#if you’re going to help people who are being abused or get assaulted why not help everyone. it makes no sense

[diamondrib]

anyways i had to go to a charity thing and there was one (1) rape crisis center that acknowledged queer people or allowed anyone but women and children at all out of like. 3-5

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 10

First and foremost, we've gotten quite a few pieces of fanart from @your-local-furby and @antartzz in the last little bit! We've got a smooch scene as well as a drawing and comic of MC with antartzz's oc Freida. I always get all mushy and/or feral when I get art so I really do appreciate it!

On a more serious note;

Content warnings: homophobia, as well as "queer" being used as a slur, verbal abuse/altercations, and attempted physical assault. (MC and his father get into a really bad argument while shopping.) There is also a bit of ableism but it's no more extreme than in previous chapters, and the homophobia is a much bigger thing in this chapter.

Please be cautious if that is a particularly triggering.

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

“Could you hurry it up already?” you hear your father ask, holding a package under his arm.

You look around the store shelves, eyes scanning over different brands of typewriter ribbons. Your fingers ache from carrying the basket of items, so you carefully swap hands. “I’d probably finish up faster if you actually helped me find the brand I need.”

Your father scoffs. “There can’t be that much of a difference between all the other brands here. I’m sure you can find… whatever it is you’re picky about from a different brand.”

“The ribbon I’m looking for is from the same company that made my typewriter,” you explain for what feels like the hundredth time, but is probably only the seventh or eighth time, “it’s specifically made for that particular brand, and since mine is an older model, it’s difficult finding adequate substitutes.”

“Have you ever considered getting a new typewriter? Something newer and more universal?”

“Why would I when the typewriter I have right now works fine?”

“Because your typewriter is older than you are,” your father states, “and I’ll give you credit, you take good care of it, but if something breaks, it’s going to be expensive and difficult to repair, and that’s if they’re even making parts for it anymore.”

“I will worry about that when it happens,” you reply, “but for now, I need ribbons, and I’m struggling to find them.”

Your father sighs. “What’s the brand again?”

“Fuscienne ruban d’encre.”

“What?”

“It’s a box with Fontainian on it,” you answer. “This store is the only place in town that sells it, and unless they’ve partnered with other suppliers in Fontaine, it should be the only one.”

Your father is quiet for a few moments, allowing you to go back to searching for your ink ribbons. The silence is nice, and it’s short lived when you hear the man sigh again. “... Is this what you wanted for a career?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Writing those… girly books.”

You give your father a look. “... Really?”

“What? That’s what they are.”

“They’re romance books. It won’t kill you to say the word romance.”

“And who reads them?”

“People who like romance.”

“Don’t play this game with me.”

“Just get to the point already.”

“I’m just saying writing isn’t the only career you could have chosen,” your father explains, “you had options when you were younger, and you still have options today. You talk about how you can only do certain things on account of your vision, but you act like they’re the only options you have.”

Your father’s words catch you off guard, and you are quiet for a moment as you mull them over. They’re… almost inspiring out of context, but in that condescending hand holding way. You can hear someone else who means well but doesn’t understand saying some of those words to you with a smile that’s too big, too bright, too rehearsed. Something that would have sufficed as motivational when you were little, but just leaves a bad taste in your mouth as an adult.

That said, this is your father, so it immediately raises a red flag. It’s one thing for him to make a backhanded comment, it’s another for him to say something that could be misconstrued into something well meaning when stripped of the full context. You know this, and you know it can only mean one thing.

Your eyes land on a small box, and you pick it up. You then sigh, realizing this isn’t your brand, the design just looks similar. You’re still looking at the shelf when you speak up. “So, why are you in the doghouse this time?”

“Excuse me?”

Your eyes finally spot the word Fuscienne. You momentarily forget the conversation and grin at the last box on the shelf. You snatch it and drop it into the basket.

Your father places a firm hand on your shoulder. “What did you mean by that?”

Right. You turn to face him. “Mom’s mad at you about a comment you made and is making you babysit me,” you reply, “I don’t care what it was you said, but I’m assuming she’ll forgive you if I said you did a good job helping me.”

(Which he really didn’t, because you are a grown man who has been to this store on his own many times before, and your father helping you navigate the store would make your outing even longer.)

Your father averts his eyes, and under his irritation, you see embarrassment shine through the cracks in his mask. He crosses his arms, and on a smaller figure, it would look like such a petulant gesture. It just looks pathetic for someone his age. “The faster we get this over with, the sooner we go home and you go back to your books.”

You answer by walking to the front of the store. The old man behind the counter grins when he sees you. “Find everything you were looking for?”

You nod, placing the basket on the counter. “Grabbed the last box of the Fuscienne ink ribbons. Lucky me.”

“You know, son,” the old man says, “I like to keep at least one pack of the Fuscienne in the back, just for you.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes! You’re one of my regulars, and I know you like that one, so I always make sure I have extra for you in case it sells out before our next order.”

You find yourself smiling. “That’s really kind of you.”

“It’s no problem.” He starts pulling items out of your bag, ringing them up before handing them to his son, who then begins to bag the items. “How is your book?”

His son gives him a quick look. “Father, remember?”

The man behind the counter goes pale. “O-Oh, right, I forgot about the, erm…”

“No, it’s fine,” you assure the man, “progress is good! Very good. I actually got a deal with the Yae Publishing House shortly after my old publisher dropped me. I’m actually waiting for them to get back to me with their final thoughts before I officially start my final draft.”

The man grins. “Oho! That’s delightful! How long do you think it will take before you get it published?”

“I should be hearing back within the week,” you answer, “and after that… a month maybe, and I’m still deciding between cover designs, and I’m not sure what their exact manufacturing and publishing process is, so… I’m not a hundred percent sure when I’ll finally have it out, haha.”

“So I take it you haven’t heard about your old publisher?” the son pipes up.

“What?”

“You don’t know? He’s gone bankrupt.”

Your eyes go wide. “What?! What do you mean?”

“Mountains of debt, from what some of the other writers and editors have said,” the son explains. “Rumour has it the reason he started terminating contracts and laying off editors was so the money would go to paying it all off while still getting a cut of the profits from the books they had published through him.”

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter, before you feel yourself go pale. “Wait, wait, when did this happen?”

“Just a couple days ago,” the son says, “I’m surprised your girlfriend didn’t tell you. She still works there, right?”

“My girlfr… Alik? No, they’ve been out of town visiting family. Archons, the shitshow they’re going to be coming home to…”

“Wait, she– they’re not your–”

“No, no, I’m… I’m not interested in them like that.”

The son stares at you, and you see the little twitch of his lips. “You know what? That makes sense.”

“The hell are you implying?”

Your father’s voice making his presence beyond your central vision known scares you. You turn and see him glaring at the young man. 

The old man speaks up. “S-Sir, my apologies, my son didn’t mean any–”

“Are you insinuating something about my son, boy?”

You turn and see the son’s horrified expression. “I-It was just a joke, some banter between friends! R-Right?” he asks, looking to you for help.

“Father, calm down,” you tell him, “it’s not a big deal.”

He glares harder at the young man. “You’d like it if you thought my son wasn’t interested in that girl ‘like that,’ wouldn’t you?”

By the Tsaritsa this cannot be happening.

“I swear to you sir, it was a bad joke, I promise you, i-it sounded funnier in my head and–”

“I think it’s best we start going to another business,” your father hisses, “I don’t need you leering at my son.”

Horror floods your system, eyes widening and mouth agape. You feel your father staring holes into you expectantly, waiting for you to announce your disgust and disdain at such implications and storm out. Stuck in place, you see the old man’s face first, and he’s in a state of shock, too caught off by the situation to get angry. Then your eyes land on the young man. You can see he’s also shocked, but more than anything he looks humiliated, scared even. He looks like he’s about to start crying, and the sight switches your absolute horror to absolute rage.

You whip around, teeth bared in anger. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

“What’s my problem?! Ask him!”

You push your father’s chest and he staggers back. You point at the front door. “You already bought your shit so why are you even still in here? Just leave already!”

“And leave you alone with this–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO.”

The shop goes deathly quiet. Your father’s eyes widen, absolutely shocked by your vulgarity, before his eyes narrow again. His jaw clenches, and in the quiet, you can almost hear the creaking of his clenched teeth. He gives one more dirty look to the young man before he stomps off. He makes sure to slam the door on the way out.

Your mother says he’s a good man, there are still just some traditional things he prefers. He’s very supportive of your sisters’ career or schooling choices, and is endlessly proud of his son for meeting a hard working and loving woman. It’s a side of him that doesn’t always come up, but it rears its ugly head when it comes to you, with your love of literature and romance. You’ve never been sure if it’s because your specific career isn’t the most manly of jobs, or if it’s because writing isn’t as impressive to him as becoming a surgeon or a lawyer or taking over the family business. Regardless, you’ve seen and heard some rather ignorant opinions from him. Your mother doesn’t approve of it, but her attempts at discouraging it are little more than a look, or a hand placed gently on the shoulder and a harshly whispered “honey” or “Mikhaïl.” 

Still, what the fuck was that?

You’ve by now memorized how much your purchases will cost. Fuscienne ink ribbons, stack of paper, and some envelopes. You know roughly how much the amount would weigh in your hand, so when you reach into your pouch and pull out a rather hefty handful of golden coins, it’s purposeful.

You pour the mora into the old man’s hand. “T-Take this, I am so, so sorry, I’ve never… I’ve never seen him react like that to anything.”

The old man looks at the mora in his hand. “This… This is too much, I can’t–”

“I don’t care, please take it as an apology on my behalf,” you insist. You step back and meet his son’s eyes. You place your hand on your chest, your face burning with embarrassment. “I-I can’t tell you how fucking horrified I am, and I am so sorry this happened. He’s said stupid shit before but this is new, I-I don’t know what happened but that is not okay.”

The man sniffles. “N-No, I made the joke, I–”

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him, “and, um, if I’m honest, y-your joke wasn’t off the mark, but I…” You shake your head. “You two will always be my go to shop whenever I need supplies, so I truly cannot tell you how awful I feel about this, I’m really sorry.”

The young man forces a smile, and nods, still distressed. His father pats him on the shoulder and gestures to a door behind them. You watch him step away from your things and head through the door, and you can hear the shaky breath he lets out through the closed door.

The man takes over bagging your items, which isn’t much considering you only bought a couple things, but he’s deliberately slow in the process. You wonder why, until he speaks in a soft tone. “So… you’re like my son.”

Picking up on the meaning behind his words, you immediately feel even worse about what just happened, feeling physically nauseous. “I am, if you’re talking about… not having girlfriends.”

He nods. “Not many people know, and not many bring it up,” he says, “this is the first time something like this has happened to him in the store. I… I think he’ll appreciate what you’ve done today when he’s not so shaken up. I know I do.”

You find yourself smiling, but not out of joy. “It’s nothing, really. People are fools, and my father is a court jester. It’s honestly the least I could have done, I feel.”

“Either way, I appreciate it,” he says, and then he hands you your things. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I will be,” you say, “I’m just about sick of his shit anyways, if you’ll pardon my vulgarity, and if I don’t rip into him then my mother will. Again, I am so sorry.”

“You take care now, son.”

You smile and nod, your chest tight with worry and face burning with embarrassment. Not much else is said, but there’s not really a whole lot else to say. You take a deep breath, brace yourself, and step outside.

Your father stops his pacing and immediately goes off when you step outside. “Where the hell do you get off embarrassing me like that?!”

