#like imagine attempting to slander someone for like

[the-final-sif]

im genuinely getting so annoyed by some people's attitudes... like atp it's just gossiping and fear mongering. and like let's say, hypothetically it turns out to be true? i still stand by not believing it straight off the bat cause that way this information has been disseminated has just been widely disappointing.

Yeah, like, even if all of this ends up being true, which just to be clear I am not saying that is or that I believe that it is.

Something ending up being true doesn't mean you should trust bullshit rumors and trust things you cannot verify. Things do end up being true sometimes, but that doesn't make it right for you to repeat it without there being actual evidence of something. People pull shit like this and then wonder why so many people trust misinformation about Dream from their high horses. It's the exact same behavior, thought patterns, etc.

This is not really our business. This was very clearly Karl talking in private to other people, and that's his business? Sometimes people shittalk or have a bad day or their words get taken out of context. Tones get misread, people don't think about what they're saying, etc. Karl isn't being accused of like, being sexist or racist or harassing someone or anything of the sort. It's some bland ass comments that we have no context for the time and also him not wanting to go to france????? Apparently????? Something that was irrelevant because he didn't like, cancel his flight on purpose???? He just maybe didn't feel excited about going???? Literally what was that even included for???? None of this is our business, it's very clearly someone attempting a smear in bad faith, regardless of how real the messages are. And I do not give a fuck. I have no desire to be intruding on cc's private messages with friends and taking the 4 times they maybe said something vaguely negative about someone and assuming that means that they hate someone else for all time now. That's just high school shit.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

that one guy - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader has an off feeling about this one guy... so spencer has a look at said guy

genre: fluff wc: 0.8k warnings: boyfriend!spencer, r wears a dress, made up womanizer character named tristan, drinking, blond guy slander a/n: anon request!

We all know that one person.

The one that everyone likes–the one that always has the most charming smile and the most lovely personality.

In this case, it’s that one guy. All of your friends love him and you, well, don’t. It’s just a certain something about him. He’s too squeaky clean for someone who jumps from girl to girl, calling them all crazy afterwards. Every last one was either a stalker, too clingy, or so batshit that he had no choice but to dump her over text.

But nobody thinks that’s something odd.

Especially your friend that fell for him quicker than what it takes for him to write a goodbye note. You warned her, over and over. Yet, she stuck up her nose and called you an unsupportive friend.

Which is preposterous, by the way.

Your mission for the night is to find a reason why this guy is so bad. Because, right now, you’ve got unfortunate dating history and a hunch. Call yourself a journalist.

Instead of doing this all on your own, you’ve called for reinforcements. Very cute reinforcements if you do say so yourself.

Your boyfriend, Spencer Reid, the profiler he is, is going to help you get some insight on this guy. Hopefully being a male will also help.

The party was supposed to be a simple get-together for your friend group but, how parties go, too many people found out and the guest list multiplied.

Your hands smooth out the fabric of your mini dress as you look at yourself in the mirror.

“Ready to go?” Spencer asks, peeking into your bedroom.

“Yeah.”

The party is less of an ordeal than you imagined. The house isn’t filled to the brim with ass-hats with red Solo cups–instead, there are guys in suits and girls in mini skirts.

Not frat assholes, but snooty assholes.

Yes, music is still blaring and you’re sure this is Spencer’s worst nightmare, but it’s less get drunk and pass out on the couch than most of the parties you’ve been to.

“Is he here yet?” your boyfriend wonders aloud, hand on your back.

Your manicured finger points to a blond–of course he’s blond–standing and talking to a short guy in a tux by the drink table.

“Allow me to introduce you,” you grin ironically. You drag him by the hand while he never loses his grip on your waist.

The man is tall with a wicked smile and a face that says my dad owns the place, do you want to go upstairs? That face unsettles you.

He looks down at you and yells over the music, “well, hey! I didn’t expect you to come. I thought you’d be knitting or something…”

“I don’t knit.”

He nods, taking a gulp of his scotch. “Who’s this?” he asks, pointing to Spencer.

“This is my boyfriend! Spencer.”

“Tristan,” he introduces himself before his eyes find you again, “I didn’t peg you for the boyfriend type,” the man smiles like it was a compliment.

“Right.”

Your eyes meet Spencer’s for a moment before you turn back to your enemy (no, that’s not an overdramatization).

“I’m going to get a drink!” you hum in faux pleasantness.

The excuse to skedaddle was obviously not believable considering the assortment of alcohol was quite literally right in front of you.

Spencer’s gaze follows you until you’re impossible to spot even with a magnifying glass. When he turns back to the slightly shorter man, his eyes are fixed on where you–and your short dress–were last visible.

“You got an interesting girl.”

“What’s that mean?” your boyfriend attempts to sound curious, not protective.

Tristan shrugs dismissively.

“She’s… someone that gets old fast.”

Your heels click on the tile as you enter the kitchen. Everyone here is dressed so nicely. The bustling atmosphere both overwhelms and exhilarates you. Sparkling faces and smiles surround you as your fingers wrap around a flute of something bubbly. It fizzes all the way down your throat. Your brain keeps floating back to the conversation you’re missing out on.

It’s only when you feel a large hand on your shoulder that you don’t feel like you’re missing out on all that much. “Let’s go,” Spencer mutters before an awkward smile that makes his lips press together in a flat line.

You aren’t so upset to leave.

His words come out strung together and garbled while he guides you out of the party, “I don’t mean to–uh–be controlling or anything, but you should… stay away from that guy.”

And, you know what?

Yeah.

“The amount of misogynistic, conservative, and frankly perverted things that I had to listen to…” he shakes his head and his voice raises an octave to say, “also, the way he talked about you! Honestly, just, for your safety–”

“Spencer,” you giggle, spinning to cup his face. “I really just wanted an excuse not to talk to him.”

Those pretty teeth of his peek out thanks to a pretty smile. “Okay,” he laughs.Your feet bring you down the porch steps swiftly. A soft (albeit childish) giggle leaves you before you squeal, “also, his name is Tristan.”

[stellasdrafts]

Wanted/Woman (Arthur Morgan)

Summary: two stranger outlaws find themselves captured by bounty hunters (Arthur Morgan x outlaw!Reader)

Word Count: 3.8k

Content: female reader, capture and bindings, violence and death, light gore, mentions of infertility, forced proximity, manipulative reader, enemies? (not quite but they dislike each other) to tension, crude language, male slander

Notes: surpriseeee new hyperfixation (dw will still be writing for leon too!! just added a new fictional man to the roster yum). i imagine mid-honor Arthur for this :) (also idk shit about guns so bear with me thanks). this is kind of an amateurish attempt of mine at criticizing misogyny bc i’m pissed off about today’s political climate. cliché on purpose.

The last thing you remember before going dark is the stinging pain of being pistol-whipped in the face by some bounty hunter’s grimy revolver.

As your consciousness comes to, you see flickering firelight from behind your eyelids. Even before you open them, you mentally curse at yourself for even letting yourself get in this situation in the first place. You had always prided yourself on your talent of finding secluded areas to camp out in. As well hidden as they could be when your picture was plastered on fences and announcement boards across three states with a bold, capitalized WANTED above it, anyway. You suppose you had gotten comfortable – sloppy. You slipped up and somehow those bastards found the shitty abandoned house you were using as a hideout, ambushing you while you were stubbornly focused on patching up a hole in one of your boots.

It takes you a moment to gather your surroundings in the haze of post-unconsciousness. The tent you’re being held in is hot, despite it being dark outside. The air is thick – stuffy and incredibly unpleasant. The smell of animal carcass lingers on the canvas as if it had recently been used to hold some hunt. You hear the muffled sound of men discussing by the campfire roaring outside – something rather serious, you assume by the tone of their voices. It doesn’t sound like too many of them, only two by the clean back-and-forth flow of their conversation. Somehow, the most obvious detail of your capture is the one you register last – the burn of rope at your wrists and feet, and the warmth of another body at your back. You’re bound to someone.

Your heart rate picks up at the sudden realization and you tug, beads of blood drawing at your skin. You’d typically consider yourself a rational person, but with the fog of having just woken up, your brain jumps to the worst conclusions. There’s no way of knowing if the person behind you has been shot dead already, they’re completely still… That is until he speaks.

“Would you stop that? Rubbin’ your wrists raw won’t help either of us.”

Take a breath. You’re better than this. The bounty hunters outside are men, and now you know the person behind you is one as well. Maybe some good old feminine charm could be your ticket out of here. It wouldn’t be the first time your conniving passive woman act got you out of scrapes. They might kill the man first, anyway.

You look around, making sure to make him feel you squirm. Your breath quickens and you summon a more proper accent. You won’t go down. Not like this. “W-What the hell is happening?”

The man’s body shakes lightly behind you – the sonofabitch is chuckling. “Oh, quit playin’ dumb. I saw you when they brought you in. You got posters from here to Colter.”

You make sure to yank at your ropes the way a panicked woman would. He hisses at the pain and you’re glad you don’t have to hide your prideful grin. “No, I don’t know what’s going on! There must be some mistake!”

