#it should be illegal to slay so hard

[riinchu]

Drew Gabriel in a dress . . . again ✨

This dress genuinely fits him so well AAAAAA!

Heres the dress for reference <3

[y-rhywbeth2]

Gods & Clergy: Bhaal #2

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Religion | Gods | Shar | Selûne | Bhaal #1 | Bhaal #2 | Mystra | Jergal | Bane #1 | Bane #2 | Bane #3 | Myrkul | Lathander | Kelemvor | Tyr | Helm | Ilmater | Mielikki | Oghma | Gond | Tempus | Silvanus | Talos | Umberlee | Corellon | Moradin | Yondalla | Garl Glittergold | Eilistraee | Lolth | Laduguer | Gruumsh | Bahamut | Tiamat | Amodeus | The rest of the Faerûnian Pantheon --WIP

Because I found some extra stuff on Bhaalists.

Briefly featuring; secret identities, how to consecrate an altar, acceptable targets for sacrifice, red rooms, mummification, do not steal a Bhaalist's knife, and maybe some other stuff.

-

"Murder is natural. Slaying is what all creatures in Faerûn do, daily if they can. At least daily, slay something living—and the Lord of Murder is most pleased if the victim is one of your own kind and as formidable as, or more powerful than, you. Kill with swift skill, not by torture, forced suicide, falls, or collisions. Do it personally, with ever-greater deftness and elegance, and teach others the skills and the delights of slaying. "Deathbringers are to slay with enough skill that witnesses are impressed. They are always to challenge those more powerful than themselves, the clergy of other deities being prize targets. Slay with pleasure, but never with anger. Be in exquisite control of yourself. Utter the name of Bhaal so the victim can hear it. Ideally, it should be the last word a victim hears." - more Bhaalist dogma

Deathbringer appears to be a generic term for a Bhaalist who is part of the church. Or it's an alternative term for Deathstalker, it's hard to tell. Going on context, I assume it means the former.

In the time between his death and his resurrection, Bhaal no longer spoke directly to his followers even though he seemed to be answering prayers. He contacted them only rarely, and only in the form of nightmares.

Worshipping Bhaal is legal and persecuting his followers is considered... risky. Nobody wants to offend the gods. Murder, on the other hand, is very much illegal. Due to the fact that Bhaal is worshipped by committing very illegal murders, this gets complicated.

As with all evil and disruptive faiths, Bhaalists are permitted to worship so long as they don't disrupt functioning society and follow various stipulations: keeping their religious practices out of public view; not getting caught red handed doing murder; not rocking the boat and causing the public to panic; and performing agreed upon services for the government for example. If they keep their end of the agreement, the law politely turns to look away.

Bhaalists protect their ability to worship the Lord of Murder by courting the halls of power, making themselves indispensable to the local government and nobility, and infiltrating law enforcement to cover their tracks. Many of them cut out the middleman and take positions of power themselves.

To make life easier for themselves, most Bhaalists have a "daytime identity" as a regular citizen, and keep their personal shrines out of sight (part of the restriction violent and evil faiths must follow in order to be permitted to operate in the Realms). The public should not be able to identify random Bhaalists walking amongst them.

Incidentally, Bhaalist shrines are kept holy by being anointed with the followers' own blood.

Bhaalists use their daily life to observe the city and consider their target. Preferred targets include:

Adventurers and travellers nobody knows. -

Criminals and troublemakers people will be glad to be rid of. -

People who are rising in power who might cause trouble for Bhaalists with that power -

The clergy of Bhaal's enemies: (Chauntea, goddess of agriculture; Helm, god of guards and law; Lathander, god of birth and renewal; Torm, protector of the common folk; Ilmater, god of martyrs; and Lliira, goddess of joy)

Favourite hunting grounds for Bhaalists tend to be either the main streets and markets (if they're looking to draw attention to the sacrifice, perhaps to make a statement) or the slums and poorer areas.

A daily murder is preferred by Bhaal, but only once a tenday is the murder of a person mandated. When the time comes, the Bhaalist will don their religious clothing and head out on their hunt.

Once the target is dead, they will take some trophy from them (and likely strip them of their wealth and possibly ransack their house, if possible). This trophy could be a personal possession, or a body part (for example; a finger, or their heart). The "trophy" is offered up to Bhaal on the altar, with a prayer, and Bhaal permits his followers to keep whatever wealth they acquire to fund their daily life and "continue their holy work." Many Bhaalists aim for a wealthy life, both for the comfort and for the fact that power and money are great ways to avoid anybody arresting you if you fuck up.

If in a city with a larger temple, then the worshipper is to tithe 50% of all coins taken this way to the temple.

If there is no temple in the area, then every member will be assigned a higher ranking priest as a handler of sorts, and they will give that 50% to them instead.

The church couldn't care less about non-monetary gains and land deeds, you can keep those.

Temples are not open to the public and may not be placed in view of the public, hence why they are built beneath the streets. There are also remote monasteries and monastic orders beyond the reach of the cities, which presumably hunt travellers on the roads at night and put the fear of their god into the hearts of nearby villages and farmers.

Bhaalists recruit by essentially running red rooms and snuff shows in secret locations at night; often cellars, basements and also private rooms in the upper floors of more well-to-do buildings. Guests wear masks to protect their privacy (the Bhaalists will presumably be wearing their full religious veils instead of masks).

The targets chosen for the spectacle will typically be those public opinion deems deserving of death. Violent criminals, for example. These slayings will not be considered a crime by viewers, and with a reputation for vigilantism, the cult may even come to be viewed favourably by some. Joining the cult means you get to "volunteer" the next guest star.

-

While I don't know how widely practiced this is, Bhaalists do mummify their dead. Invading a Bhaalist tomb may backfire when the long-dead priests take issue with their visitors.

Bhaalists blades may be cursed, in case they're stolen (particularly those they bury with their dead). Once unsheathed, the blades can't be returned to their scabbard until they've been used to take a life. Attempts to remove the curse with counter-magic will cause them to explode violently in a burst of metal shrapnel and fatal poison (which will be absorbed into the body on skin contact).

[katasstrophy]

OHMYGOOOODDDDDD YES MAKE HIM SUFFER!!!!

The Devotion of the Girl in the Mirror

Chapter 4 >> Chapter 5 >> Masterlist

✣ Pairing: Rindou x AFAB fem!Reader w/ a chapter cameo of reader/yuzuha

✣ Warning: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI

✣ Series: part of the In the Belly of the Beast fic universe

✣ Chapter CW: bdsm play feat. reader/yuzuha (gasp!), bondage, overstim, vibrators, exhibitionism, group BDSM feat. 2 other subs getting masturbated (one fem!AFAB and one fem!AMAB, idk crowd jeers, a little bit of degradation, bad communication & angst, drinking)

✣ Story CWs: BDSM dob/sub relationship; sex (oral, ptv, pta, etc.); genre typical drug use, alcohol, smoking

✣ Synopsis: A story of two lonely people find love for better or worse. Or, dom!Rindou is sweet on his girl. Or, on paper, you and Rindou have nothing in common. But sometimes chemistry defies logic, and with every conversation, you find yourself more bewitched until all you see, smell, or hear is Rindou.

✣ Word Count: ~8.5k

The black dot may have been nothing but a circle, a representation of the sun or an eye, except it is written, which makes it punctuation. As a symbol of punctuation, it may have been a period at the end of a sentence, except there are three, which makes it part of an ellipsis. As an ellipsis, it may have indicated a trailing off of a thought except it accompanies a blank space on his screen, an auto-generated signal from his phone, which means you are still typing, as you have been for the last five minutes with no message yet in response to his text.

It should not take this long to respond to an invitation to dinner.

With every minute that passes, his ire rises higher.

Rindou strains through another set of lat pulls, refusing to let you and your silent treatment slow him down. Opposite him, Benkei deadlifts a stunning 300 kg. When the bar hits the floor, the clang echoes off the mirror-lined walls.

There is a gym in the basement of his apartment complex, guaranteed to be empty in the early pre-dawn hours, which he prefers for the privacy it offers. Wakasa’s gym is never empty. Fighters practice boxing, MMA, and jujutsu with retired pros morning and night. Most of the customers sport tattoos from one syndicate or another, and Rindou often recognizes the guys on his own payroll by the free weights or sweating in the saunas. Rindou only started returning to Wakasa’s gym for the occasional practice bout or strength training session in the last few months. Wakasa’s been filling his ear with the idea of taking you and his girl on a double date, a vacation to the mountains when your semester wraps, and Rindou has been coming by to talk the details.

A text finally lights up his screen, and Rindou forces himself to ignore it for a solid minute while he finishes his set even as his eyes dart back against his will.

I can’t do dinner. Plans with Naoya. But I could do drinks.

Wakasa lopes forward, hands in his pockets, before Rindou can answer. It’s his turn to leave you with the ellipsis of anxiety and doom. He locks his phone and tosses face-down on a bench.

“Wanted to tell you we got the goods through Nagoya yesterday,” Wakasa says tonelessly. “Ushioda’s really come through. My guy says customs not only didn’t check, they agreed to decrease security personnel during offboarding. Ran is going to be a menace about being the one to make this happen, but he’s worked his magic on this.”

Rindou matches Wakasa’s subdued attitude beat for beat, but in his mind, he runs through a month’s worth of memos and emails to recall if he knew about this plan. “You sent a shipment of girls through the port? That’s fucking brazen.”

“Mochi wanted to test the limits early with something cheap before we put our expensive shit through there,” Wakasa said.

According to Takeomi, Ushioda begged on bended knee for clemency for his son. It was hard to say whether love or shame drove the father, but the outcome was the same. Acme Corp would smuggle Bonten contraband through the Port of Nagoya, so long as they streamlined into their regular shipping schedule to avoid setting off any alarm bells.

This was the second shipment received through the port after moving a little marijuana through a few weeks earlier. Rindou tries to keep his expectations in check as operations continue smoothly, but his hopes rise against his better judgment.

“Mochi says he wants to do a few more runs, but that you should start thinking through where you could source the heroine,” Wakasa relays.

They could source through the triads as the Chinese and Russian gangs already have inroads with the producers, but they would each take their cut and ruin Bonten’s margins. The drug would be new on the market. Rindou doesn’t want to price high outright. Start cheap and once the clientele can’t live without their fix, then drive the prices up. They could run a deficit to start, but that would mean Koko up his ass. Cutting the triads out completely isn’t an option either as they would need to ship out of China, but if they could build their own supplier network, they could negotiate a better rate.

“It’s gonna be too obvious if we have guys coming in and out of Afghanistan all the time. They don’t even run direct flights out of Seoul. We’d get picked instantly. I’m thinking we could get away with sending someone through to Turkey though. With a little palm greasing, they can cross into Iran without getting their passport stamped. The IRGC run the heroine trade through Afghanistan, so we could develop our own connections from there,” Rindou says.

Wakasa nods along at what he already figured. “Who you gonna send?”

“Not me if that’s what you’re thinking. I hate plane rides,” Rindou says.

“Of course, not you. We need you. I was thinking Hanma.”

Rindou groans. “I fucking hate that guy.”

“We all fucking hate that guy. But that’s why he’s good at this shit. He’s done great work in Hong Kong. Send him over there. He knows how to make the coldest man sweat,” Wakasa suggests.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it.”

He finishes another set of lat pulls, while Wakasa and Benkei chat away about the insipid rise of Peloton. Endorphins rush to his brain, and he feels magnanimous enough to finally shoot you a reply.

See you at 5.

If he has anything to say about it, Naoya will be eating dinner alone tonight.

