#frisk supremacy

[anovainspace]

FRISK SUPREMACY NATION WHERE YA’LL AT? we love all frisks here, yesirrr

!FRISK AUs APPRECIATION POST!✨

Mega!Frisk Belongs to @ot-au

FRISK2.0 Belongs to @foxalone

Gut!Frisk Belongs to @undergut-au/@doloshroom

Manga!Frisk Belongs to @au-mashup-party

XXX!Frisk Belongs to @anovainspace

Friendshiptale!Frisk Belongs to @crazygemspinz

Uw!Frisk Belongs to @susartwork

Sapphire!Frisk Belongs to @skydreamplayzz

Inversotale!Frisk Belongs to @nova2cosmos (me)

I PROPAGANDA FOR FRISK SUPREMACY!! my love for these amazing beans!! (╯°▽ °）╯︵ ┻━┻

[softplushiee]

core frisk my (PLATONIC) beloved

redrew a screenshot from underverse :333c

[in3rdy]

Another doodle with a warning for eyestrain! This one came out bright!

[the-annoying-moth]

Que opina del charisk?

Ah..el Charisk

Me genera tantas emociones de alguna u otra forma,se me hace interesante el como tratan de contar una historia en la que Chara de una manera u otra revive y se enamora de Frisk en algún momento,también me gusta un poco el pensar que seria ese tipo de dinámica de demonio x angel o algo así x'D

Aparte admito que me gusta dibujar a Chara besuqueandose con Frisk en vez de Sans por que se me acompleja más dibujar a ese esqueleto waton :'C

[rubytale-chapter2]

Look at all the frisks!!!!

All aboard the Frisk Train!!

[xtrablak674]

I've Never Been Stopped by a Cop

I’m a Black man living in New York City and I’ve never been stopped by the police. I suppose I should be more specific, I’ve never been stopped and frisked by the police. And for absolute transparency I have gotten summons, two for riding my bike on the sidewalk and one for trespassing which I deliberately did fully aware that a patrol car was watching but that isn’t this story.

I was participating in a discussion amongst Black men and a scenario where police pulled guns on me and my family in our car as we pulled up to our home. Umm first I’m a bachelor and haven’t any children, so this scenario is dead in the water. A college friend that was in my breakout group prodded an adjustment to the scenario and I stated something equivalent of the first sentence in this piece. The bigger question was why hadn’t they? And for purposes of discussion I’m a dark-skinned Black person with locs that reach to tip of my spine. You would think that this would make me a prime candidate for getting swooped up in some mistaken identity situation but that has never happened.

As a child my interaction with police was negligible if not totally non-existent. I want to be careful not to get into respectability politics, but I was a good kid and a fair teenager. I can recall an incident in high school where a couple of my friends had gotten pinched by Tower Records security for shop lifting some CD’s, and I was with the ladies one who was clearly of European descent the other Latina, we called ourselves 3-2-1 Contact because of our natural diversity. Our understanding of the law seemed to differ greater than our ethnic backgrounds.

I have always been a sensible person even as a child, I was never prone to peer pressure ever, I had a clear understanding of my mind and what I would do and what I wouldn’t do. It didn’t seem particularly sensible to me as a young Black male to be participating in petty theft especially in a neighborhood adjacent to Lincoln Center, where we went to school. Furthermore I was being raised in a very Christian home by my grandparents who would be disappointed in me for not using good sense.

My mother had always encouraged me to use ‘common sense’ it seemed to be the most important thing in the world and even though she had passed, her lesson had not. Common sense ruled my decisions in a way that made me a pariah amongst my peers. I had no interest in drinking having witnessed drunken family members be abusive to others, I also hadn’t the slightest desire to try that wacky tobacco that seems so intertwined with adolescence. My father and mother both partook of the herb and as a boy I had said not for me to all of the vices and even within the last decade sex, but that is another story.

In all attempts to disseminate all pertinent details I think it’s also good to know I’m a pedestrian, and most of my peer group is probably tired of me talking about how this is a multi-generational trait going back as far as my great grandfather. But like myself and his other son my father never had a drivers license, which is and isn’t peculiar to me because like him I was raised for a time in a two car home and hadn’t the slightest bit of interest in learning to drive still don’t. I haven’t been invited to that century old club of Driving While Black because well I don’t drive.

I do walk though and ever since my dad dragged me all over New York City on subways and buses, I have always walked with a clear destination and purpose. I’m not a lingerer I’m a fast paced impeccable dressed New Yorker. I’m not sure if my pace has made me seem less suspect or the fact that my fashion lends itself to a very non-traditional urban style. This too was a choice I made in my formative years when my peers were running around trying to follow the latest fad in clothing I made a clear attempt to distinguish myself with my unique choices.

Some of these decisions were made because I thought my grandparents had a fixed income, my grandmother was the No Frills Queen, this was a generic store brand often found at Pathmark. I wouldn’t learn till way into my adulthood that I was being raised in a two income middle class household. This is important because my clothes were purchased by my grandmother usually at the Macy’s discount outlet or Burlington Coat Factory.

Due to my mother’s passing and my separation from my siblings, I was a bit withdrawn as a pre-adolescent and teenager. I would stay in the house making my own toys, reading comic books and creating my own worlds which I never really left unless I had to go to school or church on Sundays. Once again I’m not attempting to justify the behavior of the white supremacist tendencies of the NYPD, but I wasn’t a typical child and I grew into an atypical adult.

