managed to put away a chocolate croissant plus a couple of cookies, so he shouldn’t be hungry at all when he gets home.

And he’s not… really hungry. He just wants to eat something for the sake of it, so that maybe eating something tasty will make it seem like nothing went wrong today. The food during his break made things seem better for a minute while he ate it. All he wants is more of that feeling, to make believe it wasn’t such a bad day.

He doesn’t know where any of his brothers are, and he doesn’t particularly care. He doesn’t think he’d give half a shit if one of them walked in on him raiding the fridge and pantry as if he’s preparing to hibernate through the winter. They all stuff their faces at any available opportunity, so why would it be surprising to find him doing it, especially after a long day at work which none of the rest of them do?

It doesn’t even really matter to him what he’s eating, either. Just things that don’t require too much time between being in his hand and sliding down his throat.

There’s about a portion’s worth of takoyaki left in the fridge from dinner last night, so he finishes that off. Some daifukumochi that was in the cabinet, along with a packet of konpeitō. A bag of arare disappears pretty quickly, too. He doesn’t really know if the imagawayaki that was sitting on the counter was left for him or if it was a single treat that nobody had fought over yet ― regardless, he eats it anyway.

Each bite is a violent attempt to deny the shittiness of this whole day. It all tastes delicious, so he can lose himself inside it for a moment. What never really occurs to him is that every moment doesn’t last too long, and even though his stomach isn’t built for this kind of eating, he’s reaching for another snack as soon as the last one has dissolved on his tongue.

He throws packaging away as he goes, just to keep things neat. He’s just biting into his latest snack when someone else walks into the kitchen, and looking up, it turns out to be Choromatsu.

“O-oh, hey, Totty, you’re home. How was work?” He starts ducking into the refrigerator, then suddenly straightens up and gives his youngest brother a curious look. “… Uh. That’s my Big Katsu. Why are you eating it??”

Given that his teeth are currently sunk into it, Totty feels a little guilty. So at least he doesn’t have to fake the expression on his face. “Oh… sorry, Choro-nii-san! I’m just really hungry… I’ll buy you another one tomorrow.”

After a moment, Choromatsu sighs, evidently deciding to let Totty off the hook rather than fight with him about it. “Yeah, that’s fine. I was saving it, but if I haven’t craved it this long, I can wait. There’s other stuff I can have for a snack.” He opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a single mini carton of milk, then frowns. “Hey, wasn’t there some leftover takoyaki in here?”

He huffs as he closes the fridge. “Dammit. Osomatsu probably ate the rest of it while I wasn’t paying attention, the douche.”

He shakes his head and gets in the pantry for a bag of potato chips instead. “Guess these’ll do till dinner. Hey, Totty, you’re probably still hungry, right? Why don’t you share with me? I’m not starving or anything… half a bag would do it for me, I think.”

Totty’s stomach twinges suddenly, alerting him that he may have eaten too much. He’s not used to shoveling down this much at one time, though the realization that he’s uncomfortably full doesn’t stop him from hurriedly cramming the rest of the Big Katsu into his mouth.

And, honestly, it’s not like he can say no to the offer. He just told his big brother he was hungry and he’s been gulping down food at an insatiable pace. Thinking about the taste of potato chips sort of makes him want some.

Plus… Choromatsu is being nice by sharing, despite the fact that Totty already took one of his snacks without even asking. It would be mean to turn that down when he’s just trying to make sure Totty gets fed properly.

So he plasters a smile on and tosses the wrapper before stepping toward his older brother. Everything’s fine. “Ah, yeah… sounds good.”

-

Everything is not fine.

Dinner is beginning to be a struggle to get through. Totty hates wasting the food, but his thought is to put it away for later when his stomach isn’t actively trying to kill him. The pain is different to anything he’s ever experienced, a feeling like he’s full all the way up to his chest and so can’t get a decent breath in. He feels cold and clammy even though he knows he’s sweating. In short, it sucks.

The one thing he counted on was his brothers not noticing that he wasn’t eating anything. After sharing the chips with Choromatsu, he started to feel like he was going to burst. Even though the sensation quieted down a little bit, it never quite went away.

Now that he’s been faced with a table full of food, it’s even worse. His stomach is gurgling and swirling and nothing helps. Not taking deep breaths through his nose, not taking tiny sips of his tea, not focusing on any other thoughts. Nothing. It’s all useless. He thinks that as soon as dinner is over, he’s gonna have to go throw up. No ifs, ands, or buts; one way or another, he’s gonna be sick.

His only hope now is that he can ride it out long enough for everyone to head their separate ways so he doesn’t have to face the humiliation of admitting that he ate too much and hurt his stomach.

“U-uh, Totty,” Choromatsu speaks up suddenly, “aren’t you gonna eat anything? You were hungry enough to eat my Big Katsu earlier, I’d have thought you were really looking forward to dinner.”

Ugh. Did he have to???

Totty forces a smile onto his face. “Oh, yeah, I… I guess I’m just not in the mood for this stuff tonight, you know?”

The look on Osomatsu’s face could be mistaken for someone who’d just swallowed a lemon. “What?! But Totty, this is your favorite! You’re not gonna eat any of it? You can’t just skip meals like that, dude.”

“Yeah,” Ichimatsu hums thoughtfully. “You’re not gonna be any more healthy or attractive if you’re starving, you know.”

Geez. His brothers are so fucking embarrassing. Choromatsu is giving him some backhanded concern, Osomatsu is overzealous as usual, and Ichimatsu sounds like a Goddamn after-school special.

Karamatsu, meanwhile, is scrutinizing him just the same. “Yes, Totty, my brother… you look rather pale. You really should eat something!”

“Yeah, yeah!” Jyushimatsu practically launches himself over the table, holding a bite of food from his own plate between chopsticks toward his little brother’s mouth. “Here! Winding up for the pitch… batter uuuuuup!”

“Ughhhhh!” Totty leans back, even though any movement unsettles his stomach further. “You guys are ridiculous! I’m fine! W-what, am I not allowed to have just lost my appetite without every single one of my big brothers making a federal case of it?!”

All the others share a silent look, then there comes a unanimous, “Nope.”

He groans and leans his arm against the table. Shit, it’s getting worse. All he wants to do is run to the bathroom and puke, so that maybe he’ll actually feel better. If he does that, though, everyone will be on his case about how much he ate instead of how little he’s eating right now. He doesn’t need nor want a lecture.

Actually, what he wants more than anything is to just be taken care of and told that it’s okay, he screwed up a bit, it’s not the end of the world. That would require confessing to this stupid mistake, though… and he really doesn’t want to do that. He’s so sure that if he does, he’s just going to get scolded instead of comforted.

When he looks around the table again, he notices that Choromatsu in particular looks worried. “C’mon, Totty. You know we care about you. Osomatsu and Ichimatsu are right; it’s not healthy to skip meals.”

“Dammit, I know that, Fappymatsu! Just because I’m pretty doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” Totty scowls down at the food before lifting his eyes back up. “If I take one bite, will you all get off my back?”

He hates that those words just came out of his mouth. Even if it’s just a single bite, he doesn’t think his stomach will be happy with him. The idea of eating anything isn’t sitting well with him.

What else can he do, though? Just like with literally everything else, his brothers won’t stop bugging him until he caves in and does whatever they want.

The others exchange a look and Osomatsu shrugs. “Yeah, that should do it! Maybe after you take a bite you’ll realize how good it is and how hungry you are.”

Shit. Well, now he doesn’t really have a way out.

He takes as deep a breath as he feels he can, and collects a bite of food with his chopsticks. Although he isn’t sure how noticeable it is, it feels like his hand is shaking as he raises it to his lips.

Maybe it’s better to do it fast and get it over with. So, that’s what he does. The food in his chopsticks disappears in rapid time, and even though it feels like swallowing a spoonful of glue, he manages to get it down.

“Th-there,” he announces as he slams his chopsticks down. A hiccup squeaks out of him, followed by a fist pressed to his mouth, then he glares around the table at his brothers. “Ha… happy now? God, you guys are… you’re such… such…”

His stomach roils aggressively, almost like he’s just been punched in the gut. He cuts himself off with a loud, painful belch… and whines softly, because he knows what’s coming next. There’s no possible way he can stop it, nor can he get up fast enough to make it to the bathroom.

He tries to clap his other hand over his mouth in some childish belief that if he just blocks the exit, so to speak, he won’t be sick. Predictably, it doesn’t work.

Only a second and a couple of retches later, Totty has vomited through his hands into his lap. It’s perhaps more than a little ironic that his attempt to avoid lectures and feeling shameful has led to something incredibly humiliating.