--

Two people could not be dressed more oppositely. Fresh from his post-workout shower, Rindou wears nothing but a pair of sweats. Droplets of water scatter across his bare shoulder blade as his long, wet hair drips freely. Strong chest and arms still pumped from muscle training great you at the door. You, meanwhile, dressed for an Arctic exploration in a floor-length parka, bulging in all the wrong places, a fluffy scarf wound three-times round your neck, and an equally fluffy, fur-lined hood. A mask completes the look, so the only skin he can see is a sliver of your forehead and your narrowed eyes.

“Just looking at you makes me feel cold,” you scowl.

“Just looking at you is making me cold.”

You barge right past him into his apartment. The heater works overtime to keep the entire complex a toasty 23 degrees. Past the entryway, where you slip out of your boots, the dining room table is lined with boxes of Chinese takeout; Unsure what you’d want to eat, Rindou opted to order a smorgasbord of options.

Beneath the unflattering coat, you wear a black dress. The long sleeves and tasteful length contrast a daring vee that dips down to show off the swell of your lovely, little breasts. You’re packaged like a delicious gift for the unwrapping, and Rindou can’t resist planting a soft kiss to the back of your neck as you hang your coat. He expects the battle tonight will be a long and painful one, but still you dressed up for him.

“Good to see it’s you under there. For a second, I thought it might be an assassin,” Rindou jokes.

“Easy for you to laugh all warm in here! It’s freezing outside. They’re calling for snow tonight into tomorrow, which sucks. I can’t miss class at this point in the semester,” you complain.

“Well, I’ve got everything you need to warm up,” Rindou says. He gestures at the table laden with food, and then, more critically, brandishes the bottle of wine bought just for tonight. “And if the weather’s too bad tomorrow, I’m sure they’ll cancel. You can just hang out here all day.”

“My professors are all sadists. I wouldn’t put it past them to host class as they get double-bypass surgery. They’d have the surgeon right there in the lecture hall,” you grumble.

Rindou half listens as you launch into a prolonged rant about your upcoming finals. His attention is understandably split as he searches your lively expressions for the ugly shadow of jealousy. Behind every word, he hunts for double meanings.

The look of pure betrayal on your face when he ran into you yesterday in Chiba will not soon leave his mind. It colored his scenes yesterday with Mayuri, turning him mean and unmerciful as he bound and belted her ass red. She deserved his full attention after putting her trust in him, but Rindou twice almost walked away to call you. Had you answered, he might have berated you for daring to look at him like that, like you’d caught him fucking your mother or murdering the family pet. Like he’d done something unforgivable to you.

Now, as you gripe about exams, every bit the picture of the beleaguered uni student, your words ring false. Like you are filling time and space to put distance between the you of yesterday, so judgey and offended, and the you of today. You tell him how exams are two months out, and like a good student, you are already studying in earnest in the pits of what you dub “flashcard hell” as Kii has taken to posting flashcards over every expanse of wall in her apartment, springing prep questions on unconsenting listeners, and crying periodically about how she should have spent fewer hours sleeping and more time reading the supplementary materials. Rindou hums in sympathy in all the right places, and he almost, almost begins to relax into the conversation. Like an idiot.

“Are you feeling the dumplings or the pork?” Rindou asks, plating up a hearty helping of food for himself.

“Neither. I can’t eat, remember?” you say.

“Oh, come on. Stay the night. It’s too cold to be going out.”

“True, but I promised Naoto. We’re going to this really fancy curry restaurant, and he said he’d pay, so I’m planning to go all out and get dessert,” you say.

Noticing his wine glass is running low, Rindou drains the last dregs and pours himself a healthy portion. This will be easier drunk. He debates pouring you more as well, wondering if a little tipsiness would make you spunkier or mellow the worst of your impulses. Because he senses the fit approaching, the moment you break your pretense that everything is fine and well and force a confrontation.

“You know, I don’t like playing games,” he says.

 “I don’t like playing games either.”

“Then, don’t.”

Rindou says it shortly, definitively. The barest hint of command reinforces his voice, and he watches the way you receive the order, squirming in that delightfully submissive way of yours before you reject your inclination to obedience. You set your jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say.

Rindou sighs. He expected you would be difficult but not passive aggressive. Not like this.

“You have dinner plans with Naoto? Seriously?”

“Yes?”

“Bullshit,” Rindou snaps. “I expected you to be immature about what happened yesterday, but this? You’re better than this. Forget your conveniently timed dinner plans, and let’s act like adults. Then, we can have a nice night.”

“It’s a work event. Naoto was nervous about going alone, so he asked me to come with him. This was planned weeks ago. I just forgot until he reminded me,” you insist, standing up from your chair, like the added height will strengthen your lie.

“Convenient,” Rindou sneers.

In the six months you’ve been together, you have never had a genuine fight or even argument. Seeing your smiling face typically puts Rindou in too good a mood, curbs the worst of his temper, so he is slow to pick fights. You, meanwhile, listen so well, adapting your behavior without him having to utter a word. Bickering typically becomes flirtatious banter in a matter of minutes, the kind that ends with your panties in his pocket.

So, Rindou doesn’t know what to expect from you in a real fight. He half expected you to fold at the slightest correction. You are still young, so he doesn’t write off the possibility of some kind of petty manipulation either, the silent treatment maybe, or more probably breaking into a mess of tears, the kind that bring so many men to a panic; Unfortunately for you, Rindou doesn’t capitulate to a woman’s cries or begging, going cold at any miserable attempt to manipulate his emotions.

Faced with you now, the tendons in your neck pulse as you square of against him without any sign of crumbling. You worry your lower lip between your teeth until it is red and swollen. It is the only sign of anxiety. Otherwise, you stand strong.

“If you feel like I’m somehow attacking you, it must be a guilty conscience. Because I haven’t said or done anything to you.”

“What do I have to feel guilty about?” Rindou demands coldly.

“You’d have to tell me. Because I thought about it all day and night –”

“See, I knew you were wound up about yesterday –”

“I thought about it all day and night,” you raise your voice to drown him out. “And, yes, it was weird to see you with someone else. Yes, it hurt. It was so unexpected. But, if you think I’m trying to punish you over it, you’re out of line because my eyes are wide open. You’re not my boyfriend –”

“No, I’m not. Which is why you shouldn’t –”

“I know, I know. How can I be hurt or angry when you’re not my boyfriend? You didn’t cheat on me or break any promises. I have nothing to be upset about.”

“Right.”

Confused and more than a little wary, Rindou sits back down at the table. He has held conversations like this a few times in his life. Most subs understand the importance of negotiation implicitly and take him for what he is. There have been a handful of in the past, however, usually inexperienced women like you, who struggled to work through the limitations of their relationship with him, crashing futilely against the boundaries of what he offered.

Because he doesn’t do relationships. Blame it on the dangers of his work, the secrecy inherent in the lifestyle, or some intrinsic flaw in his makeup. Regardless, he never plans to tie himself down to one woman. All that road offers is the erosion of his freedom.

“Since you wanted to talk about it so much though, bringing it up and all, I would like to ask about what I should expect,” you continue. “Because I didn’t realize you were seeing other people, and that raises questions. Like, are you practicing safe sex with these women? Have you been getting tested for STDs? Should we be using condoms? And, are you looking for more long-term subs? How would you even fit in another sub? Would we have to see each other less, so you could make time for a new one? What should I expect going forward?”

Each question is too reasonable to deny, so Rindou answers plainly, “You’re the only person I see regularly, so I use condoms with everyone else and get tested on the first of every month. If you want to use condoms together, that is entirely your decision. I’ll accept whatever you decide. I’m not looking to train anyone else right now. If I found someone that suited my tastes, I might consider it though, and yeah, that would mean adjusting my schedule around because I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you would not be open to training together.”

“No!”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Rindou says.

“How many women have you been with since we got together?” you demand.

There is no good answer, and Rindou groans, “Seriously? Don’t start overreacting now.”

“I’m cool! I’m being so cool. Just answer the question,” you smile, but it is a mockery of your normal, gleaming smiles. Teeth clenched tight together, it is more like an animal baring its fangs.

“No! I don’t owe you a fucking itemized list of every woman I’ve fucked. Just like I don’t run around town telling them about you. I haven’t cheated on you. I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“I just wanna know how and when you’re finding time to meet other people.”

Rindou rolls his eyes. “Because that’s rational. You don’t actually want to know the answer to that.”

“I just don’t know where you’re possibly finding the time to meet all these women –”

“Again, you’re exaggerating. Not all these women. Some, like Mayuri, I knew before you. Some I meet through work. Straightforward stuff.”

“Mayuri is the woman from yesterday?”

“I think we’re done with this conversation now,” Rindou says tightly.

A shininess blurs the color of your eyes then, and Rindou sighs. He wants to wrap you up in his arms and praise you for being such a strong, beautiful girl because despite all your tough words, this isn’t easy for you. If he could be a better man for you, he would consider it, but there is only so much he can offer, and the burden of accepting that is on you.

“Thank you for being honest with me. I really do need to head out and meet Naoto, but I’ll think about the condom thing,” you murmur.

“Baby, don’t leave like this,” Rindou tries. There is no more fight in your stance and now that the threat of conflict is ended, he finds the energy draining from his whole body.

“I’m fine! We’re fine. Seriously, Rindou. I’m not going to overreact or stamp my foot at you like that might change something. My eyes are wide open like I told you. I understand where you’re coming from completely. We can hang out soon,” you say.

Rindou doesn’t like the idea of you leaving when your foundations are so shaken, wants to stuff you full of gone-cold Chinese food and cuddle on the couch until you fall asleep on his shoulder. Even if neither of you yelled or descended into insults, he feels like he fought a war, and the only way to recover is in your arms.

He follows you to the entryway.

You redon your winter gear in a hurry. The puffy coat is plush and cozy as he pulls you close and kisses you long and slow. You return the kiss with wind-chapped lips not fighting him at all. The heat that always explodes between you blazes, and he cups and caresses you through the barrier of the coat.

He wants you to stay.

You break the kiss after only a minute and smile.

“I’ll call you, ok?”

And then, you are gone.

--

When Rindou sleeps, he dreams of shopping malls built like mazes, window shopping displays of the finest goods, and he understands without knowing that to obtain even one miraculous product from these stores would spell his salvation; But whenever he tries to enter one of the stores, the maze shifts, redirects him until he is walking forwards again, searching. Still searching. During the slippery seconds between sleep and waking, that liminal space where dreams and life converge, he stews in resentment for what he can’t possess. That resentment often follows him into the day, though he tries not to dwell on it. The recurring dream started sometime in his early twenties. He remembers that dream joining him in sleep on at least a monthly basis, but for all he knows, he dreams it every night only to forget with the rising of the sun.

The weeks that follow the lingerie incident remind him of that dream only there is no supernatural force reworking the architecture of time and space to prevent him from entering the store. It feels like he’s piloting a plane headed straight for a cliff. There is still time to push the emergency button and eject to safety if he is only willing to abandon the plane to its solitary, fiery fate. But, he is a pilot, and the plane is all he’s ever known, and the longer he goes without pushing the button, the slighter his chances of escaping unscathed.

Because you are not fine.

The three weeks that follow pass at a crawl. Time reshapes itself into molasses around the giant you-sized absence in his days. It is easy, at first, to deny the obvious as you offer such convincing excuses to blow him off. After all, your friends do often lean on you for emotional support, and finals are drawing close, and your mother does deserve a break. So what if you leave his texts on read for hours at a time?

On the fourth day, he calls you in the free period he knows falls between your Wednesday lectures. When you answer, Rindou mistakes your sing-song hello for the voicemail you have relegated him to recently. You apologize for not having time to talk, squeezing more words into a breath than humanly plausible as you explain your packed study schedule. You promise to see him soon before you hang up.

You sounded fine on the phone. The same voice, light and airy like spring personified, that Rindou knows so well.

But you are not fine.