A queer adult who currently identifies as non-binary transgender. But when I was still gay and had a penchant for wearing Daisy Dukes and thigh high moccasins I still never fell under the purview of the boys in blue, I even dated a couple of cops who in my opinion had a bit more baggage than your average date.

I’m left with the question what about me makes me worthy or unworthy of being stopped and frisked? Does my non-traditional performance of masculinity factor in the equation or is in my private college education? I didn’t even know I was being raised in an upper middle class household but I did know that I wasn’t living at the poverty level anymore not that I even knew that because my life was so full of abundance. My dark chocolate complexion which had faced all kinds of colorism, didn’t seem to rate.

What makes some Black people suspects and others not?

[Photo by Brown Estate]

[serious2020]

Gang Members Hold Positions at ‘Highest Levels’ of L.A. Sheriff’s Department, Investigation Reveals

Pls read & Share … www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-features/la-sheriff-department-gangs-alex-villanueva-1234691873/

[multifandomme]

Stolen Power

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Female Reader

Summary: Agent Prentiss cuts you a deal that you cannot refuse.

Genre: Smut, (strap-ons, roleplay, restraints, light gunplay, praise, scratching, semi-public sex, teasing, humiliation, coercion, power dynamics), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 2.2k.

This piece is for day 2 of kinktober under the 'roleplay' prompt.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

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The glacial metal of handcuffs encircled your wrists, tightly, bound to leave engravings in the wake of their agonising hold. Emily had delighted in the prospect of incapacitating you, trapped inside the four walls of the interrogation room, anchored to a chair. 

“You’ve been a bad, bad girl, haven’t you?” Her enjoyment was blatant, striding around the room with a confidence that radiated in abundance, a powerfulness that until now, had remained undiscovered. 

“You tell me,” you challenged, dauntlessly, “I thought it was your job to figure that out or am I mistaken?”

“Agent Prentiss,” Emily corrected, sternly, her eyes narrowed in displeasure as she sauntered sexily towards you. “You will address me as Agent Prentiss, is that clear?”

The newfound dominance undeniably looked good on her, the sparkles that flickered in her dark irises causing shivers to suffuse along your spine. A subtle smirk plucked at the corner of her mouth, a glimpse of brilliant white peeking out from behind cherry-stained lips. Suddenly, the countless times she had spent gasping below you evaporated from your mind, replaced with a new reality that rendered you helpless and entirely at her mercy.

“Yes, Agent Prentiss.”

“You know, I’m going to put you away for a long time,” she threatened, huskily, a finger snaking its way beneath your chin, forced to meet her unwavering gaze. “And I don’t think you’ll do too well in prison.”

An audible gulp freed itself from you, your attention momentarily diverted to the cleavage that had jostled its way out from the deep teal silk that shrouded it. The stolen glance did not go unnoticed as Emily withdrew from you, a scoff of disapproval bursting out into the silence.

“Oh, I’ll be just fine,” you countered, smugly, intent on riling her enough to draw her back to you. “I’m sure the girls in prison will really appreciate what I have to give, Agent Prentiss.”

And then, a twinkle of unrestrained thrill flared amidst the onyx and without time to calibrate, she had strutted her way back to you, a hand clasped harshly around your throat. 

“That pretty mouth will get you in trouble,” Emily warned, vehemently, her tongue swiping the underside of her teeth, her glare unabated, stricken with lust.

Emily battled earnestly to conceal her arousal from you to no avail, this pretence of anger as flimsy as the silk she wore. In fact, the fervour that clouded her seemed to permeate the room with such intensity that the air had grown thick, torrid. 

“My mouth can do a lot of things, Agent Prentiss,” you provoked, undeterred by the way her grasp toughened around your words. “But that isn’t all I have to offer.”

With a forceful jolt, Emily released you, a certain curiosity cloaking her expression as she paused to rake her eyes over the entirety of your frame. Boldly, you drove your hips up from the chair, your attempt at an escape thwarted instantly by the sudden emergence of Emily’s gun unholstered and prodding into your sternum. 

The severity of the threat had stunned you into rigidity, oxygen evading you more now than when Emily had deliberately restricted it earlier with her hands. Silence prevailed, obstructed only by the quaking breaths that emitted from you, the force of her gun dissipating until she halted, the pistol trained on the space betwixt your thighs. A subconscious shiver rattled its way over you, secretly enthralled by her supremacy, the gun merely deepening the allure. You weren’t scared at all, no, you were excited. 

“I thought I frisked you for weapons,” Emily uttered, shaking her head lightly as she drew backwards, quick to rescind the threat and deposit her pistol upon the table.

“Not well enough,” you mused, taunting her, the materialisation of Emily’s roaming hands occurring to you as they smoothed over the bulge you were hiding.  “You want to see what it can do, Agent Prentiss?”

A sharp exhale sounded from her, tongue sneaking out to paint a fresh coat of saliva over her lips until they glistened beneath the piercing light. 

“You see, a gun incites fear, will have you begging for your life,” you acknowledged, a short-lived vibration shuddering over you as Emily unzipped your trousers and hustled the appendage from its confinements. “But this, Agent Prentiss…” you smirked, revelling in the way that her lip had found itself pinched firmly between her teeth, “this will make you scream, make you beg for more.”

