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semiweirdshipper · 10 months ago

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Slashers as fathers with a (teenage) reader.

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is a young teenager (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

Summary: The slasher fathers feeling guilty after hurting their child's feelings. PART TWO. Hurt/comfort addition.

Folks who wanted to be tagged. @hope4rain19, @minaxcarter, @brooke-stinson, @urminebutidontwantyou, @gaipplrhot, @gyarukitti, @raphydude, @thelxapeia, @ant1d3pre55ant5add1ct, @decentsoupperson, @kawaistrawberry21.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy sighed as he stomped to your room in search of his laptop. You had been in such a rush this morning to get to school that you had accidentally left it in there. And while he always respected your wishes for him to never enter your room, he really needed his laptop. Sacrifices need be made some times.

However, as Freddy wandered into your room, he was met with a sight that literally stole his breath. Your bed was completely littered with folders and painted canvas boards. There was a large portfolio bag laying on the ground with its contents scattered everywhere. Painting and drawing utensils alike sat scattered over a table with a still wet painting taped atop.

Eyes ridiculously wide, Freddy looked around and deeply observed the area. He didn't know you owned any of this stuff. Paintings, oil canvases, drawings and sketches, and all of them were yours. And each piece looked really, really good. Freddy couldn't believe what was happening right now.

He thought you gave up on art.

Delicately picking up multiple art pieces, a happiness and sense of pride rushed through Freddy's heart, and he found himself grinning big in a mixture of relief and utter joy. You still loved art, and you were so good at it. He hadn't destroyed your passion after all. That being said though... Why would you hide this from him?

Later that day when you came home, Freddy asked you to go to the kitchen. When you went inside, you froze right on the spot. There, scattered all across the kitchen table, were multiple art projects of yours.

"Dad..." You choked, your heart racing in fear, your words stolen from you, "I..."

"I needed my laptop and uh... Accidentally found these," Freddy explained, a happy smile covering his face as he went to grab your shoulders, "Sweetie, why would you hide this from-"

"I told you not to go in there." You almost shouted, tears blurring your eyes as you pulled away from him.

"Sweetie," Freddy took a step back, hurt by your defensive attitude.

You went to the table and quickly began to gather up your art work. Freddy chased after you to try and get you to stop, "No, stop it. Don't do that- just-just wait a sec, I-"

"I get it, dad, you hate it. You've always hated my art. You-just... J-just leave me alone. Don't touch it, ok," You avoided eye contact while scurrying to protect your work, "I'll put it away."

"No, that's not what I want. (y/n). (y/n), will you please look at me. Hey," Freddy placed a hand on your shoulder and kept you from stomping off, "(y/n), look at me."

With a tense body and watery eyes, you looked at him, art work clutched to your chest and a glare covering your face.

Freddy sighed and said in earnest, "That's not what I want. Your art, I love it. I think it's beautiful an-and amazing! I-I mean, all this time? Really? I thought you gave up on it, I... I thought that I..."

Relaxing, you lowered your arms and looked him straight in the eyes. It felt like your heart had just done a summersault in your chest. "You... You mean it? You... You really like my art?"

"I love it!" Freddy exclaimed almost too quickly, "I love it so much, you have no idea. You have no idea how happy this makes me, (y/n). I thought that I ruined art for you. I... I never stopped feeling guilty about what I did. And I always hoped that one day you would start again, but..."

"Dad," You bit your lip hard in an attempt not to cry. He cared. He actually cared, and he loved your art. He was happy for you.

"Here," Freddy went to grab an old folder off the table.

Suspicious, you set down your art and went to take the folder. When you opened it, you saw dozens of old, un-crumpled papers with very distinct, familiar drawings on them. It took a minute, but you soon realized that these were the very drawings you had thrown away when you were little.

"You... Kept them?" You gaped at your dad, your heart aching in a happy/sad way.

"Of course I did," Freddy's smile wobbled a bit, "I love you and I love everything you do, and I'm so, so sorry for making you feel bad, f-for making you feel like you had to hide this from me."

Lowering the folder, you felt your lips wobble as your heart clenched in great happiness and relief. All this time you believed your dad hated your passion. He had hurt you so badly, but he regretted it. He had always regretted it, and he loved your work.

