#in retrospect its kind of ugly

[uglypastels]

Ok but thats so cute that you gave him a bracelet 🥺 do you have a pic of it?

Obviously i dont have any footage of him wearing it (he took it off right after i left. i assume to take photo ops, and im too scared to film signature sessions)

So yeah, i made this bracelet for him. I thought brown and gold would fit him and the big beads are actually morse code and spell out "bread" (idk i thought it would be funny)

[frost-faerie]

Thinking about how my gf back in the day (I was 16, going on 17 i believe) made a second tumblr account exclusively for talking about how she hated me Is this dahlia-phoenix relationship goals

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch7 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

Word Count: around 7K

Warnings: non-con, somnophilia, handjobs, fingering, lactation kink, mommy kink (geto calls reader mamma)

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59666119/chapters/153693205

It’s hard to look him in the eyes, but you know you don’t have a choice anymore. Bed time with Geto consists of him keeping you huddled close to you while he does some of his nightly reading. He looks so deceiving in these moments with you, ditching his traditional robe for casual clothes—an over-sized block cotton shirt and pants. He looks so normal. He looks like an everyday citizen who won the genetics lottery.

But you know that to be so far from the truth. You know the ugly that lies beneath the angelic features, and all those pretty lies he spews from those kissable lips of his. Beneath that mask lies a serpent prepared to strike its prey at any given time.

In another world, he may be anyone’s dream man but this is not that world for you.

Tonight he opts for rereading one of his epic fantasies that he adores to info dump to you. You don’t care to entertain him, wishing for it all to go in one ear and out the other, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here to fill some kind of void in his black heart—that is assuming he even has one anymore—and you’re not even sure if you’re fulfilling that role he’s forced you to play. He’s the one tugging at your strings, and while you can put up a bit of a fight, he’s quite the masterful puppeteer.

The punishment he’s inflicted upon you isn’t all that cruel, in retrospect, but you can’t feel much between your legs at all. You’re practically numb from the waist down. It’s the kindest he’s been since your captivity. After that ordeal, he’s still provided some semblance of aftercare—a little bit of a massage with some proper ointment, he’s even offered some chocolates if you had an appetite for them following something like that. After seeing him so disappointed with you when he’s just confessed to you that he’s found some kind of affection towards you.

You don’t find it flattering in the slightest, but if it means he’s going to show you a bit more mercy, you’re going to take advantage of it any way you can. 

“God, the protagonist in this book can certainly make questionable decisions,” Geto muses, wetting his thumb before flicking to the next page. “I can’t seem to make sense of it each time I get to this part of the series.”

You wish you could groan. You almost do, but that’s asking for immediate death.

Who fucking cares?

Instead of saying what you really think, though, you just hum, nuzzling your head into his shoulder, trying to appeal to him. Trying to make him happy because that’s what you’re here to do. That’s all you’re meant for now.

But you’re still going to find a way out or so help you….

“Getting sleepy?” Geto teases with a light laugh, but it doesn’t have that mocking tone to it. It’s….endearment. It’s sickening. You want to vomit. How can a man act like this when he’s just made you lose feeling in your lower body because he let his paranoia get the best of him (even if he’s kind of right)? “Rest, Mamma. I’m going to be up for a bit longer. Although…don’t be surprised if I help myself a little to you while you’re resting.”

Fucking psychopath. Of course you expect nothing less of him. This is all he does. He hasn’t stopped himself before!

But, you don’t protest, you know better than to do something like that now. You do something worse. You squeeze your eyes shut. You lift your head off of his shoulder. You pucker your lips, expecting a kiss good night, and he accepts your invitation, smiling against your lips as he hums in delight. You’re about to pull away but he catches your lips again, moving his languidly against yours, soft, fervent, desperate. Faint rustling of him setting aside his large red leather book as his hands cup your face, thumbs brushing against your soft, buttery, supple skin. Geto almost seems to marvel at you, the way a follower may a God. He breaks the kiss barely moments later, lips barely centimeters apart as his forehead rests against yours, his violet eyes boring into yours as they soften the longer they stare. They shine so brilliantly that it might as well serve as the only source of light in the bedroom then, apart from the soft amber light emitting from the side table lamps on either side of the master bed.

“I adore you,” he whispers in a reverent tone, making your breath catch in your throat. In the worst way possible. “I don’t expect you to feel the same.”

Because you never are going to feel the same. He knows that well, all too well.

You don’t respond, turning away. His fingers slip away from your face and he doesn’t react as you rest on your side facing away from him. But you do feel him staring as you will yourself to sleep, clamping your eyes shut, desperate for the comfort of darkness to consume you. It doesn’t matter what he helps himself to while you’re in a blissful state of sleep.

Your body tenses as the pads of his fingers ghost up your arm, as he bites back a longing sigh. A part of you almost wants to pity him, but how can you pity a man as pathetic and lowly as him? Your mind can’t even register him as a man the way he can’t register the majority of humanity as worthy.

For someone as prideful as him, that must penetrate like a wasp’s stinger.

It does make your heart swell with a bit of pride, but it’s not enough. You need to deal a stronger blow; you need something that will really, really eat at him. What might that be?

He draws his body closer to you; you feel his lips ghosting the nape of your neck before he slides all the way down until he’s caught between your legs. You try to sleep, but a moan escapes your lips when his mouth closes over your folds, suckling on them with need.

“Suguru….”

“Rest,” he grunts, between desperate sucks and kittenish licks. You can already feel the slick beginning to build. “Mamma, I got it from here.”

You cling the covers to your chest, your fingers digging into the plush velvety smooth fabric as he suckles on your clit particularly hard. You try not to focus on the sensations. You try to sleep. You try to listen. He’s going to take what he wants regardless whether you’re awake for it or not.

Eventually, you’re lulled to sleep by the light squelching noises of his tongue sweeping along your folds.

Yet another visit from Tweedledum, never mind the numerous protests from Tweedledee.

It’s not like anyone can control what a grown adult does. These two beg to differ when it comes to you, but to them, you’re not an adult with agency. You’re just something for them to bend and to shape to their will and nothing more. Perhaps in Geto’s mind, you’re something beyond that. Perhaps something beyond a pretty pet, a gorgeous trophy, but you refuse to entertain the idea. Men like them, who believe they’re above humanity, above morality, even…is there any use trying to understand the world in which they hail from?

“Princess?” Gojo calls, patting the seat next to him on that plush velvet sofa. You can’t even hide the wince as you amble over to join him there, but keep a slight distance. Giving a displeased sound—it’s a terrible sound—he hooks his arm around your waist, digging his nails into your skin and scoots you in closer until your bodies are flush against each other.

“We don’t have to do anything all that scandalous today,” he says with a cheeky grin, his tone cheery as if he hopes that might lift your spirits a bit. He can tell something’s amiss with you, something other than the usual. He knows you don’t want to be here in the first place, that you’re already unhappy, but there’s something else he’s caught onto because Tweedledum’s smarter than you ever dare to give him credit for.

A shadow crosses his face when he doesn’t find your reciprocating like you normally do—especially since Geto isn’t in the dungeon presently. Still attending to some matters with his family so he’s going to be late. “It’s just going to be a nice, relaxing movie night, yeah? Lots of sweets to chow on, though you’re the sweetest of them all as always!”

“That’s nice of you to say, Satoru,” you manage to reply through clenched teeth. But you don’t do anything more. You don’t try to snuggle into him; you don’t try to kiss him or feel him up which he usually enjoys. Those blinding sky blue eyes of his glimmer with concern as the tip of his finger glides down the side of your cheek.

“Why the long face, gorgeous?” he whispers, tone solemn for once. It’s out of character…he seems almost…shaken.

That’s a new one. In another world, you might have been elated that you can get that kind of reaction, but after the other night… you don’t know whether you should wade through these murky waters.

“It’s nothing, Satoru,” you speak, your lips twitching into a forced smile.

“It’s Suguru, isn’t it?” Satoru growls, shaking his head. “What’d he do?”

“He was upset at something I did. That’s all,” you explain, “H-he thought I went against his orders.”

“Oh.” His lips purse. “He’s not supposed to hurt you. He can hurt any other non-sorcerers for all that I care, I can’t control what he does since he’s a grown man, but you’re supposed to be out of that equation. We agreed on that. I can talk to him, you know.”

“He didn’t hurt me. Not…not physically,” you say, a half-lie of sorts, averting your gaze to the television screen. Looks like it’s a Lord of the Rings night again and he’s just about to reach the middle of the third film, where Pippin climbs that tower in Minas Tirith and lights that fire. One of your exes has made you watch these movies as well as The Hobbit trilogy numerous times, so you know the scenes by heart. You can practically recite them line by line. You can do that with Star Trek and Star Wars too.

Satoru leans in, his weight dipping next to you.

“What did he do?” he growls into your ear again. When your eyes land on his, they’ seem to emit a glow. “We agreed—no harm is going to come to you. You’re supposed to help him.”

“I…” You gulp. “Satoru, it’s not important.”

“Yes it is,” he grumbles, gripping your knee, squeezing reassuringly. “You’re important to us.”

Oh, how you wish you can believe that. Gojo leans in to kiss you on your cheek, and then on your temple. They’re soft, fleeting, gentle, like he actually loves you as much as he claims to love you, much like Geto claims to love you.

But how can people who claim to love someone do things like this and expect things to just blow over?

Why do you think you have a right to be upset? You don’t have rights here. Not anymore.

“H-he just, um,” you stammer, hugging your chest. “He…he…um…”

“It’s okay,” he sighs in clear defeat. “I think I get what you’re trying to tell me. I’ll talk with him when he gets back down here. Okay?”

He kisses the crown of your head and you utter a low whimper. He glances at you with another concerned look on his face. You hate it.

As if this is going to solve anything…

“Satoru, I, um…” you begin, tentatively resting your hand on his lap, fingers brushing over his pelvis which makes his breath hitch. His sharp eyes darken in anticipation.

Should you do something to thank him? In case Geto does something?

“Can, I, um…” you gulp, sporting on your best determined look. You have to be a good pet, right? You can do that. You can definitely do that. No matter how much it permanently stains your pride. “Can I…touch you…?”

Gojo inhales sharply as he pulls out his cock, guiding your hand to it.

“Of course you can, Princess,” he coos while flashing you a toothy grin, stroking himself to hardness. You’re not surprised he was already half-mast when he pulled himself out. He’s just getting himself nice and ready for you. “You know I won’t say no, but you don’t have to, okay?”

“I-it’s fine,” you breathe, grasping his cock at its base. “I…I want to.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, raking his fingers through your hair. “You really are the perfect girl.”

“U-um,” you can’t believe it, you’re being shy, but he probably can’t blame you because you haven’t been forced into sucking dick since the first time with him. You don’t really know what to do, so instead of diving right into it, you lick a line up his shaft, which earns an eager whimper out of him. That encourages you to continue, to just pepper soft little kisses around along the skin, ignoring the salty tang hitting your tongue each time. You’ve come to find you’re not a fan of it, but maybe it’s because you’re not attracted to him in the slightest. Being attracted to him might help in this regard but this feels more like a duty as their pretty pet.

But you know the more you can please them, the more they’re willing to do for you. At least, that’s more true for Gojo than for Geto, regardless of what he says about his ‘affections’ toward you.

“I-is this okay? I don’t really, um, know what I’m doing,” you admit, laving your tongue around the leaking head of his cock. He bites back a little whine, jumping in his place.

“It—it’s fine. You’re doing great. Better than great, Princess,” he praises, lips parted slightly as he reclines a little bit into the couch. He’s not even focused on the movie anymore and all of his attention is on you. You kind of like that you can take control every now and then here. Even if Geto is off taking care of his own business, if he’s here, you have no real agency because he’s the one monitoring everything you’re doing with Satoru.

“I guess Suguru hasn’t done this with you much. He’s always been more of a giver in this regard,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling in fondness at the thought. “I should know.”

You don’t comment on that, suckling experimentally on his tip as more precum leaks out. He jolts in his spot again.

“Fuck, baby. That feels so good. You could just use your hands too, you know,” he suggests, much like a teacher.

Well, he does mentor students at wherever he works, so that makes sense, you suppose. But in this context, that feels rather odd.