A wry chuckle sprung from her as she regarded you, surprisingly unaffected by your persistent torment. In an instant, her fist wrapped itself snugly around the base of the strap on. And then, she leaned in tantalisingly close, her breath tousling softly against your ear.

“I’m willing to cut you a deal,” she whispered, enticingly, her head bowing slightly to lick a searing stripe across your pulse point and immediately setting you ablaze. “But, I’m going to need something from you first.”

“I’m listening,” you mumbled, half-convincingly, your mind positively possessed by sinful reveries, Emily at the centre of them all. 

“You get me off,” she drawled, sultrily, a series of fleeting pecks pressed to your jaw, “and I’ll let you walk, no questions asked.”

“You’ve got a deal, Agent Prentiss,” you acceded, keenly, a hum of amusement rumbling from her. “Please, get me out of these cuffs and I promise to give you exactly what you want,” you blurted, “No games-”

“No deal,” Emily rebutted, decisively, eliciting a huff of disappointment from you. “The cuffs stay on,” she reiterated, her eyebrow twitching upwards in a wordless warning, “I’m a big girl, I’m sure I can get what I want from you all on my own. You just sit still and be good for me, hm?”

“Yes, Agent Prentiss,” you nodded, her words inspiring sparks of arousal to form and persist, “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

A palpable tension descended, only amplifying when Emily yanked herself away from you and began to unbutton her shirt. The article of clothing was not entirely abandoned, left to splay open freely as Emily shot a cautious look towards the camera that surveyed every angle of the room from above. Bizarrely, the continual red light that beamed outward from it waned to black, and you were unable to shake the gnawing feeling that it wasn’t quite a coincidence at all.

The flash of indigo lace haunted you, approaching until it saturated your vision and the welcome weight of Emily settled into your lap. The intricate patterns of her bra nuzzled against your shirt, soft strands of silver tickling the skin of your cheeks, her breasts almost close enough for you to pepper kisses upon. 

“You’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?” Emily questioned, a hint of reticence in her voice as though she was not yet convinced, her hands groping roughly at your breasts as if she was trying to coax out a favourable answer.

The pleasant sensation that bloomed below her exertions saw your wrists twisting aimlessly in the handcuffs, intent on liberation. But the flitting pleasure ceased almost as promptly as it had arrived, Emily’s dazzling orbs hurling daggers as she awaited your response.

“Yes, I’ll be good, Agent Prentiss,” you affirmed, eagerly, though on the interior, you weren’t nearly as confident in your claim. “I promise.”

Emily wrestled an arm around your neck for leverage, her fingernails scraping against the bone of your shoulder blade, destined to inscribe crescents of scarlet thereafter.

“Time to put that pretty mouth to good use,” Emily ruled, her free hand tugging at the lace until her breast sprung forth, her nipple tactfully manipulated into your hungry mouth. “Suck,” she barked, her teeth gritted, and you were more than willing to devour her.

A lengthened hum of contentment rumbled in her throat, her rosy bud stiffening as you pursed your lips around it and suckled with vigour, the occasional flick of your tongue across its surface activating an erratic jerk of her hips. Her sturdy grasp locked you in place, her skin smothering you so delightfully that breathing no longer mattered, too absorbed in the task that she had assigned. You vowed to make her time worthwhile.

“Such a good girl for me,” Emily purred, the gyration of her hips becoming more coordinated, a rhythm falling into place, the strap on nudging against your stomach as she rutted fervently against it. “Don’t stop, just like that.”

The pleasured expression that claimed her features blossomed with clarity, the transcendence of her beauty only invigorating your need to please her. Your tongue manoeuvred ardently, desperate to will more of her into your mouth and satisfy your insatiable hunger. And when she rolled her hips with added force, her jaw slackening as she dragged in a panting breath, you were met with the indisputable reality that you were spellbound, foreordained to fulfil her every demand.

“Oh, fuck,” she quavered, an air of franticness befalling as she disengaged from you, her hands in a frenzy as she purged herself of the trousers she donned. “I think it's time for you to uphold your end of the deal, hm?”

Veiled below translucent, indigo lace, Emily presented herself in all of her glory, a knowing smirk glued to her lips. Coherent thought eluded you altogether, the words that lingered in your mind instantaneously kissed away the moment you caught sight of her.

Emily snickered in amusement, “See something you like?”

“Yes, Agent Prentiss,” you choked out, your mouth uncomfortably dry, your thighs shifting in anticipation of her residence upon them.

“I’ll ask you again,” she growled, provocatively, her hands cinching at her hipbones. “Are you going to give me what I want?”

You nodded avidly, “Of course, Agent Prentiss, anything.”

Emily returned to you in haste, her fingers tracing downwards until they had successfully ripped aside her panties, revealing her arousal. She wasted no time, a trembling moan escaping as she sank down upon your strap on, her weight shifting a little as she readjusted to its size.

“Fuck, it’s big,” she hissed, her tone brimming with zeal as she knotted her arms securely around your neck, her lips temptingly close to your own. “Such a good girl filling me up so well.”

A string of stifled expletives tore from her, hips undulating at a painstaking pace, so torturous that you were certain this little display was a bid to stave off a brewing climax. The metal rattled audibly as you writhed forcibly in the cuffs, the dulling pain of their imprints becoming more noticeable, maddening.

