#it's something I've never seen talked about!

[chilewithcarnage]

Idk what these other mfers are on about but I'm talking to you @siwolism miss thing right now. The rest of y'all be quiet. You spearheaded a conversation posting misinformation about Black American soldiers and tried to make a ham fisted correlation on how 'every American regardless of race is deeply evil' and are agents of imperialism. Black Americans already know our positions being Americans and living within the imperial core especially when it comes to the military industrial complex. Youre taking the comments of some random niggas on tiktok about fried chicken as fact (it's not) and using that as 'proof' on how Black Americans (also how tf is this harassment) are on par with whites when it comes to privilege granted by imperialism. The privilege we might, and that's a big MIGHT considering that less than 300 years ago we weren't even considered human in this country is present but marginally small and that is not something that you or any one in this reblog chain needs to try & 'teach' us about. And it is especially hypocritical coming from , you, a South Korean. You are still part of the first world as well! South Korea is not a third world country! You're perfectly okay with painting broad strokes over black and brown americans, so you should be fine with me regarding you as an agent of imperialism as well? You're talking about the global South in reference to Korea, do you think I'm stupid or something? Will you also acknowledge that Korea is taking part in the modern colonisation of Africa and that there are many Korean tech companies that are benefiting from the genocide in Congo? Do you wanna talk about the fact when Korean women did have babies with those Black GIs they would dump them in orphanages or abandon them outside to die? Do you wanna talk about the large amount of Korean men that are engaging in the sex trafficking of east/west African, South Asian and Pacific Islander girls and women? Do you wanna talk about that? Do you wanna acknowledge the antiblackness and colorism that has existed in your country long before the Korean war? Do you wanna talk about the fact the Republic of Korea army also fought in the Iraq war & the war in Afghanistan? Do you wanna talk about how the billion dollar Kpop industry culturally appropriates and steals Black music and aesthetics and almost never credits and properly compensates the Black American producers that make a lot of y'alls tracks? Do you wanna talk about the way African immigrants & half black people are treated in your country? Do you understand how wildly antiblack it is to refer to me as an Amerikkkan, a term created by Black Americans that you're not even fucking using correctly, a term thats a reference to a white supremacist terrorist organization created specifically to target, trap, torture and kill Black Americans? Why you would even think it appropriate to use this term at all is lost on me but I've seen that you and everyone in this reblog chain is stupider than a box of square hammers.

just going to establish something because the poc americans are on their soap box about me again. the post that they are all referring to where i apparently admit to hating black people or whatever was where i basically laid out the following: i, a korean, born and living in korea, found it weird that whenever there was a video of korean fried chicken on social media african americans would flood the comments talking about how they brought fried chicken to korea. and if that’s where they finished the sentence i wouldn’t care, obviously ignorant but whatever, maybe i would have sent a few “and how and when do you think you guys brought fried chicken here?” comments and hoped the lightbulb would go off. but i didn’t need to do that because these people would always finish the sentence with “during the war.” having forgotten more about the horrors of the korean war then 99% of americans will ever learn i found this repeat, common behaviour, disgusting. to be proud of anything that resulted from the american participation in and ongoing occupation of korea is something so horrifying to me that especially when i was younger i could hardly conceive of it. now im older and i understand that americans as a collective, no matter their race, are a deeply evil population. nonetheless, i know americans like to call the war that resulted in the deaths of millions of koreans “the forgotten war” so i had some hope in my heart that maybe i could explain why i, and many other koreans, found this to be weird behaviour and maybe people would listen and learn and stop. but noooo to this day people are still harassing me over a 200 note post because the average american of colour can’t conceive of having any sort of privilege over the people of the global south and over america’s many neo colonies because no matter how many points are stacked against them in the great usa they will always privilege simply by being american compared to the rest of the world. and americans no matter their struggles within the us almost always wish to maintain the usa’s position as the head of empire. they can’t even begin to think of life without the privileges that being american has always afforded to them, so instead they work at appeasement and try and fucking “diversify” and pinkwash ect. everything. they call any person of colour from outside america criticising americans of colour for being horrible fucking comrades racist because they can rely on all the pseudo progressive white americans who want to “uplift voices” but don’t have a international bone in their body to continue harassing random global southerners and people from the “east” in general until they are chased off the platform or terminated.

but your bombs were not more progressive because native americans planted them. your rape was not more progressive because asian americans did it. your use of biological warfare was not more progressive just because there were 600,000 african americans in stationed in korea. no matter how diverse and accepting you make your military it should be destroyed with a level of violence only fitting for the violence it has enacted upon almost every single country in existence. i will only know peace when i know every current and former us servicemen is rotting. goodnight and death to amerikkka. now and forever.

[viasdiary]

can you write inexperienced luigi asking the reader to get him ready for college, like taking his virginity

☆ be my first (luigi mangione x reader)

☆ word count: 2.1k

☆ warnings: smut, crying, overstimulation, unprotected sex, barely proofread

☆ inexperienced luigi who tutored you through high school asks you to take his virginity before he goes off to college.

it’s late afternoon, and you’ve just stepped out of the shower when your phone rings. you see it’s luigi calling, and you answer almost instantly.

"hey," he greets you, his voice warm and familiar.

"hey, lu," you reply, a grin spreading across your face. "it's been, like, forever since we talked."

"i know," he says softly, and you can almost hear the smile in his voice, maybe even picture the slight blush creeping across his cheeks.

"what’s up?" you ask, curious.

his voice shifts slightly, a little hesitant, like he’s preparing for something important.

"i was wondering if i could come over later… i just have something i need some help with," he admits, sounding almost embarrassed.

"yeah, of course," you respond, offering him a reassuring tone.

"thanks," he breathes out, sounding relieved. "it means a lot. i'll see you later, then."

the hours stretch on as you wait for him to arrive. time feels like it’s moving agonizingly slow. you try to distract yourself, but your mind keeps drifting back to the upcoming visit. you haven't seen luigi in so long. you lay on your couch, looking out the large front window at the setting sun, golden light streaming into your small living room.

when the doorbell finally rings, you get up, take a deep breath to calm your racing thoughts. you open the door, and there he is.

luigi stands on your doorstep, looking even more handsome than usual, his usual nervous energy written all over him. his dark curls are slightly tousled, and he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt and baggy jeans. his nervous fidgeting only makes him more endearing.

"hey," you greet him casually, trying to hide the rush of emotions swirling inside you.

"hey," he replies, his voice a little shaky, but his smile is warm. he steps over the threshold, and you gesture for him to sit down on the couch. you sit next to him, maintaining a little space between you, trying to let the air settle between you both.

an awkward silence falls over you two. you both seem to be searching for the right words. then, with a small sigh, you decide to break the ice.

"so, what did you need help with?" you ask, keeping your voice light but curious.

luigi takes a moment, his eyes flitting around the room before he finally speaks up. "i was wondering if you could help me… with something personal."

you nod, trying not to look too puzzled, though a small knot of curiosity tightens in your chest.

"uh, sure," you say, your voice calm, but your mind is already racing with possibilities.

"what is it?"

he hesitates for a moment, then seems to gather the courage to say it.

"i want to lose my virginity before i leave for college," he blurts out, his voice barely above a whisper.

you're caught off guard. the vulnerability in his words hits you hard. you never expected him to say something like that, especially not about you.

all the moments you’d shared, those study sessions, the way he'd always been there to help—did they mean something more to him all along? you’re suddenly overwhelmed with a mix of confusion and honor that he’s chosen you for such a deeply personal request.

“where is this even coming from?” you ask, still reeling from the shock. luigi's cheeks flush, and his eyes dart nervously to the side.

"i've always kinda had feelings for you," he admits, almost shyly. "but i was too scared to say anything before. and now that i’m leaving… i just don't want to go without having experienced this with someone i trust. someone who means a lot to me."

your heart races as you process his words. all those times he’d gone out of his way to help you, to be there for you, had it been more than just friendship all along?

"are you sure about this, lu?" you ask softly, your voice gentle, your hand unconsciously reaching out to touch his arm. "this is a big step. i don't want you to feel like you have to do it just because you're leaving." he looks at you, his expression more determined now, his voice steadier. "i’ve thought about it a lot. i’m sure."

a mix of emotions swells inside you—nervousness, excitement, and something deeper you can't quite put your finger on. this is a big moment, but you can tell he’s thought it through.

"okay," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. you gently place your hand on his arm, a comforting touch as you stand up and guide him down the hallway to your room.

there's no turning back now, and as you walk together, you know this moment will change everything between the two of you.

once in your room, you close the door, and the air becomes thick with anticipation. he takes a seat on the bed, looking nervous and unsure, so you move closer to him, trying to calm his nerves.

"we don't have to do anything you don't want to," you assure him.

"we can stop anytime, just-"

"no," he interrupts you, sounding firmer than usual.

"i want this, i want you to be my first"

there's an unspoken need in his voice, and you can tell he's serious. he places his hand on your thigh as he speaks, looking you deeply in the eyes.

you bite your lip to hold back the words that want to spill out. you want him, too.

he looks at you, his expression a mixture of nervousness and need, and you can't help but smile. you reach out and touch his cheek gently, feeling the heat rising under your fingertips.

you lean in slowly, giving him time to stop you, but he doesn’t. you press your lips to his, the kiss soft and tentative at first, then growing more passionate as he returns it. his hands slide up your back, pulling you closer, and you melt into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck. he finds his way on top of you as you embrace him, his weight slightly pressing you into the mattress.

your bodies press together, and you can feel the heat building between you. your hands wander across his back, sliding underneath his shirt, feeling his skin warm and soft against yours. you pull his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor, then run your fingers across his bare chest, tracing shapes around his freckles. he shivers at the contact. you part your lips and break the kiss.

"is this okay?" you ask, a whisper against his skin. his voice is low and desperate, his words coming out in a rush.

"god, yes," he says, his hands moving over your body, exploring every curve.

he slides his hands up the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of your stomach. you lift your arms, allowing him to remove your shirt and toss it aside.

his hands continue exploring your body, and you feel a growing warmth between your legs. he cups one of your breasts, gently massaging the sensitive flesh. you arch into his touch, and he leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"god, you're so beautiful," he whispers.

you moan softly, your fingers tangling in his curls, pulling him closer. you move your hips forward, grinding against him, eliciting a groan from him.

"you know how long i've wanted to do this?" he breathes "god, all the times you were in my room studying, i was so hard just fucking looking at you"

"shut up," you say, feeling a grin spreading across your face.

"i'm fuckin' serious," he says smiling against your skin

he begins to plant kisses down your neck and along your collarbone, his tongue flicking across the sensitive skin.

"fuck," you moan, your hips bucking against him.