The ice wall between you thaws a little in the second week when Rindou reminds you that he bought tickets to the Inaba/Salas tour. Again, you surprise him by joining as planned at the stadium. Throughout the concert, you smile and cheer along, and the open delight on your face as you groove to the music invites him to join in the fun. At the end of the night, he drives you home to where you swear your mom is waiting. He kisses you breathless in the front seat of his car. You sigh hot and sticky into his mouth, notched into the crook of his shoulder like you have carved a space for yourself there, and whisper “Sir” with more fervor than a prayer. Everything seems fine.

But you are not fine.

Only a few days later, you agree to a date. The familiarity as he texts you details and soaks up your liberal usage of emojis relaxes him into thinking all is well. He takes you ice skating at Tokyo Midtown Gardens. With your little gloved hand in his, you half carry each other around the rink, equally graceless without the surety of solid ground. Rindou laughs more than he has for two weeks. You both fall again and again, Rindou toppling each time so as to shield your body from the worst of it. As you sprawl on top of him, padded from head to toe in winter wear, you promise to kiss his purple bruises better and call him your hero. Back at his apartment, you do just that, licking and kissing every part of his body, losing track of time. The trains stop running, so you sleep where you belong in the cradle of his arms. He wakes up at 6AM to the sound of you shuffling, halfway out the door citing an early start to the day. You would have left without a goodbye, but at his groggy inquiry, you tell him you are fine.

But you are not fine.

Rindou wants to confront you about the change. He hates playing stupid games more than accusations or tears and would rather have it out at this point. But, whenever you visit, he never broaches the subject. Because you are so singularly you! And fuck it. He misses you. The contrast between seeing you fives time a week and this drought is stark. Now, when you leave, you don’t send him dumb memes or answer his calls to talk about your day. You don’t rush to make plans to see him again either, and Rindou knows he can’t accept your lame excuses anymore. Something is fundamentally broken.

For the first time in maybe ever, Rindou throws himself into his work. The timing is convenient with recent developments, so he offers to take the meetings outside the perimeter of Tokyo when before he might have dragged his feet. He personally briefs Takeomi every day. When Kakucho mentions a security threat in passing, Rindou volunteers to help even though it falls well outside his purview. Anything to keep the body active.

You had come to fill up the hours of his day, to be the dessert he could look forward to after a meal of veggies. Rindou can’t comprehend how he used to fill the interminable hours between six PM and sleep without your assistance.

So, he works, and he tries not to think about anything much at all.

The plane soars onward without any assistance on his part. The details of the exposed cliff face, jagged and unforgiving, grow clearer by the hour. There will be no escape. When he crashes, Rindou knows he is going to explode.

--

Ran once said all of Bonten has PTSD in one form or another. Overexposure to high stress, life-or-death situations puts too much stress on the adrenal system, so now half the executives drop to their stomachs when a car misfires, stand with their backs flat to the nearest wall in every new room, avoid crowds like some people avoid traffic tickets. Rindou considers himself free of this affliction, but on the road, hands flexing on the steering wheel and eyes split between mirrors like a car might strike out into his lane at any moment, he is every bit as activated.

The hour is late, creeping towards midnight when Rindou pulls onto the expressway. There are predictably few passenger cars sharing the road. Semitrucks kick up a mist of rain that obscures his windshield.

To fill the sleepless hours, Rindou is developing all kinds of new habits. Driving, brain preciously blank to all but the threat of traffic, is one of them. So is going to the office. Just today, he went to the Ueno office of all places rather than watch the hours of the day tick by in his apartment. There is no email unanswered, directive unissued, or memo unread to keep his brain occupied. He wishes there was because his apartment holds as little allure now as it did this this morning.

A notification lights up the display. It’s a reminder that the BDSM club in Roppongi – the one where you first met – is open for play tonight. Rindou palms his cock, and it feels like an animal, a dead one, in his pants. Not even a stir. His mood is too black and distracted to responsibly dom anyone, so he dismisses the notification.

Screeching the tires, Rindou almost misses his exit. He brakes hard down the ramp until he shoots out on a quiet street. At the drab buildings, he does a double take, recognizing the north entrance to Nakano Station.

He has driven straight past his real exit and an extra twenty minutes without noticing to arrive in your neighborhood.

Rindou feels drunk despite not taking a sip of alcohol all day. He pulls into a gas station and refills the tank. While it pumps, he pops his contacts out of sore eyes. Everything blurs like a photograph in soft focus. He closes his eyes against a headache and breathes deep for 120 torturous breaths. Back in the car, he unearths his glasses from the glove compartment. They’re the same style, though a stronger prescription, that he wore as a teen. Catching his reflection in the rearview, Rindou sees the boy he once was. Just as lost, letting things happen around him without a thought, only leaping to action when stronger powers (namely Ran) prompted). Someone who watches as life happens.

Nothing is in his control.

The BDSM club is five minutes closer to Nakano than his apartment, a negligible difference, but after the driving mix-up he changes course. Nostalgia takes the wheel to lead to where you first met, where he has not visited since.

The ticket takers at the theater don’t recognize him, hesitating until he points at the tattoo on his throat. He looks unkempt: hair ratty and unbrushed, jacket slung over his shoulder and button-up crumpled at the ends, and his glasses highlight the eyes of a man who has barely slept in days. It is no surprise that subs don’t flock to him when he enters. He doesn’t look like the all-powerful dom tonight. Best he sits back and watches.

Rindou pays for a full bottle of bourbon, served neat and hard on the taste buds. The club is busy as it’s Saturday, and couples and groups clog the four stages. There are no tables left close enough for a view of the action, so Rindou stands in the corner, taking heavy swigs straight from the bottle until his stomach cramps.

There is little variety on stage. Three doms whip, cane, and flog their subs. All older man with younger women. They are impersonal, showing perfunctory delight at the infliction of pain. These are the kinds of scenes that bore him when done without finesse.

On the fourth stage, he recognizes Lady X, a domme he knows from many shared nights spent just like this, bringing women to their knees. Lost in his memories is Lady X’s real name. Yuzu something…Yuzuriha? Yuzuyu? In the clubs, she always goes by her alias or is called simply Lady, but Rindou remembers her vaguely as the sister of the tenth gen leader of the Black Dragons.

Lady is the antithesis of Rindou as a dom.

If Rindou finds control in manipulating a pliant body and acceptance in a sub’s embrace of his touch, whether it offers pain or pleasure, Lady finds release in giving her subs what they want. Where Rindou hoards women’s orgasms like precious jewels, flaunting his ownership of them only to hide them away again, Lady distributes them like cheap birdseed, doling out orgasm after orgasm to her thankful subs. Eventually said thanks turns to pleading, as one orgasm becomes four and the pleasure twists to something monumental. Lady then ups the vibrator or nips the woman’s clit with blunt teeth because, as she told Rindou once over a drink at this very bar, her goal in every scene is to create a world where her subs’ worst problem is the existence of too much pleasure, not its absence, nor its inverse, pain.

Tonight, Lady commands the largest audience of patrons. No surprise there as she strikes quite the picture herself, tall and lovely in a pencil skirt as she brings three subs on stage to piteous tears. Rindou slides closer to her stage for a better look.

Suspended in a harness of ropes, the first sub weeps wretchedly. There is a hitachi wand held to her clit. The setting must be high because the buzz travels from the stage to his ears. The woman cries but does not beg for mercy. There is the sheen of the acolyte behind her eyes, like she might commit unspeakable acts if they only bring her back here to Lady’s ropes and generous toys.

A second sub at her side stands restrained but not suspended. Her arms are tied above her, so that she can do nothing while Lady strokes her cock. Lady’s little hand smears messily over the tip, which is an inflamed red. There is a puddle of cum on the floor from the woman’s past orgasms. Little drips of semen harden on her legs. Every touch must hurt, but Lady keeps playing with the tip, forcing her back to hardness whether she likes it or not.

The third sub is just an ass in the air. A perfect ass at that.

Bent over a wooden block and shackled at the ankle, so that her legs are to the audience, the sub’s pussy is spread wide around a vibrator taped to her clit. Her feet kick ineffectually against her restraints, little trembles jiggling her thighs.

Rindou enjoys watching Lady work, so self-assured, so competent at bringing her subs to the brink and past. His eyes stray again and again to the pretty ass in the air. A stir in his pants makes him question his decision to abstain tonight. It has been over a week of his own hand.

After fifteen minutes of more of the same, Lady releases the first two subs from their ropes and cuffs. They are felled heaps on the stage, panting in puddles of their own slick and cum. Lady rounds to the third sub, leaning toward that hidden face in private conversation. Then she stands, and sighs for the audience’s benefit.

“Here I am being so generous, telling this slut to cum as many times as she wants, and she hasn’t cum once! What to do?”

Lady answers her own question by crouching down in front of the sub’s spread pussy and burying her whole face in it. There is a lull in the music, and Rindou can hear just how lewdly Lady laves that pussy with her tongue. Her fingers stretch the sub’s hole at a brutal pace. The woman keens loudly and kicks her feet again. Everything from her little naked toes to canting hips look beautiful in the throws of overstimulation.

Of course, Rindou knows without knowing. A presentiment colors the scene. He leans forward with interest, compelled toward that wet cunt, not wanting to miss a moment of the action, but his stomach sickens too. He ignores the sensation, blames the bourbon warming its way down his belly.

Lady tuts as the sub continues to hang on the precipice without teetering over.

She turns to the audience and says, “Little slut is having a hard time coming without permission from her old dom. Isn’t that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard? Why don’t you let her know she has permission to cum? Tell her to squirt all over my hand.”

Eager to join in more actively, the crowd of about thirty hoot and holler in encouragement, mixing in obscenities about the sub’s wet cunt and place beneath Lady’s toys. Rindou claps along.

Four fingers slam in and out of that sloppy hole, and the time between shakes and cries from the sub evaporates until she is blubbering at the stimulation. Lady yanks her up by the hair to gift her the added sting at her scalp, and it pushes the sub over the edge.

Correction: it pushes you over the edge.

Because Rindou knows that ass, and he knows those toes, and even at a distance with the lights too bright and a row of people in front of him, he knows that pretty pussy, too. That pretty pussy now clenches around Lady’s fingers in an orgasm far too long and powerful for your overstimulated body.

Rindou watches your face screw up in pain and tears, an expression just as familiar to him. It is an expression that should belong solely to him.

All three subs follow Lady dutifully off stage after your orgasm finally settles. She bundles you all in blankets, heaping compliments and affection down on you as is your due after such a trying scene. Rindou hovers within earshot as Lady pets your head and rubs a tear from your check. Twenty minutes elapse as you come out of subspace, during which time Rindou drains half the bottle of bourbon.

“I look like a racoon. I’m gonna head to the bathroom and fix my makeup,” you laugh, pointing at the streaks of mascara that paint your cheeks.

You replace the blanket with an overcoat to shield your nakedness then weave your way through the crowd. Compliments on your performance rain down from all sides. Rindou shadows your step. Not far from the bathroom, you drop your phone. When you turn to pick it up off the floor, Rindou is there, already scooping it off the ground.

“Rin – Rindou!” you yelp.

“Not trying to scare you,” Rindou says immediately, defensively, and he passes the phone back to you without even scanning the lock screen for a peek at your messages. “Just saw you and wanted to say hey.”

“Well, hey…um…”

“You might wanna fix your makeup. You’ve got…” Rindou gestures at the cakey residue you already know is there, and you curse.

“Yeah, sorry. I need to go to the bathroom and deal with this.”

“I’ll come with you,” Rindou says, opening the door for you.

“Rindou, you can’t come in here with me,” you whisper.

He almost tells you it’s his club and he can do whatever he wants, but Rindou wears his secrecy like a second skin and only smirks at your worries before following you into the women’s bathroom. It is a six-stall affair with a wall mirror above the sinks. He can hear a woman pee behind the door of one stall, but he ignores the stranger’s presence as you ignore his, turning to the mirrors.