The tears well up almost immediately, and it doesn’t take long for him to be sitting here coughing, not quite knowing what to do except cry.

“A-ah, Totty!!” Someone’s up from their seat, grabbing him gently by the shoulders. It sounds like Choromatsu, he thinks. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. O-oh, no, no, guys, it’s okay ― yeah, Mom, Dad, it’s fine, I-I’ve got him. Totty, hey, c’mon. I’m gonna help you to the bathroom and we’ll get you cleaned up. Okay?”

All he can do is nod, and it seems like even the fact that he leans against Choromatsu, all streaked with puke, doesn’t bother his brother.

It’s a short walk to the bathroom. He thinks he hears one of the others getting up to clean whatever mess he’s left behind. He just concerns himself with getting into the bathroom, then with lifting his arms when told so Choromatsu can help peel the soiled clothes off.

“It’s okay, Totty. E-everything’s alright.” His voice is low and gentle as he manages to also get Totty’s pants off, hanging everything over the side of the bathtub. If he’s lucky, one of the others will come rinse them off so they can go right in the wash while he tries to take care of getting Totty situated on the couch or something. “I’m gonna take care of you. You just cry as much as you need to, as long as you cooperate with me, okay?”

Totty sniffles, doing his best to stop crying. This is so embarrassing. “O-okay…”

Eventually the crying tapers off a bit, to the point that he can breathe normally again. His mouth has a bad taste and his throat hurts; at least his stomach feels a lot better, though. He’s just so mortified that he threw up on himself in front of his entire family after trying to save himself from this fate.

What did you think was gonna happen when you ate something else after already being stuffed and nauseous, dummy?? His mind is exactly no help at all, unfortunately.

Choromatsu is careful as he tries to get his little brother cleaned. As soon as all his dirty clothes are off, he wipes a wet cloth over Totty’s mouth to wash off any remnants of vomit and helps Totty wash his hands in the sink. He holds a couple pieces of toilet paper over Totty’s nose so he can blow, which makes him feel slightly less gross.

Once there’s no more danger of new clothes having leftover puke dripped on them, he darts out to the closet in the other room and comes back with a pair of Totty’s pajamas. It feels somuch better to be in fresh clothes after Choromatsu gingerly tugs them on.

With all of that done, Choromatsu sets a hand against Totty’s forehead and gives a contemplative hum. “Well, you don’t feel warm… you might still be coming down with something, though. I think maybe you should just go right to bed. We’ll get you settled on the couch in the other room so that hopefully the rest of us don’t catch it, and I’ll get you some ginger ale or something, okay?”

The idea of all that sounds nice, sure. He feels a little guilty for not being honest, however, so… “Um, Choromatsu-nii-san… I-I’m not… I’m not sick. I… I think I ate too much today, and… that bite I took out there was just kind of… th-the last straw, you know?”

Choromatsu frowns. “You ate too much? You said you were really hungry when you got home. And all I remember seeing you eat was my Big Katsu and some of the chips.”

“I ate a lot more than that,” he confesses, rubbing at his teary eyes. “There was some stuff I had while I was at work, a-and… and I was the one who ate the last of the takoyaki. I was just going through the fridge and the cupboards for a while before you walked in.”

“Oh… okay, I get that. Why didn’t you just tell us you overate today instead of forcing yourself to eat?”

More tears bubble up and start rolling down his cheeks. “B-because… because I thought if I did, you’d all just lecture me and tell me, ‘Oh, you shouldn’t do that, Totty!’ The day was so bad already…”

The more he talks, the more tears fall. “It was just one thing a-after another! Work was shitty, everything that could go wrong did,and I didn’t want you guys harping on me! I-I know I fucked up eating a lot, but doing it just… made me feel better for a minute… like the day wasn’t so crappy, like I could pretend everything was okay because I was eating something good. So I just… d-didn’t wanna tell you guys… I-I know you’d say it’s bad for me…”

Quietly, Choromatsu pulls Totty up off the toilet and into a hug. His hand rubs calmingly between his little brother’s shoulder blades, shortly after switching to a series of pats. “Hey, you learned your lesson. I know you think we’d give you some big speech… and maybe you’re not wrong. But I’m sorry it felt like you had to hide it and suffer on your own. That’s not what we want! We just wanna take care of you. If we lecture like that, it’s just because we love you.”

“I-I know,” Totty mumbles into Choromatsu’s shoulder. “Are you… are you mad at me? For doing it in the first place and for not telling you?”

“Mad? No! No, no, no way. I’m not mad!” Choromatsu presses a brief kiss to the top of Totty’s head. “You’re my baby brother. How could I be mad at you for this? Just… you know… next time, come talk to us instead of going to the food. I’d rather listen to you complain for hours than have you eat yourself sick.”

He gives a cautious squeeze, somewhat reassured when Totty squeezes back. They stay like this for a few minutes, with Totty burying his face against Choromatsu’s shoulder and Choromatsu rubbing Totty’s back.

Finally Choromatsu lets out a sigh. “Just so you know… even if we lecture you a little, we’ll still try to take care of you if there’s anything we can do. But we’ll… also do our best not to lecture as much when you come to us. Do you feel any better?”

“Yeah… it doesn’t hurt that much anymore.” He mirrors the sigh and just sinks into his big brother’s embrace. “Can I still go lie down, though? In the futon?”

Choromatsu nods and pulls Totty up when he gets to his feet. “Yeah, of course. That’s probably a good idea even though you’re not really sick.”

“And… can I still have some ginger ale?”

“Yeah, I’ll get that for you after we get you settled.”

Totty is silent for a few seconds while they walk down the hall, then he speaks up again. “… Will you maybe stay and cuddle with me for a minute, too? Even though I’m not sick?”

Choromatsu glances down before chuckling. Does he really think he has to tack on that condition, as if Choromatsu won’t cuddle just because Totty isn’t actually sick? “I… o-of course, Totty. All you have to do is ask, even if you’re not sick.”

“Okay…” By this time they’ve reached the bedroom, so he stands aside while Choromatsu unrolls the futon. Before too long he’s lying down, and Choromatsu has both arms around him, gently stroking his hair.

He closes his eyes and nuzzles against his brother. “Thank you… you’re the best nii-chan ever.”

He can feel Choromatsu grinning. “Am I even better than leftover takoyaki?”

Totty pouts at the jab, but snuggles closer regardless. “Way better.”

[myhaikyuuthings]

Wanted

request: no

listen to this while reading: here

a/n: yes i realize i link a lot of country songs, its funny because i rarely listen to country music. anyways! not too sure how i feel about this but i had to get it out of my head, i couldn’t write anything else until i did oof

pairing: Tendou x reader

wc:1322

warning: angst, mutual pining, fluff,  happy ending

You lay on Tendou’s bed, waiting patiently for Ushijima to finish with the newest jump so you can read it before your friend gets back. Tendou had stepped out to get take out for the three of you, effectively leaving you with his roommate and a wink that you have spent too much time over analyzing. 

“Hey,” you speak, catching Ushijimas attention, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Does Satori like me?” you asks, trying to keep the hopeful tone out of your voice. 

“Well yes, he wouldn’t be friends with someone he doesn’t like,” he responds, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. 

“No like..” you sigh, dropping back onto your back, “like a crush.”

Before he can respond, the door’s opening and Tendou is passing around the food with a big smile. Ushijima goes to respond anyways but when you shake your head no, he drops it thankfully. The rest of the night has an underlying tension to it, all of you acutely aware. You tell them goodnight, returning to your dorm before it gets any weirder. 

-

Over the next few days, you pay close attention to how Tendou acts around you. Admittedly, you don’t have much to compare it to. You two are closer than he is with Ushijima, and he treats the other man very similar to how he treats you. It finally hits you by the sixth day, you’re just going to have to ask him up front what the wink was about.

“Satori,” you mumble, poking at your food instead of meeting his eyes. At his hum, you continue, “Why did you wink when you left the other night?”

“Oh, it was like a good luck wink,” he shrugs, taking a bite of his food. You tilt your head in confusion, just staring at him before he sighs, “For asking out Wakatoshi? Hello, what else would it be for?”

“Oh.” 

His words hurt more than you let on, your heart tightening in your chest. You have liked your friend for a little over a year, keeping it to yourself to avoid rejection and having to feel this exact thing. Surely it would hurt less to be outright rejected than for him to be so supportive of you dating Ushijima. 

“Oh? What did you not tell him?!” He says, putting down his chopsticks and looking at you like you grew a second head. “I even took the long route so you could get up the courage!”

“I don’t like Ushijima,” you sigh, figuring it truly can’t feel any worse than it does. 

“Then why did you want to be my friend?” He asks so nonchalantly you nearly choke. His eyes hold genuine curiosity as he waits for your answer. 