“Oh…..um. How?” Gosh, you really are playing up the naiveté there, huh? As long as he believes it…

Gojo laughs, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he motions his own hand in a ‘jerking’ motion.

“Like you would a pump. Just pump me with your hand,” he tells you, grinning wide. “You don’t have to use your mouth, though it would be nice.”

You respond with another little suckle over his tip while using a hand to ‘pump’ him like he instructed. He throws his head back, groaning low, his hand reaching over to smack your ass in approval.

“Fuck yeah. Good girl,” he purrs, fondling your ass a bit too roughly which makes you squeak. He laughs.

Faint footsteps descend down the stairs, and you don’t have to look up. You feel Geto gawking a bit at the sight, a little disappointed that you’ve started without him but he probably expected nothing less, either. You don’t stop pumping your hand up and down his length, amazed at how silky and smooth it feels even this hard and swollen looking it is. Your fingers lightly squeeze his shaft, eyebrows furrowing at the texture. You feel like you’re doing a science experiment, but the results are more pleased groans erupting from deep in Gojo’s throat that are soon cut off when Geto twists his head and kisses him.

“It seems she’s becoming more comfortable with you, Satoru,” he murmurs into his lips. “Don’t take that lightly.”

“You know I’m not,” he breathes, his face flushed. “She’s a quick learner, you know. Her hands feel so soft.”

Gojo’s hand that swatted your ass earlier pulls the fabric of your panties aside, his finger teasing the tight ring of muscle of your ass.

“You must need a little attention too, Princess,” he grunts out, biting his lip as he glances down at you with a dangerous look in those sharp blue eyes.

“Suguru,” he drawls his lover’s name lazily, jerking his head to a direction. He gives your ass another playful squeeze and you let out another yelp. “No reason to hold back, right? I mean, she’s primarily yours. I’m just part of the package deal here.”

“I wonder if she’s ready for us both,” Suguru muses out loud with a raised eyebrow.

You feel your muscles tense, but you don’t stop attending to Gojo.

“Actually,” Suguru—thank God—retracts that idea immediately, likely upon seeing your reaction as if he gives a damn about your feelings, as if you matter to him, as he joins the two of you on the edge of the sofa, prying your ass cheeks apart to get a good view of either of your holes. You whimper as he spits into your asshole, his lips twitching into a devious grin as he dips two thumbs into the tight ring to stretch it. “It might be too soon for that. She needs a little more preparation. She still struggles to take my size when it’s just me and her. You might be a little easier to take, though.”

“You are definitely right there. Your dick is way too thick for her,” Gojo concedes with a hum, moaning as you glide your tongue around his length again. His dick twitches; he’s so close already. “We could just use more dildos or something. Get her used to it a little more.”

“True,” Geto replies, but something’s amiss in that tone of his. It’s softer. Affectionate, even. You don’t want to admit it, but it is. It’s missing that hidden layer of greed, of ulterior motives because a part of you still believes he can’t have any real feelings—not even toward Gojo.

You don’t like it for some reason. However subtle the change in Geto is. Sometimes you much rather he be cruel than considerate, because his kindness feels far too comical. Unnerving.

But maybe, once upon a time, he really may have been a considerate, kind, compassionate man. You don’t know anything about these two or what they do or what they’re capable of doing or why they have ended up the way they are.

You don’t really care to dig into that rabbit hole. It’s not of your concern. They say so themselves.

You suppress the confusing thoughts swirling in your mind like a vortex. It’s not something you should be focusing on, anyway, instead focusing on bringing Gojo to a climax, which, it already seems like he’s nearly there. You give a few more pumps, wincing at the wet noises the skin makes before shyly closing your mouth over his tip.

“Fuuuuck. That’s it, baby. You know just what to do. Don’t doubt yourself like that, alright?” he praises as seeds of his orgasm shoots onto your tongue. You wince again. You find it all far from arousing, but that doesn’t matter.

You keep suckling on his tip as he shoots more of his seed into your mouth, panting as he comes down from that electrifying hot high. His gaze flits to Geto who’s watching him with amusement twinkling in his darkened violet eyes but he’s still hovering between your legs, far from finished with you. Your body once again tenses; you do not like that he’s actually refrained from touching or playing with you the entire time you focused on pleasing Gojo.

Like he’s…being considerate, giving you breathing room.

It’s so unlike him.

You jolt in place as a sharp hand comes down to smack your pussy. You immediately pull away from Gojo’s cock, ignoring the light pop and the line of spit still connecting your lips to the tip of his cock which you break off with a swipe of your tongue as you meet his eyes.

He smiles down at you, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. Your eyebrows flash in confusion. That’s a smile that doesn’t reek of deception or otherwise.

“We can stop here for today,” he suggests, “Besides, Satoru has other duties he should be attending to right now.” That gentle smile immediately melds into something a bit firmer, stricter, as he gazes at Gojo. “You do have to get back to Jujutsu Tech grounds before Yaga realizes you’ve been gone longer than you should have been, right?”

Whoever the heck Yaga is. His boss or something? That’s all you can infer from that.

“It’s not like it’s surprising to them if I show up late,” Gojo quips, “Besides, I want to stay longer with you, Suguru. We have to talk.”

Geto’s eyebrows furrow at that and you gulp.

You glance up at Gojo, eyes shimmering in concern. He doesn’t acknowledge you, keeping his eyes locked on Geto’s.

Uh oh.

Trouble in paradise, indeed.

Geto sends you off under Miguel’s watch, catering to the twins while he remains behind with Gojo elsewhere in the underground area beneath the temple. There’s another section you haven’t entered yet. This is not how he’s hoped to spend his quality time with the love of his life; he’s hoped for something more intimate and far less serious than this, but Gojo often did choose the worst times to be serious about something and apparently that something involves your well-being.

Which, of course, Geto has come to care about as well.

“Well talk,” Geto ushers, folding his arms over his chest as he stares Gojo down, his nostrils flaring. “We could be doing something else, but I’m forgoing our original plan to hear you out.”

“Something we should have done years ago,” Gojo mumbles, shaking his head. “Which is talk it out. You wont let me in. I just want to get why. But before that, we have to talk about her. She shouldn’t be afraid of you. I mean, she shouldn’t disobey you, but she should feel like, she’s, you know…”

“Part of the family,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know.”

“So what the fuck, Suguru? I don’t care what else you do, but she’s supposed to help you sort your own shit when I’m not around. And I know once Yaga gets a hold of me I’m not going to be able to come back around as much anymore. I want to keep being your rock, Suguru, but to do that, you have to let me in.”

“So then,” Suguru scoffs, twisting around with his back facing Gojo for a moment. “If that’s true, then why did you vent to her about me first?”

Gojo’s eyes flashes. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Geto’s gaze flits back to him, assessing his features. He can’t stay mad at a face like his—even when he’s angry, he looks like a lost puppy who’s been mishandled. Geto ignores the way his chest burns at the sight. He hates hurting Satoru. Whether or not it’s unintentional is irrelevant.

“Why didn’t you trust me enough?” Geto demands, softening his tone as the muscles on his face relaxes. “If you had been so upset with me, why didn’t you just bring this up sooner?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Gojo claps back, glowering at him. Geto winces; that’s likely deserved, all things considered. Well…it’s obviously deserved. He has massacred hundreds to make a political statement and half for the sheer fun of it. “I wanted you to open up to me but when I tried you just told me it was ‘the summer heat.’ Summer heat my fucking balls.”

“So you did sense something, even that long ago,” Geto sighs, more and more guilt pooling into his stomach. How foolish he is to not give credit for Satoru where credit is due. It’s his fault for shutting everyone out, even Shoko; he has to admit to that fault of his.

“Of course I did! Obviously I just didn’t expect something like that,” Gojo replies, his shoulders sagging a bit. Geto takes a step closer, a hand reaching out to him. Gojo shuts his Infinity completely off during these moments but he doesn’t appear receptive to touch right then. Geto bites back a sigh. He doesn’t like to hurt those he loves, truly loves, and Satoru stands above everyone in his life. Now you are in the same plane as Satoru’s existence and he’s doing something wrong in trying to get you to lean on him, to trust him.

“What are you trying to say?” Geto replies, eyes downcast as his arm falls to his side.

“I’m trying to say why didn’t you just come to me in the first place?” Gojo answers, but his tone isn’t accusatory. He never has been with Geto. He’s always tried to understand. Even back then, he’s tried, but it’s Geto who pushed him away. “We could have worked it out then.”

“Now we’re going in circles,” Geto scoffs, gritting his teeth. His expression melds back into a softer one as he approaches Satoru, cupping his face. Satoru doesn’t pull away; he can’t, even if he wishes to, and Suguru should have seen that sooner.“It’s because of her, isn’t it? Perhaps we need to set the record with her. I already punished her once, but now she’s making you think you’ve done something wrong.”

“That wasn’t her doing,” Gojo counters hastily, “All she did was actually listen. Which, you know, I could do that too! If you let me listen. And like I already told you, she’s not supposed to be afraid of you, remember? This doesn’t warrant punishment. In fact, she should be rewarded because now we’re actually talking.”

“Satoru,” Geto starts, brushing his cheeks. “It’s not that simple.”

“It isn’t,” Gojo concedes, “But we can figure it out. Like we always do. Remember? And please, for fuck’s sake, go easy on her. She…really isn’t happy.”

“She isn’t?” Geto snarks, a little sharper than intended. He deflates when he notices how Gojo winces. “No, of course she isn’t. It’s foolish to think otherwise, but it’s not like I wish to bite. I don’t know why I do. I’m not an angry dog, you know.”

“You’re not,” Gojo agrees, resting a hand over one of Suguru’s. “You’re a cowardly dog. You bite because you’re scared. Just try wooing her a little, you know? You should have just taken the normie route and asked her out on a real date instead of dragging her into this.”

“That’s not my style,” Geto huffs. Gojo laughs, but it’s hollow.

“Proper communication? Yeah, I am well aware,” Gojo quips, grinning a little.

Geto glares at him.

“Satoru…” he warns.

“You know,” we don’t have to be arguing,” Gojo remarks, “I want to fix what happened. The charges may not be able to be lifted, but we can still…work around it. You know?”

“I know,” Geto relents, pulling Gojo in closer, so close he can inhale his expensive Prada cologne that he doesn’t find as nauseating and overpowering as his other scents. “But it’s too late to make amends for that.”

“No, it isn’t,” Gojo insists, practically on his way to getting on his knees for Geto, at this point. He may as well if it makes a statement. ““I can find a way around it. The only person who can execute you is me, but I can postpone that, obviously.”

“Postpone as in never allow it?” Geto interjects in a sullen, yet knowing, even teasing, tone.

“Exactly,” he exclaims, “Just think about it! You could just become a Sensei, with me. And you don’t have to worry about getting executed. Not with me on your side.”

Geto considers the options for a moment.

“No.”

Gojo’s confidence over his solution completely falters.

“The hell do you mean no?” he jabs, “No one else can actually kill you but me you know! And I obviously don’t want to, so there!”

“It won’t be on my terms,” he answers simply.

Gojo goes silent. His mouth hangs open for a moment, as if to counter with something, but then he shuts his mouth again as he ponders over what else he can say to convince Geto. There’s not much more to this, isn’t there? Geto doesn’t want to be a puppet; he’s made that abundantly clear. Gojo might find his resolve admirable if not for the lengths he went to just to prove his point.

“So is that what this is about?” Gojo mutters, sulking. “I guess I kind of get it. You don’t want them to pull the strings and you want to forge your own path. I gotta say, this was not the wisest decision, babe, but…I understand why. Kind of?”

“Precisely,” he affirms, “Let them think whatever they like about me, Satoru. I want no business with them anymore.”

“But…” he starts, but Suguru cuts him off with a chaste kiss. Satoru melts into it before Geto pulls away.

“Satoru, you shouldn’t play into their shit either. But you know exactly why I didn’t want you to follow me.”

“I know,” he replies with a frown. “But…”

“You shouldn’t have to be a puppet either, Satoru. You shouldn’t be a weapon to them.”

“No,” he agrees, “But for some reason, I find comfort in it.”

“Everyone—sorcerer or human—clings to what they find familiar,” Geto murmurs with a little grin.