“You did good up there. Looked like you had a lot of tension to work out, which isn’t surprising considering all the studying you’ve been doing. Didn’t you have a paper due this week?” Rindou prompts.

You rub dry fingertips against your cheeks. When that doesn’t work, you wad up three paper towels, wet from the sink, and scrub.

“Yeah, I had a paper on Bashō’s references to music and instrumentation in his poems, which was due on Thursday. It could have been a lot worse honestly. I like the subject, and I thought my first draft was good for once. Of course, I had a complete breakdown on Wednesday after dreaming that the paper was really supposed to be about Nishiyama Sōin and that I’d miscited every source in there, but um, I managed to calm myself down.”

“Good. I don’t know why you always have nightmares about your papers. You always get an A.”

“Not always,” you say darkly.

The woman in the occupied stall hurries out, casting a few curious glances Rindou’s way as she washes her hands. She doesn’t dry them, leaving little splatters of water on the counter. Then, they are truly alone.

“Are you planning to stick around now that you finished your scene? Can’t imagine you wanna do another after that? It looked intense.”

“You really watched that?” you ask.

“Most of it,” he confirms. “You did good.”

“Thanks,” you say without looking at him. You dry your hands while staring at your now streak-free reflection in the mirror.

“If you don’t wanna stay, I could take you home. Or, if you’re hungry, I know a 24/7 breakfast place not far from here. You never eat enough after a scene,” Rindou says.

“Um, I’m good…Have you been coming here often?”

“No, it’s my first time in forever. You?” he asks in a tone that just misses casual.

“It’s my second time in the last two weeks. I’m kind of trying out stuff right now,” you say.

“Trying out stuff…” he tests the words.

“Are you okay? You look a little tense.”

Normally, Rindou chooses his words with precision, but he finds himself unable to process his surroundings. He exists somewhere outside his body, outside his brain, outside this room entirely. He peers down on the scene almost like a security camera, removed and distant. No, rather more like footage from a security camera, viewed days after the fact in a little room by someone who neither knows nor understands the context of the scene. Trying to think through the likely consequences of his words or choosing an alternative phrase, he finds his thoughts vaporous and ungraspable. So, he simply speaks.

“I didn’t like it.”

“Like what? Watching me with someone else?” you say quickly.

He grunts because that’s easier than searching for any kind of answer.

“You said we could fuck other people.”

“I know. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Rindou agrees. It is the correct and automatic response, but he can’t resist tacking on the truth at the end. “I didn’t like watching.”

“Well, that’s flattering at least,” you mutter.

In a different reality, one where he sent you up there with a pat on the ass, he might have liked watching Lady work your cunt up to a waterfall before returning you to him, still hovering on the precipice, edged and needy. He might have liked teasing you all night with the possibility of an orgasm. But he did not like watching you cum for someone else. Not without his permission. Even with a filmy gauze slowing down his brain from the half bottle of bourbon, he knows that much.

“We’re not okay, are we?” Rindou asks.

“No, Rindou. We are not okay.”

“Well, can we talk about it?”

“I don’t know. Can we talk about it without you making me feel like a complete idiot?” you snap.

A woman pushes open the door to the bathroom, but upon hearing the direction of your conversation, she turns right around, leaving you to a privacy tinged by history. The door creaks back into place with a choked slam.

“Like a…? You’re not an idiot?” Rindou insists.

“I know I’m not an idiot! I have spent the last few weeks going back and forth between feeling so sad and then so goddamn angry with you! Because I know that I could not have been more chill about things if I had a lobotomy to remove my frontal cortex first! I was so cool about everything, so understanding, so kind, and you treated me like, like some fucking bother you had to get out of the way!”

The first feeling to reemerge from the confused pit you dumped him in is embarrassment at himself as he is admittedly slow on the uptake, stuttering out, “Wait…this isn’t about…? This is about our conversation at my apartment?”

“Yes!” you hiss, hands flapping emphatically and voice echoing off the tile. The overcoat swallows you whole, a sea of black fabric trailing the floor, but somehow you stand tall within it. “Yes! I came that night so prepared to listen to your side of things and be reasonable and empathetic and all the rest, and you treated me like I was a hysterical child that you had to manage. Far be it from me to criticize the great Rindou! Not that I even did criticize you before you were jumping down my throat. I am not unreasonable. I am not hysterical. And I am not a child. I did not appreciate being treated like I was.”

Rindou remembers back to the hours before you arrived at his apartment that day. How he’d been so sure you would accuse him of cheating or play mind games to negate your own jealousy. The whole time you were there, he maintained that sureness even when you acted contrary to those expectations.

It, he admits, hadn’t been fair.

Worse, it may have been patronizing.

He groans, not at you but at the memory, and rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, yeah, yeah, you’re probably right. I see that. I didn’t want you to blow things out of proportion, so I tried to shut you down before you could. But I guess I acted like a prick.”

“A prick might be understating it. I came to you to have a conversation in good faith, and you made me feel so…small. Insignificant. Like, I’m just this easy thing to you. Like you could use and discard me, so I better shut my mouth before you throw me away.”

Rindou opens his mouth to give a rebuttal-like reassurance that you are wrong about your supposed disposability to him, but you plow forward, pointed finger punctuating every word, which is a welcome distraction from the look of raw pain on your face. It is like the sun. Too painful to look at directly.

“I know what that feels like, Rindou, because I’ve been treated that way before. I’m young and people call me sweet, and that means people think I’m stupid or superficial, but I’m not. I’m capable of dealing with the hard things and having the hard conversations, and I do not deserve to be treated like I’m too naïve to know how things work.”

There is a layer of grime on his tongue. He focuses on how foreign it feels in his mouth rather than the thumping organ in his ribcage. The way his heart races and the room feels too small is not dissimilar to the sensations he feels when someone fires a gun, when his life is momentarily suspended. A kind of physical panic that quickly settles into alertness.

He breathes deep, calming. Rindou smells the antibacterial soap and weak air freshener blowing from the vents. The colors of the room appear saturated, more contrast and more details accessible to the eye. Most importantly, he sees you clearly. The veins of your throat strain as if bursting with tension your body can’t contain. There are new smudges at the edges as tiny tears wet your eyeline. There is every emotion in those eyes from disgust to anger to sadness, but most of all, there is a question lingering there as you silently beg him to answer: where can we go from here?

“I have never thought of you as some easy thing. I fucked up. I don’t know what was going on in my head that day, but you’re right. I wasn’t seeing you. I should have shut my fucking mouth and listened. I’m sorry.”

Relief warms your eyes.

“I accept your apology,” you say.

“Really?” Rindou asks. After weeks of brewing resentment and your impassioned speech, he didn’t expect a speedy turnaround no matter how many pretty speeches he made himself.

“Yeah, I don’t like being angry. It takes a lot of energy,” you half laugh.

The abrupt about face from anger to laughter throws into stark relief that the is very drunk and very tired.  Beneath that, Rindou recognizes a more abstract emotion, too: happiness.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner. I didn’t realize what you were upset about,” Rindou says, and then he adds helpfully. “Because I’m stupid. Thanks for forgiving me.”

“Yeah, you are stupid, but I figure you deserve a little grace because this was the first time in six months that you disrespected me. So long as you never treat me that way again. Seriously. My mother taught me to never put up with that from anyone,” you say.

“On my honor,” Rindou vows. “So, can I buy you something to eat now?”

The happiness explodes out like a shaken soda bottle. One second, he’s filled to the brim with it, and the next it’s gone, bubbling to nothing on the tile because you don’t say yes. Instead, you stare grimly at the wall, all traces of reconciliation gone as you clutch the sleeves of your overcoat tight.

He wonders if his apology is not enough, if he might prove his sincerity to you in some other way. If you were Mikey, he would cut off his pinky. He would gladly gift you the ring, index, and middle fingers of his left hand, too, if you demanded them. But fingers out of the question, he has nothing to give you to prove himself, and you don’t say yes.

“Rindou…I do accept your apology for insulting me, but that’s not all…The truth is, I tried to be cool about it, but I’ve had weeks to think, and…I’m not okay with things going back to how they were if you are dating or hell, sleeping with other people. I’m jealous and hurt. And I can’t accept it,” you say.

“It’s normal to be jealous,” Rindou tries, tone bracing and supportive. “I got jealous today, but I worked through it. I’ve been a dom since I was nineteen, and I’ve never been tied down to one person before. It’s not the way I know how to do things. That’s why I didn’t make any promises when we got together. I didn’t cheat on –”

“Please don’t start that again! I know! I know you technically didn’t do anything wrong. And I know that I can’t make you stop seeing other people. It’s your relationship, too, and you can have your boundaries, but…”

“But?”

“But if I can’t ask you to stop seeing other people, then you can’t ask me to keep loving you.”

You clap a hand to your mouth as if shocked by the confession, or like you might herd the words back into your mouth where they will remain unspoken. But it is too late. He can count on one hand the number of times anyone has told him they loved him, and he will not forget this.

“Baby…” Rindou tries to reach for you, but you scramble away, and now tears fall down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, but that’s the problem, ya know? It hasn’t just been sex or hanging out for me. What we were doing, for me at least, was love, and it hurts too much to love someone who…I tried to take a step back, just have fun with you every once in a while, but there’s no medicine for falling in love, and every time I saw your stupid face, my heart started doing backflips. It doesn’t listen to me when I tell it we shouldn’t love you anymore. And that’s why…”

Your face blurs. It takes Rindou several confused seconds to realize his eyes are wet and blink the moisture away. When you reappear, you have steeled your nerves for the finishing blow.

“That’s why I don’t want to see you anymore. I need space and time to get over you, so um, please just stop calling and texting and all the rest. Just stop.”

Your face blurs again, and this time Rindou knows it’s because his eyes are watering. He blames his stupid glasses. He needs a stronger prescription.

There is no such excuse for your tears that drip past your chin to land on your collar. You wipe fruitlessly at the leakage, too slow to stimmy their fall.

If you say anything after that, Rindou doesn’t hear you over the ringing in his ears. Three women enter the bathroom arm-in-arm and immediately jabber at him about how he isn’t welcome, like three harpies sent to drive him away. Rindou doesn’t fight them as they push him out the door with their words.

Outside in the club, in the dark and music, far from the bright quiet of the bathroom, Rindou feels like he’s stepped onto the surface of Mars. Like he’s planets away from where you are, and he might as well be.

He doesn’t know how to find his way back to you because he stands now amid the wreckage, engine on fire, wings cracked. The plane has finally crashed.

A/N: entering my villain era

"'I was always watching you.' This could have been a breathless declaration of love or a final farewell." - Yōko Ogawa, The Diving Pool: Three Novellas

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

YOU SHOULD TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DND CHARACTER /NF

AT LITERALLY ANYTIME!!!!! I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!! ILL TALK ABOUT THEM FOREVER!!!

This is Crash!

(It’s actually pronounced like the exact sound of a rock shattering a plate glass window, but that’s hard to pronounce when you aren’t a kenku, so Crash! is fine too!)

In the universe of the campaign the whole society used to be based on dragon hunting and slaying, but then all the dragons went extinct ten years ago (due to the hunting and slaying).

There’s a secret (veryyyty illegal) lab of scientists trying to bring them back but, like how dinosaurs are birds, they made a Crash! instead (after like…. So much trial and error)

They’re a draconic bloodline sorcerer, because they’re created from scraped dragon DNA, and a kenku so they can’t fly but they can mimic any sound/voice! They’re also seven because I forgot the dragons only went extinct ten years ago! Whoops!