In a desperate attempt to hide your tears, you rush up to your dad and give him a big hug. Freddy held you as tightly as he could, his arms fierce and protective as he said, "Don't ever give up on your art, (y/n). No matter what, please. I love you so much."

Michael Myers

Michael had wandered out of the garage a few minutes after your friend's dad dropped you off. "Me and (friend's name) are gonna grab a snack real quick, k dad?" You had hollered while rushing into the house.

Rolling his eyes a bit, Michael approached the other man who casually got out of the car. He was grinning big at you and his own kid, seemingly proud and full of joy. "My god, man," He said mindlessly, smiling at Michael, "I tell ya, that was one hell of a game today. Whoo, and (y/n)? My god, they were great."

Puzzled and confused, Michael could only tilt his head in wonder. Game? What game?

The man shook his head and gave Michael an even more puzzled look than he himself sported, "Hey, how come I never see you at any of their games? Rough job or something?"

Michael's silence and confused expression urged the man to explain more.

"You know, the (sport) game? Just had one today- what a show I tell ya. But, I just- I never see you there, you know?"

At that, Michael's eyes went unspeakably wide. (sport)? You were playing (sport)? What? For how long? Why didn't he know about this? He thought you quit playing that when you were little. What was going on?

A week later and Michael was sitting amongst the crowd that was watching your (sport) game. You didn't know he was there. You didn't even know that he knew all your secrets like the fact that you had been playing (sport) for years, how you had won two trophies, the fact that this is where you spent most of your time at, and so on and so forth.

While watching the game, Michael couldn't help but to feel a deep sense of pride, relief and great joy at seeing how passionately you played and how much fun you were having. And you were so talented at it. The other team didn't stand a chance. You had grown so much since you were little. To this day his own actions still haunted him.

He hurt you. He 'scarred' you. And, although you continued doing what you loved, you had still felt the need to hide it from him, for years. He did that. He had made you feel so anxious and insecure that you felt the need to hide your greatest passion from him.

What kind of father does that to their child?

Unsurprisingly, your team won the game, and Michael couldn't be more proud or excited. Once the crowd and commotion calmed down, he patiently waited on you to exit the changing rooms. The way you hid yourself...

Michael gazed around at all the happy families congratulating and/or comforting their kids. It crushed his heart thinking about the sheer loneliness you expressed after the game ended and you had no one to celebrate with aside from your team mates.

When you came out of the changing room, Michael straightened his posture and faced you. It took you a minute, but eventually you looked up, saw him, and froze. A gasp escaped your mouth while your backpack fell from your shoulder to your shaken hand.

Michael's chest ached at the sight of your frightened, horrified face as you frantically looked around as if for an escape. Quickly he approached you and said in sign language, "That was a good game."

"Dad," You stepped away from him, panicked, "I-it's not what you think-I... I-I was just-I'm..."

You were scared, Michael realized, guilt beating on him like a hundred hammers. He waved his hand at you to get your attention, "Why didn't you tell me you were playing (sport)?"

"I..." You stare at him in great panic that melted into sadness and fear. You dropped your backpack and covered your face, saying brokenly, "I'm sorry, dad. I... I didn't mean to. Don't be mad, please, I-I... I'll stop playing it."

What? Micheal rushed to you and went to gently pull your hands away from your flushed face. What had he done? "No, I'm not mad. Please stop panicking. I'm not mad. Not at all."

Confused, you look at him through tear colored vision.

"I just found out you were playing (sport). You even have trophies. (y/n), why did you keep this from me?"

"Because," You winced, "You said I wasn't good at it. You... You hate me for it. I... I just wanted to be happy. I... I didn't mean to..."

He couldn't believe how upset you were, and all because he found out that you were doing what you loved. Marching up to you, Michael pulled you into a big hug that lasted for several minutes. When he noticed you calm down, he moved back a bit and explained.

"I was an idiot back then. I never should have said those things to you, (y/n). I've always felt bad for how I made you feel. You're not bad at (sport) and I never wanted you to stop playing. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you feel this way."

You were shocked speechless, so Michael pulled you into another hug. You hugged back, relieved. He wasn't mad at you. He apologized. Everything was going to be alright.