“You’re cool Satori, I wanted to be your friend because you’re cool. I didn’t become friends with you to get close to him, no offense he’s a great guy, but I wanted to know you,” you explain, feeling just as confused as him. “Why would I want to use you like that?”

“That’s what everyone does.” With a shrug, he finished his last bite of food and slung his bag over  his shoulder. “I’ve gotta get to practice, but I’ll see you later.”

-

You went to his room that night, a frown on your face and determination in your heart. Having spoken to Ushijima earlier, you learned just how many people had used the man you loved to get close to Ushijima. It broke your heart. Knocking on their door, you felt the hesitation start to creep in. 

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Tendou asked, letting you into the room. As soon as Ushijima saw you, he left the room saying he needed to practice. “We just left practice, what the hell.”

“Satori, sit down please,” you pointed to his desk chair, pacing slightly. 

He sat down, smiling slightly. “You’re not about to confess your love for me or something are you?”

“There’s a reason they call you the guess monster,” you joked, rubbing the back of your neck. 

“Very funny joke, what’s really up?” he laughed humorlessly, his chest tightening. 

See, Satori has loved you for a long time, probably longer than you have loved him. The problem is, he still sees himself as the monster everyone used to call him. There was no way anyone could love him like that, let alone someone as wonderful as you. When he was sure you liked Ushijima, it hurt but at least he knew you would stay in his life even if you were rejected like all the others. He was content just to love you like this. 

“I’m not  joking.”

“Okay it’s not that funny the second time around,” he said, standing from his chair and moving to place his hands on your shoulders. “Something’s up, you can tell me.”

“Tendou Satori I love you, that’s what’s up,” you huffed, ignoring the blush on your cheeks, “when you accused me of liking Ushijima I decided I had to tell you, I’ve loved you for almost a year now.”

“You’re taking it too far,” he whispered, “I know you don’t love me, you can’t love me i’m a monster.” 

You stood frozen, trying to process his words. You knew about his childhood, but you always assumed he was past that. He acted like he was past that. There is something worse than the pain from before, and that was realizing just how he really saw himself.  You felt the tears sliding down your cheeks as your heart broke for him. Without a second thought, you cupped his face and brought his lips to yours. 

He jumped at the sudden touch, his eyes wide open. You pulled him closer, trying to convey your feelings with your kiss. He closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to melt into the feeling of your lips on his. Your hands move to his hair, tangling in his bright red locks, his hands resting on your hips. You lost yourself in the kiss, only pulling back when you needed air. 

“Do you believe me now?” You panted, resting your head against him.

“I don’t understand why you do, but I am so happy that you love me too.” 

-

It took a long time for him to really accept that you loved him. Him. He didn’t get it, even years later. You reminded him every chance you could, and he was so grateful for you. Still, his insecurities got the best of him sometimes.

“They couldn’t all be wrong Y/N! I’m a monster, at least to them,” he snapped, growing tired of the same fight you two always had. He would make some off handed comment about how you were too good for a monster and you would always counter it. 

“Fine! You want to be a monster so badly, then I guess that makes me a monster fucker!” you growled, your fists clenched at your sides as you stared him down. “I’m just somebody who’s in love with a monster! Monster fucker of the year! I want to marry a monster! Look at me!”

“You want to marry me?” he whispered, his anger subsiding at your words. 

“Stop thinking you’re a monster and we’ll get married right now,” you huff, taking his hands in yours. “I just want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

“You do-”

“No. I don’t, not if you still feel like a monster,” you cut him off, “you make me feel like the luckiest, most beautiful person in the world. Like there’s no one in the world who could ever be better for you than me, like I’ve found the person who will love every bit of me for the rest of my life.”

“i’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, let me love you and help you heal from this. You deserve to love yourself the way I do. Let me help you feel wanted.”

[crossdressingdeath]

if their genders were reversed JFM would 100% be viewed as an abuse victim. like whether he is or not, if he was a woman and madam yu a man, people would be far more sympathetic

i know everyone gets frustrated at or hates overly passive characters but,, arguing with her gets nowhere. she can't be reasoned with. ignoring her is the marginally better option because even someone as batshit as madam yu can only spend so long shouting at someone who isn't responding, and i'm pretty sure if he divorced her, her reputation would be wrecked, where would she even go? i don't think she /would/ willingly go anyway. she's not going to give up her position and her favourite punching bag.

there's just no pleasing madam yu?? jfm tries his best to just ignore her. she even has separate living quarters, but she can't help but go out of her way to stir crap up.

like when wwx woke up after xuanwu cave, what was she doing?!? she came to his sick bed just to start an argument and accuse wwx's mother of cheating,, while he's laying in his sickbed,, wtf is wrong with her??

and what was jfm supposed to do? he tries to not respond to her provocations, but she doesn't stop

can you imagine if he even tried to say 'lets not argue here, a-ying is still sick' ?? she would blow tf up again, bc how dare jfm show even the slightest degree of consideration for wwx right??

like its easy to get frustrated with jfm but there's just no winning with her, unless he just straight up throws her out of lotus pier. which he probably /should/ have done long ago.

ok i got curious and looked it up and apparently in ancient china there were only 7 specific reasons you were allowed to divorce a wife, and unfortunately 'being a huge bitch' isn't one of them. so i guess jfm couldn't even to that.

anyway obviously jfm isn't perfect or even,, that great but madam yu is just an entirely impossible person to deal with. some of us are unfortunate enough to know a madam yu irl and with people like her, you can not do a single thing without it being twisted into something else.

Oh, he could have divorced YZY. Jealousy and talking too much are both listed as grounds for divorce on the website I found. Like, it’s sexist, but he could’ve done it. He had that power. If nothing else he could probably have locked her into permanent seclusion for... y’know, slander and abuse of her authority over his disciples and such. As a man in a patriarchal society there were a lot of ways he could’ve stopped YZY. Yes, his marriage made him miserable, but he could have shut her right the fuck down if he just grew a fucking spine and did it. So like. JFM isn’t entirely a victim in this, he was passive to the point of refusing to use his power to do something about the situation. Ignoring her... is honestly kind of selfish; he’s deciding to stand down and let YZY do whatever she wants to avoid making things more awkward for him when “whatever she wants” includes whipping a child for being the son of a woman she hated.

Basically... yes, YZY was impossible to deal with. There was no winning with her. She went out of her way to make things horrible for everyone around her to the point of showing up in the room where WWX is recovering from nearly dying specifically to hurl abuse at him and at JFM for paying attention to him. But acting like JFM had no way out when everyone knew she treated him like shit (thereby giving him grounds for a divorce or at least forcing her into seclusion) and he did nothing... is no more accurate than saying he’s at fault for everything that happened in the family because he “let” YZY hurl abuse at everyone around her all the time.

[seventhstrife]

SubScorp Week 2021 Day 2: Scars

Ayyy, Day 2!!! I loved seeing everyone’s fics/art yesterday and I can’t believe it, but I think I’m obssessing over subscorp MORE, somehow??? which I didn’t think was possible lol.

Fic’s getting posted later in the day because the subscorp server is merciless and wouldn’t stop plaguing me with god tier content lololol

Read it on AO3.

"So this is how the Lin Kuei Grandmaster treats his allies?"

Hanzo held the tattered remains of his gi, split nearly in two from a deft slice of Kuai Liang's ice blade. He'd dodged, but while he'd avoided bloodshed, his clothing had not escaped so easily.

Kuai Liang hid his pleasure beneath an affable shrug as he pulled a spare change of clothes from his armoire.

"If you would prefer I hold back, you need only say so," Kuai Liang teased. "I suppose losing so often must grow tiresome."

Their spar had been as invigorating and challenging as ever, but it had become habit by now to stop by Kuai Liang's chambers once they finished. They often allowed their elements to run wild in an effort to gain the upper hand, and torn clothes tended to become casualties in their eagerness. Kuai Liang had invested in many more plain black or white robes since their alliance, as Hanzo always sneered so mightily whenever he tried to offer him a garment in proud Lin Kuei blues.

Hanzo, standing in the center of the room as he patiently waited for the spare clothes, narrowed his eyes.

"Perhaps I am the one who must hold back," Hanzo said, "I must have hit you once too hard for such blatantly ridiculous words to fall from your lips."

"Are you accusing me of lying, Hanzo?"

"I am accusing you of delusion. Perhaps insanity."

As Hanzo spoke, he shrugged off his torn gi and the retort Kuai Liang had ready died on his tongue.

It was far from the first time that he'd seen Hanzo's bare skin, but the sight never failed to coax a quiet appreciation from him. Muscled and powerful, Hanzo cut an impressive figure, but the marks that laid scattered across his torso commanded Kuai Liang's attention more than anything else.