“You know, regardless of being a sorcerer, you still are human, baby,” Satoru teases while matching his grin.

Suguru responds with a dark laugh, kissing him again.

“Don’t make me kill you,” he murmurs seductively into his lips.

You’re back in the bedroom when evening falls and Geto finds you splayed over the bed, flipping through one of his books sittig on the nightstand on your side of the bed. He beams at the sight, perhaps misconstruing it as a sign that you’re making yourself more at home here if you’re making more use of his belongings. He treasures his books like he does his adopted girls.

“Have you read that book before?” he asks as he shuts the door behind him, disrobing and setting the material aside. You don’t look up from the page you’re skimming, mostly because you’re not interested in seeing his pasty face but also because you’re actually quite invested in the mystery.

“Only heard about it,” you admit, “I understand why people are frustrated with the main character. She’s so obviously getting played by that guy.”

He chuckles, “It’s a frustrating thing to watch unfold, indeed. She doesn’t seem to pick up on that even when others have warned her.”

You shrug, stopping at the chapter you’re on to glance up at him as he settles onto his side of the bed.

“Love makes you blind, I guess,” you comment, gazing up at his face. “What did you and Satoru talk about, darling?”

“I should apologize,” he starts, frowning. “I’ve been harsh on you when I shouldn’t have been. I was wrong for that. I don’t expect you to forgive me so easily, but—”

“—it’s fine,” you reply a little too quickly, but you’re trying to stay in his good graces for a reason. You have only gotten a hint of what his ‘bad side’ looks like. You don’t want a repeat of it. “I’ve already forgiven you. I-I was out of line. I’m sorry.”

“No, you weren’t,” he replies, “You did a good thing. You did what I should have done. You did nothing wrong, Mamma. I did.”

“O-okay,” you whisper, a little pathetic because a part of you is still frightened he can switch gears at the drop of a hat. And he definitely can and has. “I understand.”

A silence falls over the two of you for a few moments. Those few moments feel agonizingly long, drawn out like a scroll rolling across a table. But some rustling beside you breaks the silence as he loops an arm over your frame and snuggles you close until you’re nestled into him.

His finger fiddles with the gold chain around your neck, a fond smile playing at his lips. Yeah. Of course. You’re his pretty little thing, after all. Just his pet. A little appendage to his messy bond with Satoru.

His eyes dip lower, and that smile only widens. You’re bare all over; you’ve forgone clothes the moment you enter the room now as opposed to just stripping to your undergarments. Of course he’s pleased with the change; it just means it’s another way he’s going to misconstrue as you becoming more comfortable with being here, under his ‘care.’

He trails kisses along your milky collarbone, suckling on your softer, tender spots, and you clench your fists, grunting a bit. You have only just begun to gain some feeling back in your bottom  half from his punishment last night, and now he’s intent on making you lose feeling in your legs again if this goes any further tonight. And you know it will. That’s how it always is.

Just an appendage. Just a pet.

He doesn’t love you, no matter what he says, and it doesn’t matter that he tries to find other ways to accommodate you. He still takes what he wants in the end. One way or another.

He pulls away briefly, his tongue darting between his lips as his eyes trail down between your breasts.

He kisses the area just above them, and you freeze, feeling your blood run cold. You feel like you could crash right then and there; you can’t take another minute of this but you know you don’t have much of a say. It depends entirely on Suguru, whether he’s truly in good spirits or not and you can’t even tell half the time.

“Suguru, I…” you sharply inhale as he kisses lower, lower… humming to himself as if he can’t help it, marveling at you. You try not to sound too audacious when you decline this. “I-I can’t. I…”

“You’re afraid of me,” he remarks, lifting his head to stare at you, his forehead creasing as he frowns.

Your eyes widen.

“No!” you exclaim, but he only raises an eyebrow and you try not to deflate. “No, Suguru, no… nothing like… that…”

“I don’t want you to be,” he mutters, resting his face into your lap like a child, like a beggar, even, is more appropriate. Your eyes triple in size at this. Geto has never behaved this way before. He takes your hands into his own, running his thumb along your knuckles.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he goes on, resting his forehead against your hands. “Mamma, you are in my world now. I want you to feel like you belong here. The twins adore you like a mother. I adore you already. I wouldn't take that lightly. Satoru has come to find some kind of affection for you too, but the man is too damn prideful to really say anything to your face about that.”

You don’t have anything to say to that. (Not that you really give a damn, but as long as you stay in their good graces, can you really complain? It makes things less Hellish for you, ultimately.)

“Moreover,” You try not to groan, so he isn’t finished babbling then; he clears his throat. “He told me you were unhappy. Which is expected, given the circumstances. Unfortunately I don’t think anything will have gone differently if I had done things normally. While I can’t change the past, I can only hope you’re willing to let me make things a little easier for you here.”

This feels too easy.

You can’t anger him.

“Suguru,” you start, bringing your hand to his cheek and tilting his head. His eyebrows flash as he tries to understand what you’re doing, but he can piece together a situation very quickly as you present one of your stiff nipples near his face. His face flushes a little, eyes half-mast as he glances at you with pure adoration before slurping hard onto your nipple, making a gasp leave your lips.

He hasn’t used this in a while, so he must have really needed it today. As long as it means he doesn’t try to hurt you, because you don’t have to make this as bad as it is.

A hand finds your waist, steadying himself as he suckles hard on your nipple with more need, and your lips part, breathy, broken whines filling the room and seeming to encourage him. Because he chuckles against your skin, grinning.

“Does Mamma enjoy taking care of me?” he growls before closing his mouth over your nipple again with a long, lewd suck.

It’s like the typical routine now. Once he finishes with that bud, he pops off and latches onto your other one, milking you for all that you’re worth until he feels like he can carry the world on his shoulders again. Whatever these supposed burdens of his are, you don’t care, it doesn’t concern you.

“Suguru…” you utter softly, a bit embarrassed by your lack of real reaction, and his pupils roll upward to observe your face. You don’t realize how flushed and debauched you are, and he might’ve made a comment if not for how occupied he is sucking on your tit like his life depended on it like he usually did. But again, this has been the first time in a few weeks since he’s taken advantage of this. He’s been keeping distance, respecting your space, up until the moment where you crossed an ‘unknown’ boundary between he and Gojo.

The hand resting on the dip of your waist snakes lower to the fleshy, meaty part of your thigh, his rough callouses brushing against your soft skin. He hums against your little bud, nibbling slightly on it as he adjusts you, sliding you into his lap and groaning as your cunt brushes against the growing tent in his pants. He bucks upward, growling from the delicious friction and making you gasp, and he grins before pulling on your nipple with his teeth as he moves away. A little playful twinkle in his eyes as he does before he finally releases the oversensitive bud, licking off the leftover droplets of milk coating the corners of his lips, a bit dribbling on his chin.

He buries his face between your tits again, kissing the skin between them, biting and licking the marks he leaves behind as his other hand moves to play with your folds, already lightly soaked. He hums, obviously tickled pink at the discovery and you can’t find yourself to be more embarrassed by your physiological reactions. Two dexterous fingers slide easily into your slicked entrance and you breathe sharply through your nose, hiding your face into his neck which makes him chuckle.

“Don’t be so shy with me, Mamma,” he teases as he adjusts his position, kissing into your neck as his fingers twist and curl inside of you, making you jolt in your place. “You haven’t been whenever Satoru’s been around.”

The dark tone in his quip catches you off-guard. It shouldn’t, and yet fearful eyes meet his. Is he…?

There’s a deep scowl now in place of his malicious grin. You don’t know which is worse. Stone cold violet eyes bore into yours, and you feel yourself shrinking more from fear.

Hasn’t he just told you he doesn’t want you to be afraid? That he wants you to feel like you’re home?

Perhaps that’s still true, but…

“Regardless of you doing the right thing for us or not,” he grunts, plunging those two slender fingers of his deep into your spongy walls, making you wriggle in place but he secures his hold on you. Your walls are clenching around them. He doesn’t relent that agonizing pace, seeking your release. “Satoru isn’t supposed to be benefitting from this arrangement more than I, Mamma. Understand this- you belong to me. First and foremost. Satoru is part of the deal with me, yes, but that doesn’t mean he gets to toy with you whenever he wants to. Most of all you shouldn’t initiate anything with him—I’ve seen you. You mustn’t question my authority when it comes to this relationship.”

But it isn’t a relationship for you. It’s an obligation.

Between Satoru and Suguru? Sure, that’s a relationship. A weird one. The weirdest one you have probably ever seen in your life, but that’s still a relationship between them.

“I-I’m not questioning your authority over m-me, Suguru—!” You come in a hot flash, clenching tight around his fingers and at least that frightening scowl of his twitches into a satisfied, toothy grin as he fucks his fingers into your cunt for a few moments longer before sliding them out. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he groans as he sucks on your intimate juices; You can’t look. So you don’t. But then you hear the little whisper of clothes as he yanks his pants down, pulling out his fully stiff cock and patting the head against your slick cunt.

“Good,” he hisses as the head breaches your hole. “Then we’re on the same page. You’re mine, Mamma. Just mine. Satoru is out of the question.”

You answer with a pathetic whine as he plunges deep inside you. He laughs darkly, huddling you close, whispering disgusting little words to you as he continues to take everything from you.

[unlimitedbutchworks]

Neotrances (ardourie) will never be held accountable for the damage he’s done to trans women and has gaslit the public into thinking he’s the victim of a hate campaign instead of someone who is being continuously antagonistic towards us, making false accusations while, as you said, vaguely supporting us in no materially real way just random positivity posts. I didn’t even know about fluorosensitive either until I saw your post. They are both just continuing to circulate without any damage to their reputation it took a long time for me to even see what happened. Tme people continue to get away with the most ugly hearted behavior and no one cares. I mention this because I followed both and was gaslit myself for a moment into thinking they (particularly ardourie) were some kind of victims. Makes me feel like a real idiot in retrospect. Some people are just really good at playing the victim. Anyway thanks for bringing attention to it because not enough people talk about it at all.

its infuriating! and they play the role well enough and say the right keywords to the point that those who dont pay close enough attention will be cowed into either agreeing with them or excusing them, because who wants to get lumped into the accusations as an apologist of whatever the go-to topic of disgust is this time, even if the "evidence" itself is shaky as fuck when it even exists. i still remember watching them complain about some trans women innocuously talking about kink in ways they didnt like before spreading totally false info that they're into raceplay, just because their previous callout wasnt spreading hard enough. not to mention the dumbass blocklists that tweedle-dee to used to make, almost entirely comprised of trans women, while bitching about pornsickness. its pretty vile. and seeing them as the transmisogynists they are is made even harder when they get spread by people who otherwise try to be trans positive, but this is more a larger issue of tme people holding extreme benefit of the doubt for transmisogynistic behavior when its from people they like/share identities with rather than something specific to them

this behavior is not okay!

[natasha-in-space]

All Good Things Must End

Ray/gn!reader;

From the beginning, you trusted Ray with all your heart. He was the embodiment of your fairytale dream come to life. Your respite from all the unappealing troubles of the outside world. But all fairytales have an ending to them. And yours is not as happy as you expected.

CW: brief mention of violence, erratic behavior, depiction of a codependent relationship. This is a Danger Ray fic! Set during V's route. Loosely based on the 7th day outgoing call to V (11:51 AM, after the 'Provoke' chatroom).

Lovely dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

Ray was a good man. A kind man. A fragile man, even. His entire appearance would remind you of a beautiful but delicate flower. So starved for love and warmth, yet so sensitive to every harsh touch of the wind, even the slightest of pushes against its soft petals would make it start to wilt. A flower that needed nothing but some gentle care and love for it to come into bloom. And, of course, you were willing to give him just that. After all, why wouldn't you be? Ray has been nothing but kind and caring towards you, ever since you stepped foot into this strange place, guiding you along the way while holding your hand and not minding any of your clumsy mistakes. He was understanding. Attentive. Curious. Always checking in with you and eager to hear about your day. Never ignoring you or making you feel stupid if you didn't understand a thing or two.

No wonder you found it so easy to open up to him in your short time here. You trusted that he would do no wrong by you. Just as he promised.