Bo Sinclair

Bo lived in a very, very small town. Everyone knew each other and every piece of information that existed on the surface. Rumors spread and gossip filled the air like pollen. So it didn't take very long for Bo to learn that you had been practicing engineering with the car shop just down the road.

At first Bo had been ecstatic. You were still interested in engineering? He thought you didn't want to do that anymore; you said so yourself. Ever since the incident when you were little, you hadn't helped him with anything physically constructive- not even stuff as simple as hanging a picture on the wall.

Pretty much everyone praised you and said that you were doing a tremendous job. Your skill towards fixing vehicles was a natural, golden talent. You were an impressive, fast learner and everyone loved and appreciated you.

But when Bo tried to approach you about this exciting news, he was confused to hear you deny all of it. You shut his exclamations off and said that the towns people were lying. You claimed to have nothing to do with engineering. Yes, you hung around the car shop, but nothing was going on, you were just bored.

Bo didn't understand it. Why would you lie to him about this? He knew that the towns people weren't making this up- just ask the guy who took a picture of you and your buddies covered in grease while working on a truck engine. You looked so happy. Why was that something to lie about?

For the life of him, Bo could not figure out what was going on with you. Obviously you were lying to him, but he couldn't get you to explain why. It was as if you were completely and utterly avoiding him now, and it was driving him crazy.

So Bo reached out for help.

"Well," Your engineering teacher said in a tense tone, "I talked to em an' they said it's 'cause they don't wanna make ya mad."

"Huh?" Bo shook his head in exaggeration. What did that even mean?

Your teacher gave him a wearisome look, "I think they're afraid you're gonna blow a gasket on em if they do somethin' wrong. I take it that... you got a short temp?"

At that question, Bo was immediately rushed with memories of the past, and he found himself feeling overwhelmed with guilt and dread. That time he got mad at you when you were little, you didn't just give up on engineering. You gave up on everything that had to do with him. Was this why? Because you were afraid that he would get mad at you if you messed up or made a mistake?

You were afraid of his temper.

Coming to realization, Bo spent quite a while trying to figure out how he should approach you. He wasn't the best at emotions or having deep conversations. If he tried to explain himself he feared he would just say something stupid and cause you to be more upset with him.

So he waited for the perfect moment.

A couple weeks later, Bo dragged you to his shop to show you something that caused your mouth to fall open in awe. "Ram 3500, 2018. An' look at'er license plate."

Gasping the name of the state the enormous truck was from, you faced your dad with absolute excitement and disbelief, "Why's it here?"

"Ah, a little transmission trouble on the road," Bo smiled and slung an arm around your shoulder, "Nice huh? She's a beauty. Needs lotta' work, fast, an' I want 'you' to help me."

"What?" Your behavior changed drastically, "Dad-"

"Look, I've already heard all the gossip. I've seen ya work at the shop. I know you know what you're doin', (y/n)," Bo went to stand in front of you. "But what I don't understand is why ya don't wanna work with me."

"It's not... I just..." You sighed and looked at the ground, lost on what to say. A pain filled your chest as you admitted quietly, "I ain't perfect, dad, I... I make mistakes."

"And?" Bo pushed for a better answer.

His impatience and lack of understanding made you snap, "An' you can't handle that. Every time I mess up even the tiniest bit, you get mad at me. What do you expect me to do, huh? I'm only (age)."

Going silent, Bo relaxed upon learning what exactly your insecurity was. You were avoiding him because you were afraid of him getting mad at you for making mistakes. He did this. He put this fear in you, made you this way. And because of that, you were both teetering on the edge of complete life separation.

"(y/n)," Bo reached out and put a hand on your shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Your entire body froze.

"I... never meant to make ya feel this way. I know ya ain't perfect. You're still learnin' an' you've got a long ways to go, but... I wanna be there for you, (y/n). I wanna help you. I wanna watch ya grow, an' I can't do that if ya ain't around... I'm better than I used to be. So if you mess up, I ain't gettin' mad. I'm helping you, because that's what fathers do."

Shot by your dad's moving words, you find yourself staring at him for a long moment before a large smile bloomed across your face. "Right dad," You say, "Let's take a look at her."