“Aww, poor thing can’t even touch me,” Emily gibed, breathlessly. “You just have to sit there and watch me use you to get off. But, I bet you like that, don’t you, huh?”

“I want to touch you,” you protested, mindlessly, too intoxicated by Emily’s sensual motions to think of anything except having your hands on her. “Please, Agent Prentiss, let me touch you.”

“Nu-uh,” she crooned, a slender digit pressed firmly to your lips as she continued to rock her hips, unperturbed by your resistance. “Good girls do as they’re… told,” she explained, her words briefly obstructed by a sudden gasp of mirth. “Keep your eyes on me, pretty girl,” she instructed, “don’t make me call off the deal.”

Shameless groans sprinkled the silence, Emily’s brow tinged with perspiration as she quickened the pace that she had initially established. The sounds that emitted from below were nothing short of obscene, your eyes flickering downward to regard the way her pussy swallowed the length so effortlessly.

Emily noted the shift in your focus, her forehead pressed against yours to hold your attention captive for a moment. “Do you see how wet I am?” She whispered in sheer delight, “and it's all because of you, pretty girl.”

A pitiful mewl discharged from you, unchecked, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment, certain that your skin glowed visibly in pink. Emily let out a breathy chortle, a surge in her expeditiousness only furthering your sense that she was approaching the apex of something more.

Bravely, you drove your hips to meet her movement, her head thrown backwards in utter surprise as you pushed in to the hilt, her hands clinging to you with a force so brutal that it brought a grimace to your face.

“Naughty,” she spat, her breasts bouncing ruthlessly out from her bra as you continued to jog your hips with reckless abandon, her whimpers emboldening you. “Gonna be good and make me cum, hm? That’s it, pretty girl, yes, make me cum all for you.”

Emily’s fingers lowered to rub senselessly at her clit, her climax soon coursing through her body and ripping a loudened squeal from her lips. The muscles of her thighs fluttered in your lap, her breathing heavy, erratic.

“I see why you like being in charge,” Emily admitted, breathily, a chaste kiss delivered to your lips as an afterthought. “It was kind of fun.”

“We could always do it again,” you suggested, observing with a knowing smile as Emily shook her head in conclusive disagreement.

“It’s so tiring,” she whined, wearily, her head drooping forward to rest upon your shoulder. “Besides, I’m all out of favours with Garcia after this one.”

Curiously, you peered upward, noting the re-emergence of the red light and panicking a little inside. “Well, I think she might’ve jumped the gun,” you revealed, nervously, “Because someone’s definitely watching us.”

“Well, fuck.”

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[kolorace]

I love them all so much.

Star sanses in skirts + core frisk!

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Pairing(s): Logan Howlett x Reader, Billy Butcher x Reader, Billy Butcher x Becca Butcher

Warnings: cheating, affairs, hurt feelings, violence, soldier girl au, butcher is kinda the bad guy in this version of the au 😅, the boys x marvel au, nudes mentioned, violence, blood

Words: 2182

Summary: Butcher finally apprehends the Wolverine

When Someone Gets Hurt

Inferno

Bruises and Bitemarks

a/n: yes I'm still alive c:

Butcher thought it was his lucky day when he finally apprehended Logan Howlett, more commonly known by his supe alias the Wolverine.

For just one chance at capturing him, the Boys went over their plan nonstop. They needed to make it count. Butcher only had enough time in his life for one enemy to focus all of his attention on. He definitely didn't need another. From trial and error, Butcher learned that it was near impossible catching Logan if the red suited asshole Deadpool was anywhere nearby. The duo were as indestructible as cockroaches.

While nabbing Logan elated Butcher, the fact that he did it without asking for your help was the cherry on top. Neither of you had spoken since he found out you were sleeping with someone else. Honestly, both of you had been too busy anyway to interact let alone talk. You were going through your own life difficulties what with your maniacal supe brother. You'd discovered that Homelander was actually introducing Compound V to terrorists just so the U.S. government would allow supes in the military to counterattack these new "super villains". You and Annie were working hard to prevent Homelander's supremacy of the country though it felt like a lost cause many times. The new addition to the Seven, Stormfront, was putting a wrench in any plans of taking down your brother.

"Go' you now." Butcher sneers in triumph as he yanks on Logan's hair to pull his face upward. Logan snarls, eyes burning with hate that Butcher couldn't possibly comprehend. This was the guy that took you for granted after all. "Took us quite a long time to figure out what would take you down." His head gestures over to Frenchie who was holding that gun that had taken Wolverine down. The gun's chambers, unbeknownst to Logan, was filled with Carbonadium bullets.

Grinning at the detestation on Logan's face, Butcher slams his head down against the ground. If his bones weren't fused with one of the world's most indestructible alloys, Logan was certain his entire jaw would have shattered. Butcher didn't possess fancy powers. All he had was the indomitable human spirit and a fuck ton of hate in his veins.

His strength fleeing from him thanks to the bullets lodged inside of him, Logan can only growl at Hughie and Butcher who frisk his weakening form. Frenchie keeps the gun aimed at his head.

Stomach sinking when he feels Butcher fish out his cellphone from his back pocket has him actually finding the energy to try and kick up a fight. A bulky boot to his back kicks him down.