At least... that's what you thought. And appearances can be deceiving. Oh, so very deceiving. Now, it felt downright humiliating just how much of a blind fool you really were. How stupidly determined you were to deny and rebuke anyone daring to challenge your views on Ray.

You loyally refused to trust Rika's musings about Ray's 'darkness' during your brief stay with her, dismissing them as nothing but her twisted philosophy that you couldn't even begin to comprehend. You impulsively denied V's numerous warnings not to trust in Ray's sugary words, reassuring yourself over and over again that surely his affections for you must be true and earnest. You turned your back on every nagging suspicion buzzing at the back of your mind during short moments of unrest. You knew in your heart that Ray was a kind, tender boy. He was simply confined to an environment that would exacerbate his worst traits.

And he was only human, right? No one is immune to harmful outside influences being forced down upon them. Anyone could end up in his place one day, even you. It was no reason for you to be hostile and distrustful of him.

Then again, maybe that was just your mind trying desperately to keep you calm in the midst of a horrible storm you found yourself being forcibly thrust into. After all, accepting just how truly bad and out of your control things truly were here... How utterly helpless and vulnerable you were, with no one there to come save you if you needed it... How trapped and isolated you were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but miles and miles of lush mountain forests, with no civilization in sight...

Just the thought of it would make a heavy lump of acidic bile rise up to your throat. The sad truth is... Ray simply provided you with feelings of solace and comfort that some deeper, weaker part of you was so desperate for. Losing that was something you were not ready to face yet. He was there by your side from day one. He had a better understanding of you than anyone else did. Of course you would cling to his familiar presence for this brief feeling of stability you yearned for so gravely.

In retrospect, it was always a losing battle for you to try and win. You could have done better. You really, really could have done so much better. Yet it still hit you harder than a sledgehammer to the back of your skull, when the bitter reality has finally reared its ugly head to you, without any regard for your fragile heart.

You resent yourself for hitting that call button despite your gut screaming at you not to. You were already well aware that you would regret doing that, somewhere on the back of your mind. But, in the moment, your worry for your friend overpowered your lingering anxiety. Maybe out of some sense of duty. V made it all the way here, just to save you. You played a big role in his capture, in a way. If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't be in danger. And not knowing a single thing about his whereabouts or even his state was... daunting.

So, you dialed his phone number.

You anticipated that he wouldn't pick up. Maybe you would receive a very brief phone call with him begging you to keep yourself safe, like he always would. Or even just a quick exchange of words between you two that would maybe give you even the tiniest of clues on his whereabouts. Something you could then relay to Seven. Make yourself useful. Actually do something, instead of just sitting there and driving yourself mad with dozens upon dozens of anxious thoughts clouding your mind.

What you received was worse than you could have ever imagined.

It was one thing to hear pained groans, gasps, and raspy coughing on the other end of the line. You already had an expectation that V would not be okay when you hear his voice. It still left your knees feeling weak and your heart lurching in your chest with a dizzying intensity, but you could handle that, to an extent. What you couldn't handle was also hearing a familiar soft-spoken voice that has become an unstated but undeniable source of comfort for you. A voice that was now sounding so cold and angry, that your brain had a hard time comprehending what was happening, seemingly shutting down completely, as you remained deathly quiet for the whole duration of that cursed call.

Ray just was not supposed to be there.

You have heard him get angry before. You have heard him lose his grip on reality before. You have heard him say things you couldn't truly agree with, despite you still going along with them regardless, to avoid causing him any disturbance. Those were all aspects of him you were not blind to. You just actively chose to overlook them whenever they would come up. Something that you probably shouldn't have done.

-But you never heard him be so downright cruel and vicious before. Seemingly not at all disturbed by the very real sounds of suffering from the other living person there with him. Even getting angrier at them.

Like it was something completely normal. Not at all worth getting upset or worried over.

You couldn't wrap your head around the fact that this was the same man that worried himself sick over you simply scraping a knee. He was so caring, so empathetic to you back then... over a small cut, of all things. And now, that very same man was not at all disturbed by such grave suffering happening right in front of him.

No, by the sounds of it... he was actively causing it.

And that's not something you could live in peace with.

The call lasted for a maximum of two minutes. That's the time that your phone would display to you whenever you mindlessly return to it, anyway. But it felt way longer than that. For those two horrible minutes, your ears were ruthlessly subjected to the merciless reality you were so desperate to avoid facing up until that very moment.

The bitter truth was that Ray is not a fragile flower. Nor is he a prince from a fairytale. For, fairytales are not reality. No matter how much you want them to be. He was a man, a human being, just like you. Just like every other person in this building. And much like any human being, he was more than capable of causing harm by his own two hands if he so chooses. In fact, he would do so purposefully. And a victim of his spiraling wrath was no longer some faceless unlucky believer that you could forget about in a matter of hours, despite you genuinely feeling bad for them. No, it was your friend. A friend who fought so desperately to save you, even at the cost of his own safety. A friend you have come to care for in the short time you have known each other.

A friend, you knew for sure didn't deserve to be suffering in the way that he was. By the hands of your other friend you cared for just as deeply.

Such reality was just too cruel for you to bear.

So, you do the most foolish thing of all.

You confront Ray head-on.

"-Y/N, you must be confused... I've done no wrong. I do admit that I... did loose myself for a moment there, but- but it was his own fault! If he just kept quiet and drank the elixir like my Savior has instructed, I wouldn't get so upset with him. And he kept saying his stupid lies... He wouldn't shut up. My head hurt so bad... You have no idea."

You are left feeling sick to your very core by the soft apologetic smile reflected on Ray's face, once you do have a chance to finally face him again. No matter what you say, how hard you try to show him how wrong and cruel his actions really were, it was all completely pointless. For someone so seemingly skittish and subservient, Ray was frustratingly stubborn in his beliefs. It was like throwing a tennis ball at a wall. The more force you put into your throw to get your point across, the harder it just bounces right back into your face, leaving you with the painful sting of your failure.

You shake your head, an ugly mess of emotions steadily clouding your sense of judgment. At some point, you lose track of your location and position. All caution goes out the window. All that remains is a debilitating feeling of betrayal, clutching at your insides like metal rods slowly puncturing your very heart. "It is still wrong, Ray! How can you not see that!? He was suffering, and you just- just-"

The words don't come out of your mouth, obstructed by the suffocating lump stuck in the middle of your throat. You were going in circles now. You have been trying to get through to him for almost ten minutes straight, and still no results. You have to take a moment to try and regain your breathing. A soft glowed hand rests gently upon your chin, causing you to tilt your head to meet Ray's gaze instead.

You are disgusted by the genuine concern etched onto his delicate features. By the unfeigned emotions of nothing but genuine care and affection swimming in his eyes as he looks at you. By the tender touch warming up your clammy skin. All of it is sincere. You know he is not lying to you. Not right now, at least. And that is a sickening realization to come to.

More than anything, you are disgusted by the simple fact that you cannot perceive him as a monster or an angel. Ray is no perfect prince from a fairytale, no matter how hard he may try and appear to you as such.

He's a human.

Just like you.

And this implies that he is capable of all the atrocities that any human being is capable of. As much as he is kind to you, he can also be cruel to others. As much as his hands soothe and tremble when they brush up against yours, they can also hurt and sully those he harbors hatred for. It's not all black and white, as you would like to delude yourself into thinking.

And his actions were truly appalling to you. You couldn't live in your fantasy world anymore. It was sullied. Destroyed beyond repair. Your Wonderland has been corrupted from the start, and you just denied each and every sign of it, until it was too late.

"My prince/ss... It pains me to see you in such distress. Though, your tender heart is another trait of you that I adore," Ray whispers to you softly, his thumb lightly brushing over your cheekbone. He was touching you so gently, it's almost like you were made out of glass. And yet, just a few hours earlier, these exact hands were causing so much suffering to someone you care so deeply about. The thought prompts you to swallow hard and clutch your hands together as they start to shake. He continues, seemingly undisturbed by your lack of a positive response. "-But believe me when I say that that villain is not deserving of your compassion. He tried to take you away from me... To ruin what you and I have built together. I cannot stand by and watch him do that to us. What if you got hurt because of him? I would never forgive myself, if that were to happen."

You shut your eyes, refusing to accept the reality unfolding before you. Everything was wrong. So very wrong. One part of you wanted to scream and shout at him, to make him see the twisted nature of his words by pure unrelenting force if you have to. But there was another part of you that contemplated just giving up and concluding this interaction altogether. The debilitating feeling of helplessness was just too much for you to handle.

You are not allowed to do either of those things, however. Instead, another hand lightly rests on the small of your back, pulling you in towards the source of your distress. And you don't fight it. You feel your forehead come in contact with Ray's chest, his flowery scent filling your senses, as both of his arms are now circling around you. You hear a happy sigh fall from his lips. It all seemed like a very cruel joke on you. A moment that seemed so sweet and touching, bringing you nothing but more hurt and anguish.

Did he really not see anything amiss with any of this?

"I missed you so much, my flower... You know, when I heard that liar try and talk to me like he knew you better than I do, I felt like I might just strangle him right then and there. Make sure he never utters your lovely name ever again." Ray's voice is slightly gruff from how quiet it is against the side of your head. A low hum vibrates in his throat as he nuzzles into your hair like an affectionate cat would, breathing in your scent with all the longing you could possibly ask for. Though, the only thing that comes from his affections is a sickening feeling of dread for you.

"-But I thought of you. I thought of your lovely smile... Your eyes, your voice. I know I shouldn't think like this, but... You gave me more strength than my Savior's words ever did. What I did... I did for you. For us, Y/N." He continues, taking a step back from the hug to look at you. Your gaze is cast low, as you don't reciprocate the gesture. You can't bring yourself to look at him right now. It's hard to even keep yourself from putting your hands over your ears to avoid hearing it all. He gently tilts your head up, however, making it clear that he wants you to look at him. "Please don't be upset... It breaks my heart to see you sad because of that villain."

That's when the dam inside of you finally shatters, all repressed emotions spilling out in a violent wave of hopelessness you cannot bring yourself to stop. You wrench yourself away from Ray's arms, your own hands now clenched into tight fists as you look him directly in the eyes. There's a fire burning ever hotter inside of your chest, and you make no attempt to put it out. You let it take over you completely, consequences be damned.

"Villain?Villain!? Ray, he did all he could to save me! And you locked him up and tortured him for that!"

Your mind is screaming at you to stop. To stop and fix things before they spiral too out of your control.

You're being too aggressive. Too blunt. Too disobedient. Staying safe requires you to be both calm and smart about this. And you are neither of those things right now.

But you don't care.

Even as you see the emotions in Ray's eyes shift from that suffocating affection to a mix of desperation and frustration you know well. He makes a step towards you. You make two steps back. This makes his brows furrow in what you could only assume was dissatisfaction.

You never backed away from him before.

"Save you...? No. No. Y/N, he tried to steal you from me. Poison you with his lies, like he has done to my Savior. He did it to me, too! I'm the one who saved you. I did what had to be done to protect you!" You can actively hear his voice changing from the shaky disbelief at your denial of him to rough desperation to prove you wrong. It's borderline scary how quick those changes are occurring right in front of your eyes. Almost in a blink of an eye. It's yet another blaring warning for you to stop.

One that you ignore.

Instead, your frustration boils up inside of you, making you sneer at his stubborn refusal to see reason: "By hurting him!? By making him choke and gag in pain? What was the point of-"

Your angry line of thought is instantaneously interrupted by a small yeep that slips past your lips, as Ray closes in on you in just a couple of quick steps, grabbing at your wrists with a tight grip. Tight enough to cause you some discomfort. His eyes are wide, and his breathing is noticeably shaky. Like he's fighting to get enough air into his lungs and failing miserably. He yanks you close, making you stumble into him without much time for you to struggle or push back against him. Mostly due to your state of pure disbelief. You never expected Ray to actually do anything to you. And while he wasn't actively hurting you, this was still shattering your perception of him to bits and pieces. Or, what remained of it.