The hunters haven’t even checked in on the two of you yet, but by the timbre of their conversation outside when you awoke, they’ll get the gist of this one too, and you’ll be damned if this stuck-up man leads to your demise.

“There ain’t no mistake, woman.” Looks like there won’t be any fooling this guy. He must be in the business, you assume. “Tryin’ to play the damsel in distress won’t help you any, so quit your whinin’ and stop pulling at the damn ropes.

“I’m not!” You sniffle. “M’not who they think I am!”

You may as well feel his eyes roll. “Right. What’s your name then?” You give him your usual decoy as he attempts to sit up straighter. “And what’s got an innocent thing like you in this kind of trouble?”

“I don’t know!” you cry. “I was mending some clothes when they burst in my house and knocked me out!” you recite with ease. It wasn’t a total lie, after all.

The man listened to your sob story, wanting to get a read on you, you presume. “Is that right? You were… just sewin’ when they magically came out of the woodworks and took ya?”

The goddamn attitude on this man… “Yes!” You start crying again. “Oh god, this can’t be real!”

You hear your companion let out a heavy sigh. “Alright, cut the dramatics, darlin’,” he grumbles. Twigs snap outside and both your heads whip in the direction of the two hunters’ shadows near the flaps. He lowers his voice. “I know you’re puttin’ on that act and it’s getting’ real old. It’d only work on someone dumb as rocks so-” he’s interrupted as the two bounty hunters waltz in, surely having heard you wailing seconds prior.

You flinch hard and make yourself fall to the side. You’re a pathetic, blubbering mess – the complete opposite of what they’ve surely heard of the outlaw they were chasing. You will make them doubt themselves. Manipulation is your specialty, and men are so simple minded~

“Please! Please-”

The captors look a bit startled by your distress. One of them, the bulky one, kneels down at your side. Men just can’t help themselves, can they? They just have to save the pretty tormented girl. He tries to soothe you by placing a grubby hand on your knee. “Calm down, sweet thing.”

You try to hide your recoil. It’s not like you can scoot backward anyway, since you’re tied to the pessimistic wanted man. “P-Please, will you just tell me what’s going on?” You blink with tear-soaked lashes, being a convincing little housewife.

The hunters share a look, as if silently trying to contemplate the legitimacy of your cries. The bulky one returns his attention to you, seemingly placated. “We ain’t gonna hurtcha unless you give us a reason to, sweetheart. We’re just here to bring you down to the sheriff’s office.”

You hear the other wanted man scoff behind you. Surely, they weren’t actually falling for this?

The taller one hanging back grins cockily. “Gonna get us that nice little bounty on your head,” he adds.

It’s your turn to bite back a scoff. Little? There’s nothing little about a hard-worked two-thousand dollars on your head alone. You’d even been dubbed Bullseye.

For your own sake, your eyes go wide as saucers, as if you’re truly repulsed by the idea of having committed any crimes. “Bounty?! That’s impossible. I’ve never sinned in my life. Please, there must be a mistake-”

The tall one chuckles and you feel flames of anger licking at your insides. “Oh, there ain’t no mistake. You must’ve done some reeeeal bad things. Bounties like that ain’t given out for no reason.”

The bulky man nods to corroborate his friend’s words, but judging by its slowness, he seems a bit more apprehensive. “…You seem too soft to have a bounty of a couple grand on your head.”

Your new wanted companion whistles from behind you, impressed.

“Goddammit, Wilson!” curses the tall one.

There’s the crack you need. You keep pushing, sensing the foundation crumbling between the two. You shake your head feverishly. “I don’t know who you think I am! I’ve told you my name. I’m a housewife. M-My husband’s name is Elijah. Really, I barely ever go out. I don’t know what’s going on here.”

The two idiots glance at each other again, brows raised. Wilson tilts his head. “Roberts, maybe we fucked up. I mean, look at’er! The law has been after the girl for years. The… The posters are old. They’ve been up so long that they’re kinda faded… Maybe her and Bullseye really do just look alike.”

The tall one – Roberts – doesn’t answer right away. You’d venture to guess he’s more trigger-happy than his partner. “I didn’t see no husband inside the house.”

“He’s off on business in the next county at the moment.”

Again, they seem to communicate without speaking aloud. Wilson stands with a groan and nods in my direction with urgent eyes, evidently commanding Roberts. The latter steps forward with a sigh, his arms crossed. “Fine. I’ll bite. If that’s the truth, miss, how long you been married?”

You smile weakly, pretending to recall a memory. “Since my Elijah and I were nineteen.”

“All this time and no children?”

You drop your shoulders and strategically let your smile fade. You’ve been waiting a while to use this one. “No, sir, I been having… issues,” you admit shamefully. And you’re so proud of yourself that you hope even the non-believer tied to you is starting to wonder if he accused you of being a liar a little too quickly.

Both the hunters are taken aback at that. A woman shouldn’t be talking about private matters to strangers. The dumb bulky one breaks the silence first. “I-I’m sorry about that, ma’am…” he mumbles awkwardly.

You nod solemnly and wipe a skillful tear from your cheek with your shoulder. “I begged him not to go- begged him! A-And now I’m tied up-” You gasp and try to put some distance between yourself and the man you’re tied to, but it only yanks at both your binds. “Does that mean I’m tied to a killer?! Oh God!” you cry and squirm violently.

Wilson raises his hands the same way one would calm a horse. “Ma’am, calm down-” In an attempt to calm you down, he grabs a knife from his belt and cuts your wrists’ bindings while Roberts rushes to make sure the other outlaw doesn’t try to pull some stunt. Unlike yourself, he leaves him fully bound and secures him to one of the tent’s support posts.

Now that you aren’t back-to-back with him, you catch a glimpse of his face for the first time. Oh shit. You recognize him immediately – it’s impossible not to, not in your line of work. That’s Arthur Morgan, one of Van Der Linde’s men. One of his most feared men, actually. No doubt he has a pretty bounty on his head as well.

You don’t have time to dwell in your thoughts because that half-witted hunter speaks again. “I won’t untie your ankles, though. Can’t have you runnin’ off on us until we’re sure you ain’t it,” he says with a chuckle.

You want to punch that condescending little smirk right off his face… But you can do even better.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of running.”

“Well, that’s good ‘cau-”

He trips over his words when you snag the knife from his naively relaxed grip and jam it into his neck with all your might. As he topples over, you swiftly grab the revolver from his holster and shoot Roberts a couple of times in the chest before he can even react.

“Goddamn fools,” you mutter as you undo the rope around your ankles, seemingly unfazed by a tied-up Arthur Morgan some feet away from you.

Even writhing on the ground, Wilson disturbs your newfound peace, gargling on his own blood. You roll your eyes and put a bullet between his own. Standing, you stretch your limbs, rubbing where the rough rope had dug into your skin. You retract the bloody knife from the bounty hunter’s neck, giving it a twirl. It was a pretty knife, engraved with some intricate swirls. You earned it.

You finally look up at Arthur. “You were right, I s’pose.”

“Seems that way,” he replies, carefully watching every movement of yours. You’d seen that look in men before. He was trying to gauge if he was going to be the next recipient of your wrath.

You grin and lean back against some crates, enjoying seeing such an infamous man be so unsure. “Now, what to do with you?” you ask rhetorically.

You watch as his eyes go from the dead man at his feet to your calm figure. Evidently, you had managed to impress him. Pride swells in your chest. He nods toward his bound ankles. “Well, are you going to get these off? That would be greatly appreciated,” he inquires dryly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You hum, giving the knife a couple more twirls. “I bet, Van Der Linde.”

The outlaw raises a brow, otherwise utterly composed. “So you know who I am… Or at least who I run with.”

“Mhm.” You trace the edge of the bloody blade with your index. “You’re no small feat, Arthur Morgan.” You push off the crates and nod at the corpses on the dirt. “They would’ve lucked out.”

“I’d say the same for you,” he replies, his gaze unrelenting.

The two morons had spoken your alias, but it’s the fact that Morgan recognized it that sticks with you. A sick sense of satisfaction bubbles within you at the knowledge that your name has been spread to one of the country’s most notorious gangs.

“Well ain’t you sweet,” you quip sarcastically.

Arthur looks down at Roberts, mere inches away from him. “Your aim on him could’ve been a bit better, though. Too far right.”

You? Aiming anything other than perfect? You scoff, your eyes narrowing as you search through a sack on the crates for your confiscated guns. “I don’t have to let you free.”

“And I don’t have to be pleasant,” he retorts gruffly, and for a second, you’re reminded of who you’re talking to. The adrenaline from your victorious escape begins to simmer down and you realize that perhaps you shouldn’t be speaking to an accomplished killer this way.

…But you’re one yourself.

You look over your shoulder with a smile. “You’re tied up, hun.”

The man scowls. “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Amusing, this one. But perhaps you aren’t exactly in the position to have Dutch Van Der Linde and his boys on your tail for taking out their best man. You sling the bag full of your belongings over your shoulder and crouch before him, pushing Roberts out of the way with one foot. “I can’t see why we can’t be amicable, can you?”

One of his brows quirks up. “Depends on your definition of amicable, miss,” he dryly speaks your family name.