Having lost all patience with him today, you immediately match his tone and energy and yell back. “Oh don’t give me all the credit, you did a fine enough job of that yourself!”

“That boy was out of line!”

“So you started berating him in front of his father? You started insulting him?”

“Do you not understand how inappropriate that joke was?”

“No, enlighten me.”

“He was implying you’re a queer! A queer! Why aren’t you upset about that?!”

There it is again.

You press on. “Why should I be?”

“You know why!”

“What the hell is your problem? Why are you so mad about that?”

“What are people going to say if they think I raised a queer?”

“It can’t be anything worse than what they’re going to say about you going off on an old man and his son for stupid reasons!” You grin angrily at him. “Front page, ‘owner of Kuznetsov Shipping Company verbally abuses shopkeeper's son.’ Like you need the bad press when you’re starting to get your shit back together. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you today?”

“What’s wrong with me? I could ask the same thing to you!” your father spits. “You’re going to defend some… some…!”

“Let’s not say anything too deplorable now,��� you tell him, like a parent talking to a fussy toddler, “you might want to save that for when we get home.”

“This is your fault,” your father growls.

“How is this my fault?”

“Those prissy little fairytales you keep writing,” he answers, “they think you’re a queer.”

“And what… what’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with– son, are you gay?”

“What? No! Besides, I don’t have to be gay to think you’re being an ass, I can still see you, and they can probably hear you spouting hate from the palace.”

“You don’t have a wife, or a girlfriend, you don’t try to find one, and you spend all day reading girly books!”

“Like you’re any better,” you snap, and then immediately regret.

“What was that?”

Fuck. Well, you’re already in it now.

“You are obsessed with Pantalone,” you tell your father, “obsessed with getting on his good side, obsessed with making sure he likes you, your practices, that we don’t embarrass you in front of him, you even hijacked the afternoon tea he invited me and only me to! You want to point fingers and call me gay because I write romance? At least all my books are about men and women! You literally spend every day thinking about how to impress another man.”

You watch your father wind his arm back, but he’s stopped and seized by gloved hands. You step back in surprise, and when he’s pulled back, you can see he’s been grabbed by two guards. It brings you back to the present moment, and reminds you that you aren’t one of two people in the whole world. You look around the snowy street and see people, couples and families and a couple tourists, frozen in their spots on the street just staring at the spectacle. You look up at the shop and see the old man watching you, concerned.

“Unhand me!” your father yells.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to calm down before you do anything stupid,” replies the guard.

A third guard steps out from behind the first tow and approaches you. “What is the meaning of all this yelling?”

“A-Ah…” You look over and spot your dad, no longer resisting, glaring daggers at you. “It’s… a family dispute.” 

“A family dispute?”

“Look, I’m sorry about causing a scene,” you answer, “my father and I had a disagreement, no one got hurt–”

“Because we stopped him from hitting you.”

“I know, I know, just…” You sigh. “I don’t want to press any charges, if there’s a fine for disturbing the peace, we’ll pay it.”

The guard looks to the other two, then to your father. He sighs, then turns back to you. “... Fine. We’re letting you off with a warning.” He looks over at your father and points at you as he addresses him. “You’re only off the hook because of him,” he says, then turns to you, “and you’re still on your feet because we stepped in. Remember this next time you let a family dispute get heated.”

“O-Of course, sir,” you reply.

The guards let your father go, and he gives them a dirty look while he straightens his coat back out. You don’t bother with sticking around, electing to instead turn around and walk down the street of murmuring people. Your father doesn’t bother calling out for you to follow him home, heading in the opposite direction instead.

You keep your gaze forward as you head to a currently unknown destination, just wanting to be anywhere else. Maybe the bakery down the road, something sweet would do a good job washing the bitter taste out of your mouth. 

The Pantalone comment was stupid, you think as you happen to pass the man himself, though your humiliation and wish to not be seen makes you figuratively blind to that fact (as well as literally). He stops when he recognizes who just passed him, half tempted to call out and ask how you’re doing, but refrains. Your body language is obvious and painfully honest, almost to a fault, and he can see you want to vacate the area as soon as possible. When he happens to look the other way, recognizing the silhouette of your father angrily storming in the opposite direction, he sighs.

“So that’s what all that racket was…”

[galaxymagitech]

just an appendage (live to attend him)

For @casscainweek Day 2: Alone | Together

Because Cass totally has Eldest Daughter Syndrome.

Summary: Cass knows she’s supposed to be happy. But being the emotional pillar of her family and shoving herself into whatever role they need is killing her. (Cass is nineteen too. People forget that, sometimes. But she’s nineteen, and if Cass were someone else, it would matter.)

Characters: Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown

Warnings: Blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to canonical sexual assault, messed-up family dynamics that might be considered emotional abuse

You can read it here or on AO3!

Cass knows she’s supposed to be happy. She’s living in a big house with her big family all together. Everyone is getting along. Her world is overflowing with love. Cass knows she’s supposed to be happy, but she just feels alone.

Cass is Batman’s daughter, but Bruce doesn’t need a daughter. He needs someone to remind him that he is human, that the family is human too. Bruce likes to push people away. Cass can’t let him. If Bruce pushes people away, he will fall, and the Bat will fall with him. And Cass’s family will fall with the Bat. Cass sees what his body is showing and what her family’s bodies are showing. The emotional chasm that words just can’t cross. And then, Cass becomes a bridge. If she must lie down so others can cross along her back, she will do it.

Damian will only cry in front of her—no one else. If Cass weren’t so insecure, she would feel honored. Trusted. Instead, she feels like she doesn’t count as a person. But Damian needs to cry sometimes. It’s good for him, Dick says. So, Cass wraps her arms around her little brother and tugs him close and does not speak. Cass is good at not speaking.

And Damian misses his mother. He can’t just go to Selina, and Bruce is Father, not Mother, which is not the same. So, if Damian whispers Ummi into her chest sometimes, Cass doesn’t say a word.

But Cass can’t be Damian’s mother. She’s just a placeholder. A doll with a comforting shape and arms to hold him. Cass knows she is helping. Cass knows she should be happy.

It still hurts.

Duke likes someone to play pranks with him. He always has an idea. Cass is always willing to help. When Duke is fake-smiling, Cass touches him gently on the shoulder and asks him “How are you?” and he tells her whatever is wrong. And Cass tells him how he’s feeling, which he often doesn’t know, because people are like that. Sometimes Duke argues, but he always agrees with Cass in the end, because she’s always right. She doesn’t like being always right.

Duke never asks how Cass is feeling. It’s not out of a lack of care. Duke cares. Duke cares so much. Duke loves Cass, and she basks in it, the fact that her brother loves her with the warmth of the sun. But Cass can read him: He always thinks Cass is fine, and Cass doesn’t know why.

Tim needs someone to remind him what his body is telling him. He ignores his body when it says he is hungry or thirsty or tired. So, Cass finds Tim and tells him on his body’s behalf. Her silly little brother, who needs reminders of when to eat.

Tim gets nightmares, sometimes. Now that Cass sleeps just down the hall from him, she can hear it when he cries out. So, she slips into his room and curls up next to him and watches as his breathing evens out. On nights when he doesn’t get calmer, he jolts awake, eyes like a rabbit, body tense with fear. “You’re here,” Cass tells him. “You’re home. You’re safe.”

Occasionally, Tim asks, “You got there, right? You got there in time?”

And Cass says, “Yes,” and wonders if someone would get there in time for her.

Tim isn’t the only one with nightmares. Cass splits comforting duty with Bruce and, when he’s at Pennyworth Manor, Dick. But when Cass has nightmares, she doesn’t make any noise at all. In all of her worst dreams, she’s silent, and she wakes up alone.

Dick tries to take care of everyone too. Cass looks at him and sees. She doesn’t know how to tell him she understands. But when Dick and Barbara fight, Cass is the one who picks up the pieces on both sides. Hand on shoulder. Tub of ice cream for Barbara. Takeout for Dick. Listening to the problems from both sides. Fixing them, because if Cass doesn’t fix them, who else will?

Dick thanks Cass, for taking some of the burden. For helping their little brothers. Cass smiles.

It’s not a real smile. Dick doesn’t notice.

Steph likes to talk. Cass sits across from her and they paint their nails. Steph likes to pause to let Cass say something. It’s nice. Cass’s brothers talk fast, and by the time she has gotten her mouth to say words, the conversation has already moved on. But Steph talks about college and boys and summer jobs, and Cass doesn’t really understand at all. So, she doesn’t have much to say.

Steph asks Cass about her problems. Cass is tired. Her head is aching with all the effort of putting the words in and spinning them around and putting the meanings out. She wants the words gone. She wants to rest. But over the last hour, Cass has watched as Steph’s shoulders relaxed, as her body grew calm. Steph needs this. So there is nothing, really, that Cass can say.

Cass doesn’t like Jason much, but she loves him. She loves everyone, but her family especially, and Jason is family. Cass tells Jason when he is being silly. He swings, emotions jerking around in a way that sometimes terrifies her. When he is too focused, too obsessed, Cass draws him back. When he is needs Bruce’s love, Cass assures him it is there. When he thinks everyone hates him, Cass reminds him that it isn’t true.

Jason also needs someone to call him Little Brother and remind him that he’s still young. He is nineteen and has a trail of bodies that makes Cass sick, but he is her brother all the same. She adds the little on because, despite his protest, it makes him feel safe.

Cass is nineteen too. People forget that, sometimes. But she’s nineteen, and if Cass were someone else, it would matter.

She thinks she wants a doll that she doesn’t have to cut with weapons. She thinks she wants a friend she doesn’t have to save. She thinks she wants to try dating a girl, but the thought is also terrifying. Because everyone she loves, she has to help, and it’s weighing on her shoulders and tugging her heart in a thousand different directions until it strains and rips and explodes. Cass takes care of a family; she can’t take care of a girlfriend too. But she wishes she could try it anyway.

It's a normal day, with a normal fight. Cass is at the dinner table with her family. Jason and Bruce are arguing, loud, loud, loud. They don’t understand each other. Cass understands them. If they keep fighting, Jason will storm off and go do something reckless. Bruce will brood and be upset. And Tim will be upset too, because when Jason isn’t there, Bruce looks at Tim with some of his Jason-love even though Tim needs Tim-love.

“Stop!” Cass shouts. Bruce and Jason fall silent. All eyes turn to Cass, who points at Jason. She has done this too many times. “You’re scared,” she says. It’s obvious, but Bruce never sees it. “You think he doesn’t want you.”

“No, I’m not,” Jason lies.

“And you!” Cass points at Bruce. No one tells her it’s rude to point. She wishes they would. “Scared too. Of yourself.”

Bruce looks down at his plate but doesn’t bother lying. He can’t lie to Cass, and he knows it.

Jason deflates. “I already forgave you, old man,” he says.

Cass leans down to Bruce’s ear, graceful as a dancer, and whispers, “Tell him. You love him. Tell him.”

“I love you,” Bruce says.

Jason looks away. Tim smiles. Bruce dares to smile too. The argument ends, and the family eats.

“Thanks, Cass,” Duke says. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Cass thinks about the times she has convinced Bruce to get backup. The times she has persuaded Damian not to go off on his own. The times she has held her family members close to keep them from fighting recklessly in their grief or anger or fear. “Die,” Cass says solemnly.

Her family laughs like it’s a joke.