From thick welts to harsh, jagged tears, pockmarks and skin discolored from wounds mistreated before they could heal properly, Hanzo's skin held a wealth of battles hard-won and lost, of a lifetime of pain and fighting and incredible, staggering endurance. Often, the urge to trace each one, to worship Hanzo's body and pay homage to each proof of survival, seized him, and it overcame him once more, though he held back.

Hanzo, however, noticed his staring. He paused, eyebrow raised.

"What?"

Kuai Liang left the change of clothes behind, came close enough to touch and brushed the back of his fingers over a long scar that trailed from the top of Hanzo's shoulder down to the center of his chest.

"So many scars," Kuai Liang murmured. Hanzo's eyes dropped, following the same path as Kuai Liang's eyes across his chest, where marks were so numerous they often overlaid one another in a thick lattice. "You have survived a great many ordeals."

Hanzo didn't speak for a moment. He lifted a hand, turned it over so his open palm hovered between them. His gaze was for the scar in the center of his palm, a thick line that stretched between his middle fingers.

"Most are from my time in the Netherrealm," he said, and Kuai Liang felt a dull ache in his chest. Torture, Hanzo meant.

"I am sorry." The words were trite, useless, but all he had.

Hanzo didn't look at him, eyes worse than blank: dead.

"I did not feel it," he confessed simply, hollow.

Kuai Liang cursed himself; he recognized that look on Hanzo's face, one that had appeared far too often in the time since their alliance. Hanzo had overcome much of his guilt, but he was not immune to random bouts of the feeling, of the familiar darkness that always threatened to swallow him should he let his guard down even slightly.

His time as Scorpion had been like an eternity of living as a raw, exposed nerve that never stopped bleeding, he'd once confessed. Constant pain and anguish without so much as a sliver of hope on the horizon.

To be so consumed in grief and misery that even the worst tortures of Hell could not reach him—Kuai Liang might live a hundred years and he would never understand such a feeling. He prayed he never would.

Kuai Liang took Hanzo's hand, curled another around Hanzo's neck so that he could bring him closer and lean their heads together.

"I am sorry," he rumbled, tracing the warm skin of Hanzo's neck. "I should not have spoken of it."

Hanzo tensed for only an instant; almost just as quickly, he sighed and Kuai Liang could feel the way his body sank against him, loosed of the tension that had crept over him at the reminder of his past.

One hand encircled Kuai Liang's wrist while the other came to rest on his waist.

"No, it is fine. You may ask whatever you wish." His hand trailed up, cupped Kuai Liang's cheek for a brief moment before his fingers gently alighted on the thick scar that bisected Kuai Liang's eye. "I am not the only one who bears marks of a hard life."

"Mine was borne of incompetence," Kuai Liang argued, and he could not keep a note of frustration from his voice. It irked, even to this day, to remember how he'd allowed the attack by letting his guard down. His pride might never fully recover.

"Raiden sent you to the temple without the information you needed. You could not have predicted what would happen."

"A common mercenary attacked me and lived; that failure is mine alone."

"Hmph," Hanzo hummed, and Kuai Liang could hear the amusement in the sound. "A sensitive subject, I see." He stroked his fingers through Kuai Liang's hair, affectionate and doting. "We have nowhere to be. Perhaps it is time we paid the Black Dragon a visit," he offered.

Kuai Liang chuckled, grateful Hanzo seemed successfully coaxed from his painful memories.

"You would risk starting a war with the Black Dragon simply to assuage my pride?"

Hanzo's nose wrinkled. "You said so yourself, they are common mercenaries." Hanzo dismissed. He seemed insulted by the very idea that the Black Dragon could pose a legitimate threat. "There is no contest."

"Hm." Kuai Liang wrapped his arms around Hanzo's waist, brought their bodies flush. "Perhaps for a rainy day."

"As you wish," Hanzo agreed, smiling. His dark eyes held a familiar heat that made Kuai Liang's heart jump. "We should be working," Hanzo pointed out, though he made no move to separate himself.

Kuai Liang held him tighter anyways, against the very possibility of any distance between them.

"Nothing that can not wait, Grandmaster."

[formulatrash]

Lewis just got his 7th title. I'm happy for him.

Me too. What Lewis has done is so almost incomprehensibly titanic, in any sport, that it feels like something that needs contextualising again and again.

It’s easy, if you remember Lewis in the hybrid era, in Mercedes, since Rosberg left - whatever the recency is that creates the illusion it’s almost straightforward for him to perform at this extraordinary level - to minimise his achievements, even if you don’t intend to. Lewis now is a force of nature so impossible to rival that it wouldn’t really matter if you gave everyone GP3 cars and told them to go, the rest of the field would just be closer together behind him. 

I am, as Tumblr constantly likes to remind me, very old - nearly as old as Lewis himself - so I remember him arriving in the junior formulas and hoping that he’d get to F1. He was goofy and nerdy and awkward and a bit of a gamer - actually way more like Lando than you’d believe, in retrospect but he had this burning, furious defiance that he was going to get there and win. Because that was what he needed, to overcome the barriers and my god, there were a lot of people openly saying what they try to at least code these days, back then.

Lewis when he was young was a Verstappen-esque firecracker of teammate beef. I don’t know that anyone other than maybe Max could have taken on Alonso, at that point, in his junior year - he’d destroy Nelson Piquet Jr, despite all his weight of racing heritage, the next - and it took a level of pretended self-assurance that I don’t think Lewis had, then, at all.

He’d proven himself all the way up, was still proving it. Licking his and McLaren’s wounds, meekly apologising after the end of the spygate scandal he’d had nothing to do with while Fernando pranced off from the smouldering remnants, there were plenty of people who were so pleased to see Lewis humbled. 

He took the championship, instead. Which made a lot of people very angry, despite really it only being Felipe Massa who had a right to be. It was very underrated, in the British press; made more striking because Jenson Button’s win, the following season, really wasn’t and the ludicrous bar that Lewis would have to jump to prove himself was moved again.

Not just good enough for F1. Not just good enough to take on a two-time champion. Not just good enough to become a champion himself in his second season. Lewis was regarded as a sort of curious celebrity most people barely considered an athlete or British, in the press.

He’s never gone a single season without winning a race. Even in dog cars, biding his time for an opportunity. Olden times McLaren was a different, dysfunctional beast to the one Andreas Seidl has somehow steered back to success and especially the Dennis era was run with a pretty iron fist* so it wasn’t necessarily somewhere the drivers had much ability to steer developing the car and you can see how badly that affected them in the KERS and ERS era. 

Comparatively, joining Mercedes, Lewis walked into an opportunity where instead of having to furiously fight for that, he could work on it as a project for the whole team. People really underestimate how hard he works, in terms of factory hours and how it wasn’t always the fastest car. 

The team pitted him and Nico against each other to force the project forwards and that turned into a destructive mess, backfiring on them quite badly. It’s probably the worst call Mercedes have made, in their modern F1 existence, although a cynic would say: it worked.

Yes, they trod a line of near-implosion for years that was only steadied by Nico’s retirement but they became, unquestionably, the best, in the inter-garage arms race. Lewis didn’t necessarily become a better driver in the sense of having more brilliant race craft for it but things like qualifying laps, at which he is now without doubt the GOAT, became so crucial that he learned to take on more and more feedback from engineers without ever forgetting it. 

When they tell them, on the radio, that their teammate is finding more speed through corner X and braking later - and they’ll show them more detailed telemetry - then Lewis can, like any driver, take that on and do it. But he can also make hundreds of micro-adjustments per lap without ever forgetting them or dropping one - again, they all can do it, sometimes, perfectly but he just doesn’t ever not. 

Since 2016 he’s been able to grow as a driver without being in the pressure-cooker of mind games with his teammate and that shows, too. A more outward-looking, globally-focussed Lewis, a Lewis who’s more comfortable sharing elements of himself, treating himself less like an industrial espionage project.

(some irony, for a man who started his career amidst spy gate)

If Lewis was a white boy from a millionaire or billionaire family, his achievements in sporting terms would still be staggering. He’s neither of those things, so they’re placed on a different scale.

It is now, even for the most racist, the most close-minded alleged fan of the sport, impossible to deny that he has the records on paper. They can’t take away the seven titles and 94 wins, no matter how they try to minimise them. The bar that was constantly set higher has been met and exceeded and a driver who, for a lot of years, looked set to be a one-off champion whose brilliance could be more easily swept away as a footnote to diversity, has become the benchmark against whom other achievements can be measured. 