“Charming manners.” You tilt your head. “I reckon we ain’t that different, you and I. Two of the most notorious criminals. Everyone knows our names. We were, well-” you gesture to his bound current state. “-both tied up. On the same team, if you will. We live the same lifestyle. I don’t see the point in goin’ off and tattlin’ on each other.”

Arthur lets out a quiet huff. “So you’re suggestin’… What, an alliance?”

“I’m suggestin’ silence. You go off without worryin’ about me sending the law after you, and I do the same.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?” He’s skeptical, and you can’t quite blame him after he’s just witnessed how you swindled those men.

“It’s a two-way street, Mr. Morgan. I’m the same as you, it’d be hypocritical to turn you in. Plus, I don’t quite care to alert the law of my presence by going in to report you.”

You can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Fine. But I’m not forgettin’ this.”

But his mention of an alliance lingers in your head. You hold up a finger. “On second thought, I’ve got a better idea. More fool-proof terms, if you’re hesitant to trust me.”

He rolls his eyes, obviously not enjoying being at your mercy. “And what would those be?”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “It’d be idiotic for members of the same gang to snitch on each other, wouldn’t it?”

A look of realization washes over his face. “It would,” his voice drops lower, not liking where this is headed.

“Then, I’ll be joining the Van Der Lindes. I’m tired of sleepin’’ with a pistol in my hand.”

His expression shifts, seemingly amused by your conviction. “Oh, are you?” he retorts with a chuckle. “What makes you think they’d even let you in?”

You grin. “You knew exactly who I was when you heard those twits call me Bullseye, that’s what.” You stand up straight. “And you’re going to give me a shining recommendation.”

“Am I, now?”

“Mhm… Or I could throw you on my horse out there and we could have ourselves a nice little ride to some sheriff’s office. I figure Saint-Denis would have the most intense security. You don’t think they’d recognize me if I just rode by and dropped you on the doorstep, do you?” You jeer as you rummage through the tent, looking for anything of value to take.

Despite your threats, a small smirk creeps onto Arthur’s face. He takes a moment to study you, weighing his options.

“Confident, ain’t ya?”

“With reason.”

A beat. You just stare at each other.

“Can you untie me already? We’ve got a lot of ground to cover to get back to camp.”

[mixtapesandwintercoats]

women=scapegoats

Just my opinion.

TRIGGERING WARNING: SA/ SH

When did the word woman become synonymous with scapegoat? As I see the news each day, I realize this is the world we seem to live in. In light of recent events regarding the attempt to destroy the career and livelihood of a fellow actress and woman , I have felt compelled to write this, as I have unfortunately been subject to the same toxic masculinity throughout my life. In my recent career, I’ve brought forward concerns about a male colleague and was deemed “hysterical.” I was told my fears were figments of my imagination. Now, as I’m seeing this pattern pop up more, I realize this is the norm.

I, like a lot of women, had hope in change —especially in the latter part of 2017 when many brave women came forward during the #MeToo movement. There seemed to be an uprising, a new wave of recognition for those who had been abused, degraded, slandered, silenced and it was loud. But it was the kind of noise I can only liken to a firework. It can wake you up out of a sound sleep, it burns so bright and shocks the shit out of you but then, it burns out — just like that. And when the smoke in the sky clears and the ashes and debris are swept away from the sidewalk, behind closed doors —to them— we are still just noisy women.

So we all go about our business until the next wave of injustice comes.

With the #MeToo movement, it felt different. People were annoyed (by people, I mean men and anyone who enables abusers). Annoyed that they might have to change their own dehumanizing behavior. I remember the shift from “yasss!!! Go women!!!! We are woke af!!!! We got your back!!!!” To “god, didn’t these bitches have their moment a few years ago? Get over it”. As if centuries of women being underpaid, undervalued, under-appreciated, raped, harassed, terrified and used for the benefits of dick-wielding heroes would be erased because you commented on your second cousins #MeToo instagram saying “stay strong”.

It was a pat on the head, a consolation prize accompanied by an eye roll as if we were just all constantly complaining that the gas station didn’t sell our preferred brands of tampons.

When a suit was filed against me by a former employer, (the suit was withdrawn), after making a confidential complaint against a coworker for unprofessional behavior, I had the silly and naive impression they would believe me. I am not known as a liar in my field of work, no matter how vocal I may be. Hence, why I’ve been working for 25 years. Instead of being believed and protected, a suit was filed against me for having the audacity to speak up. I was publicly shamed and defamed in the process. A reputation I had cultivated for over 2 decades had now been tainted as I became the crazy, paranoid and to quote directly, “hysterical and wild” woman, who apparently just had it in for men. My previous abuse was also brought up as “unfounded claims”, and I was made to seem like someone who just goes after men, rather than being seen as someone who has been dealing as a professional in this world, since I was a child, standing up for herself. This was after I had taken all of the recommended, reasonable and appropriate measures of reporting confidentially to my union.

The experience left me with a lot of questions, of the professionals in my industry, of the public, and of men.

To the public… I often wonder why are we always so excited to see the takedown of a woman? Why are we always so quick to defend a man after he is accused of bad behavior, but if a woman speaks out… she’s clearly a liar? I’d like to think it’s because we are supremely afraid to believe the truth that these things actually happen. I’d like to believe it’s some form of indoctrinated denial. However, time and time again, I find most people believe the approval of a man is far more significant than the burden of supporting a woman. For men, it is always innocent until proven guilty. For women it is the opposite. “Prove your fear.” “Prove your discomfort.” “Prove your pain.”

This MUST change.

And to men, I first wonder… if you complained about a coworker and you were called a liar… how would you feel? You probably can’t answer this because most likely, statistically, it’s never happened to you. Men are usually believed because so many “bosses” are men.

I will say this to those who have such a difficult time believing that women are truthful: do you know what happens to us if we report anything?

Do you know that most of the time when a woman reports a concern about a man, the burden of proof lies solely on us?

Do you know how it feels to be treated as a second rate citizen solely because we don’t have an appendage we can stick into anything we feel we own the right to?

And yet… you need us. You can’t charge your phone without an outlet right?

And is that all we are? Outlets? Something you can take your anger and vitriol and push that into us and onto us?

It leads us to the impossible double-edged sword we face everyday.

If we don’t speak up, we’re weak and aiding in the problem.

If we do, we are over dramatic, bitchy, bossy, divas.

Do you have a sister? Do you have a daughter? Do you have a mother? I’m sure you do.

And so here we find ourselves again, in a vicious cycle of crucifying another woman for speaking out against a man. Watching as the world splits in two over who is telling the truth, no matter how much evidence is presented. Because how could a woman do anything but lie or exaggerate?

So I ask you this:

How can a man do anything but lie when he is consistently told his deceptions are gospel? Are we forever to hold the burden of being “perfect” to be victims and to be believed?

To change the narrative, we do not need more women to scream. We just need a lot more men to shut up and listen.

-abbie

[iamgonnagetyouback]

ivy !! happy holidays !! 🎄✨

could i pretty please request something with regulus and holiday baking ? much love to you babes, thank youuu 🤎

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ regulus black and the case of the mysterious cookie thief (it’s you)

synopsis: ever since you stepped into the kitchen with regulus, he’s made it very clear who the real baker is. but that doesn’t stop you from stealing chocolate chips and making him blush in the process content warnings: excessive amounts of fluff, proceed with caution, reader’s chocolate chip addiction gets exposed, regulus being unfairly good at baking (and looking good while doing it), accidental flirting that turns into very intentional flirting, mild blushing, mostly from regulus (but maybe you too) inspired from: these prompts by @scealaiscoite author's note: nicole!! happy holidays to you too, love!! thank you for the sweetest request! much love right back at you, babes! ‹𝟹⠀

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 696

The kitchen smelled heavenly, the aroma of sugar and butter swirling in the warm air. You sat on the counter, legs swinging lazily, watching as Regulus worked. He moved with effortless precision, measuring out ingredients like he’d been born to do it. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed up to his elbows, and there was a little smudge of flour on his cheek. It was unfair, really, how someone could make baking cookies look this... attractive.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up, his voice smooth but tinged with something almost bashful.

“Am I?” you replied, tilting your head and letting a smirk tug at your lips. “You sure you’re not just imagining it?”

“I’m sure,” he said, finally meeting your eyes. His cheeks were faintly pink, though he tried to play it cool. “You’ve been staring for the past five minutes.”

You shrugged, leaning back on your hands. “Can you blame me? Watching you bake is like... art. Only better, because there are cookies at the end.”

“Right,” he said dryly, though the faint smile on his lips gave him away. “And here I thought you were going to help.”

“Help?” you echoed, feigning surprise. “Regulus, my job is to be the taste tester. And the moral support. You know, the unsung hero of the operation.”

He rolled his eyes, turning back to the dough. “How selfless of you.”

“I know,” you sighed dramatically. “It’s a thankless job, but someone has to do it.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath about how impossible you were. You didn’t miss the way his lips twitched, though, like he was fighting a grin.

“Alright, taste tester,” he said after a moment, holding up a spoonful of dough. “Since you’re so dedicated to your role.”