"That was nothing, Y/N. He deserved all of that. He deserved that and more. You feel sad for him? You wish mercy on him?" You are suddenly pushed back against the wall, and Ray's slim form keeps you trapped in this makeshift cage you created for yourself with your reckless actions. Ray's voice grows shakier, yet also significantly lower. It sounded dangerous. Angry. His nose brushes up against yours, as he's leaning so close to you, you can't focus on anything but him. Your breath hitches as you instinctively press yourself up against the wall, the panicked pounding of your heart echoing in your temples. "You have no idea how badly he hurt me. What pain I went through because of that- that-"

You can't help but wince in pain as his grip on you tightens. An action that seems to immediately shake Ray out of his temporary fit of anger, as he gasps and quickly lets go of you, stumbling backwards with a frightened expression painted over his features. You don't even have to look at him to know that he is probably in a less than stable state of mind. You are left staggered, betrayed and confused, as you stand there, eyes cast low, rubbing at your wrists. They didn't hurt. Not much, at least. It's the psychological aspect of it that left an impact of you.

Ray's voice feels muffled as it reaches your ears through the constant flow of thought in your head.

"I- N-No, Y/N, I'm sorry, I didn't want to- Are you hurt?" You can see him taking a step back towards you, hand reaching out for yours, probably to check on your wrists. You can tell he's scared. And upset. Probably guilty. Which makes this even harder for you to grapple with.

Either way, you cut him off, not wanting to hear any more of this. Partially because you understand that staying to listen will only cause you to break further, if it was even possible at this point. Because he sounds so genuine, nervous, and miserable, it makes your heart ache for him despite yourself. Makes you want to look up, smile, and say that you're okay. That you two can figure it out together.

And you don't want to repeat the same mistake twice.

"Just... Leave, Ray." You mutter out quietly, not raising your eyes at him. You sound a bit too soft for your liking, but it'll do. Swallowing, you repeat yourself for good measure. "Please. Leave."

There is a prolonged pause between the two of you. It's almost too lengthy for comfort. Neither of you say anything for a while. But the tension in the air is thick, and it does not fade with time. It only grows. Crawling over you like snakes. There is a fear within you that prevents you from looking at him. A fear of seeing the pain in his eyes. Or, instead, to come face to face with that same anger that felt so alien to you.

Ray finally speaks up. His voice is barely audible.

"...N-No..."

He moves closer to you still. For the second time today, you are finding yourself backing away. But now, you turn your back on him and keep your hands locked where you can see them. You can feel them shaking. With a sigh, you repeat: "Leave."

And, as you soon learn, that was not a very wise choice for you to make.

You're quickly spun around before you can think to act, and Ray's fingers are digging into your shoulders with a disturbing intensity, leaving you little time to react. He's observing you as if you were a wounded animal that was left behind after being hit by a car. Like you're the saddest creature he had ever seen. And, for some reason, that look scares you more than the previous anger he showed you.

"I can't believe this..." He murmurs under his breath, his eyes darting over your figure, almost like he was searching for something physical on you that could be visible to the human eye. But he doesn't find it, and that seems to upset him further. You try to pull away from him, only to get jerked back in again, his hold on you tightening.

Only this time, he does not pay any attention to your visible discomfort. He was too occupied with his own thoughts that you were not aware of. It's like he doesn't even see you. Not fully, anyways.

He holds your chin and tilts your face to examine you more closely. As he does, his shaky breath sneaks over your cheek and causes you to shiver in place.

"He... He poisoned you, didn't he...?"

The hushed murmur sounds so utterly ridiculous that it almost makes you forget about the disturbing nature of this situation for a good moment. Yet, he was completely serious. And he wasn't even talking to you, by the looks of it.

"What? Ray, I-"

"-That's why you are saying all these things to me... That's why you don't trust me anymore." Ray cuts you off as if you were not there, his brows furrowing into a deep scowl, but not one aimed directly at you. One of his hands grips onto your chin, while the other finds your hand and takes it into his own, his fingers sliding between yours. He grasps it tight, in a hold that would feel reassuring, if it wasn't for the circumstances. "My Y/N wouldn't tell me to leave. I should've guessed..."

A shiver of fear runs down your spine. As your outburst of frustration subsides, you slowly start to realize the seriousness of this situation for you, as the fire of anger and betrayal subsides. Now you wish Ray was angry again. At least then he still listened to you. But how can you fix things when he doesn't even acknowledge you?

"-Don't worry," You are brought back to reality by a warm and assuring smile on Ray's face. One that only makes you feel nauseous. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, making your breath hitch. Staying there, he whispers onto your skin, like a secret promise only for your ears to hear. "I will fix it, my prince/ss. I shouldn't have been away from you for this long in the first place... My Savior is far too busy to give you the care and attention you need. But now, I'm here. And I'm not leaving your side again. I promise. I'll make sure you are smiling again."

He does not let go of you again. While your fairytale might have been broken, his has only begun its story. And his happily ever after is not something he will give up on. Even if you did.

[transmutationisms]

i keep getting so disoriented here bc all the streets look exactly the fucking same and i realised (this is obvious in retrospect) it's literally just bc essentially 100% of the built environment that exists now is less than 200 years old like it's just the homogeneity of extremely recent settler colonialism. even older colonial cities have more distinctive areas inside them like montreal and quebec city are both examples where you can clearly see some of the historical progression (though ofc some of this is now restored/redone/etc). and then there are cities like paris where what a lot of ppl think of as its 'classic' look is p much just a product of haussmannisation so it's kind of in general less 'historical' than often perceived. but still the point is there are like, distinct styles in different areas whereas like, places with a recent 'land rush' have so much more of this uniformity even if they were built by nominally different corporations/states. right now the big local fight here is the city wants to put a better bike lane on [large ugly wealthy street pretending to be styled like a parisian boulevard but not even succeeding at that] but the residents are putting up a stink bc it would detract from the 'historic' character of the street which is a foolish position regardless, but esp when you're talking about shit that was built in like 1890 at the earliest. and it's not even homogenous in like an interesting way, it's the same pseudo victorian brownstones you can see anywhere anglo and moneyed, and then dotted with like neoclassical churches... dc also has that confluence but it's more expected there bc in dc it's all about projecting soft power which is why there's that split between gov't buildings where they're either greco-roman nonsense or straight up concrete box brutalism. but who cares about doing that here is my question like why does it have to look manicured in this specific way, no one actually important even lives here it's not like some kind of power nexus lol. im always literally so lost thinking like, have i seen that hardware store before? and then im on a street called like edgecum lane with three fresh roadkills in the middle of it

[darthkvznblogs]

Almost done with the first Magnus Chase book, I find it interesting that there's kind of...an intriguing ugliness to it that isn't really there in the other Riordanverse books I've read. It feels a little more willing to engage with the weirdness, the cruelty, the lack of empathy often found in mythology, but also in modern society.

Didn't really expect that side of it (which, in retrospect, I should've, with its whole "homeless teen protagonist that dies in the first few dozen pages" premise)

[destieltropecollection]

DESTIEL TROPE COLLECTION 2023 | DAY 22 | Domestic

hope chest | @hauntedpearl

Rating: General Word Count: 1,075 Main Tags/Warnings: Domestic, Retrospective, Dean POV Summary: There’s this bowl in his kitchen. It’s a cheap little thing — cost him barely a buck and some change — he’d found tossed in the back of a thrift store in Ohio. And it’s ugly, too. Got this ridiculous, colourful, loopy pattern on it almost as if someone gave a preeschooler free reign of a paintbrush and left them to it. A chip in the rim, like the last owner had chucked it at the wall when the fruit punch inside wasn’t quite to his taste. It’s — Well. You get the idea. Or; Dean buys a bowl and it's kind of like his hope chest!

Blueberry Pancakes | @curlynerd

Rating: General Word Count: 1,335 Main Tags/Warnings: Dean Winchester Cooks, Found Family, Dean Winchester-centric Summary: Dean Winchester hates mornings. And yet, he still wakes up early every day.

ataraxia | @envydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,618 Main Tags/Warnings: Eating out, Masseuse!Cas, Massage, Sexy Massage, Established Relationship, Dean has a very good time, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, Blow Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot Summary: ataraxia: Tranquillity of mind; absence of mental disturbance. Dean's aching from work so Cas uses his skills for the perfect solution

fine | @demonmary

Rating: General Word Count: 2,071 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Domestic Disputes, Domestic Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Castiel didn’t seem to hold back any of the venom from biting into his words, and the intended sting found its mark. Sometimes they argued until the most casual of words became so harsh they felt more like fists being thrown, and Dean was not one to let someone get the last hit, proverbial or not.

Goodnight, Moon | @heller-castiel

Rating: No Rating Word Count: 2,753 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Asexual Dean Winchester, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Human Castiel, Kid Jack Summary: Cas shifts in his arms, turning to face Dean, and just as Cas wants to hold him, Dean is ready to be held in return. Their left arms reach across their chests where they are pressed together, and they do not clasp hands but rest the backs of them against each other, and Dean’s right arm falls to rest on Cas’s hip just as Cas’s right falls to Dean’s hip, and together they let their foreheads rest on each other’s. Or, Cas has insomnia sometimes. Dean brings him back to bed.

Fowl Play | @blessyourhondahurley

Rating: General Word Count: 2,900 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Panic Attack, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Jack's Parents Summary: Dean and Cas buy a farm.

five times where dean gets spoiled with love and affection like he deserves, and cas revels in having what he's always wanted | @devastatingly-handsome-friend

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,767 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Truth Spells, Witch Sam Winchester, BAMF Castiel, Protective Castiel Summary: Five instances of domestic, established destiel living a peaceful life together.

You're already home and you don't even know it | @norahastuff

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5,470 Main Tags/Warnings: Dean and Cas in the bunker, nebulously post canon, Cas is something between angel and human Summary: Dean gives Cas a ring. It doesn't mean anything, though. Except it does. Of course it does. It might take some jewellery, a run-in with a siren and some good old fashioned conversation, but maybe, just maybe, they'll figure things out.

Learning | @deans-gayboy

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 6,133 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Panic Attack, Autistic Meltdown, Autistic Jack Kline, Autistic Castiel, References to Canon, Mental Health Discussions Summary: Jack is panting, his face pale and his hands shaking, tapping against his leg repeatedly, his eyes darting around the room. His hair is all over the place and there’s a red spot on his forehead, making Dean rush over without even thinking, wiping at Jack’s forehead with his sleeve. “Jack,” Dean says, desperately trying to keep panic from his voice, “Jack, can you tell me what happened? What’s going on?” Dean’s scared, shit, he’s so fucking scared. Jack can’t die, or at least not from physical wounds, so then what was happening? Why can’t Jack look at him, his eyes darting around the room to everywhere except Dean?

Little Darlings, Here Comes The Sun | @sunshine-zenith

Rating: General Word Count: 11,408 Main Tags/Warnings: Married Dean and Cas, Dads Dean and Cas, Musician Dean, Dancer Cas, Normal Human AU, Flashbacks, Fluff Summary: When Dean and Cas just can't get their kids to go down for the night, they decide to tell them the story of how they met thanks to a YouTube video.

Forsaken Soldier | @valandrawrites

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 21,404 Main Tags/Warnings: Cabin Fic, Wilderness Survival, Former Military Dean Winchester, Marine Corps Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has PTSD, Feral Behavior, Selectively Mute Castiel, Fallen Angel Castiel, Wild Animals Shouldn't Be This Cute, Castiel Does Not Understand Boundaries, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Military Backstory Summary: Dean did not adjust well to civilian life, so against his brother’s advice and carrying a shit ton of baggage, he made his way far off-grid to try and collect his thoughts. Rufus’ cabin was set in an idyllic location, even if it was a two-day hike through the woods to get there. Dean never imagined he'd encounter a strange, curious creature covered in mud that kept leaving fish at his door for breakfast. It couldn’t be a person, could it? How could anyone survive the harsh Montana winters without shelter or… clothes. Because whatever this animal was, it was definitely naked and had the bluest eyes Dean’s ever seen. Amazing Art by @Solstheim - seriously, I can't imagine having this kind of talent. I'm in awe and so incredibly thankful to them for being willing to take my barely comprehendible notes and turn them into exquisite art. If you don't read the story, at least scroll thru for the art. It's worth it. Part of the Bottom Dean Big Bang 2022

For the Love of Jack | @destielsuperfan

Rating: General Word Count: 22,496 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Jack Kline, Sam Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural), Michael (Supernatural), Hannah (Supernatural), Lisa Braeden, Ben Braeden, Miracle the Dog (Supernatural), John Winchester, Bobby Singer, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Human Castiel (Supernatural)Father Figures, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Baby Jack Kline, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Single Parent Castiel (Supernatural), Young Sam Winchester, Teacher Castiel (Supernatural)Mechanic Dean Winchester, Human Gabriel (Supernatural), Domestic Fluff, Happy Ending, God | Chuck Shurley is Castiel's Parent, Short & Sweet, Feel-good, very little angst Summary: Castiel is a "functioning-single father" who is trying his best to raise his energetic and happy toddler, Jack. Dean is the anxious yet macho big brother returning home to escape the past behind him. These two meet and though it seems they come from different backgrounds, they grow close. Watch as these two grow in their relationship and close past ones all while trying to raise a toddler.