With his heart skipping over the moon, Bo grinned and thanked the very stars themselves for this moment, and he lead you to your first shared project since you were a mere, little kid.

Hannibal Lecter

One night Hannibal got bored and lonely and decided to go to Will's house which was where you liked to spend lots of time at. He didn't mind you staying with Will, but some times he himself felt a little bit left out.

When he arrived at Will's house, he quietly made way up the stairs of the porch and temporarily paused just outside of the window. Casually peeking in, Hannibal spotted Will sitting at the dining table reading a newspaper while you stood in front of the stove in the kitchen. Your sleeves were clumsily rolled up and you had a apron on.

The motions of your arms and the state of the kitchen did not lie. You were cooking. You were quite literally cooking food right in front of him. Hannibal couldn't help but to release a small shudder of mixed emotions. It had been years since he last saw you cook- years since he demolished your feelings and forced you away from the passion you both once shared.

To see you cooking now? It made Hannibal erupt with questions and emotions. How long had this been going on? What were you cooking? Why were you cooking? How come he didn't know? Were you happy? Was this why you always spent so much time with Will?

Speaking oh whom, Hannibal watched as you handed out a spoon to which Will stood up to receive. Taking a taste of the spoon, Will made a bright face and reached out for a container of spice. You smiled, laughed and nodded, happily going to add some of the recommended spice to your dish.

Grinning, Hannibal couldn't help but to feel great pride. So, you could handle personal opinions and constructive criticism? What an astounding chef you turned out to be, and you looked so happy too.

Regaining his composure, Hannibal straightened his hair and went to knock on the door.

It took over five minutes for Will to answer.

By that time, things had grown to be rather chaotic. Now only did Will claim that you had gone to bed, but that he also was the one responsible for the late night meal.

Hannibal knew better though.

Whilst you pretended to sleep in the guest bedroom, Will and Hannibal stood in the kitchen gazing around at all your hard work.

"They told me what happened when they were little," Will said, a disappointed look on his face, "How could you say that to them, doc?"

Hannibal stared down at your unfinished dish, his heart clenching in memory of the past. "I spoke out of impulse. I didn't mean to cause them this much insecurity." To think you would go out of your way to lie to him. "How long has this affair been going on?"

"I don't know. Few years?" Will shrugged, "I was cooking macaroni one day, they asked to help and... The ship set sail, I guess."

"You reignited their flame," Hannibal huffed and smiled, "I'm grateful."

"Ever thought about apologizing?" Will asked.

"I have," Hannibal said softly, "However, they refuse to have anything to do with cooking."

"You told them that they were a horrible cook and a waste of time in the kitchen. What did you expect would happen?"

Hannibal bowed his head in shame. He hurt you, more than he had ever imagined. After all these years he believed that you had moved on and found different passions, but instead you clung to cooking and desperately sought hiding it from him because of fear. What kind of father was he to do that to you?

The next morning after the drive home, Hannibal kept you in the car to say, "(y/n). I know it was you who cooked at Wills the other night. I saw."

Having been dreading this exact conversation, you flushed darkly and turned your head away in great shame, sadness and fear. "I'm sorry."

"Please do not apologize," Hannibal cursed at himself for how anxious he made you feel, "I am more grateful than you could ever know."

That stirred a confused reaction from you.

"(y/n), you do not have to accept my apology, but I want you to promise me that you will continue to do what you enjoy, especially if it is cooking." Hannibal looked to you hopefully. "Seeing how happy you were... You have no idea how much joy it brought me. I thought I had destroyed your passion, but..."

Now completely facing your dad, your mouth was agape and your heart pounding furiously with emotions.

"I've always regretted what I said to you that day. It was rude and improper, and most certainly untrue. You are an astounding cook and I'm proud of you. I'm sorry that I hurt you, but, even if you do not wish to forgive me, I hope that you will always continue to do what you love."

Looking at your dad with watery eyes, you blinked and fought for the right words to respond with. All these years you had been terrified of your dad's wrath and disapproval when it came to cooking. He was right, he did hurt you, and the pain was still lingering inside you.

Even though what he said now brought you some form of relief and comfort, you couldn't help but to still feel a little bit of lingering hurt. "I... I need time." You reply quietly.