"i've been waiting. so. long," he says, punctuating each word with a kiss.

you grip his shoulders, holding him close. he continues his exploration, trailing kisses across your chest, his hands sliding up your back.

his hands find the clasp of your bra, undoing it easily. he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it aside. he cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing against the hard nipples, drawing a gasp from your lips.

"is this alright?" he asks, his voice low and uncertain. you bite your lip and nod, arching into his touch. he's a virgin, but he knows exactly what to do.

he leans down and takes one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking gently. you moan, tangling your fingers in his hair. he moves his hands down, cupping your ass, pulling you closer.

"god, luigi," you gasp, the feeling of his tongue on your skin driving you crazy.

he smiles against your skin, his eyes dark and hungry. he begins to tug at the waistband of your pants, and you eagerly lift your hips, letting him slide them off. he tosses them aside, his gaze never leaving yours.

"so fuckin' gorgeous," he murmurs, his hands roaming across your bare skin.

he slides a hand down the front of your underwear, and you gasp as his fingers brush against your clit.

"luigi," you moan, arching into his touch.

"you want this, don't you?" he asks, his voice soft and gentle. you nod, feeling the wetness pooling between your legs. he presses his thumb against your clit, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. you cry out, gripping his shoulders tightly. he slides a finger inside you, curling it slightly.

"yes," you gasp, your hips moving against him.

"tell me," he groans.

"i want you, luigi," you moan, your voice needy. "i want you so bad." he withdraws his hand, and you whimper at the loss of contact. he strips off his remaining clothes, and you admire his toned body and his delicately placed freckles. he kneels between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs.

he positions himself at your entrance, and you moan softly, desperate for him to be inside you.

"please," you whimper.

"i need you."

he enters you slowly, a whine escaping his lips. he'd never felt pleasure so intense before. you're both overcome with the feeling of each other. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

"fuck," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. he thrusts into you slowly, taking his time. you're both lost in the sensation, your bodies pressed together.

"oh god, luigi," you moan, raking your nails down his back.

"you feel so fuckin' good," he says, his voice a low moan.

you feel yourself tightening around him. he thrusts harder, hitting just the right spot.

"fuck," you cry out, clinging to him desperately.

"god, i'm gonna cum," he gasps, his hips moving faster. you could feel his need, his desire for you, his love.

"let go, baby," you whisper, cupping his face in your hands. "i've got you."

he finishes with a cry, burying his face in your neck, his body trembling with pleasure.

"jesus," he says, his breathing ragged. he collapses on top of you, and you hold him close, running your fingers through his soft curls.

"did you finish?" he asks, still breathless.

"no," you reply, feeling a little embarrassed. "can we keep going?"

he looks down at you, his expression one of pure bliss.

"god, yes," he says with a soft chuckle.

he kisses you hungrily, his hands roaming across your body. he reaches down, circling your clit with his thumb.

"oh god," you moan, arching into his touch. he keeps thrusting into you, and you feel him shaking and overstimulated

"you're so fuckin' tight," he says softly.

you cling to him, the pressure building inside you. you're both teetering on the edge again, the sensation overwhelming.

"oh fuck, luigi," you gasp, your nails digging into his back. he's trembling as he pounds into you relentlessly, you can feel him crying against your chest.

"i love you," he whimpers.

"oh god, i love you too."

it hits you suddenly, the orgasm ripping through your body. you cry out, clinging to him, your entire body shaking.

"god, yes," he groans, his hips stuttering. he comes undone, spilling inside you once again.

you're both spent, sweaty, and breathing hard. he pulls out and rolls onto his back, his chest heaving.

"fuck,"

he mutters.

"god, you were amazing."

[mimipolo]

Nam-gyu x reader

I've only seen like two people write for him and I'm desperate 💔

It was the same old thing everyday. Hollering at people to come to the bar he worked. Fake smiles and bitter humour became the norm. He wasn't surprised with how things turned out, not like he cared to try and neither did his folks.

It was another Friday night, but tonight was different since he wasn't working today, that meant no hassling for customers. Some time just to himself. He wondered what he could do to pass the time, maybe a change of scenery, away from the bar and the thrum of music that ached his bones on those long nights.

But the lifestyle was already too deeply engrained in him, it was like a second home at this point and honestly where else would he go? He couldn't imagine using his money for anything other than to pay his rent or get his regular fix. The evolution from bummy cigarettes to actual drugs seemed so far away he can't remember when it began, it's not like he went out of his way to find it. He was content with the cheap stuff, but with work like this he should've expected how it'd eventually turn out. He tried to convince himself he hated it, that he only did it for the sake of his image but he knew better, he knew he got off the high and the one easiest to blame other than himself was Thanos. As he walked towards the bar he let out a sharp scoff as the man slipped into his mind, he was funny, entertaining but as bad an influence as any other.

He slows as the neon lights came into view, sighing as he picks a cigarette from a packet in his back pocket and easily lights it. Taking a long drag as he stares ahead, tempted to go in but something else repells him. For the moment he just hangs outside, just by the door of a small convenience store where most went to get a quick meal after a couple of drinks. His head unconsciously perks up at the sound of the convenience store doors bell ringing as a customer walks out and he has to take a double take to make sure he wasn't imagining it, wiping the cigarette smoke from his face to get a clearer look. The person of interest only seems to recognise him as they walk down the stairs and are about to make a turn to walk in his direction. Stopping dead in their tracks as they make direct eye contact eyes as wide as his. Yeah it was her.

Spluttering slightly as he continues to wave his arm to clear the smoke before swiftly butting his cigarette on the brick wall. A coyish smile on his face as he steps towards her, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Been a while huh?"

He'd been friends with you for years knowing each other from highschool to the end of college, he couldn't be asked to go to uni, you didn't seem surprised but the disappointment on your face was clear. It almost made him back out.

Considering all this he'd say you two have a good length of history together, memories too. One memory he could never seem to shake was in the second year of college.

It was lunchtime and he had come to your classroom to sit and bother you as usual. You knew the routine. He was ranting on about some guy that he claimed to be an "arrogant dick", talking your ear off as he faced you completely, his leg knocking into yours occasionally to catch your attention when he got to certain parts, he was content with you humming your acknowledgement as you ate your food. But then he suddenly stops mid story, making your head perk up confused. He smirked proudly finally knowing you were actually listening to his dumb stories after all before it solemned slightly.

"What do you think?" He said almost mumbling, tucking his hair behind his ear, a habit of his you found endearing.

"Think of...what?" You had said back mid bite of your food, staring into his eyes, a bit too deeply, so he ran his hand over his face with a sigh.

"...Of me." His voice quieter now, looking ahead instead of at you, he could sense your judging gaze without looking. He remembers how his heart pounded and his hands felt clammy.

"Of you?" You hummed in thought, placing down your food as you looked at his side profile, unimpressed with how he refused to look back at you. You had sighed before answering, resting your cheek in the palm of your hand, "You're nice, when you're not with your friends, I like you more when it's just us." Is all you had said before returning to eating.

He couldn't forget how genuinely taken back by your words he felt, his hair moving with his head as it snapped towards you expectantly. You only give him a pleased side glance as you chuckle and shrug slightly, refusing to let him have a deeper insight to your words. And being immature as he was back then he never figured it out and even now he wonders if he'd figured it out. He wonders even now as he stands opposite you after three, almost four years, if you'd still be interested in an "us".

You chuckle softly, an undertone of disbelief as you step forward him with a small smile on your lips as you finally recognise him. Huffing again in shock, the cold air condensing and forming white clouds with each exhale.

"Nam-gyu? It's been so long I didn't think I'd see you again?" There's a gladness to see him in your words, in your expression and he can't deny the fact it made him feel better about himself.

"Yeah...we never really saw each other again after you left for uni and stuff." He muttered awkwardly, he wanted to seem more confident, it was embarassing to realise he'll probably never be able to look you in the eyes if he's not rambling about something stupid."How was it?"

You sink further into the warmth of your jacket as you answer the question, "It was fun, had all the experiences I missed out on and got my papers." He can't help but chuckle alongside you, even if he's sharing your joy three years too late. "What about you Nam, what are you up to?"

His heart seemed to lift at the familiar nickname, one that you had decided him worthy of on a random Tuesday afternoon in your third year of high school. He didn't care for when others used it but when it was you, and after so long? He could already feel his ears growing hotter as he chuckles again as he tucks his hair behind them.

"Ah...ha, just working ya know." He pursed his lips, he didn't want you to know where he worked, after all your scolding of how he "had potential" but any drive he had left with mum when she abandoned him with his grandma after his dad's death. All of a sudden he was itching for another drag of that cigarette he had just snubbed out. Sucking it up with a slight smile as he gestured awkwardly behind him. "I, uh actually work here, at the bar."

You only nodded, understandingly it seemed, but his gaze wavers at how your eyebrows draw together slightly, he knew what you were thinking but he wasn't ready to confront that, not now. "I wouldn't recommend you come by though." He sighed as he rubbed his hands together, trying to seem as unbothered as he could. He honestly didn't want you near this place, or getting involved with the people in it. He was only here because the pay was good enough and he couldn't think of anywhere else to apply, maybe, just maybe if he had looked around. Sucked up his pride and asked you for advice he wouldn't be stuck in this place. But it was far too late to be considering that now.

He watches as you tilt your head at his warning before shrugging slightly "Not my scene anyway." He was grateful you didn't pry, it was too soon and too late to explain everything at once.

Now that the awkward introductions were over he had the mind to look at you more closely. He knew he found you pretty before but now you'd grown to be beautiful, round features, now more defined by age and experience, illuminated by the gentle glow of the store lights. His staring a drastic change to his demeanor before, he wonders if you notice the slight changes in him too. In his own honest opinion he's only grown taller and you've apparently stayed the same, he bites back a smirk once he notices, tucking his hands in his pockets as he snorts. And like you knew what he was thinking you scoff and roll your eyes. The situation felt all too familiar.

Suddenly you step closer nudging his arm with yours as you look him up and down questionably, "You're not as touchy as you used to be the old you would've been slung over me by now." He only scoffs as you giggle to yourself at the memories, feeling fairly embarassed, and even more so because he knew he had to mentally tell himself not to when he officially recognised it was you in front of him.

"Yeah? Well I grew up." He says sarcastically pushing his hair behind his ear as he stands taller earning another laugh from you which rings nostalgically in his ears. He wonders if the either of you even grew up. You were still connected by the memories after all, is that the same concept allowed for feelings? He felt selfish for entertaining the thought, but for now he was happy to see your face again, it was a breath of fresh air from the constant buzz of his life. A life he felt he could leave behind if you stayed as close as you were now.