For a while they’re the prize of the lab, and are 100% convinced all the scientists are their parents and all of them are a family, until a better experiment comes along and they get totally abandoned by said ‘family’ :( so they run away to try and get dragons back on their own so their parents love them again :((

But they’re seven and have never left the lab so they’re a dumb lil baby who got caught up in treason with five other dumb lil adults (the entire party is under four feet except one 6’1 human whose died twice) and they’re all on an adventure together to clear their names (crash! isn’t entirely aware on why they’re doing it though,,, they do not understand law)

And also the baby is cursed rn!! We don’t know why or how!!! But they are!!

Last game they got a cloaking brooch so here’s a bonus human-disguise baby bird:

[nyx-aira]

His absolute fav outfits of his to me.

The Carpe Diem MV Outfit, i wish it would come back. When will my beautiful wife return to me. Blue is one of the colours that works so well for him. The soft delicate lace with the collar. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

The OG Stožice (i love all the variations)

Rasaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh how to be less abnormal: watch me fail that so hard 101, the leather being broken off with delicate lace detailing, the frill on the sleeves, the lace belt with this tiny bow. The lace details on the side of his pants. The diamond lace top collar combo. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

I am also weak for his brightly patterned shirts

Look at the way he can wear patterns so well, flowers too. Bows. Everything.

I spent 3,5 hours looking all over the internet just to find his fuck off kitty shirt (found it btw)

Oh he can wear everything, even that furry jacket that i would hate on literally everyone else but he. HEEEEEEE he can wear it and i go insane over it. 🥹🥹🥹🥹☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️.

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

Anyways thanks for listening.

Omg yes I love all of those! (Also sorry for the late answer, tumblr kinda swallowed notifications for a bit)

I loveeeee Jure in blue! He just looks so good! Especially in that blue lacey flower shirt. It falls into the category of blouses that suit him so fucking well it's unreal!

It's also funny how Jure looks best either in a shirt with one of those bows around his neck or basically shirtless (I'm looking at you stožice outfit) Option 1) makes him look kinda regal and all soft and option 2) really brings out his arms and his figure (yes I may have died when I saw that lace chain thingy for the first time)

And the bows! Oh my lord the bows! They suit him so fucking well and I really really need him to wear them again because HOLY FUCK does he look good in them!

That furry jacket makes him look like a woman whose husband has just died under mysterious circumstances and I absolutely love that!

Also another category of clothes he looks absolutely fantastic in: dresses. I mean did you see the fucking wedding pictures?! He looked so so good in that dress it should be illegal. Like good sir please leave some slay for the rest of us!

[edbloves]

https://www.tumblr.com/edbloves/755049232191389696/httpswwwtumblrcomedbloves754938770487476224

THIS IS EVERYTHING TYSM

But once she starts to get more comfortable with them, he realizes that she's just a mini John and he falls even more in love with her

He enjoys talking to her and getting her books to read as she learns her ABCs and hearing her three-year-old (sometimes strange) opinions on things,

This and this absolutely killed me cause hello! She’s just a little John, of course she is the most animated toddler to exist who just babbles all the time

Gale is awake in the middle of the night thinking and spiralling and trying make mental tallies of all the things he has to do and learn and help her with and holy shit he's so unprepared and what are they going to do with a child, let alone a girl?? So he climbs out of bed and unthinking of the late hour, phones Marge and asks her how she does her hair.

Gale learning how to girl dad? Stop it right now, could there be anything cuter? A very fair thing for him to freak out over, if I’m being honest

She has them instantaneously wrapped around her finger and they literally struggle so hard to say no to her ("You tell her she can't do that, John." "Why me? You tell her!" "I don't want her to be upset with me!" "You think I do?!") Good cop, bad cop is literally impossible to do with them, and Gale can't stomach it anyways, not with how his father was

OH MY GOD?? I can so see this. Like I can picture it in my head so vividly. The best part is they KNOW they are so wrapped around her finger and so does Marge who probably jokes that she will be the most spoiled girl in the world (it’s ok because they spoil her with love and affection)

Now I’m thinking about her first time getting sick, the way they probably fret so bad and are heartbroken that their baby isn’t feeling great

So sorry for the delay in responding to this! The first time she gets sick is giving me all the feels too!!

Here's my HC for their sick kiddo:

Gale is trying to keep it together because he worries that if she sees them panicked, she'll panic too. But internally, he doesn't know what to do and doesn't feel prepared to handle this, and calls Marge every two hours who has to talk him off the cliff

John is wreck, almost worse than his daughter, fretting over everything ("Does she have a fever, Buck?" "When do we take her to the hospital, Buck?" "I'm gonna stay up all night and make sure she is okay")

When it happens, it's unlikely Gale can get out of work (as he can't legally be acknowledged as a parent since they're in an illegal relationship) so he hovers all morning, piles blankets upon blankets upon blankets on her feverish frame and then calls home every hour to check in on them

John meanwhile does his best to cheer her up when he's not freaking out and tries to get her to laugh, gives her all the ice cream and juice she wants just to get some solids in her

They also call Croz multiple times a day with their worries because he has a child and has experienced it before (he laughs at them in a respectful and understanding way but teasing nonetheless)

They both absolutely dote on her for anything she wants: Chocolate? Have a Hersheys bar. Ice cream? Done. They read her every children's story they have while she's laid out on the couch and then go buy more. John makes up elaborate tales of princesses slaying dragons lets he interject her ideas whenever she wants.

Logically, they both know they should be careful or they'll end up sick too, but on the first night they barely last five minutes before they go collect her from her bedroom and have her sleep in between them (she doesn't even have to come and ask them to sleep in their bed)

She tucks her frame into John's chest and falls asleep holding Gale's hand with her favourite stuffed animal on the pillow next to her

They both struggle not to cry themselves when she comes to them in tears, feverish and saying "I feel bad, Daddy." in the middle of the night, and nothing they do seems to make her feel better, she's just gotta let it run its course

John tries to yell at the doctor tells them this, tries to get him to magic up a cure and says it's unacceptable to leave his baby feeling like this. Gale feels similarly but recognizes its not the doctors fault and apologizes on John's behalf

[alevens]

it should be ILLEGAL to be a transphobic one piece fan when Ivankov literally exists as one of the best characters in the entire franchise, not only he carried (metaphorically and literally) during impel down, but he slays so goddamn hard every time he's on screen like

[caramel-demon-on-bike]

☆彡 HEADCANONS AND AU STUFF ミ★

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok! So as I said this is my little Metal Family ships ranking! All I will say now are my headcanons. you can disagree with them, just remember to not being rude just because someone likes something you don't like!

Main Characters + my oc!

Glam x Victoria - one of my favorite ships! I think they fit together perfectly! I love love love them <3 10/10

Glam x Chive - I think they may had some small romantic relationship in the past. But it's not what I would call a permanent relationship. ( tbh I have a small headcanon that Chive and Glam could flirt with each other when they are drunk lol.) I like them together but prefers their relationship more as brothers/best friends! 6/10

Chive x Victoria - whaaaat..? No, it wouldn't work lmao 0/10

Chive x Anna - naaaaah,, :/ I don't like this ship. I see them as good friends + I think Anna prefers girls. In my headcanon Chive may have flirted with her at beginning but nothing more came of it. Just best friends! 0/10

Victor x Chive (oc x canon ship!) - so basically it's my otp, what can I say about them. I don't think anyone here knows much about this ship because Victor is my oc but I will try to describe you more this ship. When I was creating Victor I wanted to combine opposites! Victor is often stressed and Chive would help him chill out. I think they would complement each other. In my AU Victor would also help Ches out of addiction at the beginning. I just really like this ship. 10/10

Anna x Victoria - it's an interesting ship to be honest. I think like with Glam x Chive there may have been a closer relationship at first but then it turned into a platonic friendship + I think victoria is straight lol. 3/10

Anna x Glam - whaaaaat? 0/10

Dee x Heavy (proship) - NO. -100/10 pls don’t, it should be illegal!!

Dee/ Heavy x Glam/ Vicky/ Anna/ Ches/ anyone over 18 (proship) - HELL NAHHH. If someone ships this, I'll find that person. <•>_<•> -1000/10

Dee x Lif - Cute! I like their relationship it's sweet how Dee tries to impress her! I hope they can be canonically together :> 9/10

Heavy x Lif - I’m so sorry… but they fit so perfect together too…. I'm undecided whether I prefer Dee x Lif or Heavy x Lif (I’m so sorry Dee) 9/10

Dee x Diana - I think she has a crush on him but he doesn't care LMAOOO. But they would be interesting together. 4/10

Heavy x Diana - I don't know what to think about this ship. It wouldn't be a long relationship 3/10

Bob x Lordy - Just best friends! 1/10

Glam x Lydia (proship) - ._. No. Pls no. 0/10

Gustav x Mary - poor Mary.. :( toxic af 0/10

Gustav x Roft - slay. 10/10/j

Chive x Donuts - canon ship. 100000/10/j

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Other probable ships with my oc!! (AU)

Victor x Glam - I don't think they fit together. I see them as best friends. In my AU Victor and Glam would take care of Ches in his hard times, which could bring them together in friendship! 0/10

Victor x Victoria - nahhh same thing as with glam, only best friends! Btw In my AU Victor would have a better relation with Victoria than Ches (because, you know, she would often get nervous at Ches) 0/10

Anna x Victor - Nahhh, they don't like each other in my AU lol. 0/10

Dee/ heavy x Victor (proship) - NO. Pls don’t ship this,, -10/10

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you have any questions feel free to ask! I would also like to know your opinion about Metal Family ships!

Have a nice day!

[spextronaut]

My thoughts on this week’s episode of the Mandalorian:

I really hope this episode is good considering it’s, yk, the last episode of the season

“Moff Gideon is alive” no shit Bo-Katan

I’d like some helmetless Din pls as payment for how shit this season has been

he’s so babygirl fr fr

oh shit he’s a badass babygirl good for him

GROGU SAVING HIS DAD!!!!!!! IM FUCKIJG CRYING

“I need you to be brave for me” BROOOOOO 😭😭

“You with me?” DIN SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH

if Din doesn’t remove his helmet at all I will fucking cry Pedro said we’d get more helmetless Din content 😭

R5 you fucking icon

“I’m sorry I don’t speak binary” bro. bro. fucking he. I cry

R5 my favorite anxiety ridden droid

Mandos always slay fr

mkay well that decoy didn’t fucking work

Another death from the looks of it but at least I don’t give a shit about this dude

This is some s2 shit thank god I adore he

Omfg I adore him look at this fucker what a badass

R5 KILLED A DROID WHAT THR FUCK

goddamn rockstar slide what a slay

R5 can fly?????

Grogu my absolute beloved

why are there people in tubes that seems kinda illegal

FUCKING JUMPSCARE JESYS CHRIST

The armorer really seems sus and idk how to feel about it

I miss when Din had the Darksaber smh

I won’t complain about Bo Katan and the armorer slaying so hard tho I love that

????? What the fuck???