[beyonsatan]

We need to discuss sex in astrology girlies (will be debunking a few things and will also mention r*pe) 🤒

So let’s first go over what Mars and Venus rule in modern astrology

Venus - relationships, Art, beauty

Mars - sex, aggression, war, passion

Now let’s take a look at what significations these two planets have in Hellenistic astrology which is based in ancient cultures and spiritualities like Indian, Greek and middle eastern thousands of years ago before any social constructs were even able to plague our society

Venus - Marriage, Gold, jewelry, Sex, Pregnancy and love of children, pleasure seeking, intimacy, fun, art, wealth, good fortune, socializing, sweets. gets meaning from the 5th house

Mars - Conquest, Enemies, Separation, Abuse Celibacy, Action, War, danger, Injuries, Death, Sickness, Slaves, labor, evil play, hatred, bad fortune. Gets meaning from the 6th house

Now here’s some background as followed….

Modern astrology was invented in the 1900’s so themes of Christianity and Patriarchy had every opportunity before then to instill some of its values into the practice. the REASON why modern astrology keeps associating mars and Scorpio with sex is because Scorpio rules over the genitals but it only rules over the genitals and not sex at all in traditional astrology. We keep associating the planet of conquest that is mars with sex because we have been taught by a patriarchal and puritanical society to view sex as something that should only be done in secret, is hidden and/or otherwise taboo. When you associate the planet of “conquest” mars that is malefic dominant, wrong-doing, unethical, consumes wastefully and against the good will of others with intercourse, sex then sounds like something that’s exploitative and nonconsensual. Let’s imagine mars did rule sex which it objectively does not, rape would then be a huge theme of that. Mars in general does rule assault but there is nothing amorous and consenting about the red planet. You’re probably thinking to yourself “well patriarchy is at minimum 6000 years old” and you’re absolutely right, patriarchal values are really old but many ancient and indigenous societies had faiths and beliefs that transcended these values and this is what ancient astrology draws from.

I often talk with scorpios and mars ruled people who become frustrated every time at the thought of them being hypersexualized because of their sign and just overall not feeling like a sexual person at all so hopefully this brought some confirmation to any of you mars ruled or dominant people out there.

Hope this helps xx

[sunflower1experiment]

“He won’t try any bullshit with me”

Tw// Harm, Assault, trauma, workplace abuse

“….Curly are you stupid?” Curly blinks at the words that left [Name]’s lips, “Excuse me?”

“Exactly, see how dumb I sound asking and acting casual with my own Captain. If Jimmy is willing to make crude sex jokes towards Anya but not with you what does that tell me?” He looks away, they were right but what does that have to do with Anya.

[Name] snaps their finger at him, “He sees you as someone to emotionally respect meanwhile us who’re vulnerable, the minority are stuck with that dumb ah behavior! We are not his friends we are coworkers and so are you.” With that they left, walking past Anya who was listening intently.

“Don’t let their words hurt you too much, they just can’t stand it when…well people excuse others. Their heart is probably racing and they feel guilt…you okay?” Anya pats Curly’s arm, knowing that Curly was sensitive about the crew’s happiness and health.

“They will come around but, at this moment their trust with you is tense.”

Anya was right, they truly despised Jimmy since that crude joke. Anya occasionally shut them down with her firm glance but [Name] never let Jimmy near Anya. Heck anytime he called they’d appear to help, it made Curly worry. So the night they went to bed, he called them to his side at the common area.

“[Name], I get it, you want Anya to be safe-“

“Anya can take care of herself, I want all of us to be safe. I don’t want to lose my mental sleep because some golden boy and his little boy toy want to cover for one another.” [Name] leans back in their gown, staring up at the screen.

“…….You and him are typical, typical creepy guy. Oh so insecure always needing his successful pal to save him, meanwhile he screws the guy over….I wonder how many times did he fail on earth before coming here? Eh? Captain?” Curly stares, silent, they got him. He knows it, he has to take responsibility somehow.

“….Sorry, I-I didn’t know you hated Jimmy-“

[Name] groans, their eyes roll and they were exasperated. “I don’t hate him, I’m just not going to take another day of some bastard who sees me and Anya as nothing more than that damned Polle statue, make no mistake Curly. He won’t try any bull with you until he has the upper hand then once that high power stroke is over he’ll crawl back to you.”

They walk out, heading to their sleeping quarters.

Why, why was their paranoia right? What was the reason?

They stared at Curly then at Jimmy’s broken leg, “…..I told you Curly.”

Curly’s cold blue eyes match their energy while Jimmy laid on the floor, scared, crying over his leg. “Shut up! You want to cry? Think about how much pain she was in…”

Their heart beat was practically hitting their eardrums, “Every day you wander this place thinking you’re in charge? What because you’re a co pilot…”

[Name] steps on the gunshot wound, staring Jimmy dead in the eyes. “…..You’re lucky Curly needs a co pilot..”

It went quiet, until Curly restrained the crewmate and he had them sent to their sleeping quarters. Where they remain for the time being, it was quiet.

Anya was pregnant, that made them snap. They’ve heard horror stories, lost friends, family even. To people who hurt them and then killed them for situations involving kids, as if it were their fault….Jimmy knew that it was his fault but only wanted her to carry the blame…

So they scuffled over the gun, Jimmy lost his balance and they pulled the trigger on his leg. Anya stared in horror, she felt horrible, because of what happened.

[Name] didn’t realize how this would have affected her, all they wanted was revenge for Anya….it’s not about them…in a way they acted like Jimmy….what would Anya have wanted?

Anya hugs [Name], “I’m sorry Anya…”

“No, its not your fault, its his and Pony Express…why are you crying?”

[Name] sniffles, “He would’ve killed you, and I never considered your feelings…I was just so angry at Curly and him…” they hug for a long time.

When they were left alone Curly came in to speak, “….Jimmy is fine, can still fly but he’ll have to be carried slightly or use crutches…” It goes quiet, “….if he had the chance you’d be next to deal with his abuse…”

The thought of his old pal hurting him…it scared him but he kept defending and even told Anya he knew him…what kind of person says that to someone who’s traumatized. Curly truly didn’t have anything else to say. While [Name] remains stoic, “…..Heh Pony Express will dock our pay…tragic huh? Our pay will get docked because these damned fools practically set us up for an abusive…work space..”

[Name] slides to the floor, “Then again, being laid off especially after all this. I’d rather just spend time in jail and watch Jimmy follow suite with Pony Express..”

“[Name] you don’t mean that-“

They cut hum off with a cold glare, it was the fact that they did mean it. They wanted to face the consequences, take responsibility for the harm they caused. [Name] remains in their room, occasionally going out to help Jimmy or co pilot with Curly. The occasional simple conversation between the two, overlaps the fear [Name] had “…..It’s tragic ain’t it. Going to jail, especially with how I am…or maybe Pony Express will force us to do an NDA….”

Curly looks at them, while they glance at him. “Captain…did you plan to help Jimmy?”

“No! I just- I wanted to fix everything but-“

[Name] sighs, “You’re only human, I can only blame you for your naivety and incapability towards handling it like a captain under stress…but then again, if Jimmy weren’t your friend would you have. Say I don’t know….” Curly felt hurt at those words, did they truly not deem him worthy?

“It’s not that I find you incapable of being captain. It’s just, how you let him verbally abuse…you…what was he like outside of Pony Express?” It was quiet, and the two went back to being quiet. “….I’m sorry. You aren’t perfect or bad, but you’re not good either…this is Jimmy’s and Pony Express’s fault..”

Curly holds his co worker’s hand and they share a semblance together, some hours later that they walked out and note Jimmy’s incapacitated state. “What? You both here to mock me?”

Curly sighs, “….I assumed you were misunderstood and going through a lot…” Jimmy remains quiet. “[Name] will face their time in solitary confinement but you. You have to take responsibility…”

He helps Jimmy to his bedroom from the medbay, “Whether you like it or not.”

Pony Express shut down. But ended up getting sued for abusive behavior and conduct for the work space of its employees. Jimmy was arrested and sentenced, while [Name] they were deemed unfit to be working with others for the time being. So they were sentenced to probation, Curly used that opportunity to have them stay at his home until things got better.

Anya, while the unborn baby was miscarried, due to stress and the lack of food nutrients for her. She chose to try and get back into the medical field, [Name] helped using their money from Pony Express including money they saved over the years. Daisuke after he found out used this opportunity to help Anya and asked his mother for help as well, Swansea while he was gruff and strict.

It was obvious he cared for their safety and while he did go on low contact with them after the trip for his retirement vacation, he made sure to support the two. Once he returned though, it was sort of emotional, Daisuke had became a mechanic and enjoyed his passion as an artist. Curly oddly enough was working with [Name] on his next job coverage, “You like skiing, why not just work at some snow resort…or you could try, not sure get a job as a manager at some deliverance company…”

“Yea right.” Curly chuckles, “The snow resort works…”

He types in a resume. Making sure to include his portfolio, “You plan on getting a job?”

“They plan to put “Shot coworker” as my background check so, not sure…I did plan on working at a library or a garden center…”

He clears his throat when Anya walks in and kisses [Name] on the cheek, “You’ll figure it out. We know the truth, if you ever need help just recommend us.”

Hearing that reassurance was enough to convince them to work on it, meanwhile this ankle monitor was not flattering. “….Jeez…how many more months?”

“About four? You did say it was self defense but ya know how the system is, also Daisuke and Swansea are coming over.” [Name] groans while leaning on Anya’s chest.

“Man…our throuple coupling is going to confuse them.”

“Well not really, you and Anya are together and I’m the boyfriend kind of guy who’s friends with Anya and dating you- why are you staring?” Their side eyeing makes Anya chuckle, indeed they were living together. But jeez is Curly’s jokes terrible.

Didn’t stop the soon to be doctor from laughing, meanwhile Daisuke busts in with Swansea behind him. “Hello everyone! Your favorite mechanic is here!”

“Yea yea, shut it and get inside. I don’t know how Curly can handle such cold areas!” Swansea walks in with some cans of Arizana tea, “Got us some tea.” When he set them down, [Name] and Daisuke grabbed a can then drank them immediately.

“Alright so how’s med school?”

Anya beams at Daisuke’s question, “So I’ve been studying the human anatomy and also got in trouble for questioning my instructor, which it made sense. They were talking about how some people have higher pain tolerance which just simply isn’t possible for one group. It’s a rare occurrence and medical condition that will kill someone.”

[Name] leans on their companion, “Ah my beautiful doctor is so smart….” They chuckle when Anya pushes their face to the side. “And to make things better, I have straight As in my class. Just gotta watch [Name] they won’t stop eating sweet cereal.”

“Those peanut butter Crunxhes are good.” Giving them a playful eye roll, the three converse while Curly and Swansea exchange some words. “So, any updates?”

Curly shakes his head, “He just….sorta pleaded guilty. His final words to me was that he would’ve taken care of it…I…he was delusional, I was too blind to see…” Swansea places a hand on his shoulder.

“Curly the best ya could do was listen and acknowledge. It’s a good thing you had [Name], otherwise who knows what would’ve happened.”

Curly thinks back to his last conversation with Jimmy.

“Guess you got what you wanted huh? Leaving me behind, climbing up that ladder of yours?” It was quiet between the two so called friends.

“Curly…I’m sorry, I never meant-“

“Sorry for what….”

“For what I did, I’m taking responsibility.” Curly stares at him with a cold glare, “Taking responsibility for what?”