That Lewis did that despite the odds against him? The racists won’t see that and sadly can and do try to deny it but that is a world-changing, sport-transforming moment that’s been a decade-and-a-half in the making, since F1 started looking achievable for him. 

Lewis has nothing left to prove, so all that furious energy he’s used for years to get this will take other outlets - he still, after all, as everyone, has a lot to change. I am so excited to get to work in the sport during this era, to see what kind of transformative effects he’ll have, has already had. The work shouldn’t be on Lewis and mustn’t be on him alone but you do absolutely fucking love to see it getting done.

Anyway, I’m so proud of him. I’m so astounded by the skill and focus - the relentless pursuit that’s driven him all this time and that isn’t diminished at all by having got here. I truly believe Lewis is gonna carry on awhile yet and it’s fucking exciting just to think about what we’re going to witness this short-ass nerd kid who looked kind of sulky and defensive in press conferences for years do.

(and, of course, the first driver accused of being a social media poseur who didn’t pay enough attention to the sport. Plus ca change...)

*This is a really petty example but you had to wear a tie if you went to MTC, as a visiting journalist, in the beforetime. 

[ibijau]

Oops, I’m continuing the Nomad Nie AU / also on AO3

warning for: racism, some mentions of rape toward the end (nothing happens, but a character is scared of it)

I've also made some slight updates to the first chapter on AO3 (mostly by changing Mingjue's title from king to khan as that might be more accurate) since I didn't really have a plot in mind when I wrote it

I am trying to research this as well as I can, and basing the Nie on the Mongols, mostly because that's just what's easiest to find information for. I am not aiming for a realistic depiction of anything, but I also more than welcome criticism and advice on how I'm depicting those cultures, and later on how I touch upon certain medical stuff that play a role in the plot.

With a spring to his step, Huaisang led Lan Xichen toward one of the many tents in this odd city. It was a rather smaller one than most, and not quite as well kept as others. The inside of it was sparsely decorated, and a young man sat in the middle, by the fire, a book in hand. Everything about that man, from his hair to his clothes, set him apart from everyone Lan Xichen had seen so far. His heart jumped in his chest when he realised that this new stranger appeared to be Han, just like him.

“Menyao!” Huaisang exclaimed when the young man looked their way. “This Ziqen. Tomorrow, I wedding Ziqen. You help?”

The young man’s eyes opened wide at the news, and he gaped at Lan Xichen. He quickly regained control of himself though, and started chatting in the Nie’s language with great fluency, asking Huaisang for details about the situation no doubt. He did not look particularly happy with what he was told, but in the end he still bowed politely to the Khan’s brother. Huaisang seemed satisfied with this, and turned again to Lan Xichen.

“Menyao help Ziqen,” he announced. “I see Ziqen tomorrow. Ziqen sleep, eat. Tomorrow, big day!”

Unsure what to say, Lan Xichen simply bowed to his future husband who promptly left the tent.

“So what is actually your name?” Menyao asked, closing his book and gesturing for Lan Xichen to sit. “His accent is so atrocious… I’m Meng Yao, by the way. Last name Meng, first name Yao, though they don’t seem to quite understand that here.”

Lan Xichen quickly sat down, glad for a chance to rest, and introduced himself.

“Are you… are you also married to someone here?” he asked.

“Nothing so glamorous,” Meng Yao sighed, grabbing a pot behind him and pouring some liquid into a bowl which he handed to Lan Xichen. “My father is a merchant, and he wanted to see if a more direct route could be set up to trade with the west. We were hoping to cross the Nie’s territory unnoticed, but those barbarians have ways of knowing what goes on in their land, and so we were ambushed. My father was forced to give me up as a servant just so our group could run with their lives.”

Lan Xichen’s heart went to Meng Yao, whose voice fraught with pain contrasted with the dignified way he held himself. Their stories were eerily similar, which made Lan Xichen realise that the Nie might have had a habit of doing such things. After some consideration, he decided that he wouldn’t mention that his family had managed to get a rather decent deal out of selling him, fearing it would only make Meng Yao’s pain worse.

“How long have you been here?”

“Two years, nearly three now,” Meng Yao claimed. “They treat me as well as they can, I suppose, but of course they’re only barbarians.” He paused, hesitating. “I am sorry that you find yourself in such a terrible situation, Lan gongzi. But if I may express a selfish thought, I am glad to finally have someone to talk to. It has been so lonely here. Huaisang is the only person to really bother with me these days, and sometimes that’s worse than being alone.”

Lan Xichen frowned upon hearing that, and took a sip from the bowl Meng Yao had given him. The taste felt rather odd, a little sour and sparkling against his tongue. After such an exhausting day he’d rather have had some tea, but he figured that would be out of the question… and of course he couldn’t express such a desire in front of Meng Yao, who must have missed decent drinks even more than him.

“Is this Huaisang a bad person then?” he asked, trying not to show too much fear.

Meng Yao took a moment to consider the question.

“I wouldn’t call him bad as such, no. But he’s not much good either,” Meng Yao explained with a disdainful grimace. “I’m supposed to teach him our language, but you see how dreadful he is at it. He’s very spoiled, so he doesn’t know how to put effort into anything. His brother allows him to do whatever he pleases, and makes sure there’s never any consequences. As a result, Huaisang is very lazy, not particularly smart, and a rather pathetic man for a nomad. He is a good horse rider like they all are, but I’ve never seen him touch a bow or a blade. He never wrestles with other men his age, never does any physical work if he can avoid it… to be honest, aside from caring for his own horse, he just doesn’t do much of anything at all, and so he is not particularly well liked. Those closest to his brother pretend to respect him, but only because they fear Khan Mingjue’s wrath… and that’s a sensible fear to have.”

As he said that, Meng Yao’s voice dropped nearly to a whisper, and he glanced nervously toward the door, as if fearful that the Khan might hear him. Lan Xichen shivered. He did not know too much about the Nie, but of course the leader of a tribe of nomad could only be a terrifying man.

“And what is the Khan like, then?”

Again, Meng Yao glanced at the door.

“He is a cruel man,” he answered, keeping his voice as low as he could. “Never get on his bad side, as he is very unforgiving. He has a volatile temper, always ready to explode, and he is a warmongering tyrant who looks for every excuse to conquer and slaughter the Wen people who live South from his lands. He pretends that they cursed his father and caused him to die before his time, and among those barbarians that’s a very serious accusation.”

Meng Yao paused to look once more at the door, and motioned for Lan Xichen to lean closer.

“I cannot be sure,” he whispered, “but I believe that he keeps his brother alive only so he can offer him as a human sacrifice the day he finally goes to war against his enemies. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”

Lan Xichen gasped and pressed a hand against his mouth, horrified by the idea. He did not have any particular sympathy for the young man he was forced to marry, but such a fate really seemed too cruel for anyone.

“Hopefully, it won’t happen for a while,” Meng Yao said. “Khan Mingjue is still recruiting families for his war. And I hope it won’t affect you, when the day comes. It probably won’t. Huaisang seems delighted to marry you right now, but he’s like that about everything new, and he’ll soon jump to some other source of amusement. And then, you’ll be quite safe from most of their affairs. For now though, how about I tell you how weddings seem to be conducted in these parts?”

His chest tight with fear over his future, Lan Xichen nodded quickly.

If he had realised just how dreadful these people were, he wouldn’t have agreed so easily to this sacrifice, not even to help his family.

-

Lan Xichen went through his wedding in a bit of a daze. He had hardly slept by the time Khan Mingjue came into Meng Yao’s little tent to give Lan Xichen the clothes he’d wear for the ceremony. He had stayed up late to listen to Meng Yao’s explanations about the lives of the Nie tribe, and still there was more information to listen to as he got dressed.

In truth, even Meng Yao didn’t really know how the wedding would be conducted, since it was a rather unusual one. Normally there would have been long back and forth between the two families, as well as exchanges of gifts, and they would have been gifted a ger to live in as well as animals… but of course with this being a sudden whim of the Khan’s capricious brother, no such thing was possible, and Meng Yao doubted there would be more than a banquet to celebrate.

That assertion turned out to be mostly right. Since there was no new ger for them to move into, some of the ceremonies were cut short, and everything happened inside Khan Mingjue’s ger. There were a great number of guests present, though most did not seem particularly happy to be there, and Lan Xichen caught a few unimpressed looks thrown toward him and his new husband. As Meng Yao had told him, Huaisang did not seem particularly popular… though it might also just be that nobody was happy to need to make gifts worthy of a relative of the Khan on such a short delay, and when they were most of them away from home (the only reason so many people were there, Meng Yao had explained, was because they’d all gathered for a religious festival).