Hannibal nodded in understanding, "And time you shall have. I will always be here to support you."

If I made a part three, it could be about the reader still suffering some anxiety while doing their passion around their dad. And the slasher dads' will be nothing but happy, supportive and proud. You know, just casual comfort and fluff.

#slashers #dead by daylight #fanfiction #reader insert #father and child relationship #Teenage reader #platonic love only #slashers as dads #freddy krueger x reader #michael myers x reader #bo sinclair x reader #reader x hannibal lecter #lester sinclair #vincent sinclair #father figure

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txttletale · 4 months ago

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https://txttletale.tumblr.com/post/760752457583394816

I don't understand why every so often you reblog posts that are just plain and simply mean-spirited. There's criticism of copyright and people's delusions, and then there's outright nasty sneering "I hope your art gets stolen lol".

I don't know if you've ever had (say) a game you made just straight up reuploaded somewhere else without even your name on it but you don't have to be a "smol creator" with "petty bourgie dreams" to be upset by that or to want some recourse against that happening. I swear to god, this kind of petty cruelty will probably be the reason I unfollow you one day in spite of all your good analysis.

i mean i think it's fair to say that i am perhaps too jaded to Being Mean and taking hyperbolically confrontational or glib stances on the computer, i think that's something i could stand to work on generally because i, personally, think it does not contribute to nice times on the computer

but, like, i don't care what their motives are, people cheering on IP law and its expansion are enemies of art and culture itself. they hold a worldview that is corrosive to everything i value about art and i feel justified in being a little aggro about it sometimes. & i think you will notice that nowhere in the original post does it say "stolen", it says a bunch of things which i think are good to happen to art! the only one of these that is anywhere close to 'stealing' is 'reupoading', which is not 'stealing', and instead something which contextually ranges from 'heroic preservation of otherwise lost cultural works' to 'a dick move'

anyways i did not primarily reblog this post out of spite towards the small copyright jakeys, but because i think a world where the expectation is that the things you make will be remixed and interpolated and used and translated and scrapped for parts would be a better world for art and culture and the joy of creation

#ask

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lastoneout · 4 months ago

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It's also like super fucking infuriating to see people continue to argue that generative AI is the best way for disabled and/or poor people to make art because like, you know what helps make art more accessible? Giving poor and disabled people money.

Like take me for instance, I'm disabled. I get severe migraines and intense leg/back pain if I sit at my computer for too long, my hEDS makes holding pens and pencils hard, my ADHD makes it hard for me to start certain tasks and/or stop them before I potentially hurt myself, my neck also hurts if I look down too much, my dyslexia AND my ADHD both make it difficult to keep track of a story as I write and use correct spelling and grammar, plus, I need to prioritize taking care of myself and going to appointments and keeping my house clean and that takes up a lot of my free time. All of these things make creating the kind of art I want to create difficult if not occasionally impossible.

So what do you think would solve my problems better? Giving me money so that I can have a drawing tablet and desk chair that won't hurt my neck or back, another tablet + pen and a lap table and comfortable body pillows for drawing in bed, easier transportation to my doctors appointments, effective treatment for my chronic pain and migraines, the ability hire someone to help me keep my house clean, a spelling/grammar checker that isn't complete ass, and a therapist and psychatrist who can help me manage my ADHD better?

Or an AI program that takes my input and spits out a drawing or story made of stolen content glued together that, in the case of the art, I cannot meaningfully edit without starting over, which also destroys the environment in the process?

Seems pretty obvious to me. I don't need AI, I need help to manage the things that are actually stopping me from being able to write and draw.

Or take my mom. She's had severe rhumatoid arthritis since she was a small child, her hands are deformed and she relies on her wheelchair to get around. She doesn't need AI to help her paint, she needs special paint brushes she can actually hold, a table her wheelchair will fit at, and someone to help her with personal hygiene/keep her house clean/take her to doctors appointments so she actually has free time to paint.

Does that poor kid growing up in public housing with parents who are too poor to afford art classes or supplies or to send them to college really need a computer program to draw for them, or do they need support to help them take those classes, buy drawing supplies, and money so they can go to college.