It goes quiet again. Then Jimmy starts to question him, “Can’t a guy apologize without you questioning his apology? I said sorry-“

“Thats the thing Jimmy. You’re not really sorry, because if you were you would’ve said why. It was easy to admit to it in court because to you it relieves you of having to actually apologize to Anya…doesn’t it? Heh, I just know if [Name] weren’t around we’d all be dead because of you…tragic how all it takes was for another person, and the loss of Anya’s autonomy, to make me understand how terrible you are…I’m a terrible Captain. But that doesn’t matter to you, as long as you get some form of authority over someone right?”

Curly stands, “You’re a mess, and I’m not cleaning you up…”

With that he left, leaving Jimmy alone to his own accord.

—

[Name] nudges Curly, their hand rests on him. “You okay?”

He lets [Name] lay on his shoulder while he sighs tiredly, “I’m tired…and a fool..”

“You’re just…imperfect Curly, I’d feel safe with you in terms of happiness and joy but it’d take time to rekindle the safety of support. But I thank you for helping Anya and I out…” Curly presses his head on theirs, they stay still before hugging comfortably.

“I’ll go to the guest room, Anya probably needs her companion during smash bros against Daisuke and Swansea.” [Name] waves while Curly shakes his head, “Agreed, I’ll just be alone…..and watching Kdramas.”

“…….Me and the crew will be out in two.”

That night they watched Kdramas with Daisuke and Swansea.

[shadowqueenjude]

“Bitch” wow! I don’t see the reason for getting so heated over these characters. They don’t actually exist you know? You’re not defending anyone’s honour or being some saint here. I didn’t mean anything in a bad way, I was trying to have a rational conversation because I’ve never come across an IC hater and wanted to know why you didn’t like them. But obviously having a rational conversation is out of your zone of abilities since it didn’t take a lot for you to get down to name calling. My only suggestion to you because I truly wish the best for you is control that anger and learn to listen to other people before someone shows you your place. It won’t be nice. Good luck bbg 💜💜

You're the one coming in anon and shitting on characters that I like. What did you expect??? I'm going to defend my characters, obviously. You want my dissertation on why I hate each member of the Inner Circle? Let's start with captain asshole Rhysand: Rhysand: Sexually assaulted Feyre, did not apologize, licked Amarantha's boots for fifty years to "protect" no one since he only rules 1/3 of his court. He claims to be uber powerful yet he can't control misogyny within 2/3 of his court. But it's totally fine to go into Tarquin's house, steal an important possession, then act superior later when his wife's antics in Spring caused Summer to be invaded. Pretends to give his wife a "choice" while not giving her crucial information, i.e. that he wouldn't be helping her out with the Weaver at all. Locked Lucien in a house, made rape jokes about his mother, altogether treated him like shit for no reason. Then the Inner Circle acts all shocked and furious that their "masks" as "bad guys" fooled everyone and act violent towards literally everyone not Inner Circle there. Rhysand forcibly shut Tamlin's mouth, Feyre burned Lucien and Eris's innocent mother, Azriel nearly choked Eris to death. Ironically, Cassian acted the most sane here. After Tamlin saved Feyre and Rhysand's lives multiple times, Rhysand has the gall to tell Tamlin to kill himself despite knowing they'll need him as an ally, which is a terrible thing to do and also made Lucien's life harder. ACOSF he locks Nesta in a house and hides the malignant nature of his wife's pregnancy from her. That's just the gist of it. Cassian: Rhysand's dog. He need to grow a fucking spine. He never defends Nesta in front of Rhysand, and constantly abuses her physically and mentally. Won't let her eat sugar, forces her to train, tells her everyone hates her, makes her hike a fucking mountain for having the nerve to disobey rhysand and tell feyre the truth she deserved to hear. Then again in HOFAS not defending Nesta in front of Rhysand when he was screaming at her for giving away the trove and telling her she should've killed Bryce instead. THAT. IS. YOUR. MATE. He treats all the women in his life better than her, like mor and feyre. Azriel: A fucking weirdo violent creep. He needs to man tf up and admit Lucien is the superior man. His creeping on Mor for 500 years when she's clearly not interested is not cute. Nor is choking Eris to death in an important political meeting. Nor is treating Elain like a helpless object and masturbating to a gag gift he gave her. I'lL dEfEaT hIm WiTh LiTtLe EfFoRt boi stfu no you can't and Lucien has done NOTHING to you. I have absolutely ZERO respect for a character who treats the nicest guy in the series like that. Elain is not a child to be fought over. He's so pathetically jealous that Lucien is a good dude and has a mate and is better than him at everything. He needs to admit his homoerotic desire for Lucien and get it over with. Or let Eris humble him. Either way. Mor: the biggest hypocrite of all time. I aM a DrEaMeR aNd I gOt OuT so did it ever occur to you that maybe you're not the only dreamer? You're not even going to try to save good people stuck under the Court of Nightmares or ask your High Lord to? You just write them off because you're the only good one? And you want to throw Nesta into the court of nightmares? You don't do shit when Cassian is harassing Nesta? You're a bitch and not a girl's girl at all. If there's ANYTHING women should be united on, it's creepy dudes. ESPECIALLY if one of them is your best friend. Amren: this bitch should've stayed dead after ACOWAR. How dare she talk to Nesta the way she did in ACOSF? She KNEW how much Nesta was hurting and she did it anyway. She's over 15 thousand years old. What a bitch. They're all part of an elitist establishment and the epitome of modern politics that needs to be destroyed. Oh, I'm sorry? Should I apologize for saying "bitch" when you're the one coming in hot on my anons? How about you get a life besides harassing people who disagree with you first?

[lajulie24]

My Favorite Books of 2024

I read far fewer books than I’d intended this year (read a lot more short-form articles and a good bit of fanfiction, some of which I’ll rec elsewhere), but since @hondagirll was kind enough to tag me in their year-end book roundup, I thought it would be fun to share my top five!

Rebel Girl: My Life as a Feminist Punk by Kathleen Hanna

I got inspired to read this after seeing Bikini Kill live for the first time ever, and it was fantastic and inspirational, if a bit harrowing in several places. (Content warning for sexual assault, child abuse, domestic violence.) Hearing Kathleen talk about the creative process, how starting a band evolved from her work in creating art and spoken word performance, how things like The Julie Ruin came about, really made me want to write some zines and maybe start a band and just plain make some art.

Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle

I’ve never been particularly big on horror as a genre, but I’d heard so many good things about @drchucktingle’s novel that I had to check it out. Incredible, multifaceted characters (particularly the protagonist, through whom we discover the central mystery of the book and who fights so hard to be herself as she is rediscovering who that is), gripping action, and horror that is both fantastical and uncomfortably close to reality.

Leslie F*cking Jones by Leslie Jones

Another autobiography, this one of comedian, actor, and one of the most talented people from Saturday Night Live, Leslie Jones. Leslie is one of the most gifted, vivid storytellers I’ve ever heard, and the benefit of the audiobook is that she a) reads it and b) does a fair number of asides as she’s reading where I’m fairly certain we got way more stories than are in the printed version of the book. Plus there really is nothing like hearing these stories in her voice. You know it’s going to be hilarious, because she’s so talented as a comedian, and you know this is likely going to have some emotional moments (as this is an autobiography), but there’s something about the way she gifts us with her vulnerability, her reflections, and her perspectives (particularly on being a Black woman in an industry and a country rife with racism and sexism) that makes it so much more than the sum of its parts.

Star Wars: X-Wing #5: Wraith Squadron by Aaron Allston

This was a reread of a Star Wars EU novel I’ve loved for a long time and often recommend to folks who are trying to write Star Wars fic, especially those wanting to write characters like Wes Janson and Wedge Antilles. This is the first in the Wraith Squadron series, where Wedge Antilles builds a new combination X-wing squadron/ commando unit, using pilots who have special skills but were misfits on the verge of washing out of the New Republic navy. The way Allston combines action sequences and missions with humor and genuine character moments for each of the squadron members is amazing and a great lesson in how to build a compelling Star Wars story.

Radiant Rebellion: Reclaim Aging, Practice Joy, and Raise a Little Hell by Karen Walrond

This isn’t quite a self-help book, and isn’t quite an autobiography, but a little of both with some interesting perspectives on aging and on the barriers ageism often poses as we move through life. As her child prepares to leave for college, Walrond explores to what extent her issue is about getting older or if it’s just about having lost her “spark”, why we associate vitality and beauty with youth in mainstream American culture, and how we can think about reframing aging personally and structurally as well as think differently about the next adventures in our lives.

Who else would like to share your top five (or top two, or one) reads from 2024? Consider yourself tagged! And if you’re looking to read any of these, I highly recommend bookshop.org for book purchases and Libby/your local library for loans. (The only one I bought was Wraith Squadron, and that one I picked up from my local independent comic book store.)

[obsessedtomone]

Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 14 - Sleepover▸Shigaraki x femReader

Chapter Summary:

◤ “Yeah?” You can’t help but fidget anxiously with the material of your sleeve.

“No goodbye kiss?” Shigaraki smirks, closing the distance.

You immediately scowl. “Don’t be gross.” 

He still grabs your chin and you try to pull away, but he uses his other hand to cup the side of your head, fingertips running through the roots of your hair and holding you in place for him. 

Bastard really did think this was a date, after all.

Fuck’s sake. ◢ Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Very Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ??? Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Past Child Abuse, Bullying, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning.

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three • Four • Five • Six • Seven • Eight • Nine • Ten(ko) • Eleven • Twelve • Thirteen • Fourteen • Fifteen

Chapter 14 - Sleepover

He drums his fingers against the metal surface of the table and decides to get up.

You remain seated.

“No? The fuck you mean ‘we’re going back to your place’?” you mock him, doing obnoxious air quotation marks with your fingers as you feel your blood pressure rapidly increasing.

Shigaraki glares at you in return, scratching at his neck for the third time today.

“You’re coming to my place and you’re staying over,” he mumbles, as if him repeating the same string of delusional words would make it any more understandable to you.

“I’m—huh? What?!” You slowly get out of your chair, grabbing your phone from the table, then carefully back away from him.

“Why are you acting all stupid again? I don’t fucking understand.” He frowns and you notice his fist clenching and unclenching at his side, while the other is gripping the material of his jacket tightly.

Is he being for real right now?

“Oh, you don’t understand? Okay. Let me paint a pretty picture for you, Shigaraki.” You cross your arms defensively. “I spent the entire fucking week following you around and absolutely humiliating myself in front of the whole university—again. I’m not about to fucking go sleep in your bed like we’re a couple of besties or—God forbid like a—” You gag, unable to speak the thought out loud.

Shigaraki, who looks absolutely bewildered that you would still dare, begins shaking. The scratching on his neck intensifies.

“How many times do I have to drill into your thick—fucking—skull, that you do whatever the fuck I tell you to? Why do you force me to have to rip you apart so you’ll listen?!” Shigaraki growls, getting so close, he now toweres over you before continuing, “I’ve been nothing but fucking nice to you today.” 

You glance at the other clients and at the worried employees nervously, swiftly deciding that you’ll definitely never fucking show up to eat here ever again.

Anxiously, your gaze falls back on him. His brows are scrunched and his lips pull back. You watch him as he takes a reaaaally deep breath and closes his eyes in contemplation. 

When he opens them again, he’s a completely different person.

“Okay,” he says flatly, relaxing back into his usual bored look, shoulders dropping together with the hand that was assaulting his neck.

“Oookay?” You raise a brow, clutching your belongings tightly, still wary of a potential violent outburst and hoping he has some decency not to strike your face in front of other people.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll drive you home.” 

He shoots an arm out to grab his keys from the table impatiently and you flinch, only remembering the burn of your cheek after he hit you at the party. 