You leaned forward, taking the bite with a hum of approval. “Mmm. Delicious. But I think it could use... more chocolate chips.”

“Of course you do,” he said, eyeing the bag of chocolate chips suspiciously. “Probably because you’ve eaten half of them already.”

“That’s slander,” you said, crossing your arms. “I’ve eaten, like, a third. Tops.”

“You eat one more handful of chocolate chips,” he said, giving you a pointed look, “and I’m sending you to the shop to buy more.”

You gasped, placing a hand over your heart. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would,” he said, smirking now. “And you’d go, too, because you know I’m the only one who can save this disaster of a baking attempt.”

“Disaster?” you repeated, mock-offended. “Regulus, I’ll have you know I am bringing unparalleled charm to this kitchen. The cookies are practically baking themselves just to impress me.”

He laughed then, a soft, genuine sound that made your chest feel all warm and fizzy. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, here I am,” you shot back, grinning. “Enhancing your baking with my delightful company.”

He glanced at you, and for a moment, his teasing demeanor faltered. There was something softer in his gaze, something that made your stomach flip. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Wait, was that... a compliment? From Regulus Black himself?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said, turning back to the dough, but you didn’t miss the way his blush deepened.

"Too late! It already did." You grinned.

“Just pass me the sugar before I regret letting you stay.”

You handed him the bag, unable to wipe the grin off your face. “Admit it, you’d miss me if I left.”

He didn’t answer right away, focused on the dough. But then, just as he started stirring, he murmured under his breath, “Maybe.”

It was so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. But you did. And it made your heart race.

“What was that?” you teased, leaning closer.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, though the pink on his cheeks gave him away.

You laughed, leaning back on the counter and swinging your legs again. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“Just sit there and be quiet,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his words—just a soft, hidden smile that made your chest feel warm all over again.

"Gladly."

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[ultravioletlightwaves]

I'm having a great time with the Bruins locker room drama. God, I just can't stop thinking about it. Every possibility is so delicious.

Possibility 1: Radio Bro made it up, whole cloth, to try to drum up some interest in his show, a tactic that is of course brand new to the world of Boston sports talk radio. The impact in the room is minimal but Brad is one sleepless night away from bringing a civil suit for slander against this guy.

Possibility 2: There is no truth to it, but someone in the Bruins front office fed Radio Bro this story in an attempt to solder the team back together through perceived adversity or whatever. High risk/high reward. It works, but if the team ever finds out that this was planted by one of their bosses the emotional tanking will be epic.

Possibility 3: There is a kernel of truth. There really was some small disagreement in the room, frustrations boiled over after a bad loss, etc etc. It's no big deal, these guys have played together for a long time, sometimes you just get in your feelings. When someone leaked this minor incident to Radio Bro, he spun it up into a huge fatal hate parade. No matter what he says in the media, most of Brad's rage is directed towards figuring out who might have squealed.

Possibility 4: It's all true. Pasta is dragging down the room, and he really asked to never play on Brad's line again. Brad has started rageposting on social media and rageresponding to irl media as a last-ditch smokescreen to hide the Bruins' dirty laundry from the dirty masses. He's getting desperate as control of the locker room seems to be slipping away through his fingers. Things are only going to get more unhinged from here.

Possibility 5: There's no truth to it whatsoever, but only Pasta and Brad know that. Everyone else in the room thinks they hate each other because they don't understand that the relentless chirping and harassment is out of love. Anyone could have leaked it. Brad spends the rest of the season baffled that no one on the team seems surprised by the rumor.

Possibility 6: It's completely fabricated, but by a player on the team who leaked it to Radio Bro with intent to sow discord between Pasta and Brad. There is a player on this team acting like a jealous, jilted lover and Brad is frantic in his attempts to figure out who and why. Towards the end of the year revelations related to this turn of events cause a nuclear explosion of drama in and around the team.

Possibility 7: Something really wild that I cannot even imagine at this moment. But it's outrageous enough that David Krejci--known Marchand kisser and known Pastrnak groomsman-- gets called in to run interference.

[the-way-astray]

what is going on

let me take you back to half a week ago, when this first started.

it all starts with a simple notification. i click on it, thinking it's an innocent ask, or perhaps an anon wanting to pick a fight with me. i am a notorious keefe hater in this fandom, after all. let's see what the anons have to throw at me this time. if only that small, innocent, little me from four days ago had known. the notification was nothing short of a snake, hiding in the grass, waiting to strike.

it was alayda. she'd dared me to write something *horrified gasp* positive about keefe. she thought me, a notorious keefe hater, couldn't possibly have anything nice to say about my least favorite guy? well, i'd show her. i typed out a truly magnificent pro keefe essay, if i do say so myself. tumblr fought me the entire time, trying to delete half of it, but i persevered, and eventually posted it.

i had no idea what was coming for me. over the next few hours, i began to get truly heinous asks, questioning my commitment to my keefe hatred, and generally slandering my reputation. at the time, i'd thought this was as bad as it could get. but, oh. oh, no, no, no. as edaline ruewen said, "hindsight is a dangerous game". now i know that it could get worse than i could possibly even begin to imagine. and it did.

that same day, i got the ask. the one that changed everything. i responded in horrified horror, terrified terror, because i knew everything was about to change. and the next day, it appeared that other anons had followed in the first anon's footsteps. it was decided that me and keefe would be an enemies-to-lovers romance. our ship name was to be strieefe. an anon went to the official poll blog, @/do-you-ship-this-book-couple. i changed my ask box title to "KEEFE WOULD NOT LIKE ME" and got an anon about it. they started going to katie's ask box.

the debate ramped up. more people became aware. people, both anon and not, began to choose sides. i began offering badly drawn sketches to people who sided against this atrocious excuse for a ship. i should probably be making those instead of typing this out. whoopsie. i fought the anons that disagreed with me with a desperation akin to a rat caught in a trap, but my thrashing appeared to only attract more unhinged anons.

i then got my first anon that made a genuine attempt to explain why this horrible ship could theoretically work. they were wrong, of course, but i appreciate the effort. as i've explained countless times, the real relationship me and keefe would have if he were real would be one-sided hatred. i would hate him with a passion that can't be adequately described by the english language, and he'd be entirely unaware of my existence.

then! a miracle! an anon sent an ask to quil about strieefe, and i can only assume they wanted quil to analyze why we'd be good together. but quil, i never should've doubted quil. the response was a fantastically constructed analysis on why i was right about how i'd have one-sided rage toward keefe. but my delight dimmed significantly when i saw that fin, someone whom i'd previously trusted, had thrown his support behind this awful ship and even drawn fanart of me and keefe. i swiftly demoted him from the spot he had previously shared with max: "favorite fintanposter".

the anons got more unhinged. i began to be shipped with non-keefe main cast characters, sometimes monogamously, sometimes not. i bravely faced the assault, tearing the anons' arguments to shreds with my logical explanations as to why i would not be a good fit for any of them. this led to me posting a poll at the insistence of one anon, which is still open.

just as the waters were looking significantly less treacherous, just as it seemed i may make it to shore without drowning, a new development occurred. i got an ask from alayda, who as you may remember, is the one that started all this. this is entirely her fault. i'd expected maybe a heartfelt apology, perhaps a plea for forgiveness. but no. her ask was but an ominous warning, one i could not make sense of. i pondered the meaning as i stared at it. and then. horror upon horrors, it appeared in my inbox. i read through it in horrified horror, and my rickety little boat was once more swept out to sea.

it was a fanfic. a terribly written, horribly wattpad-ified, y/n-ish fanfic. i tore it to shreds thoroughly, taking pleasure as the scraps of the work of the one who had brought all this sorrow upon me fell in loose tatters all around me. i dusted off my hands and left it at that.

but it continued. even as i type this out, there is a part two to that horrific fanfic sitting in my inbox, which alayda is pestering me to post. there's also a part one to another anon fanfic, which is written relatively well, which arguably makes it even worse than alayda's. then there's yet another poem written about me and keefe by emelin, which also sits in my inbox, gathering dust as i attempt to piece the broken shards of my sanity back together.

all this to say, join the correct side of this debate. we have badly drawn sketches and braincells. be on the right side of history.

[twopoppies]

but surely their intention wasn’t to creat new larries. lol. Could you imagine?!? It certainly seems like a last ditch attempt to boost sales, and not specifically to isolate or ostracize larries. Unfortunately, we just bare the brunt and are the butt of this particular slander

I just find it very strange that they use Larry denials to generate press coverage. Because most larries I know don’t care to try and prove anything anymore. And literally no one was talking about Larry and then Louis is like, “and about Larry, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” Okay? So now you’ve got all these people thinking “thou dost protest too much”, and they’re looking into “this Larry thing.” And he’s all over the internet being linked to Harry once again. So what is it that you really want? Do you want us to talk about it? Or not?

Someone is keeping Larry alive and in front of the GP and it’s not larries. The question is why.