Blind people can paint, deaf musicians exist, people with missing limbs find all sorts of ways to make art, people with parkinson's paint with typewriters, my mother can't hold a normal paintbrush and she makes some of the most beautiful watercolor paintings I've ever seen, Van Gogh had bipolar disorder and only sold like one painting when he was alive, I mean for real how many different artists have you heard of who's biographies start with them being born into poverty?

This is not meant to be inspiration porn, these people are just ones who were able to find ways to make art despite their struggles. They shouldn't have had to struggle at all, but god imagine how many more artisrs and writers we could have had if none of them had to overcome those struggles. It breaks my heart to think of all the wonderful art that never got to exist because no one helped the people who could have made it actually have the time, money, support, and safety they needed to make it. AI would not have saved them because making art isn't the problem, being disadvantaged is the problem. Living in a world that refuses to make room for you is the problem. Being fucking poor is the problem. Humans have always found ways to make art despite huge barriers, the solution isn't a computer that makes art for them, it's SUPPORT AND MONEY SO THEY CAN OVERCOME THOSE BARRIERS AND MAKE THEIR OWN ART.

As a last example: I love watching dancing and I would love to be able to dance, but I'm terrible at it(I got kicked off a dance team for not being able to learn the dance at all despite spending weeks on it, idk my brain wasn't made for dancing) and my disabled body makes it more pain than pleasure if not actively dangerous, anyway. Having a robot dressed to look like me dance next to me while I get to watch would not make me feel like I'm getting to dance. It would actually be extremely fucking demoralizing and frustrating. I would hate that!!

Having an AI spit out a painting or book would not make me feel like I got to paint or write a book. It's a fucking anamatronic doll running on stolen ideas and it will never be the same as getting to actually expirience the joy of creating art first hand. AI is not the solution. Helping people who need it is the solution. And I am CONSTANTLY pissed to think about all the time and money that goes into these fucking AI programs that would be better spent helping disabled and poor people get the help they need so they can make art themselves, all while the people running the nightmare plagiarism pollution machines pretend that their horrible inventions exist to help people like me.

#anti-AI #actually disabled

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gattmammon · 1 month ago

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Things that have actually happened inside my museum (im a custodian/security guard/floor guide):

- a child skipping about on an electric scooter. When we pointed out to his dad this was inappropriate he was like yeah they told me to leave it down at the entrance but he (meaning the child) made a sad face. Not even cried or yelled just literally "made a sad face".

- a woman straight up asked me if I could take care of her child (5-6 years old tops) while she walked away. Like straight up "can you take care of him while I visit the museum". When I told her no she said to me "why? What else are you doing?"

- a man angrily telling me i was stupid and italians don't know how to run museums and he was from new York and this would have never happened there because I asked him to use the exit to exit instead of the entrance.

- adult parent touching the artwork, getting reprimanded (from a distance and respectfully) and IMMEDIATELY turning to their child and telling THEM to stop touching the artwork

- people propping their phones against the artwork to take selfies

- "do you have a smoking room?" "...no?" *scoff* "you don't even have a smoking room?" I don't know what to tell you man we aren't a lounge bar

- girl turns on a vape. I tell her she can't vape inside, turn my back. She turns on the vape again. Because notoriously if your back is turned you cannot smell the foul candy cane vape shit she was smoking

- "where does this all come from?" And refusal to believe when told that most things came from like. A 10km tops radium. "You must have taken it all from somewhere!" Man I don't know what to tell you. Most fun was when I tried to explain to them the process of making a marble statue and they were like "AHA so you TOOK the marble from somewhere!" And I was like. Yeah. Carrara. It's like a two hours train ride from here. Like idk sorry if you thought you could do a whole display of performative anger at stolen artwork a Middle Ages and Reinassance art museum IN FLORENCE isnt the top choice, maybe I can give you the address of the local archaeological museum? They have a pretty massive Egyptology section, I'm sure not everything in there is on the up and up.*

*this is my interpretation of events I'm genuinely not sure what all that was about to this day

#this is miscellaneous people from all over the place including italians #i just singled out the new york dude because he really wanted me to know he was from new york and who am i to deny him that pleasure

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aishangotome · 7 months ago

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Elbert Greetia: Chapter 1

The sound of lapping waves fills the quiet room where I pierce a butterfly's back with a needle.