His eyes narrow, but he doesn't comment otherwise, taking his jacket off the backrest and shoving it in your face, after which he grabs you by your wrist and drags you out of the establishment.

─────────

The drive home is really quiet, save for the occasional drumming of his fingers against his wheel and your anxiety fueled careful-breathing. You’re clutching your school bag close to your chest. The jacket he made you wear feels heavy on your shoulders.

Was that it or is he plotting to do something fucked again? 

You look outside the window and try to calm yourself down, while watching the evening scenery quickly pass by. It’s so dark already. Winter makes everything seem so bleak. It feels detached but comforting, in a way.

Like he’s your charon, taking you on your final trip to hell.

When he pulls up in front of your street, you mumble a quick ‘thanks’, throw his jacket on the seat and hurry the fuck up to get out and leave. To your dissatisfaction, you hear his side of the door open as well. 

You sigh, turning back to him with a look. 

“Yeah?” You can’t help but fidget anxiously with the material of your sleeve.

“No goodbye kiss?” Shigaraki smirks, closing the distance.

You immediately scowl. “Don’t be gross.” 

He still grabs your chin and you try to pull away, but he uses his other hand to cup the side of your head, fingertips running through the roots of your hair and holding you in place for him. 

Bastard really did think this was a date, after all.

Fuck’s sake.

“Do not kiss me.” Your eyes dart away from his face.

“Why not? I know you wanted it too. At the party. Before the party.” He brushes your lip with his thumb and you stare at him. “C’mon. Just once,” he lies to you, the rasp in his voice hauntingly soft. “I’ve been so nice…”

“Stockholm syndrome victims also end up wanting to fuck their captors. We both know I’m extremely messed up, so what? I said no.” 

His breath hitches.

“You wanna fuck me?” His tongue flicks over his dry lower lip and the glint of mischief in his eyes is rendering you momentarily speechless. Of course he’d focus on the wrong fucking thing.

“Y-You fucking know what I meant,” you only manage to whisper, when he bends down and nuzzles the side of your face, making your skin prickle and your breath stutter. You’re currently unable to decide which one you hated more—his anger and control issues or you finding him disgustingly attractive.

“Do I?” Shigaraki rasps against your ear, forcing a shudder out of you. “See? Give yourself to me. I’ll be so fucking good to you. Reward me.”

Half of his face is being cast into a soft shadow from the glow of a yellow street lamp nearby. It makes your heart race.

You need to put an end to this, before you fall into his trap any further. You need to remember where you stand, because—

“I-It’s not like I’m in any position to refuse you. Right?”

"Don't spin it like that." Shigaraki pulls back and frowns.

"Then how should I spin it? I say no and you still do what you want. How's this time any different?"

He looks away with a pout—a pout?!—and grumbles, "It's more fun when you're into it."

Your jaw drops. Is he seriously sulking right now? 

You close your eyes and take a moment to compose yourself, before your fuse blows up in his face and he gets mad again.

How do you get yourself out of this? 

Should you lie? Promise him another time? Do you give in, fall back into bad habits and go through another spiel of pleasing him like he’s your new owner? 

That’s what he is, isn't he? Just your owner. He doesn’t miss a beat reminding you every chance he gets. He wants you and he gives no damn about how you feel, despite pretending to care today.

Shigaraki is training you like a dog, meaning it’s only a matter of time until you act out and he loses his patience, making this thinly veiled security go up in flames.

Your chest tightens and you feel tears threatening to spill, but you force that feeling back, back, back, until it’s all the way up on your tower of sorrows.

When you open your eyes and look into his red ones, you see possible conflict painted on his face. 

You place your hands firmly against his chest and shake your head. 

“Goodnight, Shigaraki.”

He reluctantly lets you go, gaze half lidded and not saying anything, surprisingly unphased by your rejection.

Unphased, because three minutes into your walk towards the entrance of your building, you realize the asshole wouldn’t stop following you.

You seethe through gritted teeth, stomping your way home. “Any chance I’ve miraculously shifted timelines, and you’re only being a gentleman who’ll be fucking off the moment I get inside?” 

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable,” you growl and he shrugs despite your back being turned to him. “We are not fucking tonight. Is that clear?” 

“Does that mean we’re fucking another time?” You heard him snicker a few steps behind you.

“No! It fucking means—It means that you stalking me all the way to my home and forcing your way into staying over will not result in getting your dick wet, now or ever. Fucking asshole!” You wipe away at your welling tears of frustration. 

He’s so incredibly overwhelming, you just needed a break. One fucking weekend! 

Is it too much to fucking ask for?!

Shigaraki doesn’t reply, opting to just silently trudge behind you, hands in the pockets of his pants as you unlock the door to your building. 

He glances at you holding the door open, urging him to fucking hurry when you see him take his phone out and typing something before following you in.

“Gonna shower,” you announce resignedly, dropping your school bag right at the entrance, throwing your shoes haphazardly on the floor.

He watches you for a second and proceeds to literally copy you.

“Can I watch?”

“For free? No way.” 

You pull the sweater over your head and take off your pants, completely ignoring him as you leave your usual trail of clothes on the way to your bedroom, still having the decency of keeping your underwear on. It feels chilly in your apartment too, so you hurry on.

Tomura froze on your doorstep, swallowing hard, deep red eyes following your form. 

Why the fuck are you casually undressing in front of him like this, right after telling him off multiple times earlier? Were you teasing him on purpose or are you seriously that much of a fucking bimbo?

He hears your bedroom door creak open and snaps out of it, eagerly following behind you, kicking piles of random things out of his way.

“Does that mean you’d let me if I pay for it?” he asks, trying to play into your joke. His voice trembles, despite him trying to act natural. 

He knows you despise the idea of him forcing himself on you—fucking obviously—and he also hasn’t made any real moves to force you more than he had to.

But this? 

This was utterly unprompted. He wasn’t prepared for this. He didn’t expect this.

Did you not know he wasn’t completely beyond the idea of branding you to him and making you into a trembling mess—his trembling mess—with or without your ‘consent’? Did you forget who he was?

Did you?

Tomura has to even his breaths out and reframe your casual openness as a sign of progress, instead of another opportunity for him to use you. It’s admittedly a really hard thing to do, but you look none the wiser. 

“Depends. Got a million dollars to spare?” You turn and give him a sly smile—one that had his breath get fucking caught in his throat, but it falls when you see his owlish eyes locked-in on your body, making you flustered instead. “If you keep fucking staring at my tits like that, I’ll need a down payment.”

How could he fucking forget? He’s seen them so many times before.

All the times he fucked himself into his fist after he’s gotten his hands on your sex tapes, imagining it was him pounding into you, humiliating you, hurting you, and not your lowlife of an ex. 

But that was… before he learned he liked you.

There’s no lust clouding his red eyes anymore, so he proceeds to ask the question you’ve always dreaded to answer:

“Why—What happened for you to…The scars. Why do you have so many?” he says in a low, gravelly tone and frowns. 

You can’t help but roll your eyes, turning to open the drawer that has your clean towels.

“What about you then?” You grab one, closing the drawer and opening the door to your wardrobe. “Why do you have yours?” 

When you’re done taking the clothes you need, you turn back to face him. He looks tense and doesn’t reply to your question.

You huff. “Figures.”

Shigaraki clicks his tongue in disapproval and hesitantly steps forward, but you immediately put a hand in front of you, creating an invisible border between the two of you. 

“Don’t. We are not doing this right now.”

It works, because he stops dead in his tracks like a deer in headlights, and for once this week, he watches you walk around him without doing anything about it.

“You can shower after me!” you yell from the bathroom, dropping your underwear on the rest of the dirty pile on the floor and making a mental note to move them before he comes in, lest he gets the bright idea of stealing a pair.

But Tomura was glued to where you’d left him for a good while, staring off into the distance.

When you re-enter your room, he’s sprawled on top of your comforter. 

You use the towel in your hands to properly dry your hair, eyeing him suspiciously and hoping that whatever weird vibe was going on earlier would have vanished by now.

Shigaraki opens his eyes and watches you silently as you go about your routine, making you feel weird for thinking that he almost looked content just doing that. 

He’d apparently discarded his black hoodie sometime during your shower, tossing it on the other end of your bed and leaving him in a pair of dark jeans and an ancient Slipknot t-shirt, chest raising and falling, lips slightly parted open.

“Please, tell me you didn’t jerk off on my bed while I was gone,” you break the ice and a lopsided smile finally graces his lips.

“Nah, I think I’d rather have you do that for me instead.” Shigaraki slides up his elbows and continues to observe you. 

“Gross.” You turn around to hide your embarrassment and he shrugs. 

How is he always able to say shit like that so confidently? Is this guy really a virgin? How could he be when this is how he talks to people he wants to fuck. You could never.

Besides… Does he act like this with other girls too? The one at the party? You press your lips into a thin line before dropping the wet towel somewhere on the floor and exit the room.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asks, getting up and ready to follow you, but you’re already back by the time he’s standing.

“Just grabbed my bag, relax.” You walk past him and open your school bag.

“What are you doing?” Shigaraki looks over your shoulder. 

You grab your notes, your laptop and sit at your desk.

“Gonna study.” 

“What? You’ve been studying the entire fucking week!” he complains.

You shake your head. “My exam period starts next week, I can’t slack off.”

“Ugh, fuck you’re boring.”

“News flash. Told you I was busy, but you invited yourself anyway. Now leave me alone.”

And after sulking for exactly thirty seconds, seeing you won’t budge, he does. 

He does, only because he seems to suddenly remember where he is and immediately begins looking around in every corner of your apartment, either talking shit or being amazed at various objects you own.

You don’t have much, but you have a bunch of cool shit you couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of if you tried. Besides, it’s your cool shit and it feels minimally validating for someone with a smidgeon of good taste to acknowledge it, since your best friend found most of it to be nerdy or lame.

“Why’d you lie about not buying stuff when we were at the mall? You literally have an entire fucking collection of these!” he speaks loudly, volume increasing the closer he gets to your room. 

You run a hand over your face at yet another distraction, voice coming out more nasally than usual, “Those were either gifts or exceptions. I don’t throw gifts away.”

“So why couldn’t I make you a gift then?”

“That’s the point. If you did, I probably wouldn’t… nevermind. And aside from that, I don’t feel like fucking owing you anything.”

He frowns at you and mumbles, “...You wouldn’t owe me if I bought you something, though.” But his frown is quickly replaced by a cocky smile. “Besides, if that’s what you care about, you’ve already been owing me for quite a while now. Don’t tell me you forgot?” Shigaraki tilts his head.

“What? What the fuck do I owe you?”

“I paid for your shit at the store, remember? You forgot your wallet.” His smile turns into a shit-eating grin.

You didn’t just forget. You completely wiped it from your memory. 

“Fuck. Hold on,” you say, reaching down into your bag to fish for something.

“What?” Shigaraki’s smile falls, frowning instead. “What are you doing.”

“Fifteen bucks, right?” You pull out a twenty and stretch your hand to him.

He looks at you with sheer disgust. “Fuck off. I don’t take money from the poor.”

You blink at him dumbly. “Then what do you want?”

“Mmm, I’ll think of something,” he replies, turning on his heel and resuming his treasure hunt in your house.

Shigaraki whistles when he finally gets to your underwear drawer, where you store a bunch of small colorful toys. 

It’s worth mentioning that it’s not the sex itself that embarrasses or scares you. You’ve been trained out of it a while ago. Sex is okay. 