Butcher makes sure Logan can see him as he tauntingly holds Logan's phone in front of him. "You want this, ya? Wonduh what secrets you're hiding 'n here."

"FUCK YOU"

Ignoring the obscenities being snarled at him, Butcher closer examines the phone, tapping on the screen to see if the phone required a passcode. Unfortunately it did.

Dropping it into his pocket, Butcher hums "Lets get back to HQ, shall we? We've got a lot of work to do."

While Butcher and MM interrogate Wolverine in the cellar that served as a holding cell, Frenchie and Hughie got to work on unlocking Logan's phone.

Logan's passcode was, thankfully, a weak one so it didn't take long before Frenchie was allowed access.

"Voila!" He grins to himself and hands the phone to Hughie. "Now we can see all the dirt Le Carcajou has and who that annoying red fucker is." Frenchie held a particular grudge against Deadpool. He'd been shot by him a handful of times.

Not much was on his phone. Only the basic apps that were already preprogrammed into the phone. Contacts were limited to a 'Wilson' and 'Al'.

Going through Logan's phone, Hughie ultimately checks the photos app and nearly drops the phone onto the desk with wide eyes. "Oh god. Oh fuck."

"Petit Hughie?" Frenchie reaches across for the device but Hughie slams his hand on top of it.

"No. No, no, no." He's shaking his head. "Fuck. He's going to fucking kill him if he sees this, Frenchie."

"Well. . . oui? That's what Butcher does." He's confused.

"It won't be Butcher's usual supe killing." Running a hand across his face, Hughie heaves a stuttering breath. He brings up to Frenchie the fact that the affair you were having was with Logan himself.

Frenchie slews a string of profanity. "Le Carcajou? We should've known. He's totally her type. That explains why she hasn't been around to help us catch him either." Everything was coming together. "Butcher won't just kill him."

There would be an utter bloodbath. Now that the Wolverine was weakened, killing him was more feasible a vision.

Hughie nods in knowing and goes a shade paler. And once you found out that Logan was captured. . .

Busy freaking out about what to do, Frenchie takes a peek at the picture on the phone's screen and wolfishly grins. "I never knew she was such a naughty girl."

"Huh? Oh- Frenchie don't!"

"Sorry, Petit Hughie but when I see a work of art I must appreciate it."

"Okay, I'm gonna take the phone away from you now."

"What are you two on about?"

Neither breathes, Frenchie has hold of one end of the cellphone while Hughie has the other end. Unable to react fast enough, Butcher snatches the phone from them in seconds with a mumble about how they should have told him the moment they'd hacked into the phone.

He was not expecting to see your bare tits on the screen of the phone.

Knowing who the tits on the phone screen belonged to. Hughie and Frenchie silently back away, already feeling the heat of his wrath.

"What the fuck is this?" Butcher's ears are ringing and can't even hear whatever Hughie is stammering about.

This was the Wolverine's phone. Why the fuck were your tits on his phone?!

Across the plane of the screen, small cracks begin to emerge as Butcher's grip on the device tightens to a deadly grip, as if he was strangling someone. Imagining that the phone was Logan's neck.

Were you. . . Were you really fucking that guy this entire time?

How long had this been going on?

Did you start seeing him before or after the Boys officially started hunting him?

"Butcher. . ." Hughie's voice sounded far off though he knew it came from right next to him. "Your hand is bleeding. . ."

Spiderweb cracks scrawled across the phone's entire surface. Splinters of glass embedding themselves into his fingers.

Either way, the mother fucker was going to pay for it.

Fuck the mission.

Fuck trying to get any information from this guy.

"Wade- WADE please calm down." You shoot Annie an apologetic look before excusing yourself to take your call to a quieter location.

"They've got him! Those fuckers have our peanut!" Deadpool cries out on the other end of the line.

Lips parting about to inquire on who he meant when icy cold realization seizes your stomach. "Logan. . . No. . ."

"YES!! So if you can, please hurry that gorgeous ass of your's and save him!"

Almost hitting someone with the restroom door you hazardously ram open. Annie stares at you when you fast walk back to the table. Explaining what is going on and how you had to hurry back to headquarters.

"Thank god you're here!" Hughie's voice cracks as you push past him. You could hear the jarring sound of a fist colliding against solid flesh. Grunts of pain and the angry howls emanating from a god of wrath.

You rip the door that led to the Boys' makeshift holding cell/interrogation room to come across Logan covered in his own blood. Matted in thick clumps in his hair and sporting several gunshot wounds that weren't healing. Butcher has his back to you, his shoulders moving up and down as he gulps down ragged breaths.

Logan's own breathing was interrupted every couple of breaths as blood bubbled forth to dribble out from the corner of his mouth. Those dark eyes that you love so much instantly land on you.

"Butcher."

Even having the upper hand wasn't enough to ease the heavy stone that sat at the bottom of your stomach; weighing you down like an anchor.

Slowly he turns around. You'd seen this side of him so many times. Yes, a few times they were aimed at you. Those were the incidents when you battled with your own conflicting feelings toward your brother. Butcher was hell bent on putting an end to Homelander; nothing would change that. He would do it or very well die trying. Yet. . . You remembered your beloved big brother. The one who made you lunch to take to school. He'd been John to you back then. You idolized him and envied him. Vought's pride and joy despite Soldier Boy thinking him weak.