[kob131]

Lily Orchard and Pokemon: Gen 1

Because the only response to this video should not be a four hour react stream highlight reel.

So Lily Orchard made a retrospective video on Pokemon...9 months ago that has risen back into prominence due to a Youtuber making a video on it, criticizing it.

It's also, again, a four hour video that's just a highlight reel of him reacting in real time to the video. Personally, I can't stand this kind of video so...

Here's what I have to say.

<---------------------------------------------------------------------------->

"Gen 1 bashing is done without merit!"

Lily argues that people bashing Gen 1 are doing so without any kind of merit, pointing out people complaining lacking features, having bugs and not having story. This she counters by saying "Pokemon story bad."

... I know that sounds reductive but the reason why I am saying this is because A- I already know what Lily thinks about the story of the game she's hinting at (Gen 5) and I can tell you she's not putting very much thought into this and B- that same foreknowledge and the fact that one of images she's using to represent this is a meme basically mocking people for preaching about Gens 4/5. ... So knowing her, she's just doing this to be contrarian.

This is a problem in her video because in her introduction, the thesis statement of this whole essay she is writing: she states that the goal of this video is to look back at the games and judge them as they hold up. Yet here she is shrugging off VERY big issues that seriously date Gen 1 and make it age horribly, which should be a major factor in Lily's assessment...because at best, she's being contrarian.

... That is not a good idea.

"*Insert her recaping the journey of Gen 1*"

Yeah, this is why I decided to take on this task. I already know most of Lily's video is going to be her detailing her playthrough of the games. This means fuck all to me for the most part as an autist I already have clear memory of all these games even years away from playing them so I can skip most of her video.

But this does mean that unless you're familiar with how arguments are structured in Youtube videos, like me- you'll have to wade through Lily's crappy attempts at a comedic retelling of the games to know what she thinks. Which makes a fucking four and a half hour long video draaaaag.

"See? Gen 1 doesn't hold you by the hand and lets you just fuck off!"

The idea here being that Gen 1 is good because it doesn't hand hold the player. Issue is- This is the first Pokemon game. By all accounts, because this game is introducing a rather new take on an underexplored gameplay style, tutorials such as these shouldn't be optional. Especially since money is so limited early in the game so you can't easily get more Pokeballs after wasting your supply on experimentation.

Having a quick catching tutorial showing that you need to weaken a Pokemon before catching it could alleviate any confusion. Pokemon can only get away with this due to it being so easy. ... A flaw that is going to rear its ugly head later on. She also ignores why the tutorials are so quick in the earlier gens- the tutorials became longer because they were integrated into the story and used to demonstrate characters. If you don't have a story or proper characters then of course the tutorials will go by quick. It also means there's less to stimulate the brain to encourage people to keep playing.

Pokemon's gameplay, minus any discussions of difficulty, has never been the most engaging. Turn based gameplay's flaw is that's very static and slow, meaning most of the time the act of playing the game doesn't stimulate. This is usually subverted by fancy animations, challenge or, in Pokemon's case- entertaining characters and self expression. The extra length of the tutorials is a side effect of the game's compensating for their less stimulating gameplay.

"See, early game bug types aren't bad! Poketubers are wrong because my Butterfree never lost a battle!"

This kind of exposes another issue of Lily's- she doesn't know what the hell she's talking about.

She takes issue with people calling Pokemoen like Butterfree bad by brushing off their complaints of 'Butterfree has no STAB moves!' by pointing out coverage and status moves. But she completely ignores that people brush off Pokemon like Butterfree for having no STAB moves because, since you have 6 slots on your team, it's pretty easy to get a diverse team that can cover whatever Butterfree does but through STAB. Psychic moves? Alakazam or Hypno. Sleep moves? Hypno, Venomoth or even Parasect. Stun moves? Literally any Electric Type.

Then we have her overlooking another aspect of Pokemon: Base Stats. For those who don't know: Base stats are a set of numbers that dictate what number a Pokemon's given stats are. Things like IVs/Evs/DVs and Natures act as multiplers to a base stat. So as you could guess- a base stat is the building block of a Pokemon and dictate how it plays. Butterfree's base stats in Gen 1 are (HP/ATK/DEF/SP.ATK/SP.DEF/SPD) 60/40/50/80/80/70.

For reference, Charmeleon has 58/64/58/65/65/80. A non-fully evolved Pokemon has roughly similar stats to a fully evolved Pokemon. And this is all exasperated by how easy the game is, because Butterfree's status move pool? Largely inefficient because if you actually know what you are doing- you will be able to KO a Pokemon faster through simply attacking with a stronger Pokemon than disabling it then attacking. And most gamers will default to the most efficient solution. Hence Butterfree's status as a bad Pokemon.

"See, the game is trying to tell you how good status moves are by enforcing it through Brock and Bide!"

Yet another case of Lily not knowing what she's slathering about because A. The actual effects of status moves don't matter, just that they don't deal damage. A better case would be a leader that uses status moves to their advantage.

And B. Lily says that Bide I'd the perfect move for Onix. ... Bide, a move that deals damage based on the amount of HP lost, is perfect for 9nix, a low HP and high defense Pokemon...meant to lose as little HP as possible.

Lily literally posts Onix's stats to prove her point when said stats contradict her.

"Blue isn't a mean rival! He's just a friendly rival and gamers praise Bianca and Cheren just cuz they suck off the player!"

What the fuck, where did that Cheren/Bianca stuff cone from?

Okay first- Blue starts the game by going "Gramps! I'm fed up with waiting!" and "Heh, I don't need to be greedy like you! Go ahead and choose-" and "WHAT? Unbelievable! I picked the wrong Pokémon!"

Blue is quite clearly not intended to be friendly nor likeable.

Second- People like Cheren and Bianca because they go through arcs related to the themes of Gen 5, with Bianca's desire to travel leading her on a journey of self discovery (truth) and Cheren learning that his valuing if strength may have been wrong (ideals). Do they say tge player is great at battling? Yes...because from the story's perspective, you are going X-0. They're reacting to this fact instead of shrugging it off.

"Lavender Town has no value aside from creepypastas and showing how weak Ghosts are to Psychic in this gen! It isn't that creepy!"

... Uh, Lily? You didn't bring up how you can only identify the ghosts after beating Sliph Co, who are so scary you can't even fight them. Or how the trainers in the Pokemon Tower all act very weird, almost like they're possessed. Or that the Tower has a fucking purifying circle 8n the middle. Or...you know...bringing up the fact called DEATH in this very kid-friendly world.

You uh...you do know what a 'retrospective' is, right?

"The game expects you to face challenges in order despite being open world!"

Lily, the game is not open world. You are still going through strict paths with locked off sections. This comes with the implication that you will be facing challenges in a linear order. You not understanding what the game actually is does not make it bad.

"See? Butterfree isn't bad! It's my best Pokemon!"

Lily, these games can be beaten by a six year old. I beat them as a six year old.

That means nothing.

"Ugh, Sliph Co is soooo bad! It's the worst in the game because it's obtuse and you can just exit to heal up! Rock Tunnel is SOOO much better for being challenging!"

... Lily, Rock Tunnel is full of dead ends and unlike Sliph Co- YOU CAN'T AVOID ENCOUNTERS UNLESS YOU STOCK UP ON REPELS.

You can also exit Rock Tunnel to heal too. No, 'challenge yourself by not exiting' is not a justification. You're just not thinking.

'Psychic types are only strong in theory! Status moves exist so do neutral hits! Super Effective STAB isn't the only path!"

But they ARE the most efficient. And for the average gamer, efficiency is king.

"You can crumble Alakazam with physical hits without super Effective hits!"

*proceeds to spend her entire footage locked in a Fly V. Recover loop when a Butterfree STAB could solve this*

Also gotta love that she goes off about Alakazam not having the tools to deal with Physical attacks...as it uses a move to halve Physical damage (Reflect).

And finally- She is using Sabrina as her example. Who is operating off Gen 1's wonky AI and keeps using Psywave. In the hands of, you know, a real person or a better AI who understands basic elements of the game- Alakazam can easily wreck teams with hard hitting Psybeams. And Alakazam's poor Physical Defense doesn't matter here because it's SPEED makes it so it will hit first and managle a team before they can counterattack. This is where Lily's refusal to understand competitive bites her. THIS is the issue people have.

"Nobody likes going through Seaform Islands!"

Okay this is another issue with Lily's video here: She doesn't engage with content that isn't directly in her face. Later she'll talk about how she doesn't care about things like cut mechanics and that she's focusing on gameplay but part of Pokemon's gameplay and the reason people like it is the sense of discovery you get from exploring the game. Like say...finding one of a kind Pokemon that are relatively strong but are hidden away in sections that are optional (Moltres, Articuno, Zapados and even fucking MEWTWO).

Like...the fuck Lily? All you're doing is just making a truncated let's play by this point.

Side note; Some of Lily's jokes do land at times. Like her commentary on how Giovanni acts after being defeated. Though she does call him 'elderly' strangely enough.

Also I JUST caught some of Lily's gameplay footage. Her Primeape's moveset is Submission, Strength, Rock Slide and...Thunderbolt. She wasted her Thunderbolt TM on a Pokemon with rock bottom Special...when she had fucking Rock Slide.

This is the woman talking as if she knows the mechanics of the game.

"Gen 1 and 2 are so good because they allow for player freedom unlike later Gens like 3 and 4 where GF TELL YOU how to play instead of letting you play how you wish!"

Hey remember earlier when Lily talked about how the game was supposedly 'open world' but complained about how there was a strict recommended order based on the badge numbers on the Trainer Card?

How the fuck is it that much different than just enforcing the order? Not to mention that, considering how fucked Johto's level curve is- that making a firm order where you can more easily control the difficulty is probably a GOOD thing.

And that's where Gen 1 ends. Overall- rather shallow. I also expect to be covering more Gens in posts since problems like these tend to be recurring issues and don't require being brought up all the time.

It's not as painful as Lily's usual stuff...but I feel that will change soon.

[hit-song-showdown]

Year-End Poll #30: 1979

[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: The Knack, Donna Summer (x2), Chic, Rod Stewart, Peaches & Herb, Gloria Gaynor, Village People, Anita Ward, Robert John. End description]

More information about this blog here

We have made it through another decade, everyone. As we reach the end of the 1970's, we are also reaching the end of disco. This is something that makes this genre stand out in a historic sense. Because while we've covered many genres tied to their decade (traditional pop with the 50s, doo-wop with the 60s, etc), those didn't necessarily end the moment the decade switched over. We're still in disco's peak (the dance party before the storm), and many of the songs and artists featured on today's poll are still considered classics. Fun fact, the original name for Chic's Le Freak was called Fuck Off!, which in my opinion is the correct way to sing along to it. The song was written after the band couldn't get into Studio 54, the disco hot spot of the 1970's.

Which brings us to the first crumbling pillar that will send disco collapsing. As disco became mainstream, the aesthetics of disco became less about marginalized people surrounding themselves with opulence and luxury as an escape, and more about...the opulent surrounding themselves with more luxury. The communities who had built this subculture were getting priced out of their own hot spots as the upper class and the celebrities flocked to the hot new thing.