It’s the feelings that scare you, meaning you only rolled your eyes at the added distraction when you heard him flip a switch, the distinct noise of your bullet vibrator coming alive with a buzz.

“So, where’s the weird-looking red one you used a few years ago? I don’t see it.” 

He rummages through your drawer and you’re wondering what the fuck he’s talking about again, when it clicks.

“Ugh, are you twelve? When are you letting that go?” You turn in your chair, putting your elbow on top of the back frame and you frown at him. 

Your eyes are starting to feel heavy. Today, much like everyday recently, left you feeling tired and defeated. 

Shigaraki only grins lecherously at your question.

You give him an unimpressed look and turn back to your paper with a deep sigh. 

“Dunno how much you know, or dug up about me—” And if you’re honest, you don’t really want to find out, “—but if you looked hard enough, you’d know that I was pretty much homeless after I turned eighteen, waiting for my scholarship application to go through. Didn’t have more than a suitcase with me, so none of the stuff you’ve seen in the… videos was—well, mine.”

He quirks a brow, letting the items he held drop back into your drawer and obnoxiously leaving it open for you to close later. 

Tomura’s pretty sure this is the first time you’d willingly told him anything personal about yourself. 

Not that he’d ever cared to properly listen before.

You hear him walking a few steps and stopping behind you, wondering what his deal is until he places a pair of slender hands on top of your shoulders and grips them firmly. Not very soft but not quite rough either. 

You’re immediately painfully aware of how intimate this feels, but he opens his mouth and the world rights itself.

“So… how much dick did you suck for a roof over your head back then?” He snorts, thankfully ruining the moment. 

You scoff, because lately it feels like… like you’re getting used to this. Getting used to him and his…  unusual personality. 

For him, a great sign. He’s winning the game, he’s breaking you down. For you? Not so much.

Shigaraki applies pressure on your tense shoulders and starts moving his hands unevenly, kneading his fingers into your stiff muscles until you realize it’s probably meant to be reassuring. 

“It’s alright. If you somehow manage to lose everything again,” he hints, “you could always blow me instead and I’m sure we can figure something—” 

You smack his arm repeatedly, face flushed in shame as he looks down at you and chuckles under his breath.

“God, you’re such a dick!” you yell, feeling hurt and turning away from him to hide it. This topic is especially sore to you because yeah—you really did suck dick to keep a roof over your head.

Sex is fine. Feeling like you have to sell yourself to some asshole in order for you to spend another night away from the cold streets isn’t.

“C’mon, I’m just fucking with you.” He pushes your head down in an attempt to tease annoy you further. “I wouldn’t have it in me to abandon my favorite toy anyway,” he quips but you completely ignore him and he shoots you a questioning glance.

He’s tall enough to tower over you while you sit, leaning into your vision field, white locks of hair falling to the sides of his face. You use your pointing finger to move his big fat forehead out of your way.

“I’m studying.”

“And I’m bored.”

“Go home then.”

He snorts. “Fuck no.” 

“Then it’s not my problem.”

“Oh it will be. You won’t like it if I go and have fun on my own.”

“Shigaraki, I’ve got the first exam in four days. Go entertain yourself like the big boy you are, and let me fucking study for my shit please. I reaaaally don’t wanna have to blow you if I fail and lose my scholarship,” you make a callback to his shitty joke and push his face away with your entire palm until he finally relents.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says with a creepy lilt in his tone, giving you a foreboding smile before turning around and leaving.

You use your pen to scratch at your temples. “By the way… you’re not seriously planning to stay the night over. Right?”

He looks back at you and his smile only stretches wider.

“Ugh, fine but you’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Hah! You fucking wish.” Shigaraki waves you off, walking out of your bedroom. 

It’s really quiet for the next hour or so. 

Quiet enough for you to get up and investigate. Maybe the gods were kind for once and your apartment would be empty.

When you step into your living room, you freeze.

Click—click. Double click.

It hits you like a truck, driving at full speed. 

You do not have a fucking password, because you do not need a fucking password. Who the fuck would snoop through your PC? Taylor?

“What. The fuck. Are you doing?!”

“Uhh, entertaining myself?” He turns to face you, swiveling in your chair, with his left leg casually resting on top of the seat and his chin resting against his knee. “I was right tho’.” He smiles at you darkly, turning to scroll through the page and cackling maniacally. “Look at aaalll this dirty fucked up shit you’re into!”

Your blood physically drains from your face as you get closer and recognize several instances of your fanfic website being open in a bunch of different tabs.

Tabs containing different works you’ve bookmarked that not a single soul should’ve known about.

Sex is great.

Shigaraki Tomura finding out about your wildest fucked-up fantasies is absolutely criminal.

You’re so fucked.

[phantomwritezstuff077]

The Runt - Billy the Kid

Warnings for this chapter: physical abuse

THIS IS ALSO CROSS-POSTED ONTO MY WATTPAD: PhantomWritez2

Chapter Two

Watching obnoxious outlaws shoot their guns at the firewood being stored by the well wasn’t something that Laurie particularly enjoyed, but it was better than doing yard work all day. Laurie sat on a nearby hay bale, picking her nails as she watched the older men laugh and cheer as gunshots rang out every few seconds, smoke floating into the air like a lost feather. 

Billy shot a couple of rounds himself, showing off a few tricks as the rest of the gang watched in amusement, some even cheering for him. Laurie couldn’t help but smile a little bit as she watched it, she was actually impressed with how good this gunslinger actually was. Maybe she had even started looking up to him a little bit. 

Laurie’s horse, Artax, a pretty bay stallion stuck his head over the fence with a nicker. Resting his chin on Laurie’s shoulder. The teenager smiled, kissing the side of her horse’s muzzle with a soft giggle, stroking his face and sneaking him a few sugar cubes she had stolen from Bob earlier that morning. 

“How fast are you, kid?,” Jesse suddenly asked as he turned to Billy with a challenging look on his face. Laurie felt her face fall, she immediately recognized that tone in her estranged father figure’s voice. And she didn’t like it. 

“Hey, runt. Countdown from 3, won’t you?,” Jesse called, looking at Laurie as he and Billy took their places for the little competition Jesse had just challenged Billy to. Billy felt his face contort into a look of contempt as he heard Jesse call Laurie ‘runt.’ He barely knew the kid, sure, but even he could see how much it hurt Laurie whenever somebody called her that. 

Laurie sighed, getting up and walking closer, standing a few feet away. “On the count of three.” Her tone was blank, maybe a hint of defeat in it as well. “3, 2, 1.” The second she said the last number both men drew their guns, pulling back the hammer as they both held eye contact with each other. 

Laurie’s heart was in her throat as she watched the scene, knowing that whatever was to happen was completely out of her control. Billy inhaled deeply and slowly holstered his gun, his gaze remaining on Jesse, who still had his gun aimed at Billy. Laurie’s heart raced as her thoughts clouded her mind, and before she could stop herself she spoke up.

“Jesse, he put his gun down, you have no grounds or need to shoot him,” Laurie intervened, her voice shaking slightly as Jesse’s gaze snapped to the young teenager before it went back to Billy.

“You gotta be quicker on that draw, Billy, or you're a dead man,” Jesse said as he put his gun away, turning to look at Laurie. “Go get him a horse.” Laurie saw the look on Jesse’s face and she knew she would be in for a long screaming session from him when Billy left the ranch. She sighed and nodded, gesturing for Billy to follow her. Billy looked at Jesse once more before following the young girl to the paddock.

“Why do you let him talk to you like that?,” Billy inquired as Laurie opened and closed the gate to the pasture, holding a halter in her hand as she approached a bay mare.

“Because, I’m the runt,” Laurie replied simply, gently putting halter over the mare’s face and clipping on the lead rope, walking over to Billy who stood behind the fence. “And the runt’s have to accept that they’re always gonna be the smallest and the weakest out of everyone else in the litter. If they want something they’re gonna have to fight for it.”

“That ain’t right, kid,” Billy sighed, feeling sorry for the kid as she handed him his new horse. “You shouldn’t be getting verbally assaulted simply because you’re small.”

Laurie shrugged. “That’s just the way of the world, Kid Antrim. The people with all the advantages they could ever need always come out on top. Always.”

“Why don’t you come with me?,” Billy suggested as the two began to walk back to the barn so that Billy could prepare his supplies to leave. Laurie hesitated for a moment before she sighed heavily.

“I can’t, I would if I could because I fucking hate it here,” Laurie explained, “Jesse has always told me that I should be grateful that he didn’t shoot me dead on the spot when he caught me stealing from him. Now I’m stuck running with them until I get shot and become another body that needs to be buried.”

Billy wanted to say something but he wasn’t sure exactly what to say so he kept his mouth shut. It was both concerning and heartbreaking hearing a literal child talking and thinking the way that Laurie was. He glanced over at the little red-head as they entered the barn, Laurie went into the tack room, bringing out a saddle and bridle for Billy.

“Safe passages, Kid Antrim,” she told him as she put the saddle and bridle on the rack, “Maybe in another universe I can actually leave this place with you, maybe even find my ma.” 

Billy nodded, watching the girl leave the barn. Maybe she was right, maybe in another universe she didn’t let people mistreat her like this. Hopefully, in that universe, she wasn’t mistreated at all.

After about 10 minutes Laurie walked into Jesse’s house, catching sight of the man sitting in the kitchen and chugging a bottle of whiskey as he watched Billy say his goodbye’s to Barbara. Laurie knew better than to say anything to Jesse when he was in a bad mood, especially if that bad mood was mixed with the whiskey he was chugging like it was water. She tried to sneak past the kitchen, but before she could Jesse saw her.

“Not so fast, runt,” he spat, “Get over here.” Laurie gulped as she hesitantly walked over to him, she kept her gaze on the ground as she prepared for the yelling. However, when Jesse opened his mouth to give Laurie a lecture he saw Billy and Barbara kiss and he finally lost his patience. He roughly shoved the kid in front of him to the side, causing her to fall down before grabbing his shotgun and walking out into the front porch and taking aim at Billy. 

“Jesse, don’t,” Barbara warned as she grabbed his arm. Laurie stood up and ran outside, standing next to Barbara with wide eyes.

“Why not?,” Jesse taunted, keeping the shotgun trained on Billy as he rode off. 

“You have no grounds,” Barbara said to him. Laurie wasn’t really close with Barbara, but that didn’t mean she hated her. The two just barely spoke, but right now that didn’t matter. Because she knew that this woman was right.

Jesse had no right to shoot him.

“She’s right,” Laurie jumped in. She already knew how much trouble she was in already and that jumping into this conversation was only making her grave deeper but she didn’t care. She couldn’t let another innocent man die for nothing. “He’s never done anything wrong, and you know it. And you can’t shoot him, you won’t be able to bring yourself to pull the trigger.”

“And why is that, runt?,” Jesse asked through gritted teeth, not lowering his gun. Laurie inhaled shakily. She knew there was no going back now, and she would have to deal with the consequences later.

“Because you love him,” Laurie whispered. Jesse kept his gun up for a few moments before sighing in frustration, lowering his gun and grabbing Laurie’s wrist, dragging her into the house.

“You had no right to intervene back then, runt,” he snapped, roughly throwing her wrist out of his hand as Laurie simply stared at the ground. She knew the drill, got screamed at for 5-10 minutes, probably more backbreaking yard work assigned to her as well. 

“I’m sorry,” Laurie said. She hated being yelled at like this but she knew that she deserved it. Her gaze was on the floor, but she could still feel the chilling look of anger and hatred from Jesse boring into her.