This was different though.

The pain that hardened his gaze was palpable. "This who you been fucking?"

Readying your stance to zoom, you try to keep the panic from your tone. If Butcher heard how much you actually cared for Logan, it would enrage him even more. Logan was more than just sex to you now. "I can explain."

"I bet you can." A dark chuckle is exhaled. "You two been fucking this entire time? Laughing behind my back. I should have known. You'll always be more loyal to your own kind."

"Don't be like that Butcher." You hiss. "Don't you dare lump me into your supe-hating bullshit. That's not what this is. He wasn't on our radar when I met him."

That gives Butcher a reason to pause. "So, you were fucking him the same time when we were still-"

"There was no 'we'." You adamantly point out and accompanied by and exhausted sigh, your stance wavers. "You and I, it was just sex. You made that perfectly clear. After all, I could never measure up to Becca. I can't let you kill him."

To add an emphasis on that declaration, your eyes sizzle red in warning.

His scowl deepens, a snarl curling his lip. "That's how it's gonna be?"

"Just step aside, Billy. Please."

The pleading in your irritates him. You liked this fucker enough to put your pride aside and beg Butcher to release Logan.

"You willin' to kill me over him?"

Fear wasn't something you were necessarily accustomed to. Standing there, you weren't sure of what to do. You couldn't kill Butcher. Yet you couldn't let Butcher kill Logan. The heat in your eyes simmers down.

You couldn't.

"I don't have to kill you."

Swatting him away with a flick of your wrist as you charge toward him, Butcher flies into the side wall. Clearing the way for you to get to Logan.

When you feel the rain-like barrage of bullets against your back, you rip Logan free of his confines. You're not A-Train level fast, but compared to Butcher and the others, your movement was quicker. Pure instinct drives you to bulldoze your way through walls, all while protecting a battered Logan. Blood rushing through your ears made you deaf to what Logan was trying to cough out.

You couldn't stop. You had to keep focus until you were far away and safe enough to check his injuries.

Wind whips your face.

You had to save Logan.

You couldn't let him die.

Suddenly a warm hand to your cheek has you stopping midflight; halting to a hover.

"Can you at least carry me so I don't look like a damn damsel in distress."

In your arms you carried Logan in a bridal style fashion. He was huge compared to you. With your super strength he feels no heavier than an infant.

Registering his position, you also take in the multitudes of bulletholes that litter his torso area. They were still bleeding freely.

One safe landing later (and a quick text to Wade) and you're turning Logan over to examine him. "What did they shoot you with?"

He grunts when you dab a piece of your shirt on a particularly juicy wound. "Not many things that can get me like this."

"I'm gonna have to cauterize some of these until Wade gets here." You warn him. Small hand splayed against his chest you catch his eyes on you. He places his larger one over it, pressing your hand so you could feel his heartbeat.

"M'fine." He tells you, ignoring the thick line of dried blood that ran down from the corner of his mouth. Logan looked like literal hell. Sweat and grime coating his face but his smile was still heart warming. "Just stop talking for a second and let me hold you, yeah?"

Unexpected moments of Logan's softness rendered you speechless. He uses this as an advantage and gathers you up in his bloodied arms.

You close your eyes and relish in his nearness.

"Also wanted to tell you that those guys may have seen your nudes on my phone."

"Are you serious?!" You shriek and push him away. Logan coughs out a laugh, avoiding your faux slaps.

[odinsblog]

TERFs dni

“Mutual abuse” does not exist. Dynamics of abuse are fundamentally about a power imbalance in which the abuser consistently uses harm to gain and maintain power and control over their victim. It does not become “mutual abuse” when the victim responds with violence or harm. 

I’ve seen that many of y’all are capable of understanding that a cop hitting a protestor is different from a protestor hitting a cop because there is a massive power dynamic that makes a cop able to act with impunity and places immense restrictions on the protestor.

I’ve also seen folks recognize that using harm to take maintain that power and reacting to harm inflicted on you with violence have a distinctly different moral weight/impact.

But you see that same shit play out in an abusive relationship and throw your analysis out the window.

The question to ask is not what individual actions everyone involved has done, it’s a question of where the power is. You cannot understand abuse and how it functions unless you start asking where the actual power is and until you learn how to see it.

Since some of y’all are clearly struggling with this I’m gonna help you out: the term “toxic relationship” exists for a reason. There are plenty of relationships in which the people are just shitty to each other. Not all bad relationships are abusive ones. Abuse is about POWER.

^^ that said: don’t assume that from an outsider’s perspective that you have the ability correctly and consistently determine that a relationship is toxic rather than abusive. Because folks defaulting to saying harm in a relationship is “just toxic” similarly silences many survivors. (source)

“Mutual abuse” is the adult version of a principal telling a kid defending themselves from a schoolyard bully, “Well, it’s really the second punch that starts the fight.” Utter bullshit. This false equivalence messaging sides with the oppressor, and tells weaker or oppressed people turn the other cheek and not to defend themselves. Unsurprisingly, this “both sides are equally guilty” narrative is most often trotted out in defense of white men, especially in cases of domestic abuse.