[cosmicstrawberrycake]

sevika x dovehybrid!reader!! ♡₊˚🕊️・₊✧

gelstar's note: i've been thinking about the "gazing lovingly at his gigantic angry wife" birds and i think that's veryyyyy sevika and reader core :3 i also searched up dove mating habits and maybe im just strange but i think its cute :3 (its a mix of hcs and drabble bc im weirdddd)

kinda fem coded reader, but mostly gn!! no descriptions of the body :3

sevika met you a week after she'd lost her arm.

since she had 1. narrowly escaped death and 2. received a new and confusing arm, she had gotten the month off. it might've also been the fact that silco had magically adopted a child, and needed to learn about the basics of childcare.

she saw you walking the streets one night, right across from her game of cards.

the way your wings were spread so elegantly- it was hypnotizing. you were hypnotizing. though, no woman was worth leaving this game for. not with the amount of money at stake.

OR SO SHE THOUGHT

so, i guess you could say sevika met you three weeks after she lost her arm. because she didn't say shit to you the first time.

the second time she saw you, she almost shit her pants. mainly because the lighting made you look heavenly.

you were standing by silco's docks, painting with the kid.

the sight filled her with a strange feeling- a warm one- a feeling she thought she'd never be able to feel.

jinx looked up, spotting sevika at the far end of the docks. as her dull blue eyes landed on her, a heavy sigh escaped sevika's lips. oh god.

the little girl waved manically, an incredibly silly grin slapped onto her face.

sevika begrudgingly made her way over to your side of the dock, not bothering to try and hide her grimace...

she couldn't even lie to herself. you were even more breathtaking up close. she could barely hear jinx as she tried to explain the things that were on the canvas.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

it was clear to sevika that she was in love.

it was clear through her heart beating faster around you, her eyes always searching for you in a crowd, her whole body perking up when your name was mentioned.

and she was absolutely SICK OF IT. (note that she was not sick of you- she felt like she couldn't ever be.)

having to be at the same bar as you while you were smiling and laughing with jinx was pure torture- but it was also the best thing she'd seen in her life.

lately she was waking up in the middle of the night from dreams of you. not that it was the worst thing in the world to wake up from, but the dreams stuck with her for weeks on end.

so she finally decided to bite the bullet and tell you how she felt. it'd suck ass to have to talk about feelings, but at least she wouldn't have to imagine holding you close and kissing you softly every night.

which brings her to where she is now.

in a dark corner of the last drop, watching you say goodnight to jinx. you clearly didn't notice her- which sevika definitely should've taken into account.

this resulted in you being heavily startled by the hand on your shoulder, making you turn around and kick the woman behind you in the stomach.

sevika groaned loudly, doubling over in pain. you gasped, scared shitless about what you'd just done.

it was extremely confusing when she started chuckling, shakily regaining her balance.

you heard her murmur something about not having to defend you after all before sighing, apologizing guiltily.

she slung an arm over your shoulders, grinning at you wolfishly.

a warm feeling erupted in your stomach.

the two of you started making you way towards her apartment, sevika's brain fogged from the warmth your body gave hers.

as you arrived, she started to panic. this was the only night she decided she would have the confidence to confess- it would take months to gather up the strength again!

just as you waved goodbye, she lunged forward and grabbed your wrist, making you look back.

her silver eyes sparkled as she tried to find her words, your feathers ruffling in the slight breeze coming through the street.

finally, she found what she wanted to say. or at least her brain did- because word vomit began to spill out of her mouth.

part of her tuned it out, but she remembers the "most beautiful thing i've ever seen" and "i'd kill for you if you wanted me to".

eventually she stopped, expression hopeful and her entire body leaning towards yours.

you just giggled, kissed her cheek, and gave her a big hug.

the way your wings wrapped around her too was nice.

...she was really glad she didn't avoid her feelings this time.

headcanon time!!!!

once she finally bags her winged s/o, she is fucking HYPED

until you guys sleep in the same bed for the first time...

she tried 2 spoon you, but ur big fluffy wings got in the way 💔💔💔

the way you hug her with your wings while you guys hug makes her feel so safe its ridiculous. she loves it!!

constantly helping u with ur clothes when she can. will take u to every tailor she can just so you can get the clothing you really want while still being comfortable!!

loves indulging in ur weird little bird habits. like preening your feathers before bed- RUNNING HER HANDS THROUGH YOUR FEATHERS TO CALM YOU DOWN AAAA

once woke up to what she thought was incredibly soft snoring- it was you subconsciously cooing in your sleep

brings you little accessories to put on your wings that match ur jewelry or clothes!!

in general, she loves bringing you little trinkets! it was absolutely fucking hilarious when you found out she was imitating the behavior of a male bird.

(male doves bring materials to female doves in order for them to make a nest and have baby birds)

(very subtle way of launching your breeding kink, sevika)

i have an idea for smut lolz :3 sevika being obsessed with the way your wings flutter during sex >.<

if u want, lmk how this was!! been a while since i've written, so i rlly don't know how shitty this was...

[thebreakfastgenie]

You spent this entire response talking about how, unfortunately, I wouldn't read it, and surely I would block you, and then at the end you basically asked me not to respond. Lol.

Unfortunately for you, I have never blocked a blog that wasn't a bot and my adderall is kicking in, so I read every word.

The reason my first response to you was so long is that I wasn't entirely sure exactly what point you were making, so I was trying to cover all my bases. I wasn't trying to put words in your mouth. In this second comment you've more clearly focused on the argument that TERFs use man-hating to cover for legitimate bigotry. Unfortunately, that argument is nonsense. None of the examples you gave are using man-hating as a cover for anything, at least not successfully. The bigotry in those examples is not subtle. If someone can't recognize racism or transphobia in rhetoric like that their problem is that they're not very aware of bigotry and just not very bright. I can't identify the exact logical relationship, if there is one, but this argument bears some odd resemblance to the point women often make, that people on the left often use complaints about cisness or whiteness or wealth as covers for their misogyny. But women don't ask people not to complain about cisness or whiteness or wealth, just to stop singling out women and being misogynistic. In this case your argument still leaves women out in the cold. Everyone else can complain about their oppressors, but women can't, because someone somewhere might use man-hating as a justification for something else.

At a certain point, hypothetical statements are meaningless without context. If a woman makes a post about misogyny and singles out Indian men, it might because she's racist or it might be because she lives in India. The words that are used may be very similar (although the first one is more likely to include some slurs) but the meaning is very different. One of the problems with social media is that posts are often seen without their original context. There is a long history of women of color being pressured to stay silent about misogyny within their own communities using the reasoning that the community must be united and any negativity will give ammo to racists. This puts women of color in a really difficult situation. It also serves to prevent them from forming solidarity with other women. The way forward is just to make an effort to recognize all forms of bigotry, misogyny included, when they come up. To make an effort to tell the difference between a good faith attempt to address one issue that's fallen prey to unconscious bias or systemic bigotry and a bad faith argument that's one issue as an excuse for another kind of bigotry. To be willing to both say and hear good faith criticism in the first scenario, to reform arguments without the bias instead of throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Man-hating is not a good proxy for other kinds of bigotry.

I have no idea what the transmascs bomb post is. In general, a post that singles out transmascs is probably not okay, because the relevant part is that they are trans, and being cruel to trans people is... wait for it... transphobic. In some situations, the point about intracommunity man-hating applies. Trans women may complain about trans men just as any other group of marginalized women may complain about the men in their own community. To some extent it's probably reasonable to say certain things should not be posted publicly where cis people can get ahold of them without sufficient context, but that's an intracommunity issue that I'm honestly not qualified to speak on, because I'm cis. I only bring it up because I've dealt with analogous intracommunity in some communities I am a member of; it's a fairly universal concern but the particulars here are outside my lane.

You focused a lot on whether or not TERFs like men, which was really tangential to the actual point of this post. "TERFs like men actually" was referring to their eagerness to form relationships with right wing cis men to gain political power. Also, before it finally got taken down, a decent number of the posts on the TERF subreddit were from cis men claiming to be radical feminist allies who the TERFs gleefully and hypocritically pointed to as "one of the good ones" while they bonded over hating trans women. TERFs live in the same society as everyone else (unfortunately) and in a society as patriarchal as ours, few people really hate men as much as they think they do. A similar phenomenon exists with other marginalized groups. Unconscious bias cuts both ways; not just unconscious bias against a marginalized group, but unconscious bias towards a powerful group.

Using man-hating as a shield for bigotry doesn't make a lot of sense because man-hating isn't socially accepted just about anywhere. It always gets pushback. Ask any woman who's made a negative general statement about men. And TERFs spend a lot of time with the far right, where hating men is certainly not acceptable. I don't know where you live, but on the anglophone internet man-hating is not generally accepted. And even when you do hear "I hate men," the power dynamics of patriarchy are such that it's just not a real problem.

Trans-exclusionary radical feminism is essentially a subtype of transphobia that uses an interpretation of radical feminist theory as a justification for transphobia, rather than religion or plainly homophobic rhetoric about sexual deviance (though versions of this argument surface in TERF rhetoric as well and there's a great deal of convergence with the social conservative version). Quite often in hate movements like that, the ideology is a post-hoc justification for the bigotry. So the logic of men oppress women -> trans women are men -> trans women are bad because they oppress [cis] women may be what TERFs say but it's often not an honest representation of their thought process. Both TERFs and garden-variety transphobes (who openly revere men) hate trans women for being, according to them, men who pretend to be women. TERFs will even say, disingenuously of course, that it would be fine if trans women would only live as gender non-conforming gay men. It's transness that transphobes despise, the act of existing while trans.

#Also one of your followers left hate in my DMs#not even an ask!#not even an anon#get braver followers.

I know my closing paragraph was a bit of a non sequitur. I am making an effort to end walls of text with something actionable, and since you'd brought up trans men I thought it might be worthwhile to end by talking about the issues they face and acknowledging the intersections they're dealing with in the current political situation where I live. I'm also really feeling the weight of the incoming far right government in my country so any time I end up in ~discourse~ with other progressives I feel the urge to remind both of us as well as anyone else who reads the post who the real enemy is. I'm caught between my ADHD and inability to let anything go compelling me to respond to comments on my posts and my feeling that fighting each other is a waste of time when the threat of the far right looms. Ending that way was my compromise for myself.

My followers are their own people with agency. I do not control them. I also don't choose who they are because I don't block or softblock and quite honestly there are enough of them that I don't have time to screen them, even if wanted to. Speaking to you in a DM with their URL attached doesn't sound cowardly. You can still publish screenshots of the conversation if you choose, choosing DM over ask just means they don't intend to confront you publicly. Nothing about how I run my blog has ever encouraged anyone to send hate in any form. It sounds like they were responding--however inappropriately--to your post. This really has nothing to do with me, my blog was just the vehicle by which they saw it.

Something I want this website specifically to reflect on! Are you mad at women for talking about men the same way you talk about cishets or neurotypicals? Why?