“Are you?,” Jesse snapped, “You’re lucky I’m kind enough to let you live under my roof instead of shooting you on the spot when I first saw you. I could’ve sent you to some shitty orphanage here in Lincoln County but I didn’t. And this is my thanks?”

Laurie looked up, opening her mouth to say something in her defense, but before she could say or process anything, she felt her head snap to the side and a stinging feeling on her face as the familiar metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Laurie froze as she finally understood what had just happened. 

Jesse had just struck her.

The tension in the air was thick, no one said a word. The only thing that you could hear was Jesse’s heavy and angered breathing. Sure, Jesse wasn’t really the nicest guy to Lauri, and he definitely was a shit father figure. But Laurie had never thought for a minute that things would ever get physical when he yelled at her. She never thought that he would go that far. But he did.

Laurie was stuck there for a moment, frozen like a spooked deer as tears stung her eyes before she inhaled shakily and quickly walked away, walking into her room before she closed and locked her door. Once the door was locked she broke down, quietly sobbing as she slumped against the wall, burying her head into her knees as she hugged them to her chest. 

She hated it here.

She needed to leave, tonight.

A/N:

Here is chapter two :)

Again: any constructive criticism is appreciated, I am always looking to improve what I am doing!

Laurie is essentially my child, I love her so much

Tag:

@slutforsnow

[porrimina]

Inspiration Points Gained!

I just heard a story on TikTok about a man’s great great great great grandmother who began writing down the names of soldiers in the confederacy after they killed her husband for not joining them. So the woman ended up training to hunt those said men in the confederacy for sport and even kept one of said men’s skulls as a soap dish in her bathroom.

I have not smiled and laughed so hard in a bit considering the world and its events, but oh my god Inspiration Points gained! I don’t crave violence for the sake of violence, but with the life I’ve had, only having survived dangerous people through the fawn response as a kid, teen, and some adult years…yeah I would argue some violence is necessary as a tool and self defense because it took me a long time to learn this but there are people who genuinely get joy from assaulting + abusing others.

This is coming as someone who always thought they deserved to get abused from various cisgender men throughout my life until two years ago, wasn’t able to get therapy or help due to living circumstances, have had various suicidal thoughts throughout the years and felt like i should’ve died, the stigmatization of victims from…well the majority of the population but especially in school, going undiagnosed and untreated for a comorbidity of mental illnesses developed over a span of time being in and out of treatment, haven’t been able to finish school thanks to not having aid for mental illnesses, and was only until recently last year able to afford therapy so yeah I like to think I do have a say when it comes to recognizing powerful abusive people + psychopathic behaviors, and recognizing how governmental bodies + large institutions continue to perpetuate the cycles of violence, abuse, and suicide against poor people of various marginalized communities that intersect.

That’s why I always carry a taser, a pocket knife and sharp scissors in my bag or person whenever I can, everywhere I go and am currently trying to get certified to carry because America + capitalism + white governments like to normalize and sanction violence against vulnerable populations, (black people, Palestinian people, Congolese people, Chinese people, indigenous people, children, disabled people, neurodivergent people, mentally ill people, women, trans women, trans men, lgbtq people, lesbians, pregnant BIPOC peoples, dark skinned people etc.) gaslights them into thinking they deserved it and don’t provide aid…especially children of all backgrounds…which has caused a lot of cycles of violence to continue.

Point being, I aspire to be like that woman, but only just to keep dangerous people away that bring others harm…especially if they’re racists because fuck them. Also I firmly believe vulnerable populations deserve the right to arm themselves if that’s what leads to their liberation because they’ve tried to protect themselves peacefully throughout the years and that hasn’t been working unfortunately.

‼️‼️‼️‼️Note: don’t come at me for putting fandoms tags in the post because as a person who’s in a lot of fandoms, I know BIPOC people suffer the most within fandoms because of racists who think they can get away with it just because they’re interacting with fantasy content and it’s enough already. I will block anyone who interacts with me that engages in racism, xenophobia and any other problematic bullshit on the spot. This is also coming from someone who grew up as the one white kid in a large family of dark skinned individuals so yeah I do have a say in the matter when it concerns calling out other white skinned people who exhibit problematic behaviors. Also if you’re a BIPOC fan in any of the fandom tags, this is a safe space here for you. I won’t always be perfect but I’m always down to learn anything new and will try to support you as you see fit. ‼️‼️‼️‼️

[nestaismommy]

This was submitted by @alwaysbeingme98

They said they wanted to know my thoughts on this. I’m sorry I’m late, I get a lot of notifications so it’s hard to keep up.

No actually, most of the things he did weren’t out of the “goodness” of his heart.

1) The bargain

That stupid bargain was only beneficial to Rhysand, he could’ve easily healed her without taking advantage of her vulnerable state. Instead, he twists the bone in her arm to cause her pain so that she can agree. She didn’t have a choice.

I bared my teeth. “Go. To. Hell.”

Swift as lightning, he lashed out, grabbing the shard of bone in my arm and twisting. A scream shattered out of me, ravaging my aching throat. The world flashed black and white and red. I thrashed and writhed, but he kept his grip, twisting the bone a final time before releasing my arm.

2) helping her with the task.

Feyre was the only person who could save him. Of course he was gonna help her win so that he can have his freedom. He expected Tamlin to help Feyre escape, but he didn’t help her escape either. The difference is that Tamlin was being watched, but Rhysand wasn’t. He was trusted by Amarantha. He got out of her court on calanmai. He knew how to get out. He knows how to winnow.

3) He made his spies strip her, paint all over her body, and dress her in something that barely even covered her. And then, making her dance for him between his legs, and having her sit on his lap. All of this, in front of the whole court. I’m sorry but his reason never made sense. He didn’t want to have Amarantha suspect anything because of the bargain he made with Feyre, but if the bargain was putting Feyre in danger, why did he make her agree to it in the first place considering it was never beneficial to her? If he was worried about what Amarantha’s servants would do, then could’ve told them to stay away from Feyre. He already told them before and they stopped.

“No more household chores, no more tasks,” he said, his voice an erotic caress. Their yellow eyes went glazed and dull, their sharp teeth gleaming as their mouths slackened. “Tell the others, too. Stay out of her cell, and don’t touch her. If you do, you’re to take your own daggers and gut yourselves. Understood?”

Rhysand mind controlled them so that they won’t touch her. That was before they knew about the bargain. That was a harmless way of protecting her.

The lady of the autumn court helped Feyre, Lucian helped Feyre. They helped without causing her any harm.

Making her drink so that she forgets the nightly horrors? That is the worst excuse I have ever heard in all of my seventeen years. First of all, if those nights were so terrifying, why did you have her there in the first place? Oh to not make Amarantha suspect. Why would she suspect? Because I made a bargain with Feyre. WHY DID YOU MAKE THAT BARGAIN?? exactly, I don’t know either. He never even explained why. Also, if you wanted her to forgot you could’ve just erased her memories considering you’re daemati.

Almost everything Rhysand did could’ve been done way differently. All of that dancing and bullshit was unnecessary, the bargain was unnecessary. He could’ve just healed her, or helped Lucian get to her so that he can heal her instead.

So no, there wasn’t really a good reason behind his actions except for helping her with the task.

Nesta didn’t hurt people because she had bad intentions or because she hated them. It was a defense mechanism. It’s wrong, but it was because of her. She was unwell. She had a lot of built up anger, and she lashed out at the wrong people. (not all the time but you get the point.)

Nesta and Rhysand cannot be compared that way, because even if Rhysand had good intentions, his actions are still terrible. And he chose to do them. It wasn’t because he was traumatized. At least we know that Nesta had built up anger because of everything that happened to her, what’s the explanation behind Rhysand’s actions? That he was protecting Feyre by sexually assaulting and abusing her even thought he could’ve just left her alone.

Although there’s an explanation behind Nesta’s treatment towards Feyre, Nesta’s behavior was still wrong, I won’t deny that. But Rhysand was also wrong. But they are both different. You cannot compare Nesta’s rudeness to Rhysand’s abuse and assault. That’s not how it works.

“If Rhys had done everything Nesta did to Feyre nobody would forgive him…..because he’s a man”

So you won’t forgive him if he was rude, but you’ll forgive him if he sexually assaults and abuses Feyre.

Y’all are misogynistic, it’s so obvious no matter how many times you try to deny it.

And finally, both Nesta and Rhysand are morally grey. And both should be held accountable for their actions. Not just Rhysand.

I’d like to hear your thoughts too. Feel free to reblog and express your opinion.

[flowersbark]

Holy shit. Okay. Hi. I’m also a csa survivor. I’m legit so desperate for anything sort of recognition on this issue I’ve been having for almost 2 years now. https://www.tumblr.com/flowersbark/740288973409288192/fellas-is-it-a-proship-to-project-cocsacsa-on

It relates to this post, except I am going to get EXTRA personal on this.

Tw for r//pe, gr///ming, Self-h//rm, and csa (obvsly)

Okay so I also really really reallyyy don’t like proshippers, I am hypersexual, and I have zero access to any sort of help atp in my life. Now that I have those things out of the way right now, I am essentially in a dilemma a lot like that post. One major problem, it’s not me JUST wanting to project, it’s me wanting to BE in that spot of the victim again for some reason. And I mean like srsly getting assaulted again and all that horrible stuff. Like, i THINK these ideas, thoughts, and urges I have are called “intrusive thoughts”?? But I’m not sure. I’m disturbed by them regardless.

This has been so frustrating to deal with bc first of all, I’m not a victim to gr//ming, second, yes, I am a victim of csa at a young age, and third, I find myself having some sort of YEARNING to be hurt in such a way. (Not cocsacsa, just to not let things get mixed up btw) I have looked around on the internet for so long about this issue and I find NOTHING on it, like, am I just going crazy? Am I trying to cope with it in the worst way possible? Like, I genuinely don’t know, and it drives me mad because on one hand, I have this massive theory that it’s a mental attempt of “self- h//rm”, and then on the other hand, it’s a bizarre extreme version of yearning for touch and affection, but I’m just so unsure because I can’t find any other personal accounts of anyone else!

I acknowledge that your post wasn’t about this oddly specifc scenario, and I’m so sorry that this is so out of pocket, and possibly even counterproductive (idk) but as another csa victim, would you be able to offer some sort of insight? Is that something I can even ask for on here? It’s okay if you can’t, or don’t want to, I fully understand if I just never see a response to this. I really hope things get better for you and that you’re a having at the very least, a decent day regardless. Thank you.

Also p.s., sorry for not being able to answer that question, I myself am also uncertain on a definite answer for that. Like, the most I can say is that I think it’s okay to explore unhealthy dynamics, so long as they’re both acknowledged as bad/unhealthy/traumatizing things, and not put out to the public since people can take/look at things and get weird and nasty🤢 (so generally just used in a private and secure setting)

HI !!! uhh

first off, yes you can ask for advice, insight, anything. thats why i made this blog, other than to just vent to strangers. second, thank you for giving me your opinion on the csa proship situation.

i do think what you're going through are intrusive thoughts, and i get those a lot too. especially about going through what i did again, or worse. i also fucking HATE those thoughts, especially because my mind makes it by people i know irl, especially classmate im close to. it makes me feel disgusting and like im sexualizing and making my classmates horrible people when they ARENT. intrusive thoughts arent a reflection of who you are, theyre a reflection of who you DONT want to be, thats why theyre so disturbing.

again, the almost yearning for it is intrusive. it's also a trauma response. like how people who are used to being mentally abused will seek out and be with people that will treat them like that, its kinda like that. its not a good way to cope, but its not the WORST. as the absolute worst would be repeating the cycle.

im sorry if this doesn't help, its kinda just my word vomit with no revisions,, but i hope it does. it gets better, i promise. keep going.