To make matters worse, even the feast itself was hard to enjoy for Lan Xichen. His family had always favoured a vegetarian diet when possible, but every dish now presented to him contained either meat or milk, and cooked in a manner entirely foreign to him. He tried at first to avoid eating at all, but Huaisang was paying close attention to him.

“Husband eat,” he insisted, carefully selecting pieces of meat for Lan Xichen. “Good!”

Lan Xichen thought of refusing, but when he glanced toward Meng Yao, the young man threw him a terrified look and silently encouraged him to eat, discreetly gesturing toward Khan Mingjue. His new brother-in-law seemed as angry at his refusal to eat as Huaisang was concerned. Not wanting to start his new life on a bad impression, Lan Xichen made an effort and chewed down some of the meat offered to him. The taste was rather strong, and the texture bothered him a little, but it wasn’t unpleasant as such.

“Good,” he said in what he hoped to be their language.

Khan Mingjue huffed and looked away, unimpressed, while Huaisang grinned brightly.

“Good husband, good… good head?” Huaisang tried. “I learn, you learn. Good?”

“Good,” Lan Xichen agreed, hoping he would show more skill for language than his husband apparently had.

Delighted by that answer, Huaisang immediately started trying to teach Lan Xichen words for everything around them in between feeding him more meat and more of that milky drink people there seemed to like, and to which Lan Xichen was starting to warm up already. 

It really was a lot happening all at once, especially when the people assembled started singing and dancing, the noise adding to Lan Xichen’s stress and exhaustion. Thankfully Huaisang, in spite of drinking and partying as joyfully as everyone else, noticed that his husband was getting tired. He turned to say a few words to his brother, apparently trying to be subtle, but others still heard and started shouting at the couple. Whatever they were saying, it provoked great hilarity, even in Huaisang whose face was turning quite red. The only person not to be amused was Meng Yao who, standing away from the other guests, had his lips pinched in disapproval.

Just as Lan Xichen was starting to realise what sort of jokes might be made at his expense at that moment, Huaisang took his hand and led him away.

“Zonghui give his ger tonight,” Huaisang explained. “After, brother’s ger. Good?”

“I don’t mind,” Lan Xichen replied tiredly.

Meng Yao had implied that it really was odd for newlyweds to not have their own home, and clearly Huaisang looked a little sorry that he could not provide in that respect. Lan Xichen would have preferred to have some distance from the terrifying Khan Mingjue, but he’d deal with this. He had little choice.

He had more pressing things to worry about anyway. Namely, the fact that he was now married to this stranger, and about to spend the night with him.

Lan Xichen knew how sex went between a man and woman of course. And even when it came to the things two men could do together, he wasn’t entirely ignorant either, having come across some books and prints before. He didn’t have any practical experience aside from a few stolen kisses here and there, for which he blamed his too severe uncle, but he knew how these things went, and he found the general concept quite attractive… but not if it had to happen like this.

With ever growing anxiety, Lan Xichen allowed his husband to lead him into an empty ger, and watched him prepare a place to sleep, laying down pelts on the floor for them to lay on. In spite of Huaisang’s wordless encouragement, Lan Xichen refused to remove his clothes before laying on that bed, hoping to send a signal that he wasn’t interested in anything happening between them. Huaisang, on the other hand, dressed down nearly entirely, keeping only an undershirt before sitting down next to Lan Xichen. He still seemed in an excellent mood, and looked down at his new husband as if he were a particularly exquisite piece of art, or perhaps a sweet to be devoured. Lan Xichen shivered under such attention.

Huaisang, after a short while, grew tired of merely looking. He leant over his husband, placing his hands on either side of Lan Xichen’s head and moving as if to kiss him. Panicking, Lan Xichen pushed him away with enough strength that Huaisang fell to the side with a surprised cry.

There was no mistaking the disappointment on Huaisang’s face when he sat up, carefully rubbing the side of his body that had hit the floor as if this had hurt him. Lan Xichen stared at him, terrified that his husband would get angry, or try to take by force what he thought to be his right. He’d heard stories about what happened to those enslaved after barbarian raids, and Meng Yao had confirmed some of that to be true… but Huaisang just shrugged.

“Husband tired,” he said with an understanding nod. “Sleep, good?”

Without waiting for an answer, Huaisang laid down on the pelts, grabbing some furs to cover the both of them, then shifted and turned his back to Lan Xichen, who promptly turned the other way.

Although Lan Xichen was sure he’d be too nervous to ever fall asleep after such an incident, in the end the exhaustion was too strong and he quickly passed out, hoping nothing would happen to him while he was unconscious.

[deliciousscaloppine]

Hot Takes Galore: A brief overview of fandom backlashes that influenced fanfiction writing traditions as I have personally experienced them:

In today’s segment I am going to talk about copyright infringement.

First let me preface this by saying I have only ever been in 3 fandoms, starting from 2008 and I have never been terribly active - like this blog has been the most active I’ve ever been in any fandom ever. I am not going to talk about particular fandom dramas because I am pretty clueless about that. What I am going to talk about is that friction between “reality” and online spaces that brought about changes that are still in effect today in the way fanfiction is written and perceived.

In 2008 as I was entering, nearly every piece of fanfiction had a disclaimer about the author not owning the characters, which were the property of Corporate Entity X, or Author Y, and also not profiting from the work in any shape or form. At the time getting money from writing fanfiction was a gigantic taboo, and almost no one did it, or advertised that they did. 

But as I understand through convention culture printed writing did circulate in exchange for money (zines), and at least in Japan one could sell doujinshis (self-published stories and comics, often within the framework of another work) in certain events. Although this was largely considered “illegal” under copyright laws, and artists could be persecuted or blacklisted from entering the industry if discovered. That’s also why fanartists often to this day may screen where and when their work is viewed, and move to take down reposts, or call others to protest if artworks are circulated without permission outside of the artist’s page.

Older fandom people also hated authors that moved against fanfiction, a big case being Anne Rice, the vampire lady everyone - including me - copies when writing about vampires. And now I am going to talk a little about that.

Usually, writers, just sit somewhere cosy and write, and often they have no idea, absolutely no idea, on how to manage their writing properties - usually a lawyer does that, and lawyers want A Lot Of Money (A brief brush with justice and lawyers over a civil dispute I won, cost me 1000 euros out of nowhere, in a single day, and no I couldn’t avoid it because I was the accused one, so I had to appear with some representation). 

So sometimes, quite often, it’s a lawyer that activates a writer or other artist to move against “smaller” copyright infringements, in order to make bank. And if one suffers such a case, they should make it as apparent as possible to the other party that they have no money, and the pressure will go away immediately. But even MORE OFTEN a small copyright infringement, may lead to a sequence of bigger ones, and ultimately the de facto loss of rights from one’s writing properties, and of course revenue. 

And for a lot of published authors, they just don’t know for how long they can publish things - publishing houses that have them signed can close, book sales can drop, tastes change, personal problems, and anything else may mean that they could find themselves without a source of income at any point in the future, while they are aging and becoming more and more irrelevant. 

A very famous case currently, is that of Alan Dean Foster, the writer who has done some novelizations for movies like Star Wars and Alien, and is no longer receiving revenue from that - while his wife is hospitalized and their family needs the income - because Disney absorbed the company that had signed the contract with him, and chose to not honor the previous contract. To make them pay he will have to go into a huge legal battle with a corporate giant, which he cannot afford. But they still absorb income from these novelizations.

But how does fanfiction tie into that, and Anne Rice’s case (which if memory serves right, also went through a series of personal problems, including her husband’s death during that time). 

So for a lot of writers, fanfiction may be that tiny breach that may threaten their rights in the future from tresspases of distribution networks. Meaning, people write vampire fanfiction based on Anne Rice’s work? What if another publishing house used the template of her works (historical settings, bleeding orifices, religious themes, homosexuality and sexual trauma etc) and produced a royalty free series of such works with a team of professional writers that do not own the work - who often have less rights, like not owning the characters, or the storylines, participating in a very small scale, so their payment goes down etc)

And in this way EVERYONE SUFFERS. Big Name Published Author fades into obscurity and goes into poverty and payroll writers are horrifically abused.  

A lot of hobbyists, and hobbyist writers whose sole dream is to be published in some shape or form, do not really care, and do not concern themselves with the legal aspect of creation, or the technical skill that it takes to produce writing on a consistent basis, which can only happen if you’ve got your basic needs covered. So they might see this type of backlash as inherently privileged. 

But it’s not really a privilege, there has been a global recession in basic working rights for everyone, and lovers of fiction don’t have to condone, of course, attacks against them, but they need to put that kind of backlash in perspective. Someone did write the content you enjoy, THEY ARE NOT DEAD YET, and may have opinions on how it should be managed, especially when it pertains to their livelihood. 