[utilitycaster]

One of your recent posts talked about the way BH have essentially "run out of plot" in following the Red Moon/Predathos plot and the way that the PCS are being played.

I was also curious about your thought on the interparty dynamics in the end game, particularly with recent developments. One of the issues I've had with Bell's Hells for a while now is the way they don't challenge each other (or at least not in the way previous parties have)

Yeah; they don't. And honestly I think this is a combination of just...luck of the draw of the characters they created combined with that lack of room for those characters to develop because they've been in an environment that hasn't allowed much time and space for anything but rushing to the next task. Like, as mentioned, a lot of characters are kind of here to hang out or have goals that aren't specifically tied to personal change, if they have specific goals at all. That's not a bad thing! Grog, Jester, and Fearne all share that quality and are all fantastic executions of it - and Grog and Jester do change quite a bit despite that because the story gives them many opportunities to do so, and yes, because their fellow party members challenge them. But it feels like the bulk of Bells Hells if not all of it is kind of in that boat.

I remember an early panel in which Marisha said "I don't want to think anymore" and I know Travis has mentioned something similar for Chetney, of wanting to play someone much more chaotic after playing someone so highly controlled as Fjord. Liam also talked about stepping back from being a major decision maker at some point, and built Orym to be someone who had a viewpoint but didn't specifically assert it (as we've just seen). Like, I think most resentment C3 fans have towards C2 is just jealousy and bitterness but perhaps a fairer grievance is that the cast really brought their A-Game to the Mighty Nein with a lot of incredibly complicated, driven, messy characters and due to the smaller nature of the company then combined with the scaled back production of the pandemic focused intently on them; and then nearly all of them made a bunch of fairly go-with-the-flow or chaotic characters as a breather and (not unfairly or unreasonably!) thought they'd be in a story that would give them space to become something else or that would suit them, and it didn't. As someone who likes actual play I think if nothing else this serves as a look into how fantastic overall cast chemistry doesn't translate into compelling party dynamics.

To be clear, I think Bells Hells like and care about each other, but none are really the type to both strive to be better and challenge those around them to be as well. Even their defenders in the fandom are kind of leaning on the party of NPCs line from very early on [which is funny because a lot of people HATED that line at the time; I got hate over thinking it was apt] but the thing is yeah at this point in the campaign, they shouldn't still feel like a party of NPCs. Perhaps this is a personal preference, which, to be clear, does not in any way invalidate it as criticism, but as someone with a bit of a comics background, I've never been terribly into "Suicide Squad"-esque stories but I am into stories of Person Who Has An Opportunity And Rises To The Occasion Despite Not Being The Best Choice On Paper. Ultimately, my issue isn't that Bells Hells come from humble backgrounds and tragedy (this is also...not untrue for the Mighty Nein, incidentally; in fact they had even less endorsement from powerful groups. Molly died 26 episodes in and he just stayed fucking dead because no one had Keyleth's phone number so this is another case of "your defense just makes me think the Mighty Nein achieve this in a far superior manner"); my issue is that, as Laudna put it, they kind of just walk through doors because they're in front of them. I don't need them to become classically heroic; but I do need them to have some sort of intention. And they don't. Why are you walking through doors? "Because they're there" doesn't cut it. You're here because the Exandrian Accord gave you a whole bunch of support so don't play that "i'm just a nobody with nothing" shit anymore, it's demonstrably untrue.

I had this in the tags originally and I decided, perhaps unwisely, to move it into this post because I think it's relevant, but: in case it's not apparent, I think "You! Are! Valid!" culture is fucking awful; this is what that weirdo who thinks I'm from Reddit is mad at, I think (honestly I'm not sure if they're angry, they might just be very unwell). Like, it has roots in something true and helpful; you are valid for things like your race, gender, sexuality, ability/disability, and things that have happened to you in the past. But actually no one is automatically valid for their actions. Being incurious or inconsiderate or incapable of taking constructive criticism, even if this is tied to your past? not valid. Your trauma and pain is valid; what you do in their name very much might not be. And I think a lot of people who love Bells Hells do not like this message (which, Bells Hells don't like this message, hence the repeated "whatever you do is fine" conversations) and kind of romanticize a "NO ONE IS ON OUR SIDE WE MUST DO WHAT IS RIGHT FOR US THERE'S NO GOOD ANSWERS" state in which one cannot be held responsible for action nor inaction and that's a lot of why they respond so dramatically to the increasing sense within the fandom that this party lacks the juice and does judge them for inaction. Like, I've been talking about character agency and how a lot of people's enjoyment of Bells Hells hinges on how they HAD NO CHOICES and I think we're seeing the fallout, which is that a TTRPG story (ie, a medium defined more so than anything else about player choices) about characters who were stripped of choice kinda sucks ass, and anyone who doesn't look to actual play D&D to valid their personal morality (which, in this case, usually is "the world is unfair so I can do whatever I want" anyway) would rather see a story about a character who fucking had a viewpoint and did things with it, even if it were a "bad" viewpoint. I know I'm hard on villain stans because a lot of them are actually people who are like "what if the VILLAIN were the HERO...I am very intelligent," but actually, this is the crux of why Darth Vader was very popular. It's not because people thought he was a good person; it's because he drove the story more so than the heroes much of the time, and people responded to that. Purely reactive characters are boring and to get back to your original point do not challenge each other unless someone else starts the reaction chain, and there just haven't been too many opportunities of the external nor internal variety to do it. It's mostly bad luck and again, a session zero could have fixed this, but it is what it is.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 120 (Searching For Answers in Sulani)

cw: blood, death, violence (sounds terrible, I know...this tropical world is beautiful but this is not a cozy one, it's a detective one!)

The Sulani sun was warm, even for an overcast day in late winter. As Conrad approached George Brindleton's villa, a chill ran down his spine. George liked to dictate the terms of his communication with Brindleton PD, but he'd been far too quiet. The stunning modular villa overlooking the water seemed too quiet, too.

He approached the front door and knocked. The entire front room was open toward the endless sea, but Conrad couldn't see, or hear, any signs of life from inside.

"Yoo hoo! Hello, stranger. Are you a friend of Mr. and Mrs. Brindleton?"

Conrad turned back down the steps to greet two women who approached with friendly smiles. "Not exactly. Do you know where I could find the owner of this villa?"

"That'd be me," said the brunette. "Oliana Ngata. I rent it to George every winter, but my wife, Leila, and me, we were supposed to talk about him extending into spring and he never showed up at the tiki bar."

"Have you gone inside?"

"George tells us not to, and he pays us enough that we do what he says. But my son said there was a weird smell coming from the place when he walked home from school yesterday, and we're starting to get concerned. June usually comes around to talk to us every few days, but we haven't seen her either."

The blonde woman at her side rolled her eyes. "I don't know what she sees in that old man. He's always walking around barking orders. I can't stand the guy."

"Shhh," said the brunette. "He pays us well enough not to talk crap about him, Leila."

"My name's Conrad Gordon." He flashed his badge. "I'm a lieutenant at Brindleton PD back on the mainland. We've been trying to get George's cooperation about a body that turned up back home. But he went radio silent a few days ago, so we're risking him trying to sue the department to check up on him."

Leila laughed. "He makes friends everywhere, does he?"

"Could you let me inside?"

Oliana nodded, tailing him through the front door once she'd unlocked the airy vacation home. "Do you think something could have happened to them? - Oh my Watcher!"

She peeled back in fear and surprise at the sight of George Brindleton face down in a pool of his own blood. By the looks of the blood stains, he'd been dead a few days already. Looking around, Conrad saw no sign of June, but the staircase to the upstairs bedroom beckoned.

"Lieutenant Gordon, be careful," called Oliana with an anxious lilt. As Conrad stepped into the master suite, his face fell. June laid on her back on the bed, with a pool of blood forming on the hardwood floors beneath her.

Both George and his wife had been brutally murdered, and Conrad's heart sank. He really didn't need another murder case on his plate - least of all the murder of the most powerful man in town thousands of miles away from the place that bore his name.

Bloody footprints, large enough to be a man, headed toward the bathroom before disappearing, with no sign of forced entry or exit through the immaculate floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

He pulled out his phone to call it in, waiting for the arrival of local law enforcement. But they didn't take kindly to Conrad's chief pulling rank, demanding they let Brindleton PD handle the murder investigation.

"You think you mainland cops can come out here and tell us how to run the show on our own islands, and we're just supposed to stand back and let you?"

"It's not about the work," Conrad assured him. "It's the victim. He's been a person of interest to Brindleton PD for a long time - a lot longer than even I've been on the force."

The officer scowled but let Conrad do his job. He looked for evidence, but relied on landlords Oliana and her wife, Leila, for descriptions of the young waiter they knew as Javier Vargas. "He's a good kid, but we haven't seen him in as many days as the Brindletons. If he's not dead in there with them somewhere, I don't know what to think," mused Oliana.

"Why would George Brindleton call him Rafael? Does the name Rafael Bonilla mean anything to either of you?"

The women shrugged. "He wouldn't be the first person who's come to the islands to start a new life," said Oliana. "We're far enough away from everything, plenty of people find that appealing. We pay everyone in cash who works at our villas. They like it that way, and they like that we don't ask a lot of questions. But he's a good employee and we'd given him a key to the place since George liked to start drinking with the sunrise. He was a piece of work, but Javier always did his job without complaining."

"Do you know where I could find 'Javier'?"

The women shrugged again, but their son approached toward the end of the school day. "I think he's hiding in Princess Cordelia's ancient shipwreck near the volcano caves."

Oliana gasped. "Tane, where did you hear such a thing?"

"I didn't hear it. I saw him! Why do you want to find him?"

"I just want to ask him some questions."

"About what?"

"About being a waiter," Oliana cut in quickly, and Conrad didn't bother to correct her.

He turned to the young boy. "Do you know where I could find this abandoned shipwreck?"

He nodded. "Walk on the sandbar to the volcano. You'll see it near the beach. It's so far from the water because a storm blew it all the way inland when it crashed hundreds of years ago!"

Conrad left his number and promised to be in touch while the bodies were shipped to the morgue. He'd have to worry about the paperwork to get the Brindletons back to the Bay, but foremost in his mind was finding Rafa, once and for all.

He followed young Tane's directions and made it to the volcano caves after sunset. The dense jungle was dotted with worn dirt paths, but painted wooden signs led the way through the canopy. He found the caves and spotted the crooked mast of an old ship, half buried under the sand.

He spotted what looked like a front door on the part of the hull that stuck out of the sand and knocked.

"What the hell do you want?"

A gruff voice cut through the chirp of crickets in the nearby jungle, and Conrad turned. He hadn't seen Rafa Bonilla since he was a kid. Now this young man towered over him in height, deep-voiced with strong muscles, but Conrad knew it was the same boy. He had the same eyes.