[prototypesteve]

Lifeline.

“And remember, if this happens, it’s not your fault!”

These nine words saved my life when I was a teenager.

⚠️Content warning: sexual assault. I won’t name it past this point, and won’t describe it, either.⚠️

Those words were near the end of a PSA in a comic book, explaining what to do if you or someone you knew was being abused.

When I saw the full-page public service announcement, I was 16, and I had already been carrying the doubt, fear, and self-blame for something horrible that someone had done to me when I was 14 (in 1985). The person who did it said it was my fault because I was “acting gay” ever since I was 12.

I didn’t understand what I’d done. I wasn’t acting like anything, in any kind of a gay or straight way. I didn’t know why I was what my parents called a “late bloomer” but I knew I wasn’t putting out any kind of signals. Or was I? Ugh. What if I didn’t know enough about “signals” to know what kinds I was putting out there? (This was the mid-1980s, years before I could have learned about asexuality.)

And these kinds of questions went on and on. Every day. For over two years.

And then I saw the Spider-Man Power Pack PSA, in an old comic, and it felt great to know there were adults out there who hated what had happened to me.

But I also felt lost, because I didn’t feel like I could talk to an adult about what happened to me. I didn’t know how to explain it. I didn’t even know which adult I could talk to. Would they think I made it up, to explain my bad grades? (ADHD was killing my grades.) Would they think I was just trying to get attention because I was the invisible kid?

But there, at the bottom of the page was a lifeline: “And remember, if this happens, it’s not your fault!”

It’s not your fault that you were different.

It’s not your fault that your difference made you a target.

It’s not your fault that you couldn’t stop them.

It’s not your fault that you didn’t know how to tell anyone after.

It’s not your fault that you’re feeling this way.

And you don’t have to do whatever it is you think will make the pain go away.

Because it’s not your fault.

So I kept going.

Eventually (2015) I learned the words to bring to people who could help me, and I got the help I’d needed all along.

So, here we are at the bottom of another page. And maybe you’re like I was, back then, and everything is still horrible, and scary, and confusing and too much, and you just need to know this:

“And remember, if this happens, it’s not your fault!”

We all love you. You deserve joy.

[redheadbigshoes]

hiya, 🌻 here again~

I just got annoyed by a post's insinuation today that saying the bi lesbian label contributes to men going after lesbians is biphobic and that bi women should be allowed to appropriate our label to help keep men away from them when MEN GO AFTER LESBIANS REGARDLESS they want to abuse us and sexually assault us and saying youre a bi woman who doesnt want men to bother you by appropriating lesbian identity doesnt help either of us!!!!

appropriating lesbian identity is lesbophobic because there is real intercommunity abuse from bi women towards lesbians i have had it literally happen to me, I had been peer pressured for weeks by bi women in one of the first queer spaces I came out in about if I'm 'really not attracted to men' and 'just holding myself back' and gaslight and objectified to my face by them (including one of them that I was dating at the time) and bi men that were there and I'm already a trans woman I have very few places where I'm respected as myself and to be hurt like that has forever scarred me.

And I dont want bi women to be 'free to be abused by men because theyre available to men' i want bi women to stop pretending they are like me when they do not experience life or my struggles like i do! and can contribute to them! i want to help bi women to not have to worry about men pressuring them when they dont want it no woman deserves that but i wont let them appropriate my identity in the process when bi people have the position and ability and sometimes the inclination to replicate that lesbophobia against me!

Sorry I just read a post where someone basically said 'bi women should be able to call themselves lesbians if they want to avoid men' when that literally helps noone and they have literal power they can wield over me as a lesbian who is not attracted to men and suffers for it. Yes we both suffer violence from men who dont respect women's autonomy but you don't get to appropriate my identity because of that it doesnt make anything better.

anyway rant over! I hope things go well for you with the gal you met recently ❤️❤️❤️ wishing you the best!

Heyy

It’s SO frustrating not being able to complain about lesbophobia in the LGBTQ+ community because every time we do this we’re accused of being biphobic as a way to silence us and normalize lesbophobia. Meanwhile I see a lot of bi people generalizing lesbians and hating on us and NO ONE cares about this but lesbians.

People assume lesbians wanting everyone to understand even though we’re sapphics just like bi/pan sapphics we still have unique experiences that they don’t understand and never will! Just as they have unique issues and experiences us lesbians don’t understand and we don’t push and pressure them to be included in bi spaces…

I truly wish people in the community stopped treating the lesbian label as an umbrella term. We already have sapphic. I feel like a lot of these discussions usually come from people assuming lesbian = sapphic so that’s why we should include all sapphics in everything.

All these people you mentioned don’t care about lesbians at all and they don’t even hide that lol they desperately need to understand not everything is about bi sapphics and that lesbophobia is a real issue.

Thank you! I also hope it goes well hahah! At least we’re still talking. I hope you’re having a good day! ❤️

[melaninpov]

clears throat….

Reading about what happened to Keke Palmer on Feb 13, 2022 breaks my heart… truly.. and seeing comments from people calling her a liar or saying they believe her abuser, angers me. I just don’t get it. I know these are two separate situations… different people but I can’t help but think back to when news first broke of Jonathan Majors. The dissertations I read about how he’s an abuser and how he’s guilty even though we’ve never seen any evidence of guilt. Believing strangers on Twitter who later back pedaled and said “oh no I didn’t mean he was physically abusive” believing strangers who allegedly spoke to Rolling Stone who refused to go on record and provide proof. It was “if many people say the same thing then it must be true” but here y’all are calling Keke, her mother and Sarunas baby mother liars. Here y’all go questioning the leaked stills saying “show the whole thing. Show her being aggressive with him first.” But yet we see the alleged victim in Majors case perfectly fine hours after the alleged assault and y’all make excuses for her. We see proof of Majors being assaulted but y’all didn’t care cause “there’s no excuse for a man to hit a woman” right? So why try to justify Darius actions with a hypothetical “keke must’ve been aggressive first”. Y’all give Jabbari grace while bashing Keke. Jabbari was granted a temporary restraining order so y’all believed “yeah he’s guilty” Keke was granted the same protection order and it’s “shes just doing this for attention.” Y’all quickly turned on Majors immediately as the news broke refusing to wait for more information but with Keke it’s “i need more information before I believe her” Majors leaking evidence in favor of his innocence is DARVO but what Darius is doing isn’t ?? What?? Make it make sense. I thought y’all cared about abuse victims. I thought y’all “believed women.” Y’all really lame af and are a bunch of hypocrites. Y’all don’t give a damn about abuse. Y’all don’t give a damn about the truth. Quick to bash our black men and even quicker to not believe our black women when the truth is staring you in the face. I’m just saying, keep that same energy. Period. I’m not saying you have to agree with me but if you’re gonna speak on Majors so heavily then I expect the same energy in ALL abuse allegations that go viral. Idgaf about you’re fantasies or fanfics. Y’all spoke on DV under the guise of being survivors or knowing survivors or just plain being against it, so keep that same energy across the board.

[mycptsdrecovery]

To the person who sent this ask:

https://at.tumblr.com/mycptsdrecovery/hi-im-sorry-to-ask-this-really-because-it-feels/fepccd6vfm9e

So first off I want to apologize because this message is probably gonna fuck your shit up a little bit. But for me at least, clarity brought peace. I hope this helps you put the pieces together and can bring you some comfort to know that you are not alone, what happened to you was very real and incredibly traumatic, and that you are incredibly strong for living through that. You’re obviously very smart and you’re asking the right questions- keep it up.

I read your post and I know exactly what happened to you. You had a VCUG. I had it done too, multiple times when I was 3. It took me literally 20 fucking years to figure out what that was and what happened to me. When I read the Wikipedia page, it was like I got hit in the head with a brick so brace yourself before you look it up. The procedure has literally every characteristic of a sexual assault, and I have lifelong sexual trauma from it. It’s used as a tool in research for studying memory related to CSA, because ofc you can’t abuse children to get data- but the VCUG is “medically necessary.” I think it’s almost worse in a way because it’s more like a gang rape WHILE YOUR PARENT IS WATCHING, and you’re not even seen has an object of attraction- it’s dehumanizing, and the denial of autonomy over your own body has serious, long term effects. It set me up for a lifetime of other sexual trauma- by the time I was 6 I was already showing hypersexual behavior. I never learned how to set any boundaries. Period. If you learn as a child that you don’t even have privacy *in the bathroom by yourself*, layered with the confusion and embarrassment of the experience (I was being potty trained, and then all of a sudden I’m in a radiology room and my mom is telling me I have to pee on this table in front of all these people??) seriously fucked me up, at least.

I spent literally my entire life not knowing why I was so fucked up, not knowing why I was so deeply traumatized when nothing (that I knew of) happened to me. It’s agony, and I blamed myself and lost myself in addiction and anorexia. Funnily enough, Ive always gravitated towards people who had serious childhood trauma. I’d hear their stories, and understand the feelings, but I never had a “story” of my own. It made me feel like an imposter, because it wasn’t like I got raped by a family member or something more “textbook”. Nobody talks about VCUG trauma even though thousands of kids go through this every year. It’s a faceless trauma, there’s nobody to blame (which makes it even more difficult to cope with imo)

There’s like one (1) support group on Reddit with 70 members, which is the largest to my knowledge. I was thinking of maybe starting a blog because there’s a lot of older people on reddit (like 5-10 yrs older than me at least) and I think that growing up Online with that trauma and 24/7 access to violent adult content is a totally different experience. But all of the emotions they talk about are the same, I’ve always kinda felt like nobody could understand what it’s like to be in my head, but reading that subreddit made me realize that I’m not The Most Fucked Up Person Who Has Ever Lived. And I learned how the trauma has formed every facet of my personality. Like I’m an anxious control freak who feels no sense of ownership over my body- surely that has nothing to do with this foundational traumatic memory of being denied control over my most basic bodily functions, right? Much to think about lol

You’re not crazy, and what you went through is unfortunately very real. I’m assuming that you’re still a teenager or a very young adult so you may not have gotten a yeast infection since you were a kid, but I think that the white stuff/medicine you were describing was monistat for a yeast infection. It’s a suppository, so there’s a like plastic plunger you put this white egg on, and then you put it in your vagina and push it up to your cervix, and the medicine leaks out over the course of a couple days. So it doesn’t surprise me at all that you would remember that, someone put a foreign object inside of you that was itchy and gross.

And for the record, your parents are *Very* Bad At Boundaries!!! If they can’t be the adults and set healthy boundaries, you have to. Its perfectly okay to say “I don’t want to talk about that” or “you’re making me uncomfortable, please stop touching me”. You didn’t have a voice when you were a kid, but you have one now. Trust me, I know it’s fucking scary and feels impossible- but do it once, and you’ll be hooked on the feeling forever.

I figured everything out last year (I’m about to turn 24), and I’ve been in therapy which has been super helpful. For me at least, EMDR has really been great for reprocessing those memories, and so has hypnotherapy exercises for being able to get into my subconscious. If you’re gonna look for one, you need a trauma specialist. Don’t fuck around with like a school counselor who mainly does “I’m depressed sometimes” therapy. If you’re anything like me, you need Serious Help.

I love you internet stranger- everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone, and it is possible to heal ❤️ I hope this brings you some peace

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