Grogu really shouldn’t be here ngl

Don’s getting his shit rocked that’s always fun

Oh god not these fuckers a 3v1 is far from fair

GROGU SAVE YOUR FUCKING DAD AGAIN!!!!

if they kill Grogu. I swear on my fucking life I’m not coming back

GROGU BEAT THEY FUCKIN ASSES

Din ain’t doing too hot rn that’s not great

HELL YEAH “I’ve got this. Go save your kid” IM FUCKING CRYIJG

DIN DJARIN YOU FUCKINH ICON I LOVE YOU

THEYRE FIGHTINH TOGETHER FOT THE FIRST TIME I LOVE THIS

“You did good, kid” IM NOT CRYING NO NOT AT ALL

HE BROKE THE FUCKING DARKSABER???? I DIDNT INOW THAT WAS RVEN POSSIBLE

YES DIN AND GROGU BEAT HIS ASS

if they kill these icons I’m gonna start crying

DO NOT HURT GROGU THATS ALL I WANT

GROGU OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT A FUCKING ICON I LOVE YOU THATS SO AWESOME YHIS SCRNE IS FUCKING GROGEOUS WHAT THE FUCK

OHHH HE EEPY 😭😭

if Grogu bathes in the living waters I will cry

OHHH MY FUCKING GOD HES GONNA DO IT WE FULL FUCKING CIRCLE RN

OHH MY GOF HE SO SMALL

“Apprentice” fuck off he’s your son

IF HIS PARENT GAVE PERMISSION. OH MY FUCKING GOD

OHHH MY FUCKING GOD

“I will adopt him as my own” FUCKING FINALLY THANK YOU THANK YOU THSNK YOU

DIN GROFU. DIN GROGU IH MY FUCKING GOD OH MY FUCKING GOD IM CRYING HES BIS SON NOW ITS CANON WAAAAA

AND THE MYTHOSAUR IS STILL HERE WHAT A SLAY

fuck off I don’t care about Bo Katan GROFU JS DIN’S SON FR FR

okay nevermind we relit the forge that’s fucking awesome

THE LITTLE LEGS ONFG HES SO EXCITED

WE BACK TO BOUNTY HUNTING!!!! THANK FUCKING GOD!!!!

IM SO EXCITED FOR NEXT SEASON ITS GONNA BE SO FUCKING GOOD

DIN GROGU 😭😭😭

IG-11 IS BACK OH MY FUCKING GOD IM CRYING IM SOBBING NOOOOO FUCK

remove the helmet. please. please I’m begging

HES GOT A FROG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

are you fucking. Not a single helmet removal all season. I’m insulted

But omfg this is a 10/10 episode I loved it so so much everyone was a badass this was such an improvement

I’m actually gonna come back for next season now since the set up for next season was great and I’m really excited for more bounty hunting shenanigans. And Bo Katan should be relocated to a more minor side character again, but I understand why she was more the focus of this season now it’s good setup for next season

Overall it was a really fun episode and I’m excited to see where they take it from here, even tho I’m disappointed that Din didn’t take his helmet off at all this season

[westwiiind]

mala’s voice actress slays so hard it should be illegal

[swiftly-skywalker]

10 songs, 10 people (part 2!!)

okay when i did this a while ago I said i wanted to do it again so now i am :P this round's way more chaotic so buckle in bitches my caps lock was working hard tonight

lets get started

@justadmiringanakin (i know i already tagged you in the last one but you have top tier music taste so im bringing u back) @emilysmidnights (come back...be here) @karmaismyb0yfriend um idk anyone else to tag so open tag?

You're Losing Me | Taylor Swift - bro this song. so devastating but also such a period slay??? miss blondie i just love you so so much you will always be awesome

firearm | Lizzy McAlpine - "what a joke?!?!" "WHAT A FUCKED UP REALITY SHOW?!?!?!?" "YOU HAD ME CONVINCED THAT YOU LOOOOOOVEDDDD MEEEEE???????????????????" i have no other words. lizzy i love you so so much as well you're so cool

in my head | Ariana Grande - this one's partly for ch 18 of ffm. I- rfobsVKfobalAbalbgrushf I love this song so much. The lyrics? the production?? the high notes??? perfection. ALSO GO READ FALL FOR ME PLEASE BY @justadmiringanakin DO IT

The Alcott | The National and Taylor Swift - the parts where they sing like at each other??? AMAZING. i never fail to scream out tay tay's parts-- DID MY LOVE AID AND ABET YOU SHRED MY EVENING GOWNNNNNNN

Easier to Cry | TV Girl - and she just wanted to die but it was easier, it was easier to ADFFJSKBF:IURCSVG CRYYYYYYYY

What You Wish For | Guster - okay where my hayden girlies at cus theres a story to this one. I've always loved Guster since I was a baby, theyre my mom's fave. The movie Life As A House (EMO HAYDEN) came out about 4, 4.5 months after I was born. The directer of LaaH is a HUGE Guster fan. Their songs are in all of his movie soundtracks. This, along with the song Rainy Day of the same album (Lost and Gone Forever 1999), were featured in Life as a House. My mom met the director of this movie at a Guster concert when I was unfortunately only like 2 and too young to go. She also loved Hayden-i guess the obsession is a gene lol. thank u for coming to my ted talk

Thinkin Bout Me | Morgan Wallen - before I begin, if you're thinking of hating on country music, do not interact please. it's unnecessary. I'm unashamed for my interests. anyways this song is so GOOD morgy is absolutely SAVAGE songwriter and i loveeee him for it.

NYMPHOLOGY | Melanie Martinez - this song is also so amazingly savage. I love both Melanies, old and new. Angry songs are my PASSION and this song hits so hard for me

Someday You Will Be Loved | Death Cab for Cutie - "DO IT FOR BEN GIBBARD"-my friend i was talking to making this as i told her idk if i should put death cab on here -> this is my fave song by death cab (postal service and solo gibbard not included) for inexplicable reasons

and finally....

WILD UNCHARTED WATERS BY JONAH HAUER-KING yes i felt the need to yell that one at you guys this barbie just saw the little mermaid and is officially obsessed. IT WAS SO GOOD!!!!! the music? the storytelling?? the casting???? PERFECT. Everyone was soooo good in it and i encourage you ALL to go see it or watch somewhere. i condone illegals to see this movie. anyway Jonah Hauer-King was GORGEOUS and sang SO WELL and I LOVE HIM and OMG. ive listened to this song on heavy repeat in the last few days. like my spotify is having a stroke actually

[daylander1000]

What do you think about the casting choices for HotD? You like/dislike anyone in particular? Personally, it's difficult to imagine characters with different faces anymore, I'm mostly used to the show versions and even when I read swhhw I can only envision show Aemond and Rhaena (but with much better wig on Rhaena's head😅).

Very, very honestly, I don't keep up with a lot of HotD news.

I know people hated the actress for Alys, but she seems fine? I am not Team Alymond(?), but at least she doesn't seem 20 years older than Aemond so maybe that's a win for people who ship that? Or maybe not, if the age difference is what they like? IDK.

I'm confused by Alyn being added because they had Corlys going hard for Luke in S1 like he had no other option. They've had Rhaenys doing this Hopelessly Devoted™ thing pretty hard as well... As ever, I'm just kinda embarrassed by things concerning house velaryon.

The actor for Alicent's brother seems really young??? (I've only seen one pic on here, but that was my takeaway.) I don't think they showed him in S1 when Daemon injured him, but how old would he have been twenty-two years ago? 12? Looks better suited to be Aegon's brother than his uncle imho. I just feel like team green needs some actual war veteran experience on their side. Right now, they're like a collection of good-looking 25-year-olds.

(Random fic idea: Somebody should write a Fashion House fanfic where they have zoolander walk-offs every chapter. It's an AU world where jousting was made illegal. After too much infighting, Viserys declares, "If you want to slay, do it on the catwalk.")

[painprns]

Horror & Edgy Neopronouns

CW: Illegal activity. TW: Violent actions, murder, stalking, body parts, weapons, and religious themes. A lot of the content in here triggered me so be careful if you want to look at this list. (And before you ask, yes, I am fine. You learn to cope.)

Of course, I don't approve of anything in this list, and this list isn't meant to glamorize those who have mental issues or violent tendencies. I have issues with violence and mental issues. Sometimes, it just helps. If there are any words you think should be added (or removed) feel free to send in an ask.

Note: Try putting a suffix on some words, like -ful or -less. Gives you plenty more options. Also, every new beginning letter will be bolded and with a new color for reading ease.

Pronouns (including emojis, not including extras like parentheses or alternatives): 443

🖤 🕷 🦇 🗡 ⚔ 💣 🔪 🕸 ⛓ 🥀 💀 ☠ ⚰ 🚬 🪦 🔥 😈 👿 💉 ⚠ 👻 🦴 🧠 🫀 🫁 🦷 👁 👀 🪝 🔨 🪓 ⛏ 🩸 💊

abandon

abyss

accelerate

again

alive

alley(way)

anarchy

anger

apart

apocalypse

arm

arson

ash(phalt)

attic

away

awful

awry

axe

back(alley/rooms)

bait

bat

beast

beat(down)

beg

belittle

behead

bet

bite

blade

blaze

blood

body

boil

bomb

bone

boo(m)

brain

break(down)

breath(e)

brick

brittle

bug

bullet

burn

bury

buzz

cannibal(ize)

cap(ture)

car(cass)

carnivore

cat(ch)

caught

cause

chain(saw)

chaos

chase

cig(arette)

claw

clown

coffin

corvid

concern

concrete

consume

control

copy(cat)

core

corpse

corridor

cover

coward

cower

crawl

creature

creep

cremate

crimson

critter

cross

crow

crime

criminal

crumble

crunch

crush

cry

crypt(id)

curse

cut

dagger

danger

dark(ness)

daunt

dawn

daze

deflate

disease

disgust

dissect

dizzy

dead

death

decay

demon

destroy

devil

dice

die

dirt

disappear

disease

disgust

doll

done

drac(ula)

drain

dread

drown

dull

eat

ecto(plasm)

edge

edgy

eerie

elbow

empty

evil

eye

facade

face

fail(ure)

fall

fang

far

fatal

fear

fight

final

finger

fire

flame

flesh

follow

freak

fright(en)

fury

gain

gargoyle

gas(h)

gauze

gaze

ghost

ghoul

gimp

glee

gnash

god

gore

gouge

grab

grain

grasp

grate

grave(yard/stone)

grease

grim(ace)

grime

grind(er)

grip

grit

gross

grotesque

grunge

guard

grue(some)

gun

gut(teral)

hail

hammer

hand

harbor

hard

harm

hatch(et)

hate

hatred

haunt

havoc

head(stone)

heart

heat

hell

hidden

hide

high(way)

hilt

hit

hook

hollow

horror

hound

hunt

hurl

hurt

ice(pick)

ill(ness)

immolate

immortal

imp(ale)

incinerate

inflammatory

inhale

inhalation

instant

intense

irritate

jab

jail

jam

jank

jostle

joke

joy

junk

kill

kilter

knee

knife

lank

last

lather

laugh(ter)

leak

leg

lich

lim(inal)

linger

link

little

lung

lurk

macabre

maim

malicious

manslaughter

marrow

mask

mass(acre)

maze

meat

melt

mime

mince

misery

monster

morbid

moss

murder

mystery

nail

nausea/nauseous

night(mare)

noise

nowhere

necro

off

one

omen

open

over(power)

pail

pain

pale

panic

phantom

phobia

piece

pill

plead

poison

poltergeist

power

prey

puddle

purge

pyre

question

quiet

quiver

rabies

rage

rail

raid

rain

rake

rat

raw

restrain

retch

rip

road(kill)

rock

rot

run(away)

rust

saw(dust)

scare

scary

scent

scratch

scream

search

seize

sewer

shadow

shake

shiver

shock

shoot

shove(l)

shred

shriek

sick(ness)

silent

sink

sin(ister)

skin

skull

slash(er)

slay

sledge(hammer)

small

smash

smell

smoke

sob

somber

some(body)

someone

slip

spider

spirit

spike

spook

stab

stain

stalk

start(le)

steal

step

storm

strain

strange

stun

suffer

sunk

survive

sword

syringe

teeth

tense

terror

thorn

threat

tinge

tomb(stone)

torn

torture

tooth

trail(cam)

train

trigger

trip

turn

tyranny

undead

unknown

vamp(ire)

venom

vicious

villain

violent

void

wary

weak

weapon

weep

weird

wick(ed)

wicker

whir

whiz

whisper

will

wilt

wither

wound

worry

wraith

wrath

wreck

wring

wrong

wrought

yank

yell

yelp

zero

zombie

[thelovelybitten]

vera's first watch of south park -- season 4 (part 1)

bc i know this is about to be so very long

EPISODE 1: SEGA DREAMCAST Y'ALL KNOW WHAT IS UP no I FORBID Y'ALL USUING KENNY'S TEEF TIMMEHHHH aww he's so cute NO NOT KENNY'S TEETH DFDSBKGBKSD :'(((( y'all rly stripped my son nakey... SHAME ON U i chuckled at cartman being the tooth fairy kyle is MAD MAD i was mad when i found out santa wasn't real stan kinda slayed w his plan omg MAFIA TOOTH FAIRY THIS IS SO GOOD WHAT "tits" cartman REALLY DEBATING NKDGKNJGFDJKN main four mafia gang WENDY IN FRAME I LOVE HER no bc if stan showed up in a spiffy suit working for the tooth fairy brigade at 8 years old, i don't know why wendy WOULDN'T BE WHIPPED KENNY'S HAT kyle is in his delusional arc, cartman, leave him be wtf... kyle y'all rly left kenny in the river ihy EPISODE 2:

AWWW A LITTLE SLED RACE ON THE TINY HILL

Tolkien slayed get him

please Wendy be in the select four

hc little Stan and little wendy are extremely competitive at sled racing and make it their whole personalities when the gangs hang out for the annual sled racing every year. they still got their little crush on each other but when they break up the first time OH THEY OUT FOR BLOOD.