"Rafa, it's me. Conrad Gordon."

"Yeah, I'll bet." The man sneered. "I saw you with a badge at the villa."

The young man threw a heavy punch before lunging at him, knocking him to the ground with brute force. "Rafa, it's really me," he choked out, as the man straddled his shoulders and blocked his airway. He struggled to breathe, but Rafa wouldn't let up no matter how hard he fought him.

Conrad's face grew hot as his throat closed, and the world around him faded to black. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

WCIF? George and June are posed with Akiyumi's Too Much and SamsSims' Sleep posepacks respectively. Conrad and Rafa's scuffle is from @rebouks Fite Me posepack, and the last shot of Conrad, unconscious, is from @yibsimchronicles' Fainted posepack. I love them all, and they really helped me get different shots I had in my head into the pixels, so thank you to all for sharing!

And I need to thank Cepzid for their police station uniform pack cc so I could stage the shots with Ximena in the last episode, and the shot with the officer here, since none of those scenes were triggered by actual gameplay. The clothes look great in game!

[yanmuffins]

COUGH COUGH p&f reader thinking mabel has a crush on jon (← if he comes along, which he prob did) instead of damian and then getting all (oooh! it's a love trangle! the drama!) 'cause she thinks damian has a crush on mabel, who has a crush on jon, who has a crush on damian! and dipper it's just there- COUGH COUGH

(she fails to notice that jon wants her, not her brother, and mabel wants her brother, not his best friend turned into rival turned into ally, and again, dipper it's just there with his secret crush like, standing in the background with Perry-)

we are literally so close to recreating midsummer night’s dream by shakespeare 😭

tbh, this is a whole mess. i like to think that jon did not come along initially, but as soon as he heard damian mention that he was stuck in this ramshackle lumber town all the way in oregon (we'll go back to that) watching over his sibling and their friends, one of which behaves like a buffoon around them (damian would immediately catch up on dipper having a crush on p&f! reader, but he never outright says that), he just immediately flies there.

and what ensues is jon and dipper passive-aggressively fighting over p&f! reader while they're none the wiser, misinterpreting every interaction among the group for something incorrect. damian is looking at jon and dipper like this 🤨 because it's embarrassing how they're fighting over his sibling, he will be judgemental about it. mabel catches up on jon having a crush on p&f! reader, but since she's obviously team dipper (not just bc he's her family but, also bc pair of pine siblings + pair of wayne siblings, she just thinks it would be so cool!), she might try to get in jon's way by talking to him and diverging his attention somehwere else.

also, kind of unrelated, but i cannot stress enough that p&f! reader and damian are in OREGON, where gravity falls is supposed to be located. we don't really know exactly where gotham is supposed to be, but from what i've seen, the general consensus is that it is somewhere around new york. look at the distance:

i am POSITIVE that when p&f! reader asked bruce if they could spend a week or two at their friends' he assumed it was in metropolis, where p&f! reader used to live. or even in gotham. now imagine his surprise when he gives damian a call for whatever reason, to question him about something vigilante-related or to check up on him (... and reader), and he learns not one, but TWO of his children are almost THREE THOUSAND MILES (or FOUR THOUSAND KILOMETERS) away from home. and both damian and p&f! reader are so casual about it.

alternatively, bruce put a tracker on damian and p&f! reader before they left, did not check it for at least four days and when he finally did check, he just sees the two little red dots all the way in oregon and he's like. no, there must be some mistake. and then he calls damian and his children are indeed at the other side of the country.

he goes to pick them up personally.

[umbrellajam]

#yesss i love all the fights <3333 #and YEAH the flipped roles in the rr fight!! one of the many reasons i love that one especially sfdsfsdfs #dick's usually the one storming off!! that's HIS thing!! tim's the chase-you-down-clingy one!!! EXCEPT SUDDENLY NOT ANYMORE #bruce dies & there's a HOLE IN THE WORLD & everybody's tried-and-true roles get scrambled & everything is chaos #tim's suddenly doing all dick's moves & dick's stuck in bruce's shoes (literally. bruce's shoes bruce's cape bruce's costume...) <- yessss, I love this

#and then just ahhhhh i'm obsessed with the psychology from dick's pov #your dad just died & you're grieving & what are you doing? you're re-running your biggest fight with your dad ever #the fight you never really resolved. the one you never got to talk about #and what do you do as you symbolically re-run this fight??? you take your dad's side and not your own #you can't tell him he was right and you can't apologize and you can't ever talk to him again #but you can take his side. suddenly his side of the fight feels so much reasonable than it used to #and it's just. psychologically. it's so so soooo fascinating to me. (via @silverwhittlingknife)

YEAH and it's like, is he doing it consciously?? how much is he thinking about these parallels consciously vs. skimming past them bc he's distracted and overwhelmed and it hurts too much and he's always seen himself in Tim to a degree and he's run his own firing over and over in his head so many times over the years and surely the worst part was Bruce rejecting him and as much as telling him he wasn't good enough, so if he remembers to tell Tim, "things are changing but I still need you" out loud he'll at least have done better than Bruce and it'll be fine, it'll be fine right, Tim will understand because he has to understand.....

anyway there's so much there and we never see it addressed from his perspective and it drives me a little crazy lol. and Tim doesn't know to make this comparison bc I don't think he's actually been made privy to the exact circumstances of Dick's firing as far as we know? and (a) the idea of Dick telling him about something as fraught as that without Tim knowing to pry for it (like he did about everything else) is....dubious lol, and (b) if Tim dug it up in Bruce's files or something I feel like he definitely would have thought about it, at some point over the years but especially during RR

*putting them both in a snowglobe and shaking them* I know I've said it's fine you two didn't really talk about this but TALK GDIT

thinking about the swathe of Tim & Dick disagreements that can be broadly patterned, "Dick is more openly distraught and ends up chewing out Tim before stalking off, while Tim's left standing there like 🧍‍♂️"

New Titans #61 (A Lonely Place of Dying, Part 4) Gotham Knights #26 (Bruce Wayne: Murderer? Part 10) Nightwing (1996) #110

and the sort of opposite, where Tim is more openly distraught and they end up physically fighting each other

Nightwing (1996) #139 (The Resurrection of Ra's al Ghul, Part 6) Red Robin (2009) #4

anyway no deep thoughts, I just love them and I'm rotating their arguments in my brain at all times, lol

(bonus: the direct reverse of the first category, with Tim more openly distraught with and chewing out Dick before stalking off, leaving Dick standing there like 🧍‍♂️)

Red Robin (2009) #1

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 5

it really was a coincidence that you already had his number saved in your phone when he texted you.

jack: hey

one of your best friends, jenny, had another friend who came along with you all that night. she was a loud woman with blonde curls called anna and she was, you had now learned, engaged to a hockey player in the local nhl team. you'd never cared much for sports in general, and especially not hockey. anna was quick to catch up on that fact the morning after you met jack, when you were supposed to go out for brunch with jenny and anna happened to tag along.

the boy you were chatting to last night, jack, she had started, sipping her orange juice before continuing. you did get his name, right? he's a good friend of my fiancé, a great player too.

you had thought and hoped that she would be able to read from your uninterested expression that you wished for the conversation to end as soon as it started. however, she had not been the quickest to pick up on your hints.

i've never seen jack look at someone like that before, you should totally hit him up! he's single, you know.

you'd sure hope so, considering the things you were up to in his apartment.

you had told anna that you didn't want anything to do with him, but she had insisted; at least save his number, you never know!

jenny had agreed, going off for a moment about your (empty) love life and how you haven't really looked happy since you broke up with that boyfriend over a year ago. the whole conversation had made you nauseous, and you had eventually agreed to add his number to your contacts just to shut them up.

since then, you'd forgotten about it, until the moment he texted you. you spent about fifteen minutes trying to figure out some kind of response – what even do you say to "hey"?

you: how did you get my number? lol

you felt a little guilty right after sending it, the tone maybe a little harsh; you usually greeted people back when they texted you. but maybe it was for the best. you didn't want him to get any false hopes.

your phone pinged again just a minute later.

jack: from anna! she said you two talked abt me, that i should hit you up

jack: well, i WANTED to hit you up also. :)

it kind of scared you how quick your heart was to flutter in your chest. this was not supposed to happen. before you could even answer, yet another message appeared in the chat.

jack: you free for dinner tonight?

a man not afraid of a triple text should've excited you. instead you shook your head and typed a quick response.

you: dinner?...

jack: i want to take you out for dinner, is that okay?

you shouldn't even have considered it. you never before even considered meeting a one-night-stand again, especially not for dinner. maybe it was because the other part was never interested in it, maybe it was because you thought it was against all and any code of conduct. either way, it was just easier like that.

so why did your fingers suddenly live a life of their own? why was there a message from you saying yes to his request when you looked back down at your phone again?

he surprised you that night. you knew from the first time you met that he was a good listener – though, you had assumed it was just because he was trying to woo you enough to go home with him – but he was a great talker, too. not in the sense that he talked a lot, but in the sense that whenever he did talk, you found yourself realizing he was more complicated than you initially thought. he wasn't just trying to win you over; he was trying to let you see him, piece by piece, each one carefully chosen.

you didn't know what the procedures or rules were when it came to this kind of meeting. was it a date? was it just a pre-hookup meal? was it something more? nonetheless, you weren't surprised that the dinner ended with you following him home to his apartment.

he wasn't just good at listening and talking, but at making you feel good, too. you knew you were already walking on the fine line between a regular hookup and something else – not that you were sure what the other thing would be. friends with benefits (could you even be friends with benefits if you weren't friends to start with?), fuck buddies (is there even such a thing these days?), or something completely different?

curled up into his side with a duvet lazily thrown across your stomach, you distracted yourself from your many thoughts by drawing shapes into his chest. little stars, quirky stick figures, ugly cats. "something on your mind?" he asked, a chuckle rumbling beneath his chest at the sight of you cuddling closer to him.

"this... hockey thing," you started, gazing up at him for the first time in a long while. "you're pretty good, aren't you?"

there was a shrug of his shoulder, though his expression stayed plain. "i guess so."

"you have your own wikipedia page. and you were some kind of first pick, whatever that means." this, however, forced his lips into a grin. "that's not just pretty good. that's amazing."

"i guess so."

he yelped at the feeling of your hand slapping his chest, a groan slipping past his lips. "why didn't you tell me? when we first met?"

"you didn't seem like you cared," he said honestly, and you pushed yourself up a little on the bed to look at him better. "so i didn't think it was necessary. besides, it's a job like any other."

"i told you all about my studies, and you just said that you work with hockey!" you exclaimed, fingers forming quotation marks in the air. "that's hardly fair, and it's not a common job!"