It’s a delicate balance that we all must keep in order to keep corporate regulations out of it.

For instance with the recent danmei explosion The Untamed brought forth, Ao3 was banned in China. Now a lot of you might know that this was caused by some real person fic involving the actor Xiao Zhan, which led to a whole other level of drama. But make no mistake this was a political act to protect the interests of the domestic publishing industry as it prepares to do an international opening that will bring in several billions from foreign markets.

Because Ao3 has been expanding as a platform globally it brings about changes, and in many cases steals readers away from traditional publishing, so it becomes unacceptable economically for a bunch of hobbyists to influence tastes, market mores, and create sensationalism around certain properties out of literally the blue. This is not a good thing for a lot of corporate thinking, they set the product and we are supposed to buy it. We are not supposed to go, it would look greater with a bunch of anal, and then put forth a million words altering the character of the intellectual property.

Why you ask? Again, because another publishing industry might choose to imitate the style of danmei fanfics and produce works that hijack readership, or lead to breach of contracts, making an unsafe environment for workers in this industry (Xiao Zhan’s case.)

Nowadays I see more and more fanfic authors coming out of their shell to ask money for writing in the form of donations, patronage and commissions, as fandom involvement is also becoming vastly monetized. The market of conventions coming into social media platforms. A strange more exists still in which while “legally wrong”, as long as money is not asked on the publishing platform (Ao3), it may not count as copyright infringement. But fanfic authors, may still be treated with hostility for this, for not “deserving” to profit from someone else’s properties, or even worse for “stealing” readership. 

For instance a recent argument I have seen from lgbtq authors, is that they remain unsupported by fandom spaces, who often proclaim themselves as lgbtq or lgbtq friendly (something that is not true), but at the same time they are not looking for published lgbtq stories, or authors, or even treat these with open hostility, or a lot of bias.

Fandom is not comprised from “readers” in the traditional sense, definitely not friends of literature, and it’s free, no one really has to pay anything to read a published fanfic.  So it’s a pretty loose demographic with no set characteristics, and no interest in investing time and money in something for long. It’s an online social activity and not a readers’ movement, highly influenced by peer pressure and branding. It’s basically a gigantic group of people who don’t really do anything for no one, and may develop a parasitic connection to intellectual properties (I am sorry peers, it’s the truth). 

And it’s perhaps the biggest counterculture scene at the moment in the developed world. To this day it treats even its own authors with tremendous suspicion, disregard and dismissal, meaning that even if someone can get some money and recognition locally through writing fanfic they are on thin fucking ice at all times for all the reasons but mostly attracting unnecessary attention to themselves and subsequently the scene.  A pattern that we will see is endemic to all forms of fandom backlashes.

So to this day in contrast with fanart, fan writers may not be compensated for their troubles, but may also be ousted from their domestic professional spaces for writing fanfic that may infringe on their intellectual property. 

The thing is, for me, that fandom culture can become incredibly supportive of corporate practices that harm actual people (writers, they are people too) but when they realize that the same corporate practices may be used against them, it’s too late to realize that it’s not a lottery of who wins by crying more, and by the time that happens, a corporation or industry who has used them to do its dark bidding, can stop catering to them  because ultimately they have become again irrelevant once a well defined demographic of  readers and viewers has been secured.

So if you are going to do counterculture, at least do it right. Be respectful of the writers/authors of the content you consume and mindful of their troubles, do not generate public strife that brings in political regulation in favor of corporate interests. Become interested in writing culture, support your fanfic authors with lasting engagement in their work, even if it escapes the narrow confines of a certain fandom. It’s simple. Eat, live, pray, fuck, or something.

[bgn846]

Marshal’s Creed FFXV Fanfic

Summary:            

Cor dresses up for the annual Halloween gala in hopes to win a bet. Can he beat out everyone else at the party with the best costume?

Notes:    

I had a fun prompt from my friend @ragewerthers for Cor Leonis getting invited to a Halloween party.... but what in the HELL is he supposed to go as?!  Do Regis and Clarus help him?  Do the boys help him?  Does he decide to go scary?  Funny?  Mythical?

I hope you all enjoy, I had fun writing this! :)

Work Text:          

“What is he wearing?” Regis asked under his breath from where they were standing near the steps to the throne.

“Not so sure, but it seems pretty popular with the ladies,” Clarus admitted as he craned his neck to see better.

“Dear six, he looks half-naked!” spluttered Regis after a moment.

“Sorta, he’s got pants and maybe something someone would consider a shirt on.” Though Clarus was still clueless as to what Cor had dressed up as.  The annual Halloween gala was always a fun event. However, the marshal never dressed up.

Ever.

It was only the quick thinking of Regis with the tempting draw of a bet that enticed their friend into wearing anything special this year. A hefty amount of 500gil sat waiting for Cor if he dressed up and won one of the sundry costume awards to be gifted that night.  The prizes given out were little awards trinkets, and the bragging rights until the next party.  Of course, Cor could care less about any of that, the only reason he’d even agreed, was to prove Regis wrong and maybe relieve him of some decent spending cash.

The king had figured Cor wasn’t creative enough to even stand a chance. Regis had merely snorted and waved him off when the marshal assured them he’d win something.  Now, as Clarus watched their friend navigate through the crowd he was beginning to think Regis might have to pay up at the end of the night.

The squeals of impressed party goers only got louder as Cor approached, as did the flash of lights from photos being snapped. The crowds dispersed once he’d reached the king.  Cor yawned once seemingly bored with the whole affair already. “You might as well give me the money now, Regis.”

“Never!” the king hissed, “You aren’t going to win, look at you! What is that, it looks like a pile of rags!”

Before Cor could answer a young staffer passing by interrupted them with a shout, “Awesome costume!” They left just as quickly as Clarus began to examine the outfit in more detail.

“I’m afraid I’m lost as to what you are, care to enlighten us?”

“Eh, this? I have no idea, Noct helped me pick it out.  Said it was the best costume to wear and had Ignis go online and order me one before I could say no.”

“You asked my son to help you?”

“Nope, he found out I was going to dress up and he nearly flipped. How could I say no, he begged me to let him help.”

“Still what the hell are you?” Regis asked in exasperation.

“An assassin I think?” Cor supplied with a furrowed brow. “Honestly, the kid was talking too fast for me to catch the exact name, but he said it was from a game.”  

“Why in the heck would an assassin wear that? Your entire right side is exposed, seems like a defensive nightmare.”

“I’ll admit it’s not exactly realistic but it’s comfy at least.” Cor offered with a shrug.

“I don’t know why you let my son talk you into this, you look ridiculous.” Regis was about to add more when another party-goer/staffer wandered by and started staring. They were of course after a picture of Cor.  The staffer was young and blushing like mad but still managed to ask for a selfie.

“I’m sorry what were you saying majesty? I got pulled away to have my picture taken because I’m going to win.”

Regis sneered and turned around to walk away.  Clarus couldn’t help but snicker at the sight. Regis was a sore loser so a part of him hoped Cor wouldn’t win, but he probably would. The marshal, though not a youthful twenty-year-old anymore, could hold his own in the looks department. He was only in his forties now but still trained just as hard. His well-defined six-pack was evidence of that.  Clarus suspected that most of the girls wandering over were trying to get a better look at what he’d been hiding under his guard uniform.

Cor for once didn’t mind the attention and even smiled for a few shots.  It was nice to see his friend out of his element for once.   “Have you seen his highness?” Clarus asked, figuring Noct would have at least had to help Cor get ready. Otherwise, the man wouldn’t have known how to wear the costume.

“Yeah, he’s coming soon, he was getting picky about his nails.”

“What?”

“You’ll see, he’ll match grumpy pants over there,” Cor announced with a chuckle. “Regis thinks sporting little tiny fake fangs makes him a good vampire. He’s so wrong.”

“Oh dear,” Clarus could only guess what Noct had conjured up. Ignis would have been key in gathering his needed elements, but the idea was most likely the princes. “What are the others dressing up as?”

Cor barked out a laugh, “I only saw Ignis and Prompto but it appeared they were wearing matching black suits.”

“That’s it?”

“Almost, if you don’t count the wolf tail they both had clipped to their belts and the wolf ear headbands.”

“I’m so confused,” he sighed. However, right as he was about to ask for more details a sudden hush overtook the room. Looking up he noticed what had caused the reaction. Ignis, Prompto, and his son were stalking over towards them. They all matched and looked quite formidable.   However, Noct seemed to be missing. The black suits had matching black shirts and ties to go with. One might take them all for security guards aside from the addition of the animal ears atop their heads. One thing Cor hadn’t mentioned was their eye color. Each had donned a pair of contacts that made their eyes look golden and cat-like.