Tolkien still ate and Cartman is a piece of shit

HATE CRIME ???? Ngl get ur Justice king

this is actually. so good I love when cartman gets what he deserves

Bebe and Kyle in the same frame it must be so

KENNY TAKE ME TO MEXICO

Kenny did not deserve that slap BYE

SJKDNSLCJXK THIS CHASE HAHA

Kyle: what the fuck is happening

the girls gaslighting, girlbossing and gatekeeping AS THEY SHOULD

juvenile hall is. Sumth.

OH THIS BOY ABT TO FUCK ERIC UPPPP

butters: I think Clyde is the next fattest kid SIR THE DISRESPECT ON MY SONS NAME FROM MY OTHER SON ITS PAINFUL. So hard to have multiple children out here

Girls are SLAYIN idc

AYO YALL GET OFF CLYDE I HAVE BEEF WITH CLYDE HATE

Clyde is literally a perfect size wtf y’all on ABT

“Oh my god we killed Kenny”

“We killed Kenny?”

“We killed Kenny, we’re bastards”

STYLE SO TRUE

Y’all hyping up cartmans ass LMAO

Bebe slayed

YALL CANT BREAK HIM OUTTA JAIL THATS ILLEGAL

THE PIG LATIN LMAOOOOOOO THEY DEVOURED

CARTMAN GROSS

KYLE THATS FUNNY LMAO

EW

this is so gross I hate it here

Not HIM FLUSHING THE CIGS

Tolkien rich as fuck

aAND THEY GET HISTORY LESSON LETS GO

WHAT THE FUCK CARTMAN

cartman in his gaslight era AGAIN

Jesus he’s so manipulative but it’s kinda iconic

THE THREE BOYS EPIC

OH THIS PRESENTATION IS WELL DONE MY BOYS WELL DONE

Lmao cartman is so heartless HAHA

CLYDE GET THEM

Bebe on the gals team let’s goooo

Clyde is CRYING LMAOOO

CARTMAN HAHAHAHAHAHA

YO NOT YALL HURTING THE GWORLS JAIL TIME

WHAT IS HAPPENING

okay. That was. An episode. Haha.

EPISODE 3

Kyle being up until 2:00 am UGH

WENDY AND KYLE MY SMART KIDS <3

MR GARRISON THUMBS DOWN DONT PICK ON TIMMY >:(

Timmy doesn’t have ADD but oh my lord I’d die if I had to listen to an audio book of the great gatsby

mackey and victoria asleep REAL OF THEM

STENDYLE ON THE COUCH TOGETHER AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

specifically stendy as their heads lean on one another 🥹🥹🥹

KENNY DONT BONK UR HEAD U DESERVE BETTER

TIMMY SINGER ERAAAAAAA <3 u get em

everyone hyping up Timmy as they should !!! Wendy, Clyde and Tolkien my babies

POGS TIMMY IS A SLAY

Kenny and Cartman WHACKED OUT ON STIMULANTS

DAMN THEY ARE SO BORINGGGG LMAOOO ITS SO FUNNY

the kids: 😐😐😐

I hate this portrayal of Timmy’s disorder 😩

NOT THE PAN TO THE FACE POOR KENNY

NO DONT BEAT UR KIDS PARENTS

“AHHH ITS CHRISTINA AGULIERA” HAHA

Stan ate that speech

INTERESTING EP LOL

EPISODE 4

EVERYONE LOOKS SO CUTE DRESSED UP AWWWWW

KENNY *slams fists* THATS MY BOIIIIII

stan so unbothered by this clown

CARTMAN IS DEADASS ASLEEP ME TOO

contorting girlies got GAME

omg not them trying to do the same show LMAO

KENNY DKCMFHDHDJKCHD THIS COSTUME

not the boys naked PLEASE

Kenny reading on how to sing JSJFBDJSKD WHOLESOME

he's so cute u guys that's my fucking son

the oldies getting frisky EWWWWWWWWWWWW

wait she's dead????

NOOONOT THE GIRLS :(((((((

Kenny side quest I love it

HEMADE IT YAAAAAA

lil Romania girlies getting a slice of America

Stans HOUSE HOLY SHIT

not the girliessss

KENNY POPPING AWFFFFF

Kenny bffr come home

THEY SLAYED ATE THE BOYS UP

THE ENDING NOOOOO

note: Kenny can SING

EPISODE 5

domestic core 4 board game time

not AIDS Cartman bffr

OH KENNY’S GETTING A SIBLING?

CARTMAN NO

GET UR ASS OFF THE COMPUTER RIGHT THIS INSTANT

oh my god I'm actually scared for cartman for once

HE DOESNT DESERVE THIS FATE

STOP TOUCHING HIMMMMM

Kenny being worried abt this baby

Play catch! Cute

OH SHIT KENNY WHAT A FAST BALL

trying to stop him from having sex GENIUS

STAN AND KYLE ON THE WINDOWS JDHSHCJDKXKX THEY’RE MY BESTEST BOYS

Jesus cartman I'm so sorry don't know yet

HUH. NAMBLA IS FUCKED UP

GARRISON COMING OUT KING

MEPHESTO NOOOOOO

THE THREE OF THEM AT THE WINDOW AGAIN I LOVE THEM SO

OH SHES PREGGO SORRY KENNY

KENNY IS RLY TRYING TO KILL THIS KID ITS SO SAD

OH SHIT NOT THE DAD DRINKING IT DHDHCJSJBXHDBDDJDN

NASTY BRO

cartman nooooo

Kenny’s dad is going thru it

KENNYS DREAM OH MY LORD

Kyle NO TAKE IT BACK TAKE IT BACK

these men need jail time JAIL TIME

Don't LAY A GOD DAMN FINGER ON BUTTERS U FREAK OF NATURE

NOT TIMMY ANYONE BUT TIMMY

THIS IS SO FUCKED UP

NO I CANT NOT MY KIDS

RUN KIDS RUN

CARTMAN. YOU CANT BE SERIOUS

NO NOT BUTTERS

The actual trauma NO

I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS CARTMAN I HATE YOU

NO BUTTERS NO NO NO

thank god he's okay

But kennys dad i’m so sorry

Oh KENNYS NEW SIBLING

wait it's kenny PLEASE

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The music monopolists

Writing in Wired, Institute for Local Self Reliance researcher and anti-monopolist Ron Knox gives a thorough, important account of how music industry monoplization resulted declining revenue for artists, even as the industry itself has reaped greater profits.

https://www.wired.com/story/opinion-big-music-needs-to-be-broken-up-to-save-the-industry/

Importantly, Knox describes how concentration has come to every link in music’s supply chain, from radio to recording, streaming to live performance. The monopolists who dominate these sectors fight fiercely between each other, but no matter who wins, artists lose.

Let’s go segment by segment. Two thirds of all North American music comes from three labels. The labels grew through anticompetitive mergers: giant companies, awash in investor cash, bought out mid-sized, successful labels, turning them into subdivisions of the Big Three.

The more concentrated the labels got, the worse they were for everyone. They spent the nineties and naughties price-gouging record companies, pocketing hundreds of millions from an illegal price-fixing conspiracy. The fines they paid were smaller than the profits they reaped.

But at least they distributed music. Today, the struggling physical record store industry — a network of passionate music sellers who serve the most intense music fans — find themselves getting “record shipments” that turn out to be boxes of random stuff like cough syrup (!).

That happened when the Big Three all piled their distribution into a single company, the monopolist Direct Shot Distributing. As Direct Shot started to fail, its operations descended into chaos, and record stores started to receive boxes of random consumer packaged goods.

It was bad news for the non-monopolized, music-first record stores, but it barely registered for the Big Three labels — today, they buy an average of two new acts every day.

The labels don’t make money from selling records, of course. They get their money from streaming.

Streaming is also massively concentrated, gathered into the hands of just a few companies: Spotify, Apple, Youtube, Amazon — with the notable exception of Spotify, the industry is dominated by companies that also monopolize other sectors.

Monopolies are good to these companies. Spotify’s market-cap doubled during the pandemic — the market values its 150m subs (twice as many as subscribe with Apple) at $50b. The major labels get $1m/hour from streaming. 99% of their artists see $25/year in streaming royalties.

Spotify may be the biggest streaming service, but it’s not the lowest-paying. Youtube — a Google division, whose unsuccessful attempt to launch an in-house video service convinced it that it had to buy someone else’s success — drives the worst bargain.

Spotify uses its industry dominance to extract heavy fees from the labels — creaming 30% of the total revenue generated by a typical track. Big Three monopolists with fat margins can absorb this. Indies? Not so much.

Spotify’s market cap growth is in part due to the new ways it’s come up with to shake down the labels — a variety of tactics that all boil down to one thing: payola. Spotify will sell labels pop-up ads, placement in “radio” algorithms, and access to “Discovery mode.”

Like all forms of payola, Spotify’s rate-card is a way for monopolists to edge out indies, buying their way into your ear-holes. I’m sure that the Big Three would rather keep the bribes they pay to Spotiify, but the consolation prize is pretty sweet.

If the Big Three are the only ones who can afford to buy access to Spotify’s audience, then creators are driven to sign with them, and have less bargaining leverage when they negotiate their deals.

Spotify, meanwhile, can consolidate its gains by driving up those fees, pitting labels against each other in a bidding war for access to listeners. This effectively drives down the royalty rate Spotify pays, because every new track will have to buy in to get any reach.

Spotify talks a good game about how it uses big data and machine learning to pick the songs you hear, but increasingly, the algorithm is getting far less compute-intensive, a simple sort-by-highest-bidder system you could operate from a laptop running Windows 3.1 and Excel.

In theory, streaming losses can be made up with touring. Acts who attain digital popularity can charge access at the door to clubs and other venues. The only problem is that live performance is also a monopoly business.

The 800lb gorilla there is Livenation, a division of the ticket monopolist and notorious arm-breakers Ticketmaster — spun out of Clear Channel, the monopolist that we now know as Iheartradio.

Livenation parlayed its access to the capital markets to buy out $1b worth of venues and promoters, before being acquired by Clear Channel for $4.4b in 2005. Today, it’s a division of Liberty Media, consolidated with Ticketmaster, Pandora, and Siriusxm.

What goes around, comes around: Liberty’s private equity owners are in the process of buying up Iheartradio, re-merging all of Clear Channel’s spinouts into one giga-monopolist.

The conglomerate already coerces artists to book exclusively in its clubs and using its ticketing, starving independent venues. Add 850 terrestrial radio stations to the mix and it will choke off all the oxygen that independent venues, promoters and ticketers rely on.