––Another beautiful thing acquired.

I gaze, as if in prayer, at the vivid scales of the butterfly, its wings spread wide within a frame.

With this, surely, the "two of us" can be happy.

Surely, surely––

One night and then another has passed since I witnessed a sight I shouldn't have in midnight London.

Though I escaped death by fulfilling my duty as a "Fairytale Keeper," time has passed without any sense of reality, and once again, I find myself in the darkness of night.

––I am about to accompany Crown on a mission for the first time.

Roger: Is the inn around the next corner the one in question?

Alfons: According to the information we received beforehand, yes.

Elbert: .......

Roger, Alfons, and Lord Elbert---

I was walking through London, shrouded in night, with my three companions.

Kate: A certain inn is being used as a temporary storage for stolen art... right?

As a "Fairytale Keeper," my role is to closely observe the actions of Crown, who is "cursed," and record their sins.

(I want to fulfill my duties properly, gain their trust, and be released.)

(My heart hasn't caught up yet... but I have to try.)

Roger: Lil lady, don't be so stiff.

Alfons: We're just going to investigate the situation, so there won't be any bloodshed.

... I'm sure of it.

Elbert: ..........

Kate: Thank you for your concern, Roger, Alfons.

(That's right... if my job is to record the sins of the "cursed," I need to know about their "curse.")

Kate: May I ask what kind of "curse" you all have...?

Alfons: Hehe, Miss Robin is quite the eager learner.

Alfons: Lord Elbert is the "Greedy Queen," Roger is the "Betrayer's Huntsman," and I am cursed by the "Mirror."

Kate: Queen, Huntsman, Mirror...

Alfons: Is it fate that those who appear in the same fairy tale should meet?

Roger: Haha. Team Snow White, eh?

Alfons: I find it very unpleasant to be lumped in with you.

Roger: Don't say that. Right, lil lady?

Kate: A-ahaha. Yes...

The two of them speak to me in a friendly manner.

I'm grateful for their kindness, but I can't help but force a smile.

(It's a fact that these people commit sins on a daily basis...)

(No matter what, I'm scared to look them in the eye and talk)

Elbert: ...What's wrong?

Kate: ...Huh?

Elbert: You stopped walking.

Lord Elbert's words made me realize that I had unknowingly created distance between myself and the others.

Except for Lord Elbert, who stopped for me, the other two kept walking ahead.

Elbert: ...Are you alright?

Kate: I'm sorry, I was spacing out...! I was lost in thought.

Elbert: I see. ...Be careful not to get lost.

Just as I was about to start walking again--

Elbert: ....!

A passerby bumped into Elbert.

Drunk Man: Hmm? What's this? A pretty boy, huh?

The man, barely able to stand upright, was clearly drunk.

Elbert: ........

Drunk Man: Let's have a drink, pretty boy. Your treat. Hahahaha!

Elbert: ...I'm sorry. I'm in a hurry.

Drunk Man: Oh? What's this? You wanna get that pretty face messed up?

Elbert was surprisingly unresisting as the drunk man clung to him.

(Something seems rather ominous...should I call Roger and Alfons back?)

Kate: U-Um...!

The next moment, anxiety and questions swirled in my head.

Drunk Man: Ugh...sob...why did you leave me...Eliza...sob...

Kate: ...Huh?

The man who was clinging to Elbert suddenly collapsed on the spot, crying.

(Why all of a sudden...?)

Alfons: What a ridiculous ability, as always.

Alfons, who had somehow turned back, approached Elbert and laughed, looking highly amused.

Kate: A ridiculous ability...you mean, Lord Elbert's?

Alfons: Yes. It awakens the saddest memories of the person whose shadow he steps on.

Alfons: In other words, it makes the person incredibly depressed and downcast.

Roger: The ability works better on people with painful experiences, but the difficulty lies in choosing the right target.

Kate: Downcast...

I stared at the man who still couldn't stand up, just crying on the roadside like a child.

(This is Lord Elbert's power.)

Having just witnessed William's devastating power that could force people to commit suicide, it seemed like a very small power.

But--.

Elbert: ...I'm in a hurry. ...I'm sorry.