In reference to this

[kitkat-writes-stuff]

The Worst- Part II

part I, part II -Masterlist -Pairing: Luke Castellan x fem!Reader -Wordcount: 1.2 K (we are getting to a decent amount bois)

-Warnings: a broken nose, kids training to be soldiers, kids feeling like their duty is more important than their feelings (only hinted to), kids being oblivious… a lot of kids -Also putting this here bc it will already be a flop: i decided that i'm gonna accept requests for imagines! ''the worst'' will be two more parts long (four in total), and I already have a oneshot planned, but I can honestly use some inspo so hit me with your fantasies darlings

-Summary: Clarisse la Rue loves her sister dearly, don’t get her wrong. But there is only so many “I hate him so much” that a girl can listen to without wanting to punch someone

In the midst of the crowded training grounds, Y/N's exasperated proclamation reverberated through the air, echoing the sentiment of her frustration, and even making a few heads turn "I hate him! Like, if I had access to a phone, the first thing I would do would be slandering him on Twitter." Her words hung in the air, punctuated by the rhythmic sounds of her laboured breaths, a testament to the emotional intensity of the moment. It was meant to be a normal training session, but here they were.

The training grounds, typically the cherished domain of Clarisse, witnessed an unexpected twist as she extended an invitation for her sister to partake in the martial exercises. Little did they anticipate that this seemingly innocuous decision would unfold like a tragic tale, akin to the consequences of staring into the eyes of the mythical Gorgon, Medusa.

Contrary to what her laid back usual behavior could have people believe, Y/N wielded not just competent but formidable fighting skills, and perhaps even more than that, although she chose to downplay her own prowess. She really needed an ego boost, poor girl.

 Surprisingly, Clarisse, typically known for her brazen attitude, found herself offering advice on channelling pent-up anger, creating a paradox within their dynamic.

"Look, I can't believe I, of all people, am saying this, but you need to get out some pent-up anger," Clarisse urged, her eyes locking with Y/N's, a glint of determination reflecting in both their eyes. Y/N might have had the experience and the sheer strength as an advantage, but Clarisse was not one to go one without a fight.

In response, Y/N met her sister's gaze, revealing a distinct red glint in her eyes that bore the weight of their divine lineage, a visual and rather unsettling reminder of their connection to the god of war.

"Says the girl who tried to dunk a twelve-year-old's head in a toilet," Y/N retorted, unearthing an incident that had yet to be addressed between the two.

Undeterred, Clarisse countered with a potent argument, "Says the girl who loudly threatened to cut off a fellow head counsellor's fingers," opting for a strategic move to deflect Y/N's accusation.

Their swords clashed in the midst of this verbal sparring, the resonating sound capturing the attention of onlookers within the camp. Despite Clarisse's unwavering determination, even she couldn't deny that in a direct confrontation with Y/N, her sister held the upper hand, boasting both strength and exceptional skill. Well, Clarisse wasn’t the one who had devoted her life to beat another guy at sword fighting, so...

"He was tickling me," Y/N grunted in her defence, attempting to justify the seemingly drastic threat she had made.

With an eye roll, Clarisse retorted with a smirk, "Somehow, someway, darling sister, I find myself believing that you would much rather prefer for his fingers to be on you more, not less." A friend in Aphrodites’ cabin had her watching Pride and Prejudice. She might or might not have picked up on the language.

The verbal exchange evolved into a physical intensity, with Y/N delivering each blow without restraint, unveiling a relentless determination that hinted at a deeper conflict brewing beneath the surface of their sibling rivalry. The air pulsated with a charged energy, making it abundantly clear that this training session was more than a mere exercise: they might have been sisters, but their father only chose one favourite every generation. And there was only so far sisterly love could go when compared to the approval of the god of war. 

In the aftermath of the tumultuous clash that reverberated within the expansive training grounds, Clarisse found herself holding an ice pack to her nose, attempting to salvage some semblance of composure despite a burning pain. Y/N's apologetic words resonated in the air, "Clary, you know I didn’t mean to actually like... break your nose, right?" Clarisse couldn't help but reflect on the irony that her usually death-promising gaze might have been far more menacing if not for the ice pack an Apollo kid had provided.

It was a stark realisation for Clarisse—one thing to possess a temper worthy of Ares, the god of war, but an entirely different ordeal to have her nose inadvertently shattered by her crush-stricken big sister. Oh yeah, Clarisse knew about the crush. And if it fueled her sister like that… she needed to express it somehow.

Amidst the physical discomfort and emotional tumult, Clarisse couldn't ignore the revelation that had dawned upon her, independent of any disclosure from a certain daughter of Aphrodite (yeah Silena was the only reason she understood anything about social life). The truth became undeniably clear: all those seemingly vehement words of hatred were mere echoes of a deeper connection. Well, Eros and Thanatos were brothers or something, so it wasn’t a surprised that an emotion as deep as… the L word… could be mistaken for a hate as deep as the Underworld.

But the realisation didn't stop there. Clarisse delved into the motives behind Y/N's persistent obsession with surpassing Luke Castellan. Y/N was relentlessly driven to excel, that was for sure, but… that quest for superiority might have been an unspoken method to spend more time with him. She was good at expressing feelings like that. Her nose was a witness, or rather had been before it got shattered.

As the narrative unfolded, an unexpected player stepped into the intricate story: Luke Castellan, best friend to a daughter of Athena. Of all goddesses, Athena? His arrival injected a fresh layer of complexity into an already intricate tapestry. Y/N's pouted plea for forgiveness resonated in the charged atmosphere, and though Clarisse couldn't suppress an eye roll, a reluctant nod escaped her. Temper or not, she acknowledged that familial bonds, no matter how tumultuous, possessed a resilience that transcended momentary conflicts, solidifying the intricate strands of their sisterhood within the dynamic of Camp Half-Blood.

However, the scene took an unexpected turn as Luke Castellan entered, his eyes widening at the sight of blood on Y/N's clothes. "What happened here?" he inquired, concern etched on his face. He didn’t even try to hide it! Gods, had she really been that blind?

Caught in the unfolding drama, Clarisse, with an air of suspicion, eyed Luke. "Y/N accidentally broke my nose. You care or something?"

As Luke rushed to deny it, Clarisse couldn't shake the inkling that perhaps there was more to his worry than mere friendship. The charged atmosphere hinted at an unspoken connection, and Clarisse couldn’t help but wonder if that boy was really as dumb as he was sounding right now.

‘’Okay, I’m gonna go, Clary. I think Chiron will have some kind of punishment to deliver to me’’ ever dutiful, ever penitent Y/N. She might have wanted her father’s approval, but it came second to following the laws.

Clarisse didn’t know a lot of Latin, but she was sure that ‘’dura lex, sed lex’’ was something that could be applied to her big sister.

She just hoped that it wouldn’t conflict with her emotions, because seriously, there was only a number of noses she could get broken and of ‘’he’s the worst’’ that she could hear.

A/N: OK WE DID IT!!!! Srs though thank you for the support it was really unexpected. Ok so thoughts and prayers for Clarisse’s nose! Also I couldn’t resist making the reader hint at Twitter bc Ares talking about it in the show has me screaming crying and laughing. That’s all! Next part will be out… eventually. Taglist: @2hiigh2cry @mxtokko @niktwazny303 @honey-ambrosia @luvvfromme @lostinhisworld (that should be all but i might have forgotten someone! If i did please forgive me and make my crucifixion fast)(also lemme know if you want to be tagged in the next parts)

[indigosfindings]

Sherm Anon taking the opportunity to send a more substantive ask - your recent post about defending yourself against a perceived worst-faith argument really resonated with me. I very often find myself thinking along the lines of "if I offer an extreme example for sake of argument, I can prove [some point I want to argue] with certainty, but I fear whoever I'm talking to will immediately invoke "well you're just making my point sound scary to slander me." It doesn't actually happen often - growing up autistic, I think I've long since been pushed out of spaces where that's more likely to happen - but I'm often thinking about it. What are your thoughts on that? Do you ever/how often do you find yourself in the position of having to say "I know this seems like a bad-faith hypothetical, but I need to convince you (the listener) I mean it genuinely?" Or even what I think is the broader thing of "I recognize this point comes off as trivial so I have to put in extra effort to prove I'm still operating in good faith"

the way it tends to manifest for me is an instinct to overclarify for the sake of pre-empting a hypothetical counterpoint, and it's an instinct im constantly forcing myself to reassess lmao--like, i'll voice an opinion then think "what could somebody say in retort to this? do i need to grapple with this theoretical argument before it's been made?" and tbh i think sometimes it IS beneficial to address such a counterpoint, but it's extremely easy for that to spiral into ceding legitimacy to an imagined bad-faith arguer--for example, if i say "i really liked this movie, but there are aspects of it i wish were better", i might imagine a person who comes along and replies "ugh, so you HATE this movie and think that everyone that likes it should kill themselves?!" --and in anticipation of this imagined person, i might be tempted to tack on "just to reiterate: i DID LIKE THIS MOVIE and i HAVE NOTHING AGAINST ITS FANS"... the problem with that is that (a) in doing so i indirectly legitimize the arguments of a person who is ultimately making an active effort to misconstrue me for the sake of picking a fight, (b) worrying about this creates a heap of undue stress, & (c) that person is still going to appear in my comments no matter how much time i spend clarifying and caveat-ing

there are two questions i find myself asking: first, "who would raise this counterpoint?"--ie, is it actually a reasonable point that someone would conclude in good faith? or would it be a deliberate misinterpretation, or semantic pedantry, or an attempt to provoke me? & second: "if i add that clarification, what will it look like?"--ie, from the perspective of a viewer, will it look like im preempting a natural question? or will it look like im clumsily trying to defend myself against a nonsensical counterpoint, or like im desperate to convey something about myself to the detriment of actually making a point, or like im afraid of my own shadow?