But the disco backlash wasn't just marginalized people and disco purists frustrated with the gentrification and commodification of their subculture. In fact, I think it's safe to say that they were the minority. In reality, the disco backlash had two main prongs: the general music-listening public who was sick of hearing disco on every station, and/or bigots who would hate any kind of Black or gay music they heard no matter how commercialized it became.

So, let's talk about Disco Demolition Night.

July 12th, 1979, the rock vs. disco conflict reached its ugliest peak as tens of thousands of people stormed Comiskey Park in Chicago. Disco records were crushed, burned, and even blown up. The event soon broke out into a riot and thankfully no one was killed, but the demonstration still casts an unpleasant shadow over this moment in music history.

I don't want to diminish the ugliness of this event. As Craig Werner, a professor of African American studies at the University of Wisconsin put it:

"The Anti-disco movement represented an unholy alliance of funkateers and feminists, progressives and puritans, rockers and reactionaries. None the less, the attacks on disco gave respectable voice to the ugliest kinds of unacknowledged racism, sexism and homophobia." (A Change Is Gonna Come)

And to quote Chic's Nile Rogers:

"It felt to us like Nazi book-burning. This is America, the home of jazz and rock and people were now afraid even to say the word 'disco'. I remember thinking - we're not even a disco group."

So I don't want to imply that Disco Demolition Night wasn't a shameful moment, because it was. However, it didn't kill disco. I see a lot of music retrospectives use this event as the one climactic moment that killed the genre and forced music itself to change. And I get why; it's an exciting and narratively satisfying conclusion to come to. But I don't want to say that, because I don't want to give Steve Dahl, the anti-disco shock jock radio DJ who organized the event, the credit in taking down an entire subculture.

Commercialization killed disco. White executives and artists cramming disco into everything without appreciating its roots killed disco. Gentrification killed disco. Changing tastes killed disco. Homophobia and racism killed disco. Capitalism killed disco.

A radio DJ and his angry drunk white boy fans storming a baseball stadium didn't kill disco. But it was the symptom of a disease that was already coursing through the system.

And despite the genre's historic death, disco would actually continue to live on past this decade in a variety of ways. Much like most other genres, disco was able to change and evolve with the times -- it just couldn't do so under the "disco" label as even the name itself became poison.

Also, as I said I keep these polls focused on the U.S. charts because that's where I'm from so I have a better understanding of the musical and historic context. However, it seems like disco's death was mostly contained to this country. When I glance at the various European charts (and any European followers can feel free to correct me), disco didn't seem to drop off in the same way. This will become relevant when we cover some of the European crossovers in a few decades.

So as we celebrate/mourn the end of the seventies with its last dance party, we can all come together and agree that whether you're a rock fan or a disco fan, at least most of your music has aged better than talk radio.

See you all in the 80's.

[matchasartcha]

Content Disclaimer: grief, pet loss, brief mentions of self harm. This is just a long form story about the unexpected, traumatic loss of my soul cat.

The first day you left was in retrospect the easiest day.

There is no room left for introspection when it is loud — so loud — and there are voices coming from five different directions — and each minute feels like an hour — and — … There are just layers upon layers upon layers of noise and not a single syllable can be lost, every single word must be responded to, and like a faint drumbeat there is a tick, tock. Tick tock. Time only moves mercilessly forward.

That day is like a hot iron brand pressed into the mind. There is no forgetting that day, not even if someone wanted to. It is the sort of memory that rears its ugly head in the depths of the night, when there is no one else around to stifle them, and with it the flood of emotions that had been suppressed that day because god, there had been so much happening and it didn’t feel real and

there it is again. That hopeless, futile wish for that day to have been literally any other kind of day. Anything but this, the sight of a crash cart the moment the door opened and the doctor looked inside the carrier and saw you, gone. The five pairs of hands working frantically even though it was inevitable that the moment you entered the car and were whisked away, that you would never be coming back home until you arrived in a polished, wooden urn.

Tests. So many tests. Money and time thrown, begging, pleading for there to be something that could be cured. Each ambiguous result, each quiet voice with those sad eyes, one less reason that could be used to pretend that this would all be okay, that you would wake up, that you would recognize the one who loved you the most as trembling hands stroked your soft fur where you liked it.

Each minute passing as slowly more and more hands leave to attend to the other people in the emergency room, and the last, desperate wish to just be able to say goodbye hears no answers and is thrown to the wayside to dissolve not nothing.

The words finally run out and the silence feels heavier than the noise. Louder, somehow. But if hands pressed against ears, nothing would change, because silence cannot be muted — only filled — but with what? With a limp, unmoving form that would not and would never respond again?

Tick tock. Tick tock.

There were constants in life. Things that didn’t change, and so could be relied upon. Even when nothing else would stay the same, the world is full of things that remain. The sun rises and sets. An object dropped falls to the ground. The night sky is full of stars. And you are the most brilliant star of them all.

The sun’s warmth sustains all life. You always find your way back to the one who loved you most. The ocean is blue.

In deep space, stars and planets orbit each other. Your purr is the hum of the universe. Space time warps with gravity.

These are the things that never change.

But you are not here anymore. Here, where the sun is supposed to rise each morning and set each night, where the night sky is supposed to be full of stars, where the clouds bring rain and the sun brings warmth, where the entire universe is a sprawling web of galaxies and stars, you will never find your way back to the one who loved you most.

There is nothing that can be done. You are gone. You were gone the moment you were found with your broken, unresponsive body. The only anchor left is that you don’t know anything. You felt no pain. One moment you were here, probably sleeping, and the next moment you…

Just a fleeting, torn shred of regret that you would never wake up again to hear the things that hadn’t been said to you yet.

That was the easiest day.

And then it hurts.

You were the anchor. Affixed to everything was you. You held everything together, even when the together wanted nothing more than to fall apart into the void. Without even a moment to say goodbye, the threads were slashed and now there is nothing but the sense of falling, disoriented. Tumbling past knives that slash through flesh, cleaving and cutting away at all the pieces of you that had been kept tightly.

There is anger. How predictable. Indulge too long, and the thoughts spiral. Predictably. This is so unfair. Only five years together. There was supposed to still be time left. It plays out like a tired, cliche sort of story, and it feels pathetic but it turns out humans really are just that and the white hot rage careens and writhes because there is no one to be angry at, there is nothing to blame, there is nothing…

The birds fly with their feathered wings. The fish swim with their scaled tails. And you were supposed to still be here.

The anger at the injustice — except there is no injustice. It just is, life just is, but thinking it over and over again only hurts worse. The mind so desperately wants to find a pattern, or a purpose, or meaning, to this meaningless, arbitrary trauma, but to look up at the stars and ask is to receive nothing. Cut it out. It is a waste of energy. It won’t change anything. Nothing can change anything. But still the anger drives forward, disoriented and directionless. Just looking for something. Anything.

Then the anger festers and begins to turn into guilt. Searching for answers only makes it worse. Because there is no reason for life to be straightforward or explain itself. It just happened, because it did, is the only fact and it is wholly inadequate to cling to. So the anger that needs meaning begins to look for signs that were missed. What if a little bit more attention had been paid? What if you had someone else with better eyes and ears to love you more than anyone else? Then perhaps you wouldn’t have been failed.

It hurts.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts and you would never have wanted to cause sadness and hurt and you would have wanted to be the comforting, grounding anchor that you always were but you aren’t here and it hurts.

A bargain. Anything, if you could come back. Any cost, if it would have saved you. But you were beyond saving. Nothing can change what happened. What was is.

Knives, plunging down between the shoulder blades, gouging crimson lines downwards as they leave behind two bloody gashes. As if there were wings once, and they were forcibly extracted. You were those wings. The agony burns. And then it is punctuated with torturous agony that makes throwing this pathetic, stupid life away seem worth the exchange of relief from the hurting. Or perhaps it would be only appropriate to make visible these wounds that nobody can see. The image of smooth, clean skin criss crossed with bloody red lines catches and lingers.

It had been years since the last relapse, this cannot cycle now. Digging fingernails into the palms to try and keep it under control.

It is the new normal, an undercurrent of stabbing pain that never leaves, not even during those insomniac nights, when sleep is fleeting. The days are meaningless and the hollow you left behind feels sharp and bitter. It is the kind of hollow that the body will try to curve around to cover, but instead it just feels ever more empty. There ceases to be a reason to sleep because there ceases to be a reason to think about tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next. When the mind is not preoccupied with the stabbing pain of that hollowness, thoughts of how wonderful it would be to sleep and never wake again are the only pleasant thoughts that exist.

There are things in the world that do not change. The sun rises and sets. The night sky is full of stars. You are gone because the one who loved you failed you. The cosmos dances around itself.

The memories of you count time and the only thought of the future is of a time where more time will have passed between now and when you left, than the time that you were here. Now you only exist inside of these shattered thoughts, and there will come a day where even that can no longer be put back together and then will you have ever existed at all?

Or maybe it would be better to forget, forget everything about you, forget that you were loved and loved in a way that can never love again, forget the feeling of your warmth, forget the sound of your voice, forget the stars in your eyes, forget the way you were found, forget the way you were let go, forget forget forget. Then maybe the emptiness that causes even more pain than the knives ever could would cease to exist and could be filled with meaninglessness and that which shouldn’t have changed but did could never have existed at all.

The pain is suffocating. Like drowning. 

It is a waste of resources to be angry, so the anger is shoved away. Life is unfair, deal with it, so the injustice is brushed under the rug. But the guilt gnaws away.

It hurts.

…

…

…

Lost in the abyss that is the anger, the hurt, the guilt — consumed by the infernal rage that every morning must be registered to memory without you — your stars in your eyes.

The eyes that can never be looked upon again. The eyes that never opened, not once, not ever.

But they were — are — beautiful, brilliant, and bright. They contained the entire world that was you and your love and everything else that made you the one who will never exist again. The blue crystalline hues, as if the entire sky could be contained within them, and with it the entirety of the universe as it rotated slowly. And they did, they did, they were — are — the indisputable proof of the bond that was — is — shared. They are brighter than a thousand suns. They sparkle and dance and inside of them is all of the love that the world has ever had.

When did those memories of your eyes become so dim?

The anger, the hurt, the guilt.

You were — are — beautiful, brilliant, and bright. The memories left of you deserve to be bright. The memories of you as you, the memories that are funny and soft and sweet and obnoxious and stupid. Your love ought to be crystallized, so that it will never erode or tarnish. When your memory passes by like a breeze, the whisper of air ought to be crisp and cool. Your visage should steal the breath away, because that is how beautiful you are. You were — are — loyal and warm and soft and annoying in a way that you showed nobody else. Even with hands that can no longer hold you, the low vibrations of your purr radiate through muscle and bone, and it is a sound that sounds like the galaxy turning.

The anger, the hurt, the guilt. They are felt intensely. It is not the kind of guilt that could be convinced by facts, no matter how many alternate timelines are spun, no matter who is doing the spinning, no matter their clinical experience or not. It is a stubborn, self-destructive guilt that exists only because there is no meaning to what happened but there has to be meaning, the mind cannot rest without seeing a pattern, and the only pattern that exists is that you were failed. It is the kind of guilt that casts a blackened haze over those sacred memories. To think upon those memories is to think about the guilt, and to think about the guilt is to open another wound upon the body.

To think upon those memories is to hold you like you never left. To think upon those memories is to see the stars uninterrupted as they slowly spin above the earth. To think upon those memories is to cut flesh open.

Your soft warmth wraps around those wounds.

Perhaps there is no way to ever debate that poisonous, polluting guilt. There is nothing that could ever be said, even if it was logical, rational, factual, that could convince an illogical, irrational conclusion that exists in the space where a lack of meaning is like nails on a chalkboard. No, there was nothing that could be done to persuade that which was not persuaded. After all, it had simply appeared, creating its own meaning where there was none, trying to make sense of life as it was and why things couldn’t be that way anymore.

But there was one other truth that remained constant. You would have never wanted it this way. Drowning in the narrative that something could have prevented this and deciding that it was only right that the suffocation be completed as punishment. You, who loved in a way that will never exist again, simply purr gently against the heart and your low hum is all of the life that has ever lived.

For you.

The guilt will be burned. The toxins that bleed dripping cracks into those memories of you will be cleansed.

And left remaining — you, the brilliant, bright guiding light. You, everything.