It reminds me of when I used to hear the old phrase, “Well, everyone’s a little bit racist” that was used to equate the justified rage of Black oppression with white supremacy. Again, the problem with this argument was denying the POWER imbalance. Black people absolutely can express prejudice against white people, but because it is white people who control the criminal justice system, Hollywood, social media platforms, banks and lending institutions, the education system, etc., the collective “prejudices” of Black people will never be the equivalent of white racism and anti-Blackness. If every Black person in America got pissed off at white people on next Tuesday, not one damn thing would change for white Americans. You wouldn’t see more white people missing out on job promotions, you wouldn’t see more white people getting stopped and frisked by the police, and you wouldn’t see more whites getting denied home loans or entrance into elite colleges. Nothing would change for them because they control all of those institutions.

It’s not precisely the same thing, but in both cases, dismissing or ignoring the POWER imbalance is exactly the same.

[trekbait]

ESSENTIAL tips to tell if an officer has been REPLACED by an EVIL counterpart!

Crossovers to the Mirror Universe may not be common, but they happen far more than we’d like. Humans in that universe, known as Terrans, are commonly seen in our eyes as “evil” by comparison. This, of course, is relative but a good rule of thumb and thus it is not advisable to allow a Terran counterpart to continue masquerading as a Starfleet officer.

Follow these simple tips to tell if a fellow officer has been replaced by a Terran so you can apprehend them before they cause mischief and war crimes. Note that this may also apply to other categories of evil duplicates or undercover enemies.

Forgetful?

Has your fellow officer suddenly forgotten key information such as their mission, their job or who you are. They may pass it off as a momentary lapse in attention, and it could indeed be that, but keep an eye out for further signs.

Facial hair?

Have they grown facial hair suddenly? In particular a goatee. It may be a dashing style choice or a symptom of a rotten moral centre. Either way, be concerned if they grow a full beard overnight. For those less likely to grow beards, beware of extra dark eye shadow and slicked hair.

Sensitive to light?

Terrans are more sensitive to light so will likely be found skulking around in shadows and softer mood lighting. Suddenly turning on the main lights may cause them to wince in pain. Of course, this is less likely to be an effective sign if their prime counterpart was already autistic.

Can you see their belly button?

Terrans love to show off their midriff and arms as they spend a lot of time working out and like to show their gains. Note that this in isolation is not a sign of evil; it is, however, a sign of insufferable date conversation about how much they can bench.

So Terrans will be more likely to wear sleeveless and/or belly shirts. Other signs of Terran fashion choices include tight leather, all-black outfits and gold tassels. Obviously, if they are already a goth or into bondage outfits off-duty you should discount this point if in isolation.

Are they more likely to make out with you?

Perhaps you’ve been pining after this person for a while but you’ve remained purely platonic and wholesome. But suddenly they’re up for a frisk in the pattern buffer maintenance access and you’re wondering “is this because they’re suddenly less supportive of post-capitalist economics?” You may be right! Being sexually liberated is far from a sign of evil but it's best to keep your eyes off their crotch and on these other signs until you learn more.

Chooses violence?

Have they issued out-of-character orders such as the genocide of 1.57 billion people? Do they start fights with other officers, carry a knife or set their phasers to kill? Perhaps they suggest eating other species such as Kelpians?

Terrans are quite xenophobic and paranoid; thus you will find them defensive and implying things like the supremacy of humans above other races (a clear sign of insecurity in other facets of their lives).

Related signs are if their orders forget key regulations and if they mistakenly reference “agonizers” or the “emperor” instead of “president.”

Shouty?

They may justify the choices by citing exceptional circumstances or just shouting at you to obey. Terrans are inherently poor managers who are rooted in insecurity and fear that they will be found out to be incompetent. This is also because of their assasination-based promotion structure.

As such they may also suggest a mutiny to you to take control of the ship or disobey orders from Starfleet. This is a sure sign that they are not a Starfleet officer and regardless of whether they're Terran, you should report them to command.

How to make sure:

If you have at least 3 signs, it is best to report your suspicions to a senior officer and let them investigate further. But perhaps they're your friend and you want to make sure first?

You might also be able to trick them into doing a Terran salute (given its close resemblance to other fascist salutes, they cannot claim they don't know what it means and anyone trying to excuse the use of a fascist salute is invariably a closet fascist of some sort). But beware, you may inadvertently label yourself a Terran in the attempt if they don't fall for it.

A better plan is trying to subtly scan them to see if their quantum signature matches your own. If it does not, report them immediately. Be sure not to get caught because this will give away your suspicions and they will see you as a loose end to tie up.

Follow for more tips and advice!

[ask-trialduo]

You make so frisk so punchable /positive i’m obsessed with how you characterize and draw them. And curly hair chara supremacy??? Chefs kiss i adore the way you draw both of them, new favorite frisk and chara designs spotted

YOU!!! YOU GET ME. YOU GET ME SO MUCH.

i love cute frisks, I made a few myself back when i was in the ut fandom, but i knew for this particular story i needed the most annoying trainwreck of an amusing asshole of a frisk i could find. like. not an evil one. just a punch-worthy walking trashbag who is still charming enough to be likeable somehow. n im really happy w their design too bc i feel like it conveys the chaotic nature of their character so much.

chara's design actually took me a bit longer to settle on, bc in the beginning, their hair was Fluffier, bc i wanted to make a ginger chara w big curly hair. but that didn't feel right? so it's more droopy now, weighed down by the sins of their past or whatever idk. rlly happy w how they're looking now, and I'm glad people are enjoying them too!