[horizon-verizon]

One of the worst quotes of Alicent is, “Mayhaps the whore will die in childbirth” about Rhaenyra. People often quote it as fact, but that’s funny because Alicent didn’t say that. The quote actually comes from Mushroom, one of Rhaenyra’s supporters, who, apart from being a famed liar, was with Rhaenyra on Dragonstone at the time. I’m just confused about why people claim Alicent said that to Rhaenyra?

"Mayhaps the whore will die in childbirth," Queen Alicent is reported to have said (according to Mushroom).

@guiboob

It's bc it's very believable to imagine Alicent do that when she herself has said to the same council that Rhaenyra plans to kill her kids if she were to ever take the throne AND she and Criston both have said, openly to said council, that:

bastards are "monstrous by nature"; default evil/dangerous

she & Daemon would make a "whorehouse" out of the Red Keep, both bc of Daemon's rep AND for R having bastards

being married to the "degenerate" (gay) Laenor

She also says "Bastard blood shed in war" in a desperate attempt to convince Rhaenyra from killing Aemond after hearing a rejection, so we know she's not likely above wishing Rhaenyra had just died in childbirth when that solves a lot of her problems.

(Yes, Alicent says this way later into the war and not around the time where mushroom says she said this, she was never, though, above using her power against child-Rhaenyra and, again, how she and Criston talked of bastards--2 of whom happened to be kids/legal minors--supports the image of her not caring much about people dying gruesomely to protect her own interests and her kids. And that's a more common than people want to realize in this world/these set of circumstances...even Ned contemplates about Catelyn about just how far and cold one might become or what acts [TOWARDS CHILDREN] they'd do if it meant their kids' lives and even just for "honor".)

Like these are both things Alicent has actually said to convince that council to help crown Aegon, yes for persuasion, but she was convinced herself the usurpation was necessary both for herself, her kids' safety and posiitons/rank/"rights", and was very faithful to the Fait of the Seven's doctrine...including gender roles bc of her family's history and contemporary relationship w/said institution.

All that being said, Mushroom was not even at KL for him to hear those words from her mouth. One might try to say that he heard that from servants when he did finally arrive at KL w/Rhaenyra, but it's a 50/50 thing when such info is coming form gossipy servants who themselves weren't in that secret meeting. Someone at the council could have said soemthing of Alicent saying that in passing or secretly, but it's too many "coulds".

It definitely is one of those things in the Dance portion of F&B that show possible slander against women (even amorally acting ones) that has a lot of plausibility to it, at least from where I am at.

[mastcrmarksman]

Cliff Notes Version of Main 616 Verse

Some of these events have happened through plotting, discord, and wire, and why you may not find the threads on my blog.

ZERO Upon clint's return to new york post freefall events and the headcanon/blog lore events of ohio (reason for going sober) [ see this post ]

ONE He has been attempting to go sober, he's had a few relapses and has almost given up a few times, his longest stretch and it'd the one he is on now is five and a half months

TWO He was recruited for the Thunderbolts after several rejections from trying to start a new team or move back out to the west coast

THREE Carol Danvers is his sponsor, who has helped him out and been a friend toward him when he hasn't thought he has had any left. ( @ / danversiism is the Carol )

FOUR Even after the months and time he has dedicated to the Thunderbolts, he still has not felt that it is his team or that they are doing anything meaningful and he has been an unhappy "leader" om probation

SIDENOTE Additionally, I think TBolts 2022 did a shoddy job with the whole PR centric team and in general, it'd a short read with poor attempts at call backs and does not treat clint with respect. So in taking inspiration some other comic events and media at the time

FIVE Roxxon is the parent company of the PR agency that Mayor Cage is using for the Thunderbolts. Helen is a very good PR manager, and perhaps doesn't realize, that Roxxon owns her agency, as Roxxon is generally a corporate evil and anti superheroes, Roxxon had funded the Underage Hero Welfare Act which wasn't a good thing, as it genuinely arrested children / young heroes and vigilantes and put them in "schools" and mistreated them and attempted to brainwash them.

SIX So based on that, you imagine the idea of if Marvel had given Tbolts 2022 an actual plot and cared about the team, if they had perhaps taken an angle like introduce Roxxon since in past few years, it seems we are gearing towards a crossover wild Roxxon takedown event (Tony's new run is literally going to be Roxxon-Stark war. Thor's run has Roxxon trying to slander Thor to the public)

SEVEN While Clint has been quietly back in New York, he encountered a disheveled (for lack of better term) Hank Pym ( @ / pympartic ) and takes him in. Gets Hank to doctors and Doctor Strange, and manages to confirm this Hank alive and Ultron free. Not wanting to alert everyone, due to his own worries about Hank and respect for Hank's wishes, he tells no one about his appearance and takes Hank in. Hank Pym becomes his roommate rent free, and honestly has helped Clint find some stability by having someone living with him. He's kept Hank a secret, letting Hank be the one to dictate who knows he is alive or not

EIGHT Additionally, consequences for Clint's actions, he truly does not own the Bed Stuy building anymore and it's one of his biggest regrets. He does not live in Bed Stuy anymore, his new apartment is a two bedroom in a different neighborhood in Brooklyn arranged by Tbolts PR Manager, Helen, who happens to have a key by the way (canon fact).

NINE The combo of asking Carol's advice and her becoming his sponsor along for the fact, Clint has been living with Hank Pym and seeing him recover from his traumas, has lead to Clint really trying these days, and always managing to get back go sober because he likes being sober after his slips, as well as it has led Clint to opening his eyes with how dissatisfied with the state of the Thunderbolts.

TEN His roommate, Hank, has begun to make contact with more and more of their mutuals friends, letting them know he's alive and doing well amd this eventually leads to Clint getting back in contact with a lot with a more people.

ELEVEN Such as Tony ( @ / transistorized ) whom Clint has since asked for help from and announced he wants to be an Avenger again and is in the process of quitting the Thunderbolts, once he gets out the contract he signed but didn't necessary scruntize over details. Additionally, Tony has been kind enough to offer to help Clint and Hank out by allowing them to move into an old brownstone he still has (since your pr manger/boss having keys to your apartment is a red flag).

IN SUMMARY Clint's sponsor is Carol, he's sober and going on 6 months soon, he is quitting the Thunderbolts, focusing efforts to be Avenger worthy, he's moving into a vacant brownstone Tony owns, his roommate is Hank Pym back from "the dead" and he'd reconnecting with people such as kate bishop ( looks at dani @ / purplearchcr ) , steve rogers ( looks at dean @ / shieldslinger ), as well as making new connections ( looking at Cass spider zombie @ / spiderz0mbie ). Clint's in his recovery and redemption era.

This is in general the details I am working with when I write with everyone, and is my main 616 setting and plotlines I am developing or have had an increased interest in writing. So if you see these mentions in other threads, now you know.

There is going be shipping in this main verse in which Clint and Hank are gonna smooch (aka Pow and I are severely brainrotted over Hawkant. Clint should kiss his friend, should marry the old Ant Man and adopt kids with him).

Yet here's a little disclaimer / reminder. I am still multiship

(I love all my ship partners and the verses we develop 💜💕 shout out to lynn, aurora, archer, rain, rocky, pom, and ce. I love our ships so much i am looking at all of you)

I do have other 616 verses beautifully crafted with other writers/friends and based around my ship partners and our ships, and I have posts for those somewhere, or I will make a new own when I redo my connections page, but hey if you're writing partner you're my bestie and we could develop verses too).

[une-sanz-pluis]

I often see people believe that one of the reasons why Margaret Beaufort is suspected of killing the prince is that medieval women also participated in politics, had great influence and ambition, and believed that she could not be discriminating against women... Well... it's strange that no one thinks medieval women have no influence, but they are not as influential as men as a whole. Noble women in England were unable to inherit titles for a long time, had no independent land, could not work in parliament, and could not join the battlefield. So, they cannot bear the same crimes as men. Not admitting that these are hypocritical.

I'm not that comfortable with talking about the late-stage Wars of the Roses because it's a subject I've not done a lot of research on, nor have I read much about Margaret Beaufort because early modern/early Tudor England is just not of interest to me.

On one hand, yes, noblewomen were politically active, able to command loyalty and influence, and had their own ambitions. Their power was largely "soft power" (i.e. influence) that meant that they couldn't exercise power in the direct way that a nobleman could. Someone like Isabeau of Bavaria, for instance, couldn't reinforce her position as regent for her husband, Charles VI of France, with military might and her positions often depended on who was well-disposed to her or even to who had custody of the king and herself. Nor could women participate in the same kind of chivalric culture that men could - Gwen Seabourne argued this was why women tended to be imprisoned, rather than executed, even when their treason was beyond doubt, such in the case of Constance of York, Lady Despenser.