There are signs of you everywhere. You did not cover your tracks when you left. Somehow, even the deepest tracks that gouge canyons across the heart are the most precious. There is a whisker in the bed you always slept in. There is your scent in the blankets. There is your fur from when you had to be brushed and you didn’t like it. When the kitten looks for company, your protege envelopes them into their bodies, and you are there as they echo your sweetness and your protection. You would have loved this. You might not have liked that. You are nowhere but you are everywhere. Right at the moment that you could be taken and held in the palm of a hand, you dissipate and flit elsewhere.

Time stops for no one. The day you left was the easiest of them all.

The nights are heavy and cold and sleep does not come, because the thought of continuing into tomorrow and leaving you further and further behind is blasphemous and violates the things that should have never changed. One day, there will come a time when you have been gone longer than you were here. One day, that time you burned bright like the brightest star will become nothing more than a flash, and then like the brightest stars at the early hums of the universe, you will have blazed and then died and stars like you never could form again.

You are so bright. You are dazzling. You are warm. You are perfect. You are everything that could have been, and you were.

Some days, there are fleeting reasons to be less angry about waking up again. Some days, the morning arrives and it doesn’t feel as wrong as it once did.

Some days, it hurts.

If I try, I can reach to you from the abyss and you are the most beautiful soul to have ever entered my orbit, and the only reason it hurts so much is because you loved like nobody else can or will ever love again and caught by you I could not help but to let the heart of you replace parts of mine. Now these fragmented pieces of you are the most precious things and even though they are like shards of glass, cutting into me, sometimes they are soft and for one fleeting moment, I wonder if someday your heart will replace mine and I will become as bright and warm as you are.

It hurts.

[queenofbaws]

hey queenie i hope ur havin a lovely weekend :] a lil predictable of me but hows abt a lil scream/until dawn crossover?? and u can interpret that as broadly or narrowly as needed 🫡💖

In all the practice-runs, in all the planning, in all the late-night imaginings that kept her awake, tossing and turning into her pillow, Amber had to admit she hadn't even once foreseen this particular problem rearing its ugly head: She kept wanting to laugh.

In retrospect, it...well, it sort of made sense, right? Like, how could she not? Sam was beside her, all furious energy as she struggled against her shackles (the whole thing had such a 'too-little-too-late' kind of vibe to it, honestly), and there was Tara behind the glass, wide-eyed and pale as a ghost as her hand hovered over the lever, the one that would decide which of them lived and which of them died, and then they'd know once and for all -

The pre-recorded voice overhead announced that she'd chosen to save Sam (obviously, duh, hence 'pre-recorded,') but as the saw engaged and began rolling towards her on the track, Amber's little laughing problem abruptly took care of itself.

She'd been the one to set the whole thing up, after all, so when Tara pulled the lever, she knew at once who she actually picked to save; when the saw began tearing into the hollowed-out torso beneath her head, not all of Amber's screaming was part of the act.

six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

[abowlofpetuniasandawhale]

Tbh as much as I love(d) the characters on Lone Star, the writing as a whole was just never there for me the way it was with OG 9-1-1 and I hope if they do decide to do another spinoff in its place, they really learn from the mistakes of Lone Star.

Rambling about those mistakes under the cut bc it got out of hand

From S1 LS was overall a very weak setup. The pilot has serious pacing and tone problems from the get go that i could dedicate a whole dissertation to, but I think the first real nail in the coffin was having so few characters with shared history or pre-developed relationships in the main cast. It cut the writers work out for them in a way i don’t think they were prepared to actually tackle in the context of a procedural. There was a lot of potential to see these strangers grow together but, as good as the actors were, by S2 it still just wasn’t believable that these people would be more than just average coworkers.

The theming within episodes was also non-existent, that’s all i really have to say about that (and I know people complain about that with original recipe also but as someone who binged them at the same time the difference was stark)

It was too much of the Rob Lowe Showe (tm) to ever be a solid ensemble and Owen as a character was never interesting or complex enough to carry the show for me. In fact i think my biggest complaint is that every character on the show is kind of a perfect paragon with no serious character flaws sticking around long enough to add real depth (Judd was allowed to have real, ugly PTSD symptoms for all of what? Two episodes?). The storylines that the other characters did get were often pretty superficial and short-lived, and some of the most interesting storylines and character traits were just dropped because the writers clearly couldn’t figure out how to use them in episodes (what happened to detective Paul???? nvm they’d have to have interesting calls occasionally for that to be useful).

Personally, I tuned out a little over halfway through season three when I realized I was only hanging around for Carlos and the vague hope that Marjan and Paul would eventually get more screen time, but even from the pilot i could see the writing on the wall and i reallllllllllly hope Tim&co can see it now in retrospect. Especially because these are all things that they managed to dodge almost entirely in the original.

[radiation]

It's weird because this movie was panned at the time but retrospective reviews have been *extremely* kind to it to the point where I can barely find reviews that aren't glowing nowadays. I'm talking about Richard Kelly's 2007 film Southland Tales.

People praise its prescience, its cultural critiques and condemnation of the Bush administration, but despite gesturing at those themes the movie honestly feels deeply fucking reactionary to me. Every single woman is a hysterical idiot, every leftist insincere and ineffectual. The main villain is a Jewish billionaire funding the leftists to stage a false flag police shooting, among other things. Soldiers and police meanwhile are routinely portrayed as strong and sympathetic, though.

It's also over two hours long, meandering and ugly. It's really bizarre to me that it's gained the momentum it has among people I usually consider to have good taste. No clue if it was intended to be the way it is or not, I think it might have actually been trying to critique 2000s American culture and politics but just suck at it. Among post-9/11 "America is fucked" works I wouldn't consider it to be politically far removed from like, Idiocracy or Team America: World Police

.

[mahoushoujotechsupport]

ok episode 10 time. i ended up only putting together the head and body of the mk-ii earlier

starting off with sarius trying to bring up aerial again to the benerit group to try and get some punishment in but rajan is like lol nope.

given how we later see prospera and delling together at the end of this ep, i figure its a pretty good assumption that some time between grassley duel and now (its 2 months from what shaddiq says later), delling bring prospera on for quiet zero and he likely also help front aerial's repairs

also man vim is a fucking idiot lol. i totally forgot he says this to sarius. and then iirc all we get once we're in cour 2 is peil bringing up that jeturk suits were used at plant quetta which like yea lmao he can't be like oh btw i knew about it all beforehand

oh this little lovestruck tanuki

knowing endgame miorine, what are the chances that little lesbian was keeping count like this too

i'm glad suletta no longer sees relationships as transactional but lmao this little gay baby. just ecstatic to be of use to miorine and tend to the greenhouse while shes away

honestly cool as hell that they got this prototype all set in the last two months - likely mostly nika and belmeria's work. i have a dumb headcanon that gund-arm probably didn't really get to do much R&D in the 3 year time skip because of all the loose ends miorine's probably been dealing with from the benerit group, on top of taking care of suletta, taking care of her mother-in-law and then nika's in fucking jail lol. even then, since it's likely ojelo and nuno were the ones doing most of the work (maybe belmeria still helping?), it's still neat that they have prosthetics about to start testing rounds with petra. yeah i wrote all this just to say wow nika's so smart

this scene is so ridiculously heartwarming lol she's such a little dweeb

who knew these stupid things would become such an integral part of the story lol

also, i'm glad we didnt get the secret message inside cool-san thing everyone kept theorizing about after the break up. that just wouldnt have made any sense with what miorine was trying to do lol

gosh its so nice to be rewatching this and just KNOW somewhere within those 2 months suletta and miorine's relationship just became normalized to the earth house kids and we just see it over and over in this episode

like when has nika referred to suletta as hanamuko-san lol and she does so immediately after our tanuki is gushing about giving miorine the ugly ass keychain lol

oh yeah, shes thinking of her tanuki

in retrospect this was kind of insanely naive of miorine, wasnt it? shes lucky feng jun and guston weren't onboard with what the rest of the SAL was cooking up

lol at this "stick to your duels". my dude you literally fund proxy wars on earth. you have no moral ground to stand on

lol this episode really is so good at setting up for episode 11. just look at her happy little faces each and every single time she's felt useful

oh the fucking bracelet 😭

weird to think shaddiq's plan works out in the end and plot convenience keeps delling alive, but it pretty much ends up as his plan of trying to obtain majority shares

i hope they've just been teasing her for 2+ weeks miorine's been gone and possibly even before then

iconic tanuki shot

platonically, of course. as gal pals.

actually i think of note in this scene with elan and him planting doubt in suletta's brain is whether what he says is true or he's just making shit up as part of doubt sowing. but he's basically implying that miorine has been acting in such a way that everyone at school is talking about it and they can't believe how different she's being. and part of that is certainly true given what shaddiq's said numerous times over the last few episodes

lol this will always remain such an excellent take on the misunderstanding trope

oh yea and don't forget mom and dad

almost forgot there's a post-credits scene on this ep. i wonder what his original plan to break up the group was before the delling assassination plan fell in his lap

also imaging living in a world where BOBBU became a class traitor and actually learned from his experiences..... yea right lmfao

ok definitely not finishing the 1st cour because it's taken me forever to watch this one episode. gonna see how many episode i knock out over the weekend

[flyingwargle]

inspired by this fanart!

how ugly his hat looks, in retrospect.

“where did you find it?” his disgust leaks from his sharp words. his eyes are narrowed, arms folded across his chest. kusanali holds it up with her tiny hands.

she shrugs. “perhaps irminsul wanted you to have it back.” how ridiculous. he had left it in a corner of joururi workshop before his ascension to godhood, but it was returned to him after he woke from his slumber. then, it disappeared with him after he erased himself from irmunsul.

yet somehow, it found its back to him, unscathed.

he grabs the brim and holds it up. such an atrocious garment, with the veil at the back, bells tied around the brim, mask affixed on top. his eyes dart toward his own hat, crafted in the likeness of a lotus, an ostentatious addition to his modest attire. a retired artisan crafted it as thanks for helping him with his harvest, reading his letters from bygone years, escorting him to his wife’s grave, a stone’s throw away from the inazuman coastline. when he put it on, he was struck by a sense of comfort, a connection to an indecipherable sensation. he couldn’t imagine himself with a hat thereafter.

when he dons this hat, he is overwhelmed with revulsion, assaulted by memories of frigid corridors, rows upon rows of masked subordinates, a cold windowless room with a cold metal bed. he shuts his eyes, envelops the flashes with darkness. he takes in a shallow breath.

“i don’t want it.”

“if you’d like, i can dispose of it,” kusanali says softly. her sympathy is hidden.

he takes it off. he doesn’t even know when his affinity for hats began. he remembers donning a straw hat while his back is turned to a burning house. it was changed to a wider brim, adorned with bells that chimed with every footstep. when he rose to become the sixth of the fatui harbingers, he discarded that for this. he kept the bells to alert his prey of his approach. he added the veil for his victims to identify him. he insisted on its wide brim to cower behind.

even in his new incarnation, he still finds comfort behind some kind of covering.

“i’ll get rid of it.”

kusanali nods. “so long you do so responsibly.”

he wraps the veil around the brim, knots the bells together. it accompanies him on a voyage across the rolling waves to the realm of eternity. he travels to kannazuka, guided by the muted mismatched chimes of bells, a bittersweet aria that echoes his uncertainty. why do you want to do this?

because irminsul could only erase what was remembered, not what was made.

tatarasuna is bathed in a violet light. the footpaths remain largely broken, supplies rotten and abandoned. a few laborers work to remove the spoiled goods, focused on their task so he slips by easily. electro pulses from barriers around mikage furnace that cautions against the most dangerous parts. he turns his back to approach the cliff.

a stone monument represents the lost lives in the tatarasuna incident - his family. he lowers his hat to pray to the wind, wishes that they are safe, wherever they are.

niwa must wonder why a complete stranger is praying to him. his lip twists in amusement. he leaves the hat on the altar, stretches the veil out, unties the bells. from his pocket, he takes out a crane.

in this life, i never came here, but it was still a member of the fatui that caused your death. i will never associate myself with them. i promise to avenge you and obtain the ultimate freedom.

he turns around and dons his hat. he walks away.