"i was wearing a team cap! i assumed that if you knew, you'd say something!"

you merely shook your head, pausing for a few moments to just stare at him. "i'll forgive you for now," you say, puckering your lips. "for the low price of five kisses."

"taken."

the thing that surprised you the most was how much you enjoyed spending time with him, how easy it felt. he was handsome and had a sweet smile and he was a great lover, sure, but you still hadn't expected to have this good of a time with him. it was almost enough to make you spend the night.

almost.

[pythoness94]

of course you're a little shit. You're writing a fic with the biggest genocide supporter in the fandom. Noah Schnapp is a zionist who cheered on child murder. And you support that. You sick fucking freak.

once again, AWW THANK YOU FOR THE ASK AND KIND WORDS. Also, Noah isn't a zionist, people who say that should really do their research instead of just being a follower. In the wise words of Eddie Munson "you're a sheep, and not the good kind." Stop being a follower and open a fucking tab. Google bitch, because Noah wasn't the one holding those stickers, he isn't the person killing those people, he isn't supporting Jack Shit. Honestly, you people get so easily offended.

Do you wanna feel like a good person? Is that? You want to get the brownie points for doing nothing? Well let me lay it out for you. I help old and disabled people, I clean their houses, fill up their planners, help them with day to day tasks, and I just talk to them. I know someone who cannot physically move their body, only their hands and feet, and I have to wash them because they physically can not do it themselves. I know someone who is mute and has Alzheimer's so bad that they try to follow me home, they're in a home now because they ran out in the street naked and screaming. These are the lightest cases. I've seen so many people die, its not funny. I am waiting for the day I am allowed to volunteer at the hospital. I go out of my way to tell people I'm proud of them when they post of chapter, I make Google docs of media for people of things they like who feel bad and need something to cheer them up. I'm medically certified so I could help people, I have OSHA safety training so I can help people, I do everything I can to help PEOPLE.

You write words on the internet anonymously on a topic you don't even know about. We are not the same so don't you DARE even try to tell me what I am when you're to pathetic to say something with your chest. You're the sick freak, not me. I'd suggest you look in the mirror and evaluate what you've done with your life so far because it is never to late to change, and I would still be proud of you for doing so..just like I'm am proud of your accomplishments now, even if I only know you from this ask.

[lesson-in-ruthlessness]

Ruthlessness Is Mercy — KOTLC fanfic

Description: Flashbacks throughout Grady's childhood. Grady and Vespera finally meet. Grady is pathetic and sexy while Vespera is evil and sexy. This will probably be a series if yall like it. Neverseen!Grady series.

————————————————————————————————

It's ok to feel… troubled when you manifest as a Mesmer. The mind is something greatly idolized, and manipulation of it is scrutinized.

Grady laid on his bed as he flipped through the pages of his new, Foxfire-issued textbook, dramatically sighing each time he flipped to a new page.

Lots of diagrams, he thought as he studied a diagram of an elven brain, this isn't freaky at all!

He closed the book and looked at the title, hoping it would change the outcome of the results.

A Beginner’s Guide to Being a Mesmer.

Instinctively, he turned the book over so he couldn't see the title, hoping it wasn't real.

Grady was still dealing with the uprooting of his entire life. Ever since he manifested, his family wouldn't talk to him and his Foxfire peers would look at him as if his entire existence was a taboo.

He knew they were right.

His ability to entrance then control the wills and minds of others wasn't banned outright, simply anyone with it was virtually a pariah.

As his thoughts stirred, he had no idea what that bubbling feeling in his chest was, as he began to choke on his tears; thinking about everything he was losing.

Once you learn how to manage this daunting power, it will be like you never manifested in the first place.

———

“Finally, I get to meet you in person. You're as…mesmerizing as they say.�� A pale gray elf with very pointy ears emerged out of the shadows.

Grady shuddered at her voice. He didn't know who was addressing him, all he knew was that his mission was being compromised. “That’s a thinking cap, isn't it.” Grady said, pointing to the head dress the elf was wearing. “It’s why I can't sense your mind.” He laughed starkly. “That is, unless I've officially lost it.”

“You’re rather clever, however not clever enough to know this is not a hallucination.” The elf said, appearing on the other side of the room.

“Two questions. How do you know who…and I'm assuming what, I am? What do you want?”

“There’s only so many Mesmers on the Nobility. Isn't it unfair?” She smiled a cold smile, “as for the second question, you'll just have to find out.”

“Once I figure out who…and where you are… I'm going to rip that thinking cap off your head. Then we'll see who's laughing.”

“You’re rather bold for someone who just started his job as an Emissary.”

“I've been here for a decade, miss whoever you are,” Grady said, observing the walls.

Mirrors, he thought.

“A decade is a rather short amount of time, especially for an elf.” She smiled, her image shifting to another mirror.

“You’re an Ancient, aren't you?” Grady looked around for a way out. “I’m asking one more time, what do you want?”

“Your help.”

—-------

“This is in no way a bad idea,” Grady whispered to himself as he stood on the Bramble field. “Get in their heads, get the ball. Like you have before. Two people is nothing.” He said that last part again, as if he was trying to convince himself of it. Then, he exhaled and said “game on.”

A whistle blew and Grady took off running towards the opposing team's bases.

Bramble was the one place in school where he wasn't an outcast. In fact, he was the opposite. Due to his ability and Bramble allowing abilities, he was the star player on the Foxfire Bramble team. He knew that for the most part, he was seen more as an asset, but it felt good to have a community.

He spotted two people running towards his team's base and exhaled again. “Change of plans. Go for one. This could be…” he hesitated for a moment. “Fun.”

He closed his eyes and locked in on the mind of one of the people, a girl, feeling his energy coursing through hers. It was almost a calming feeling as he felt their energy become one. Then, felt his take over hers. He opened his eyes and saw her, feeling her attempts to move. He let out another sigh as he focused his energy on launching her towards the other person running. Watching intently and with a slight feeling of horror, he made her tackle the other elf.

Once he saw a few elves run to the tackled boy to help, Grady ran for the ball.

————

“You’re going to ask me for assistance and not even give me a name?” Grady asked through his laughter.

“Why do you need a name?” The Ancient asked. “It's not in any of your Elvin History books, rest assured.”

“I am assured,” he said, walking towards a mirrored wall. “Very assured.”

Grady drew back a fist and punched a mirror, the glass shattering into a seemingly infinite amount of pieces.

He did it again. And again. And again, until he was standing in a pool of shards. He looked at his fists, which were bloodied.

Most elves aren't used to the sight of blood, let alone their own. However, between his time playing bramble and the Council giving him more…unsettling missions, he had seen his own blood plenty of times.

He looked around again for the Ancient, but couldn't find her. Then, he picked up a glass shard and wielded it like a knife. “This is the last time I'm asking nicely. What do you want with me?”

“And what are you going to do about it? You're practically defenseless.” She laughed another bone-chilling laugh. “Anyways, I want your help to change the world as we know it.”

“Very funny. You cannot demand my help without even giving me an actual face.” Grady waved the makeshift knife around.

And then, she stepped out of the shadows. Then, Grady ran behind her and stuck the mirror shard to her throat. “One more word,” he said through gritted teeth, “and I’ll slash.”

“You wouldn't do that. At the end of the day, you're still an elf. You're fragile.” She grabbed the shard out of his hand with ease and pointed it back at him. “You, however, would be quite the interesting specimen to study.” She grabbed his hand and carved a line in the palm.

Grady winced but through the pain, grabbed another shard with his free, less bloody, hand. This time, instead of holding onto it, he threw it at the Ancient. It got caught in her cheek and she smiled. She took out the bloodied shard without even flinching. “It makes sense that one like you has the capacity to be so… ruthless.”

“What do you mean ‘one like you,’” Grady asked.

Deep down, he knew the answer. He knew it was because— as far as elves went— he was essentially hardened to violence. He was almost human in that aspect. While he burst into tears at the sight of an animal being hurt and rush to help, he's the only elf he knew that would scrape and bleed and even scar. He's the only elf he knew that didn't really care that he did, of course he'd stop by a Healing Center and patch up, but in the moment, he'd wince but there would be no shock.

He had a theory on why he was like that as well. It was because of his damned ability, it was an inherently violent one to him. Even as a kid, he held the belief he was dangerous. Therefore, he didn't really care about what happened to him, only the people he was close to; if he ever met someone he was close to.

Despite knowing the answer, the Ancient answered “your history, Grady. The Troll incident. The Bramble championships.” She wiped her cheek and showed him the blood. “You made and Ancient bleed. You're as ruthless as you are ostracized. With your help, we could reshape the world. A world where you won't be judged for something you couldn't control. A world without being viewed as evil for something you were burdened with. Not something you desired.” She offered out her hand for a shake.

He observed her hand, which was as gray as the rest of her skin. “Before I accept your generous offer, what's your name?”

“Vespera.”

Grady shook Vespera’s hand with his cut one.

————————————————————————————

taglist: @nowjumpinthewater @camelspit (this was YOUR idea) @crescentpaws (it evolved a bit since we last spoke)

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 10

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,425 of 27,089

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AO3 Link

We don't talk about the kiss. I spend most of my time in the hallway, reading one of the books he had gotten along with our set of winter traveling clothes. None of the clothes are green, all of them varying shades of brown and beige. I feel as if a storm has picked us up and blown us into a different dimension, stripped of any finery or verdant life, stripped of friends and family. I'd give anything to be able to talk to even Emily right now. When we pull into Wittica, I'm glued to the door, hand on the handle even before the train pulls to a stop.

As I slide the door open, I breathe in the cold, thin air. It's harder to breathe up here, something that I hadn't thought much about as the iron beast tore and climbed through the Pertha hills. Those same hills had gone from simple rolling mounds of winter yellow grass to wide and sturdy mountains. As I look across the city skyline, I can see the barest covering of snow on top of them, as if Lurline herself had come through in the middle of the night to dust them with a powdered sugar. The entire village seems to have thanked her for this honor by stringing thick garlands weighed heavy with oranges and cranberries and salt dough cookies from every gutter, every unionist steeple, and even the train station lampposts.

Beside one of those lampposts is an older woman dressed in an elaborate gown of lavender silk with beaded vines of pink and midnight blue that creep up the side of the skirt. Her eyes light up as the Wizard disembarks behind me, stepping forward to meet us.

"Still alive, I see," she says, dry amusement in her voice.

"And wouldn't you know it," he replies with a smile, "I feel better than ever." He kisses her once on each cheek as they embrace.

I can feel my cheeks burn. It feels as if I'm looking in through the window of a neighbor far away. Presumably, she must be our guide for the day – even if a tad overdressed – but it's clear that the Wizard knows her priorly if he wasn't a true friend completely of hers. I’ve come to know him more in-depth this past month, but I have never seen him get even remotely close to anyone he'd ever met the way he has with her.