On the other hand, the medieval mind could conceive of a murderous noblewoman quite easily. Elizabeth Woodville, Eleanor Cobham and Joan of Navarre were all accused of "imagining" the deaths of Richard III, Henry VI and Henry V respectively through witchcraft. Jacqueline of Hainault and her mother, Margaret of Burgundy, were rumoured to have been involved in a conspiracy to murder Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, and Jacqueline was also alleged to have had her uncle poisoned. Valentina Visconti was also rumoured to have attempted to kill the Dauphin with a poisoned apple only for her only child to eat the apple instead. Obviously, these examples are mostly allegations and slander and whether these noblewomen were really were guilty is unknowable.* But the truth of these allegations is beside the point. The point is that the medieval individual certainly believed that noblewomen - or at least, a certain kind of noblewoman - could plot the death of a political rival. Even, in Valentina's case, a child.

So it is not Margaret Beaufort's gender that prevents her from similarly plotting the Princes in the Tower's deaths. What makes it doubtful, imo, is a total lack of evidence and the frequently contradictory claims of Ricardian histories.

We lack any evidence that it was contemporaneously believed or rumoured that Margaret was involved in the deaths of the Princes or that she was viewed as an ambitious, ruthless noblewoman who could, would or did murder her enemies. These are 20th and 21st century inventions that originated in Ricardian discourses and often are rooted in misogyny It's frequently pointed out that it is incredibly doubtful that Margaret or her agents had access to the Tower, much less access to such politically sensitive prisoners as the Princes.

The argument, if I recall correctly, usually goes that Margaret was connected to the Constables of England during Richard III's reign (Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, who conspired with Margaret in the lead up the first rebellion Richard faced, or her husband, Thomas Stanley), who had access to the Tower and thus the Princes. However, Helen Maurer, who first posited Margaret could have been involved in the Princes' death, pointed out a double standard at work:

Most historians nowadays, including those who do not care for Richard, agree that Richard as Constable would not have had the authority on his own to order the murder of Henry VI. We cannot have it both ways. On balance, it seems unlikely that any Constable would have had the power, without the king's consent, to order political murders of this magnitude. (my emphasis)

There is another double standard at work too. Philippa Gregory - who popularised the idea that Margaret killed the Princes - depicts Richard III as an entirely passive figure, who has to be talked into seizing the throne by his wife and mother for his own survival. It is Margaret Beaufort and Anne Neville who urge on the deaths of the Princes while Richard remains constitutionally incapable of even considering their deaths and is horrified by their deaths. Gregory would defend herself as taking a feminist approach to telling these stories but I do not think repackaging age-old misogynistic tropes of women relying on "seduction, manipulation, lies, and secret murder" to gain power while reducing the king - who wielded vast amounts of power and possessed far more agency than even the high-ranking women - to a passive, henpecked character who is manipulated and pushed into action by scheming women is a particularly feminist move. Indeed, the powerful, highborn man who is made suddenly passive as he is manipulated by ambitious, scheming seductresses is another ancient misogynistic trope. Indeed, these tropes are a stalwart of Ricardian histories and fiction.

* What I mean by "unknowable" is the fact that we cannot prove, beyond a shred of doubt, whether these noblewomen and queens were guilty or innocent. I have opinions on most these women's guilt or innocence - sometimes quite strong ones! - but I cannot prove them.

[aduains]

you do not know me but rest assured i know you, MISTER ERNEST BENNETT. you are the YOUNGER BROTHER OF LADY THORPE. you maybe be known for your GOOD NATURE but it is only a mask for the true nature of your RESTLESS ways. however, i am not here to spread slander on the queen’s jewels, though i suspect you are her BLUE KYANITE. the ton says your name reminds them of THE SOUND OF LAUGHTER FROM THE OTHER ROOM, WALKING HOME AFTER A LATE NIGHT WITH STARS IN YOUR EYES, MORNING LIGHT AND BIRDSONG FLOATING THROUGH AN OPEN WINDOW. how scandalous! you have been warned, dear reader, that i will prove if this is true and share every last detail. (luke thompson, thirty-four, cismale, he/him)

the basics

Name: Mister Ernest Bennett Nicknames: Ernie (for close family and only the closest friends) Faceclaim: luke thompson Gender: cismale, he/him Sexual Orientation: bisexual, biromantic Age: 34 Birthday: June 6, 1779  Marital Status: widower  Children: n/a Occupation: running the family estate (landed gentry) Pets: a greyhound named clover, who he took in after he found her wandering his country estate.  Residence: a moderately-large but very well-tended house in the countryside, modest lodging in london (modest being relative for someone in the upper class)  Positive Traits: good-natured, jovial, principled, generous  Negative Traits: restless, stubborn, prone to over-indulging, judgy 

aesthetics

Inspiration: fox mulder (the x-files), courfeyrac (les miserables), george knightly (emma), tom wambsgams (succession), gale (baldurs gate 3)  Animal: a hound  Tarot Card: the chariot Zodiac: gemini Element: air Mineral: blue kyanite Song: chinese satellite (copycat killer version) - phoebe bridgers

Backstory

the servants often joked that ernest came out screaming, making his voice heard, and never stopped. he was a rambunctious child, often wrecking havoc around the grounds of the family estate, tearing through the world without much of a care. but it was undeniable- he was happy.  after eton, he attended oxford university, where he continued a life lived enthusiastically. he excelled in the study of politics, but his true passion lies with literature and theatre- and he often feels that, if he weren’t expected to run the family estate, he would attempt a career as a playwright. after finishing his education, ernest traveled around europe for a few months, and would go on to make further trips abroad in the rest of his twenties.  he’d resisted marriage for longer than he ought to, only truly looking for a wife in the season after his 31st birthday. by the end of the season, it was clear that he had taken a serious interest in someone particular- so it took many by surprise when he was rushed into an engagement and an equally rushed wedding with lady agnes cunningham. some would remark on the uncharacteristic look of tension on ernest’s face at the wedding- as if (for the first time in his life), he was holding his tongue. the two were married for a little over year, and ernest was never seen in london after the wedding. it was assumed that the two were deep in the thralls of their whirlwind romance, and they were truly relishing in the honeymoon stage of their marriage- until agnes’s unfortunate death.  a year has passed, and ernest is back in london for the social season- and he has stopped wearing black, but he still seems a bit resigned compared to his usual, happy-go-lucky self. blame it on the grief, i suppose. 

Wanted Connections 

old friends from school- i think it would be fun to have other people in the ton that he essentially grew up with! ernest attended both eton and oxford, so anyone who would’ve been in either school around the same time as him would work for this. i think it’d also be fun to have a specific little friend group, like the sex in the city girls regency-style  bestie!!- the person he’s closest to, the person he trusts with his life. likely an old friend from school, but not necessarily! i imagine ernest has traveled more than the average gentleman, so it could be fun if they either joined him in his travels or even met on his travels!  enemies/rivals- ernest is warm and amicable… until he’s not. he loves his principles, and can be of a bit harsh judge, especially if he feels someone is acting in a way he deems “unjust”. he also isn’t afraid to instigate arguments or debates, making him a bit abrasive to some. he’s not unreasonable, but its not unlikely that he has burned a few bridges with his stubbornness and reluctance to concede.  the ‘almost’- someone he was on the brink of proposing to before his whirlwind marriage to his late wife. i think this could best fit a femme fc, and someone newly married, but that doesn’t have to be the case! budding romance- something very new and tenuous, but undeniable. ernest still feels it is too soon after his wife’s death to be courting anyone, so this would have come out of the blue. ernest is probably in deep denial about any romantic feelings, but there’s something magnetic there. 

[someprettyname]

So I was bored yesterday night and I took a few 'who's by bllk bf' quizzes...out of which on one quiz I got...

and this one particular quiz and it's questions made me realise....

CRAP❗❗

Everyone has that one character they find the most interesting/fascinating and notice the FIRST, mine was Kunigami.

Fuck. I still remember it. It was this scene...

And then he said "I like to play it fair." And my mind INSTANTLY ran back to all the moments and I realised he was NOT one of those mean guys who was at other's throat. (I mean, pardon. When I started blue lock that's how I summarised it in a nutshell : teenage boys at each other's throat to achieve their goal. I mean, it was pretty early on in the show so I didn't have individual opinions on every character.)

It was that moment that I realised he was actually a calm guy who had morals and principles (hot. Very very hot.) AND HE DID stick to them at all times.

I mean, even after wild card, he still does. Let's not forget that he did assist Isagi in his goal. He has gotten harsh with words, so what? He has gotten more cold, so what? He has become more of a lone wolf, so what?

SO. WHAT?

Let's sit down. I have a few things to say. [ Long post under the cut.]

I'll never understand why this fandom is SO mean to him. First of all, not all cold/rude guys are BAD. Besides, we haven't seen him interact with non-rivals/normal people after wild card. Second of all, honestly? What do y'all even expect? Have you not gone through a high stress period? Have you not been through a VERY INTENSE trauma in a VERY SHORT period?