Liberty didn’t buy all these companies because it’s passionate about music and wanted to ensure artists got a fair shake. By rolling up the entire live music/radio supply-chain, it bought the power to extract vast sums from musicians, and to keep rivals out of the market.

Well, not all competitors. Lollapalooza co-founder Marc Geiger raised tens of millions for “Savelive,” a new would-be monopolist that offered to “rescue” live music venues in exchange for a 51% stake in them.

Savelive illustrates an important point about the nature of monopolies: they beget more monopolies. Consolidation in the labels meant that only the largest streaming companies could negotiate a sustainable rate.

But consolidation in radio drives consolidation in labels — and many of the indie radio stations that survived the first wave of consolidation were picked up cheap by Iheartradio once monopolistic streamers ate their lunch.

This is a pattern across the whole entertainment industry: bookstore mergers and big box retailers drove consolidation in publishing; that was accelerated by consolidation in online ebook and physical book retail.

It’s not limited to the entertainment sector either. As David Dayen describes in his essential book MONOPOLIZED, hospitals didn’t start consolidating until the pharma industry underwent a wave of brutal mergers and started gouging for drugs.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

Hospital consolidation led to gouging insurers, leading to a wave of insurance consolidation. Today, nearly every part of the health industry is monopolized, from pharmacy benefit managers to medical labs.

The only parts of the supply chain that doesn’t monopolize — that can’t monopolize — are the ends of the chain: the people who work in the system, and the people who use it.

Monopoly punishes doctors and nurses and other health workers — and it punishes patients.

It punishes writers and publishing workers, and it punishes readers.

It punishes musicians and independent venue owners, and it punishes listeners.

When every part of the supply chain gets so monopolized that it can’t easily be squeezed by any other part of the supply chain, these giants turn on us — the workers and users of the system. We, the atomized and fragmented, cannot resist the squeeze.

But as Knox writes, the tide is turning. After 40 years of waving through anticompetitive mergers in the name of “efficiency,” the DoJ and FTC are under new management, with two-fisted trustbusters like Lina M Khan at the helm.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

This new cohort of monopoly fighters reject the “consumer welfare” theory of antitrust (the idea that monopolies drive prices down and are therefore good for society), going to war against the hegemonic orthodoxy that began with Ronald Reagan.

https://doctorow.medium.com/epic-v-apple-d3e59893b4f3

The new antitrust is surging, with bills in the House and Senate, executive orders from the White House, regulatory proceedings at the DoJ and FTC, and an interagency-cabinet coordination committee that ties it all together.

This new antitrust promises workers and users of monopolized industries a better alternative than rooting for one giant to beat another in hopes that they will drop a few crumbs for the rest of us to enjoy.

Creative workers don’t have to choose between Big Tech and Big Content based on their assessment of which monopolist will abuse them the least. Instead, we can root for antimonopoly, for giant-slaying, and the right to self-determination.

The most important immediate step towards that future is blocking new anticompetitive mergers, like Sony’s bid for AWAL, or Liberty Media’s use of a $500m SPAC to go on a vertical monopoly shopping spree.

The agencies have the power to stop these. They should. When you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.

But ending anticompetitive mergers won’t get us out of that hole: most industries (from beer to cheerleader uniforms to wresting to eyeglasses) are already monopolized.

The new trustbusters — and the ILSR — want to use antitrust law to break up these conglomerates. I think that’s right: vertical monopolies will always engage in self-dealing to the detriment of independents, workers and customers. Break. Them. Up.

But breaking up is hard to do. When the DoJ tried to break up IBM, the company’s lawyers outspent the entire DoJ antitrust division, every single year, for twelve consecutive years, and in the end, it escaped breakup.

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. IBM escaped justice because Reagan was elected and neutered antitrust. And even though it remained intact, it was never the same — for one thing, it decided that it was too risky to make its own PC OS.

IBM knew that antitrust enforcers were very suspicious of tying software to hardware — so it tapped a couple of hacker kids, Bill Gates and Paul Allen, to sell it DOS, from their new company “Micro-Soft.”

Unfortunately for all of us, antitrust enforcement only declined after that, so IBM was able to return to its monopolistic ways, and Microsoft escaped from antitrust scrutiny after a mere seven years in regulatory hell.

Antitrust enforcement can sap monopolists of the will to power, as they become increasingly concerned that their actions will attract aggressive legal reprisals.

Think of how Apple “lost” the Epic lawsuit but still “voluntarily” rescinded its heretofore hard rule against apps providing links to web-pages where you can use third-party payment processors to make purchases.

As monopolists lose their nerve, space opens up for all kinds of pro-worker, pro-user interventions, far beyond those afforded by traditional antitrust.

Next year, Beacon Press will publish THE SHAKEDOWN, a book I co-wrote with Rebecca Giblin about the monopolistic corruption of creative labor markets and how creative workers, regulators and fans can resist it.

The Shakedown catalogs the ways that monopolization of investment, distribution and sale of creative works allows entertainment companies, Big Tech, and major retailers to shift an ever-larger share of the creative industry’s revenues from workers to themselves.

More importantly, we identify tools beyond breakups that we can use to de-monopolize the industry — things we can do right now, without having to wait for the conclusion of an antitrust suit that might run for decades.

Take reversion rights: many copyright systems allow creators to take back their rights after a set period (35 years in the US). This lets artists who signed bad deals — before they were proven successes — to resell their catalog or extract reparations by threatening to.

But reversion is really hard to do, and 35 years is way too long. Only an handful of creators — even those with valuable catalogs that could be renewed through reversion — ever manage it.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/06/backsies/#take-backs

Congress (and other legislatures around the world, including Canada, where this is likely to come up in the new Parliament) could fix reversion: make it easier to do, and make it available after a shorter period — say, 14 years.

And what about those bad contracts? The “freedom to contract” has always been subject to limits, where some clauses are deemed unenforceable “as against public policy” or because they are “unconscionable.”

With the entertainment sector consolidated into just a couple of states, state legislatures could act to void the most abusive clauses — for example, clauses that allow labels to claw back royalties indefinitely to recoup (often inflated or fictitious) “expenses.”

Our book explores dozens of these kinds of ideas, from co-operatives to trade unions; better accounting practices and direct arts subsidies; radical interoperability and collective licensing; minimum wages for creative labor and collective bargaining.

None of these are replacement for reducing the size and power of conglomerates throughout the supply chain, but all of them are interventions we can make as the power and nerve of conglomerates declines, changes that will hasten that decline and open more space for breakups.

And all of them are applicable, to a greater or lesser extent, to helping workers and users of all the other consolidated industries, from health care to cheerleading.

For example, expanding California’s ban on noncompete clauses would help fast-food workers nationwide — because today, fast food employers are the most aggressive abusers of noncompetes.

That means that a fried chicken cashier earning the tipped minimum wage can’t quit to work at a burger joint across the street for a $0.25/hour raise. Creative workers aren’t the only ones suffering from monopolization — we’re not even the worst off.

But by definition, creative workers have a platform. We reach people. We have the potential to help form the kind of unstoppable coalition that we’ll need to reverse the generations of oligarchic, post-Reagan consolidation.

You may have heard about how Danish McDonald’s workers earn $22/hour and get six weeks’ paid vacation and sick leave. That didn’t come about because McDonald’s was required by law to pay it.

It was worker solidarity that did it. As Matt Bruenig writes, McDonald’s initially refused to sign the voluntary “hotel and restaurant” collective agreement. So its workers went on strike.

https://mattbruenig.com/2021/09/20/when-mcdonalds-came-to-denmark/

Now, if McD’s workers had struck alone, they’d probably have lost. But Danish law allows for sympathy strikes — that is, it allows workers in other parts of the supply chain to take industrial action to support their sisters and brothers who are striking.

When the McD’s workers walked out in 1989, sixteen other sectoral unions joined them. They didn’t just help picket at leaflet in front of McD’s restaurants!

Dockworkers wouldn’t unload McD’s shipments. Printers wouldn’t print their cups and placemats.

Builders downed tools on McDonald’s construction projects. Typesetters wouldn’t set the McD’s ads in the daily papers. Truckers wouldn’t deliver to McD’s restaurants. Food industry workers wouldn’t produce the drink syrups, fries and other inputs to the McDonald’s kitchens.

McD’s caved.

Now, as Bruenig points out, these kinds of sympathy strikes are illegal in the US, but it’s a mistake to think that workers don’t have power because sympathy strikes are illegal — rather, sympathy strikes are illegal because workers don’t have power.

Workers across all sectors face the same kinds of monopolistic exploitation. Workers across all sectors have a common enemy (literally, thanks to “common ownership” where companies like Vanguard and Berkshire Hathaway hold significant stakes in almost every major company).

With a shared cause, shared tactics, solidarity and a renewed sense that we can do more than root for the giant we think will mistreat us the least, creative workers and their sisters and brothers in every sector can reverse generations of losses.

That’s why the new antitrust matters — because it is an assault on the consolidation that gives all industries the power to shift money and other forms of value from workers and users to a small elite of investors.

[allthecolorsofourlove]

1.

start with an offer, build it into a scene—send

crows into a city. one: character.

there is a boy-not-boy with a full chest and weeping heart. he likes tigers. he likes tea, hot and iced. he likes to kiss just a bit too hard.

he always ties his shoes too tight. he never makes easy decisions.

two: relationship.

there is a second boy-true-boy miles away. he wears silver and wrestles a beast. he likes rabbits. he likes coffee, hot, substituted milk.

they like each other quite a bit. they always have. they never lie—they don’t even think they could.

three: objective. they both

want something: there’s something they fight for, apricot and fuzzy. they’re slaying something, those two. the super objective: to live another day.

they make simple work of it.

four: where?: there is a temple rising out of the

quartzite shards of something on that hill in the woods. the boys shed skirts, one keeps painting his face. the other plunges

nettles through his brow, his ears. they both poke coal into their skin. they paint bodily bedrooms that

never belonged to them. there is some beehive humming at the

edge of the forest, something gilded and tame— those boys

are not slaying something, they’re taming it.

2.

we’ll start with “priest in a confessional”; i pull out our favorite show. someone yells,

“kneel!”

the look on my face is catastrophic;

i make everyone laugh too easy, pulled out of the scene quick, as with a word i find the button pressed

to

play you over and over in my head, gentle with my body and gentler with my heart;

i think of your face when you eat something lovely and the shimmy you do when i

stare at you too long. i spend the rest of the night feeling you

in the gap where my rib should be; i

finish the night with

performing us side by side: something about

pride in the city and starting testosterone, something about therapy and

seeing you again and as we

drunkenly exit the only bar that serves me, quite illegally,

i laugh about your illness and my lack there of, unable to let the

image of you in an airport go. he rubs my knee and says

“i’m so happy for you,” when i mention hormones and your

name, and i find the march i make towards a future that finally looks like one worth living has your

name all over it, like a bridge to something brighter, and the single

drink in my system puts me back in the confessional, back in your arms and your

name back in my mouth.

3.

i wear a coat of bumblebees; i pull feathers from my hair:

in hubris i become icarus and tear every obligation off my wall; plaster you up where

straight a’s should be. i am tired of the notion of packing. play old music with me,

be 19, be young and be naive and be

hungry for something more. i await the sunny-side yolk of

june with voracious appetite and a need for your neck in my mouth; a need for

the full body press of your bodily boy-bedroom against mine, we can paint

tigers and rabbits on the walls, i’ll finally get that fig i want so badly,

take womanhood off your table, i’ll clear the plates of girlhood off of mine. the wax

on my daughter-wings is melting but

priesthood looks funny on me: i am learning to find something between the

mother mary and her sickly son.

white-collared crows eat the red beetles in the temple, over and over and over: sometimes the

bird eats a shard of glass; and i soothe their throats. a ladybug lands

on my arm, and i’ll turn my head to the sky.