"The train hasn't been too bad, has it?" she asks, cocking her head to the side in care.

"Hey, it's only as bad as you let it be. First night was rough, but it's gotten better."

Ouch. His words feel like a smack. Was I really that intolerable that sequestering myself in the hallway was preferable to him than spending time with me in the living compartment? I bite the inside of my cheek, inching closer to the two of them.

"Well, we have a lot to discuss and I've reserved us a private room down at Florio's tea shop. You know how I love-" She stops mid-sentence, giving me a quick look up and down. "Is there something you need from us? The train will depart again soon. I'm sure you have much work to do."

I blink at the assumption, but the Wizard steps in, putting an arm around me, and introduces me to her. "She witnessed the ambassador taking the Grimmerie," he says quickly. "An invaluable resource when the time for trials comes. Now, about that tea shop."

Morrible looks me over, letting her eyes linger on the dirt brown skirt and white blouse that I had picked for the day. Satisfied that the Wizard was telling the truth, she turns from us and leads the way down the platform. The Wizard offers me his arm, but I just look at it before following after Morrible.

"It's a nice break coming here, away from children," she says as we step out onto the dark purple brick streets of Wittica. Where Settica had been all oatmeal and drab, the facades of Wittica seem to have taken it as an offense, painting themselves in warm hues of orange and yellow that stand out against the fresh blue sky. We must have arrived at the right time because the platform is empty and there isn’t much foot traffic out on the streets. It's probably just past the lunch hour.

"How's that whole thing going, by the way?" the Wizard asks. I startle at his voice because, despite having refused his offer of an escort, he is still right beside me. I roll my eyes and continue following Morrible as she takes us through a main thoroughfare.

"Are you asking if I've found any exceptionally talented witches or wizards?" she says, looking over a beaded shoulder. "Hardly. More of the same. The farther we get from the Ancient Ones, the more rare magic has become."

"I could really use a powerhouse right about now," he sighs. "You really got nothing?"

Morrible gives him a disapproving look before taking us down an alley that has been strung with lights overhead. A wooden sign in the shape of a crescent moon hangs above a doorway, painted in pastels to read "Florio's Teas".

We step into the shop and it almost feels like home. The sweet and spiced aromas mixed with fresh cookies could have come straight from the kitchens back at the Emerald Palace. Lurlinemas is only a few days away, so the cinnamon and oranges are stronger than ever, and every table has been set with a cranberry red lantern, a candle flickering happily inside. I'm drawn to the counter, spying some particularly cute gingerbread cookies that are shaped like reindeer, but Morrible leads us back past all of the tables and into a room with paned bubbled glass doors. There is already a feast of small treats and teapots that have been set at a little table for two.

"I didn't think that we would be having any guests," Morrible explains. "Your letter didn't say anything about a stowaway."

I wring my hands, looking around. "I could just sit outside," I say. I wish I had brought my book knowing that I was going to be such a burden.

"What?" the Wizard says. "No, no... no, look here-" He picks up one of the cafe chairs from outside and sets it so it's perpendicular to the other two chairs. Morrible's lips curl into a frown, but she takes a seat at one of the chairs and the Wizard closes the doors. I take a seat in the bony cafe chair that the Wizard had brought in, tucking my hands beneath my skirt and thighs.

"I spoke to the Lord-Mayor," Morrible says. "He is not eager for war, but could be persuaded if the price is high enough." She pours herself a cup of tea that has a purple tint to it. There's a tag on top of the pot but I can't make out what it says. I don't even have a cup to pour any tea into, but my eyes light up when I see some of those reindeer cookies from earlier. I pluck one off of the tiered tray and take a bite of spiced antler.

"Yeah that figures," the Wizard says as he sits down. "How high are we talking?"

"I'm sure some tax breaks to Gillikin as well as taking his grandson into your service as a young diplomat," Morrible replies.

"No," the Wizard says, waving off the idea. "I don't do children. They get in the way and touch all your things..." he shudders and I think I have the same vision as him of a little boy slapping a sticky hand on the control panel for the mechanical head in the throne room.

"It’s nothing to worry about. His grandson is sixteen and well-behaved: a quiet boy," Morrible says, setting down her cup of tea.

The Wizard takes one of the gingerbread reindeer and points it at Morrible. "You should have gone into politics," he says before biting off the head of the reindeer.

Morrible gives him a coy smile, picking up her teacup again. "No. That's what I have you for." She takes a sip of the tea and says, "Politics disgusts me. I'd rather tell someone I hate them to their face."

The Wizard leans back in his chair, copying her smile. "And do you hate me?" he asks, taking another bite of the reindeer.

"This war is giving me a headache," she says. "I hate you for that."

"I might hate myself for it too," he laughs.

I bite the head off of my reindeer as I watch the banter flow easily between the two. When the Wizard wasn't busy intimidating those beneath him, he had an uncapturable charm that could soften and woo, winning you over to his side with a laugh and a warm touch even if he was getting you to agree to drink poison. What he had to offer Morrible certainly wasn't poison, but it hinged on the Emerald City and its allies breaking the siege: the promise of peace and a secured spot at the table, but nothing more. Morrible doesn't look like the type to fall for easy trickery and a wink of an eye, but her eyes now shine with a certain thrill and her cold demeanor has melted away entirely.

"I am not privy to information regarding the defense force," she says, "but if I were, I would say he could probably lend you a thousand of his guards."

"Hey, a thousand? That's not bad," he says excitedly, "but we're talking about- to siege a city... he must have at least five thousand. I haven’t heard anything from the palace guard yet."

"I have tried telling him this," Morrible says, "but unless you offer much more, a thousand will be all you can get."

"I sent Thropp a letter," he says, "but I haven't heard back from him. You wouldn't by chance happen to have..." his hand waits poised, as if he were trying to pick the right word out of the air.

"Spoken with him? No," she says.

"Could you? I mean... It wouldn't hurt," he says.

Morrible sets her teacup down again, folding her hands into her lap. She says, "I'm not familiar with him the way you are."

"Could you get the Lord-Mayor to send something? Some reassurance that there will be others?" the Wizard asks.

"I'm a very busy woman," Morrible says, getting up from her chair. "I've already asked too much from him."

The Wizard rises too, and I watch as if it were magic the way he moves, like a well-rehearsed dance, taking her hand in his, wrapping his other arm around her decorated shoulder. "I really appreciate you coming out all this way. I'm sure you have school to get back to – I wouldn't want to keep you, of course – but I'll see you at the safe house?" He brings her hand to his lips, placing the sweetest of kisses on it. I watch as he drinks her deeply in with his amber eyes, and just for a sliver of a second, she shies away in a blush, before meeting his eyes again.

I want to run or throw the whole tray of cookies at him. I'm glued to my chair, as I watch him flirt with her, not begging on his knees, but getting the exact same effect. In my heart, I know that this isn't the first time he's sweet-talked her like this, nor the farthest he's ever gone. They are made for each other, the way they dance in tandem, like a perfect waltz, even better than Fiyero and I, for they have had years of practice. The urge to throw something at him subsides, washing away to reveal a basin of emptiness at the realization that these were the tricks he plays and that I mean nothing to him. Even if I had ever meant something, it was less than whatever was well-aged and rich with Morrible.

"I'm going to wait outside," I say. It strikes me that it's the first time I've spoken since we entered this awful tea shop. I hurry out and shut the door behind me before the tears can pour out in front of them. We hadn’t spoken since the kiss, but I thought he would have cared at least a little bit if he was jealous enough to prevent Fiyero from kissing me. It was a stupid thing to think that he ever actually cared about me at all, a naive conception that I had nursed into a fantasy. I bite the inside of my cheek as a punishment. I wonder if I might not be back in the Emerald City with Fileah by now if I had just accepted that everything was a mind game to him, and I couldn't trust a word out of his mouth. The Wizard doesn't care if I'm safe: he just wants what's best for him. He will always put himself first, even if it means making me fall in love.

I shake my head at the ridiculous notion. Using the cuffs of my blouse, I dry my eyes. It’s not long before the Wizard and Morrible exit the private room.

"I'll send word to the Lord-Mayor and see what I can do," Morrible says. "Maybe there will be even more troops that he can spare." A clock on the wall chimes, striking the hour. Had we really been in there that long?

"Ah!" she says. "I have to go. The next train back to Settica leaves in 20 minutes. Please enjoy the rest of the tea. It has already been paid for." She leaves the tea shop, not in any particular hurry, and I wonder if she'll make it back to the station in time.

"Did you want some more tea?" he asks, resting a hand on my shoulder. My veins feel cold as he brushes his thumb back and forth along my shoulder blade. I can already feel the tears welling up again.

"Can we just go back to the train?" I say softly, trying to hide the way my voice is constricting.

"We can do whatever you want," he says, squeezing my shoulder. The last ember of hope in me thinks she hears the tones of a father, trying to comfort a disappointed child, but I close it into my fist, suffocating it.

"Okay.”

[heathersdesk]

How to Deal with the Family Proclamation

We had a lesson in Sunday School today on all six of the proclamations the Church has ever issued. So naturally, the Proclamation on the Family came up.

I have complicated feelings about it. I think it fails our queer membership and locks us into doctrinal positions that aren't scripturally supported. I don't like how every lesson that mentions it invites an open season to take pot shots at the queer community, at our own people, about sexuality and gender. I don't like that this is the first instinct of many of our people when they talk about it.

You want to know how to redirect the conversation that shuts it down every time?

I bring up the portion that talks about the rights of children not to be abused. No one ever wants to talk about that because it involves looking at our own mess instead of someone else's. And as a survivor of familial abuse, it's something I feel passionate about because I know there is no group that is immune to it.

Rather than enforcing a familiar standard of heterosexual nuclear family that everyone should aspire to, I think the proclamation does a much better job of outlining what every child deserves. All children deserve to grow up in a family where they feel safe, respected, and loved.

Whenever I have to talk about the Proclamation to the Family, this is what I say. This is the only way I've found it to truly be prophetic.

I did it again today and that was one of the most powerful and vulnerable conversations about abuse I've ever seen at church. I know the teacher well. He has been a lawyer for many years and has worked as a prosecutor for child abuse cases in the state of Idaho, including those that involved church members. He said outright that local leadership doesn't always get things right with this, to the point that it was one of the reasons he left that line of work. It instigated a really poignant moment with him and a retired social worker from LDS Family Services. The Church is not immune to failures in handling abuse, but the Proclamation on the Family calls us to be better. That's what the discussion turned into. That was the salient point we ended on before moving on to the most recent proclamation from 2020.

Discussions in church are malleable. You can shape them into what you want them to be instead through your participation. It takes courage and skill you can gain with practice. And you'd be amazed at how well people respond if you do it sincerely and with love.