If you haven't, you better not comment on my baby or i WILL fight you. 😠

Let's not forget he had to beat 264 HUNGRY AND VILLAINOUS guys in wild card. (I mean, our MC Isagi himself came to that point many times throughout season 1 where his dreams were at stakes. If those kids were so intense in blue lock can you imagine what would've happened in wild card? Yep. 100x worse. I wouldn't be surprised if there were sabotage attempts at him multiple times. Or if what happened at wild card is WAY worse than what we are expecting. Then would y'all come back apologising, just like you did with Kaiser?)

And as of what we know about wild card, a lot of factors were out of the control of a player. I mean, how your body is and whether you can shape it to be ambidextrous is NOT in your control. Of course in that case he worked the hardest to stay in the competition. He's still going VERY STRONG for someone who has pushed himself past his limits and overworked himself. (You don't understand guys, the changes he bought to his body...how much time did he even had for that? 1 month? 2 month? No. As someone who has been to gym and been on a good diet with muscle training and weight lifting, those changes are TOO BIG to be easily achieved in that span of time. If you do weight training you'd know how tough it is. Only then would you know JUST HOW MUCH my sweetheart boy pushed himself 😟)

I hope kaneshiro gives us more details about what EXACTLY happened in wild card. How was his experience there? What was done to him? But, even without that, anyone with basic empathy can say it wasn't a very good place to be. Your passion, your dreams at stake, you're overworking yourself and that too SEVERELY, and on top of all that you are CURBED of your orginal play style and have to copy someone else. That sounds HORRENDOUS. And he went through all that. He survived all that. He probably doesn't even realised he survived something which would have KILLED someone else. Literally. He's a damn warrior. Fucking give him credits for that guys. Why is no one talking about this? Y'all just make memes and slander him, which, fine. But no respect post? No character analysis?

We, as a fandom, have failed him :(

My baby 🥺 he deserves the world 🤧

And DO NOT FUCKING GIVE ME "geez what's so big about it? He can't play for Japan? There are other teams out there." No. Stop. Are you stupid? Do you not get it? His rivals, his biggest competitors are right here, in blue lock. If he or ANYONE for that sake, loses here, it'd break their confidence. Break as in SHATTER their confidence and self belief. Putting everything at stake and giving something your ALL without a plan B is SCARY. Sure thing he can play for other national team, but at the back of his head...that one voice saying "You're a loser. You lost to those guy who were competing to be the best. Leave alone being the best, you aren't even in the league of the ones aspiring to be the best." Do you know how tough it is to overcome it and shake it off? Blue lock is something all those disqualified kids were in for a few months, but the trauma of that failure they're carrying with them is gonna last....who knows how long?

If I could, I would take all the Kunigami hate and disrespect and direct it towards that monk boy. I DESPISE him oh my god. If anything, we should be thanking Kunigami (REO stans, I'm looking at you). If we look plot wise, he and Reo were at equal chances of losing at blue lock and of course, OF COURSE Reo was chosen. Mikage is not a character who was designed to someone who has the potential to survive wild card. Kunigami was someone who's muscle power and build was highlighted since the beginning. Besides, that match with Shidou (I don't count the monk dude as a player) must've served to humble REO. That's good atleast. The only way REO and Kunigami could BOTH survive after losing that match was this. So if Kunigami was chosen, REO would've been sacrificed.

I trust kaneshiro as a writer and that's why I'm so curious on what is he trying to convey through Kunigami's story. Is it the harsh and toxic reality that for some people, just good principles won't help you be successful and that you need atleast some toughening up and at least SOME amount of evil to excel? Because if yes, then FUCK YOU KANESHIRO. You didn't have to attack me like that. Ouch. That hurt.

By any chance, if you look closely, the day he beats Shidou I'll be the one cheering the loudest :)

Not because I have any resentment against Shidou. No. Not at all. But because of the metaphor that win would carry. :) [ and I love my orange head too much anyways ]

You might say, oh he has become so rude and villainous, and THAT'S THE POINT. He was NOT like this, and at the core, people don't change so easily. So if he's so hard on other people, can you imagine what he's like to HIMSELF? What self depreciation and roughness he puts himself through? If you're gifted with a good empathy or have gone through similar experiences in a way or the other, you might be able to tell.

Hm. That's enough yapping for now. I feel better. Now if you will, I'd like to go and fantasise wrapping him up in a warm blanket, give him hot chocolate, then lay him down on my lap, run my fingers through his hair (flufffff) and let him cry...or....vent. both maybe. Whatever he wants. Because, i don't know about you guys, but I still love him. And I have it in me to be strong for him and help him heal.

Kunigami Rensuke, Mi amor. You deserve the world. ♥️

[qqtxt]

[🎈] the music of surprise [🦊]

[!] this is for the 1k followers mini fics. click here to find out more! ✿ pairing: yeonjun x reader / idol!txt / non.idol!you / fluff / 899 words / unnecessary beomgyu slander (I'm SORRY) ✿ request: [music] + yeonjun (for our muses to sing / play instruments) ✿ note: i tweaked it (winkwink) slightly differently for this one! [main masterlist 🌸] / [event masterlist] / [tag: #qqtxt: 1k]

being in a relationship with someone who sings and raps for a living, meaning that oftentimes, the microphone went to him instead of you. when it came to instruments, he's the one excited to see it and even more to see your fascination and adoration when he serenades you at any given moment he has. now, not that you have a problem with that considering you love, love love listening to yeonjun sing or rap but imagine the surprise on yeonjun's face when he's taken a short break out of the recording room, only to return to see you fiddling with the guitar and your singing sending the shivers down his spine?

"you can sing?!" yeonjun didn't realise he was going to be so loud, but apparently he was to the point it made you jolt away from the guitar as he closed the door behind him. "junnie!" you chuckle nervously, attempting to put the instrument down but he's quick to kneel before you, gently pushing the guitar back onto your lap, "you never told me you could play..."

you see the admiration in his eyes as he peers up to you, hopeful that you'd continue whatever you were doing before and you can't resist it when he's looking at you like that. you sigh and shake your head, keeping your hold on the guitar as you lean back into the sofa, "i mean... i used to play a while back but it's been a long time since i played. i came here to visit you but you weren't here so while i was waiting i figured i could just..." you attempt to put the guitar away again, only for yeonjun's hands to carefully reappear to put it back onto your lap with a wide grin.

"could you play for me? sing even, if you're comfortable?" yeonjun asked so sweetly, that it felt like a sin turning him down. you're remembering all the times you couldn't fall asleep and yeonjun would hum a familiar, calming tune. sometimes it's a song you know, sometimes it's something foreign but it still manages to lull you to sleep. the only time he had ever heard you sing was during a belt-out karaoke session with the boys or your friends, even then he thinks you sound amazing (either that or he really, really loves you). so... what could it hurt?

you stable the guitar on your lap with an elbow keeping it in place, extending your pinky out to him to–"promise you won't judge me? i'm not a singer by profession so technically, i am allowed to be shit."

he laughs and shakes his head, but reaches out to lock pinkies with you, "never. i'll never judge you. now, please?" he lets go of your pinky so he can sit on his legs as he looks up at you, retrieving a pillow on the side as he hugs it, waiting in anticipation.

the thing that happens next is what completely makes yeonjun fall to his knees for you even though he's already on them. you're hesitantly feeling up the guitar, then, your fingers start strumming a tune of a lullaby he sings during difficult days that embeds in his mind. la vie en rose. it was simplistic, romantic... and yeonjun thought he couldn't love you more than he already did. he didn't even know one of his hands had unfolded from hugging the pillow, resting on one of your knees as you started to sing. it's soft, a little whisper-like but it echoes in yeonjun's ears and aims straight for his chest until he's holding onto his breath; afraid that if he breathes, he'll break this trance of being able to listen to you sing, let alone play the guitar whilst doing so.

you manage until the first chorus and promptly stop when you look up to see yeonjun pressing his lips to a thin line; features a bit unreadable for your liking that–"i-is it that bad?"

"bad?!" his eyes bulges, hands tossing the pillow so he can kneel up to grab you by the face, "baby, you can sing! how did you hide this from me?!"

"you've heard me in karaoke..."

"that's different and you know it. you singing here like this and screaming to bang bang bang with beomgyu is different."

you snort, finally able to put the guitar away and yeonjun half-drags you onto his lap, joining him on the floor despite the multiple chairs and sofas around you. "can i listen to you sing again sometime? you sounded really good," he murmurs, planting a kiss on your lips before pulling back to see you getting shy at the attention he's showering you with. your shyness doesn't last long when you squeeze yeonjun's shoulders, looking up to meet his gaze when you ask: "am i better than beoms?"

"oh, by a mile. consider him out of tubatu and replaced with you," yeonjun says without a pause. it makes you laugh, leaning forward to hug him and bury your face to his neck as he holds you. he can tell you're still growing to the thought of singing to him again or playing the guitar around him but maybe with time, one day, you'll be comfortable to do whatever you want around him and that's what gets yeonjun to smile as he nuzzles into you, staying like that for a while.