[zellamel]

An Underverse shot redraw. Core frisk supremacy, I love them

CoreFrisk by - Dokudoki

Fresh by - LoverofPiggies/Crayon Queen

[capnhanbers]

I feel SO bad for Frisk n Chara bc Chara's so shy about it I think either Frisk coaxed them or they're poking out of their shell trying to Bond w Naya and either way aw man one of them's going to feel so GUILTY for suggesting it and messing everything up and everyone turning on Flowey when it was going so well.... but also adafhgs Flowey's face in the art like "Hold the phone I know that depressed mumbling ANYWHERE" (also ALSO Naya looks SO purty in this art ESPECIALLY omg, Ponytail Naya Supremacy *o*)

I KNOW THAT DEPRESSED MUMBLING ANYWHERE AFADHSRTSRJSRARSFSJFS YEAH it is on fucking SIGHT

and ty about ponytail nye she's already blowing up on Twitter capturing the hearts and panties of millions. the r/mtt subreddit is going NUTS

[dumbestthingiveeverheard]

Dumbest Thing I've Ever Heard: 7/13/2023

Third place: Kurt Schlichter

Talking about what a new Republican President should do on their first day in office, he writes:

There will be lots of protesters getting riled up about the peaceful transition of power – communists, weirdos, angry wine women in nasty hats. Make it known to federal law enforcement that insurrection will not be tolerated and you expect anyone getting frisky to get frisked, hooked up, and locked up. The dual track justice days are over. 

Really, so Kurt takes a stance against insurrection. Hey, what does he think should happen to the people who stormed the United States capitol on 1/6/2021?

Now come the pardons. There’s a big pile of them on your desk. J6 political prisoners, Republican victims of Democrat frame jobs, and other conservative recipients of double standards all walk. You make it known you expect them to be processed out of prison by midnight – and that you will fire those insubordinate federal employees who fail to obey. In fact, you execute a memo that directs that insubordinate federal employees will be fired immediately – there’s some technical reclassification language in there, but the bottom line is that if you play stupid bureaucratic games, you will win stupid bureaucratic prizes. Let them sue; the civil service laws insulating executive branch employees from chief executive oversight and control are unconstitutional anyway.

Of course, the dumbest part about this column is Kurt suggesting ideas so far to the right that any Republican who would even consider taking his advice will be treated like Barry Goldwater was when he buddied around with the John Birch Society back in 1964. The American people don't actually like the far-right, that's why nothing is ever checked off their Wishlist and why they have to lie to people about who they are to get elected.

Second place: Frank Bruni

Today, the New York Times columnist published an article with the headline "Democrats, It's OK to Talk About Hunter Biden." In it, he goes to town on the mindless defenders of President Biden--who they are, fuck is I know, he doesn't name any names nor does he bother to give any real examples.

To speak personality, I am one of the biggest supporters of President Biden that exists and I'll gladly admit the administration has made mistakes. I found Biden's choice to push for gun control after the massacre done by Robert Long over talking about the issue of white supremacy to be distasteful, I find his decision to not fire Christopher Wray to be baffling, and I have yet to find a decision in the history of the Presidency as a whole--going back to George Washington--as stupid as making Merrick Garland Attorney General. Spoilers for below, but my number one pick for this list is even a member of Biden's Administration. Is that enough criticism of Biden for you? Have I passed the test you've decided to reign down that somebody much engage in an arbitrary number of criticisms against the president or else be declared a partisan?

Regarding Hunter Biden, the issue is not even that people are talking about Biden's children nor that Republicans have pounced on this issue--it's that nothing is there. I also want to note this part:

As Peter Baker wrote in The Times last month, “In modern times, the harsh spotlight of media scrutiny has focused on Donald Nixon’s financial dealings with Howard Hughes, Billy Carter’s work as an agent for Libya, Neil Bush’s service on the board of a failed savings and loan, Roger Clinton’s drug convictions and of course the various financial and security clearance issues involving Mr. Trump’s children and son-in-law.”

There was also discussion of Chelease Clinton being "the White House dog." Seriously, Rush Limbaugh called her that back in 1992--when she was thirteen. And people wonder why Democrats are kind of iffy on the whole "attacking the child of the President" thing.

But even then, the only one of these that could possibly be compared to what Hunter Biden has done is Roger Clinton. It also dodges the point because somebody--like, for example, me--could find the majority of these stories to be both distasteful and an utter waste of time.

Winner: John Kerry

See, I told you guys I'd pick a member of the administration today. Mediaite reported today on a conversation Kerry had with Rep. Darrell Issa where he refused to call the authortarian Chinese leader Xi Jinping a dictator. Even though Xi is President of life, rules in an authoritarian manner, and is--you know, a dictator in every regard.

I have to ask: Given Biden is attempting to save America from entering fascism, making opposition to right-wing authoritarianism a core part of his administration, what does it say when somebody he hired--who's in a position he created, by the way--can't name an authoritarian when he sees it?

I also have to ask: What do I expect from the guy who ran for President against one of the most authoritarian men in modern American history, and failed to sound the alarm of fascism?

John Kerry, you've said the dumbest thing I've ever heard.