As they neared, Clarus realized there was a fourth pair of legs hiding behind Ignis. This must be the prince. Waiting patiently as the group finally came to a rest in front of them, Clarus was treated to the reveal. A pale hand with amusingly long pointy black nails slowly crept out from behind Ignis arm.  It reached out and pointed straight at him.  Then in a move that had Clarus snorting with laughter, Noct curled his fingers and beckoned him closer.  

“You’re nuts if you think I’m letting you near me with those daggers,” he laughed.

Noct merely shook his finger and carefully leaned to the side to show his face. The prince’s hair was slicked back and someone had drawn in an exaggerated widow’s peak.

“I see you’re taking your role far more seriously than your father.”

“I shall win,” was all Noct uttered before he hissed and retreated behind his bodyguards again.

With a quick bow, Ignis led the way back out into the party.  The advisor was playing his part very well and looked like he’d snap a person in two if they even tried to talk to the prince. Prompto was fighting to hide a smile as they turned to leave. Gladio offered Clarus and eyebrow waggle and a wink before he left.  They were having fun it seemed.

“So forgive me for being a little behind on my fantasy lore, why are they all wearing animal ears and tails?” Clarus asked kindly.

“He’s a vampire and he needs his werewolf pack to protect him.”

“Ah, I see. Noct basically thought up the perfect costume, ensuring he doesn’t have to talk with anyone.”

“Pretty much, he’s clever in that way, unlike his old man!” Cor teased as Regis joined them again.

Ignoring Cor’s comment, Regis stared at Noct’s retreating party and tilted his head, “Was that my son?”

“Yep you missed the reveal; he’s a vampire with a coven of werewolves.”  

Regis simply smiled and straightened his shoulders slightly, “He takes after me in so many ways.”

Cor groaned loudly and rolled his eyes, “You wish, look it I’m gonna go mingle and get some more votes in my favor.  I’m winning this contest tonight, be ready to pay up.”

Regis tried to whack Cor in the shin with his cane, but the marshal was quicker and leaped out of the way. He laughed and casually wandered away, complete with a smug look of satisfaction.

“He’s such a brat sometimes,” Regis huffed.

“He’s only five years younger than you.”

“Shut it; let’s go see if we can convince the judges to ban him or something.”  

Cor did not get banned.

Clarus had the joy of watching his friend claim a very special award, the citadels’ sexiest costume. Apparently, the panel of judges was also distracted by Cor’s exposed right side and six-pack.  The few other contestants in that category didn’t stand a chance.  No manner of makeup could fake muscles or a square jawline.

Regis didn’t have to pout for long though when his son won the night's overall best costume design. The king was proud of his son and his friends. They’d banded together to create a memorable look.  Noct stayed in character when he accepted his award and tried to bite one of the presenters.  Gladio sprang into action and held him back.  The room erupted in laughter and cheers.

Suddenly thankful they could all enjoy moments like this together; Clarus smiled and looked over to his friend and King. Regis must have had a similar reaction as he returned a warm smile of his own and a small nod.

The rest of the night was a blur; Cor had come playfully demanding his money. Regis denied him, but Clarus knew he’d pay up in the morning.  His liege kept trying to accuse Cor of cheating since he was only wearing half a costume. The marshal would then wiggle his award in front of Regis’ face as a rebuttal.

The music soon turned up loud enough that they couldn’t talk anymore. Opting to retreat to the far corner of the room the three friends sat and relaxed.  They spend the remainder of the evening commenting on the costumes and the terrible music.

The End.

AO3 link is posted in the comments.

[96thdayofrage]

This commentary is part of The Appeal’s collection of opinion and analysis.

Somewhere in America, right now, as you read this, a person—likely a young Black or brown man—is sitting in a jail cell, terrified he’s going to die because he can’t afford a few hundred dollars in bail. There have been tens of thousands of new COVID-19 cases reported each week in America’s jails, and those are just the reported cases—actual numbers may be much higher.

He may have asthma or high blood pressure, he may be diabetic or have a disability, and if he’s one of the millions of people who cycle through America’s jails over 10 million times annually, he is sitting in a world where he cannot get more than three feet away from another person. He may be sharing a bathroom with 40 other men. He may have no access to outside air, masks, running water, sanitizer and cleaning supplies, or even medical attention. He may not even be 18 years old. He is frightened for his life. He is frightened he will die in a cage over a few hundred dollars in bail.

Elsewhere in America, Kyle Rittenhouse, 17, is home. Accused of killing two men and wounding a third during protests against police violence, Kyle’s $2 million bond was paid by a group of supporters who raised the money online. Bail, you see, isn’t about what you did or whether you’re dangerous. Bail is about whether you can find the money to buy your freedom back from the state. 

As I write this, nearly 400,000 people cannot find that money. And for them and their children, partners, parents, colleagues and neighbors, the Rittenhouse case raises particularly pointed questions about what we are really talking about when we talk about bail. After all, in a world where an accused killer can pay his way out of jail but a father sits behind bars for picking up his kids during a family emergency, we’ve forfeited the right to argue that these releases are somehow about public safety or the severity of charges.  

In Missouri’s First Congressional District, which I am honored to represent starting in January, Black and brown people’s lives are at risk simply because they cannot buy back their freedom. In St. Louis City, Black people are held in pretrial detention three times as often as white people. We are living in poverty. Too often Black and brown people are detained indefinitely for minor offenses like traffic violations, trespassing, and drug possession—conduct that is much less frightening than the charges that stand against Kyle Rittenhouse. And statistically, we are far likelier to die if we catch the virus than he would be. 

The time has come to stop pretending that pretrial detention is about public safety. Even before the pandemic, a few days in jail would cost a person their entire life: lost jobs, disrupted education or mental health treatment, fractured families, and an increased risk of homelessness are just a few of the likely consequences of pretrial detention. When you factor in the significantly heightened risk of COVID-19 death to the list of consequences, it becomes clear: The safety of many more people is put at risk by detention than release.

The hard truth in making smart choices about public safety is that it’s an area where people are prone to mistake emotion for evidence. The evidence shows that releasing more people pretrial generally poses zero risk to public safety. The evidence shows that sending text messages is a proven and more cost-effective method than cash bail in getting people to come back to court. The evidence shows that the ease with which we toss people into prison destabilizes families and destroys the economic mobility of entire communities. When we let our government make policy choices based on fear instead of reason, we get remarkably cruel and horrific consequences. 

Willie Horton arguments fail when you realize that the number of people at risk of dying in a COVID-19-ravaged carceral facility is much higher than the number of people at risk of experiencing violent crime. The math is simple: Jails are now hotbeds of COVID transmission, and every day spent in jail is a risk to the health and life of everyone inside, including those who work there. When you fold how release benefits family unity, education, mental health, housing stability, and the economy of an impacted community, it becomes clear that the problem isn’t Kyle Rittenhouse’s fundraiser. The problem is that we don’t treat everyone like Kyle Rittenhouse. 

Kalief Browder spent three years in jail, most of them in solitary confinement, for allegedly stealing a backpack and because he couldn’t afford his freedom. At 16 years old, he was wrongfully incarcerated for a crime he did not commit. A system that locks innocent children and adults in cages is not just or smart—it’s cruel. When he was released, Kalief Browder tragically died by suicide. In stark comparison, Kyle Rittenhouse has been heralded a hero. 

This is why we continue to fight. When our freedom and justice are at stake, we cannot be silent. Elected leaders must have the courage to step past the fearmongering and create smarter, stronger, and more humane systems to spur change. The most important thing to keep our communities safe isn’t the local jail. It’s local jobs, housing, schools, and healthcare.  Guaranteeing these building blocks of stability does much more to keep our community safe than needless, perpetual detention. 

Although Congress does not have direct control over America’s thousands of jails, we do have control over funding that, if used to incentivize states and counties, could transform our criminal legal system. The first step is straightforward: We must invest in people and communities by funding affordable housing and child care, better schools, job opportunities, and healthcare. 

We must reward jurisdictions that end cash bail and be mindful that we should not trade one broken system for others such as risk assessment tools and electronic monitoring that are algorithmically biased, privatized, and equally cruel. By making these investments, we can exchange old cages for stronger communities. We can increase both freedom and prosperity for everyday people, instead of reserving these fundamental rights as privileges for the few. 

In Congress, I plan to sit on the House Judiciary Committee and craft policies in partnership with directly affected communities. This is the moment. This is our work to complete, our assignment unto liberation. This fight is in our hands. Standing together, it’s essential that we build a more just and equitable world that centers our voices and recognizes that freedom should never have a price.