I can't change the mind of every person in the Church about queer people. But I can be filled with so much love for them, the right thing to say and do will be given to me through the Spirit.

Never doubt that you also have this power and ability. With God, all things are possible—including this.

[judgeanon]

So How About That Batgirl #3

I didn't transplant my review of #2 here because there wasn't that much more to say, especially in regards to Lady Shiva (which is always the most important part of any comic with her in it for me) but #3, hooo boy, there's a lot to talk about for this one.

It introduces, or maybe just expands, a concept that kinda had me feeling a bit nervous but eventually won me over, and still has room for some fun narrative trickery. So I'm gonna go ahead and post my full review of the issue down here:

Picking off where #2 left off, #3 starts with Shiva and Cass on a train heading out of Gotham to meet some allies in their fight against the unburied. And Cass is noooot happy about it.

These opening pages follow the same character dynamic we've seen so far, with Cass openly rejecting her mother's remarks while inwardly rejecting her mother in general -- her inner monologue constantly reassuring herself that Shiva is a lonely manipulative monster while Cass is a good person, clearly to try to chase away the guilt of leaving everyone behind. The desperation in Cass' inner voice to paint Shiva as an unredeemable monster is very palpable and very good in the face of everything that's happened so far.

But the next pages made me a little concerned, with Shiva berating Cass while goading her about her relation with the batfamily. And while we've seen Shiva take jabs at that before, notably in Hill's Outsiders, back then it felt more pointed (and a little meta, what with the whole "He won't even let you be Batgirl" thing), while here Shiva's comments on languages, while true in a way, felt more openly cruel. Bordering on villainous.

Had the issue stayed this way, I would've been very worried about this whole arc turning into yet another milquetoast "Evil bio mom, good found family" yarn. But then the track switches.

The lion's share of the issue is dedicated to introducing the survivors of the Order of Shiva, who have dedicated thier lives not to just worship the deadliest hands on Earth, but to study, learn & better themselves through her example. Which is an idea that could've gone very wrong. Personally? I think this is kinnnnnda neat. Mostly.

The thing is, I've never been a fan of Shiva having any kind of cult or organization built around her. I think it's the kind of stuff that can weigh her down and, at worst, just be used to make her more of a pure villain, like in Dixon's RICHAR DRAGON run. But in this issue, the idea slowly won me over with how Brombal uses it to explore two overlooked aspects of Shiva:

The first is that Shiva, at her best, tends to inspire others. Just by entering a person's life, Shiva, tends to change their perceptions of reality, of what's possible. When Shiva entered Vic's life, she indirectly got him to question a lot of things about how he viewed reality. Same with Dinah and, yes, Cass herself. And this order seems to be entirely built on that idea of Shiva as someone who makes people rethink everything (albeit with way more altruism than Shiva herself).

The other thing this whole scene explores is Shiva's dualities and seeming contradictions, her nature as both destroyer and restorer. Which is something I'm always happy to see, especially nowadays. But this is also where my one big problem with this issue lies: it pays a lot of lip service to Shiva as a healer without actually showing it.

A mention is made of Cass rejecting Shiva's help, but an actual moment of Shiva using her healing skills, to me, would've really helped support High Priest's Jayesh gushing praise of that dual nature.

Just a couple of panels of her doing some funky pressure point head massage, it's all I'm asking.

Beyond that, I do have one nitpick that's just about the one thing that keeps me from fully embracing this idea, and that's Shiva's level of involvement with the order. Jayesh drops a hint of how he met Shiva, and she seems to care at least a little for him and for the Order, but there's not a lot said about how much she helped them build and maintain it.

If they're all people who ran into her, had their minds opened and built an order around their idea of her, that's one thing. If she helped them build it then that's another. Her small moments of caring do seem to indicate she's also warmed up to them, which would suggest some relatively high involvement, which I don't really like. I'd much prefer the order being something that Shiva is aware of but keeps at arm's length, a bunch of well-intentioned groupies that, like the issue says, follow her example rather than her orders. The bottom line is that I don't like anything that Shiva seems to be too attached to, but even if she was, I'm still mostly OK with this idea.

Anyway, the final leg of the issue is dedicated to a very entertaining chase and fight across the rest of the train that's a delight to see. And while my copy's all digital, I imagine it's way better in paper. Miyazawa and Spicer clearly have a lot of fun with these pages and it continues the run's interesting dynamic of Cass and Shiva never being fully in sync during a fight, always fighting each other as much as whoever's all around them.

But apart from the action, the thing that rang a lot of bells for me was Cass' narration as it insists again that Shiva is nothing but a monster and that Cass is nothing like her, eventually flowing towards a very heroic list of all her family members and their core traits that's very nice and heartwarming... and desperate.

Because the narration in this scene all reads to me like Cass arguing with herself. It reads desperately like her trying to chase away the dual thoughts that her mother may not be a complete monster AND that she herself, Cass, really is a lot like her mother.

Hell, the scene is literally Cass running away from Shiva, punching through what she sees as undisputable proof of her mother's lies while checklisting the family she does want and love, physically and mentally fighting against even the possibility of Shiva being worthy of more than her disgust. It's not Cass rejecting Shiva for being evil, it's her trying to reject the evidence that she may have something resembling good in her.

So the whole thing takes a very heroic cliche, Cass naming all these loved one to give her strength, and turns into a flailing flurry of mental gymnastics from Cass to allow herself to keep rejecting Shiva, to maintain this inner image of her as a monster while refusing any connection with her. And it's all pretty compelling stuff.

The issue then ends with one final surprise as Cass runs into the rest of Shiva's allies: a resurrected Nyssa Al-Ghul, Angel Breaker and a brand new character we'll apparently learn more about next month. So yeah, this was an interesting issue. The pacing of the arc is still a bit slow, but with all the players (hopefully) at the table and three issues to go, I hope the rest of the arc will pick up steam and keep chugging along smoothly.

I wasn't expecting the Order of Shiva to get much more play after #1. I certainly wasn't expecting them to get expanded like this. And I definitely didn't expect it to win me over this much. Minor quibbles aside, I gotta give props to Brombal for the obvious thought he's put when laying down these tracks for Shiva, and I'm definitely in for the rest of the ride.

(then again, maybe I'm just being blinded by the intense relatability of my man Jayesh over here. I feel you, brother. Hope you survive this arc)

[perihel1on]

This has been stewing in my drafts for awhile as I try to get my thoughts together, but, this post has given me a lot of peace. (This kind of turned into a personal essay under your post... my apologies).

I'm in an unusual position as a (mostly) interpreted-singlet who spent a number of years as interpreted-plural. Though I'd wager it's slightly less unusual than it seems, and most people with similar experiences simply abandoned or deleted the blogs/spaces where they previously talked about being plural. Anecdotally, I've seen at least one other person openly discuss an experience similar to mine.

In my teenage years, I was psychologically disintegrating from a variety of pressures on me, and I suppose I do mean that rather literally. I never experienced the very sharp discontinuity characteristic of DID, but I was some level of dissociated near constantly for years. I was desperately lonely and very suicidal. Without my alters, I do believe I wouldn't have survived.

I never "made up" being a system. Interpreting my experiences that way made the most sense to me at the time. As I began to heal, I dissociated less and became less fixated on my inner-world and sense of self. I never discussed it openly here, because I felt ashamed, and worried that I'd be accused of either faking or suppressing my alters. But I quietly stopped talking about them, quietly retired (most of) their sideblogs, and quietly used my "system tag" less and less.

But - if you go look at my "system tag" - you'll notice I still use it occasionally. I do still sometimes have experiences that are at the very least system-adjacent. I still dissociate sometimes; now and then I'll get the phantom physical sensations I always associated with Naph; sporadically, my thoughts will take the form of back-and-forth chatter that sounds like a conversation, or default to "us/we"; I'll seem to hold multiple conflicting opinions on the same topic. A few months ago, Ada (our caretaker) talked me down from an anxiety attack while I drove home, and that was an experience so distinct I can't really refer to it any other way.

Previously I would have obsessively interrogated these experiences, trying frantically to fit them into a cohesive picture of self or selves. Now I really just let them happen as they happen. Overall, for me, personally, I think it's healthier to interpret everything as part of one very fluid identity. But when something seems to challenge that, I don't worry about it too much, either. It's a sort of radical self acceptance, I suppose.

For the most part, I don't "miss" my alters, and I also don't "regret" having identified as a system. I'm very grateful to my alters and everything they did for me, but for the most part I now view their strengths as my own. I still have sideblogs for a few of them, but I see them more as places to express distinct facets of myself. I still don't feel like I have a strong, central identity - a lot of facts I hold about myself come with a question mark. I suppose I could call us a median system, if I wanted to... I'm just not sure I feel the need for labels anymore.

I very rarely see the grey area acknowledged and I don't think I've ever seen it put so succinctly as "interpreted-singlets" and "interpreted-plurals". Other than the one other person I mentioned before, I'm not sure I've ever seen it suggested that it could be reasonable for some people to migrate between or be able to interpret themselves either way. This honestly helped me come to terms with it more, to the point I felt like I could talk about it publicly like this.

So, sincerely, thank you.

Hey uh, not sure if there's anything to elaborate on wrt the "wanting to be plural is a symptom of being plural" post, but is that true? Because I've been avoiding that possibility, if only because I've been so sure that it isn't a possibility. I don't really know what I'm saying here it's just, could that post really be true?

So we thought we were the only ones selling this kind of perspective to people, but recently pluralrespect on neocities (which we already liked re: intrasys relationships) started including something similar, but with more structure.

It breaks down like this: Singlets choose to interpret their personal experiences as being one person. It gets privileged as the default because that's how we're socialised, but a (usually unconscious) choice is being made to view all their experiences - including kinda plural-coded stuff like code switching, masking, genderfluidity, weird dreams, varying vibes day-on-day, internal conflict, etc - as representing a singular identity.

There are also a lot of people who's experiences can't realistically be interpreted singletwise - folks that experience switches with totally separate memory is an extreme example. The plural explanation is the only thing that makes any sense of it at all.

This creates this big grey area that encompasses all those interpreted-singlets with kinda-plural experiences, and those interpreted-plurals who could reasonably interpret themselves as singlets (again) if they wanted to. Within this grey area, you have the wiggle room to observe your personal experiences, and conceptualise your identity one way, or the other way.

One of those ways might feel more "right" to you, more sensical, more comfortable, safer - so in that sense, yeah. wanting to be plural is a symptom of being plural. Fantasising about what it would be like to understand yourself in the other way is probably a sign that you should try it - see how thinking of yourself that way feels, just for a day or whatever. If it's too weird, go back. If not, keep going.

Now, letting yourself have an open mind may invite experiences that make a singlet interpretation less sensible - so only test the waters if both possible conclusions are safe for you to have. Outside of that, you can always change your mind - so, give it a shot.