Elbert, who had used that seemingly trivial power on the drunk man, looked sad, as if he had committed some cruel sin.

(...That's a bit unexpected.)

(I wonder if the cursed people aren't used to using their powers either.)

Elbert: ...Let's go.

As we passed each other, Elbert's hair gleamed under the streetlights.

I was unconsciously captivated by his golden hair flowing in the night breeze and his melancholic profile.

(...What a beautiful person.)

His beauty was so overwhelming that I momentarily forgot the fear I had for the upcoming mission.

Alfons: Now, it was the alley ahead, wasn't it? The inn we were aiming for.

Elbert: Yes.

It was Roger who tilted his head, looking at the dimly lit alley.

Roger: Something's strange. It should have been a cheap inn with quite a few guests.

Roger: ...There's only one heartbeat.

Kate: A heartbeat...?

Even if I strain my ears, all I can hear is the faint sound of the wind.

Alfons: Exceptional hearing is this man's ability.

Roger: Within a distance of about 100 yards, I can accurately tell who is where without even looking.

Kate: That's amazing... But does that mean there's only one person at the inn?

Roger: Well, that's what it comes down to.

Kate: How could that be...?

Alfons: There's only one way to find out.

As we turned the corner into the alley where the back entrance of the inn was located--

(...!!)

--a gruesome scene unfolded before us.

Several blood-soaked people were lying in the alley.

A vast expanse of blood stretched across the hallway, visible through the open back door of the inn.

Kate: ...Ah--

My instincts were screaming at me to run away.

But my feet were frozen in place, as if glued to the ground.

At that moment--

I was pulled back forcefully, and the blood-stained scene vanished.

Kate: ...!?

My cheek was pressed against a soft, high-quality fabric.

(A blue cravat.)

Kate: Lord Elbert...?

I finally realized Elbert was holding me and tried to look up, but his hand was stronger, restraining my movement.

Elbert: ––You don't need to see.

(Huh...?)

Elbert: ...Sad memories can easily kill you.

Elbert: You don't need to see.

A terribly sad voice whispered in my ear.

Elbert: You...have nothing to do with what's happening here.

Elbert: ...You don't have to carry burdens that you don't need to.

(Elbert...)

His voice was almost like a prayer.

I should be feeling protected by his arms, holding my head tightly, but for some reason, I felt like I was being clung to, and I hesitated to resist.

(Elbert...it's as if he's afraid of something.)

Roger: This is...the inn's employee and a guest.

Alfons: Judging by their clothes, there's no mistake.

As I listened to the two of them surveying the scene, still held in Elbert's embrace--

???: ...Ugh...sob...

(! A voice just now...!)

Roger's words, "There's only one heartbeat," came back to me.

Kate: E-Excuse me...!

Elbert: ....!

I instinctively pushed back against Elbert's chest and looked up.

As I glanced around, I could see a woman collapsed at the corner of the alley, faintly moving.

(It's her...!)

Kate: Are you alright...!?

Roger: She's not dead yet, but she's in danger.

Roger, who had rushed to her before me, frowned and coughed.

Roger: She needs immediate treatment. We need to get her to a nearby hospital--

Roger: .....!

Kate: Roger? What's wrong?

Roger: The police are coming. Two...no, three of them.

(Police...?)

Alfons: Then, there's no point in staying here. Let's get out of here.

(What!? )

Kate: What about this woman--?

Roger: Our mission is confidential. We have no choice but to hide for now.

Seeing his frustrated profile, I knew Roger didn't want this either, and I swallowed my protest.

(But what if the police don't notice her...?)

I quickly took out my handkerchief and hooked it onto the lamp directly above her.

(This shouldn't be enough to identify me. I hope they notice her soon...)

Praying for her safety, I followed the three of them into hiding.

After observing from a short distance for a while--

We saw the woman from earlier being quickly taken away by the police who had arrived.

Kate: ...Thank goodness...

(...I hope she's alright.)

Elbert: ..............

--That day's investigation had to be cut short, and we returned to the castle.

But I couldn't eat the food brought to my room, nor could I sleep...

To change my mood, I was walking alone in the vast garden.

(Tonight, I only witnessed the aftermath of someone committing a crime.)

(But someday, I might see such a scene created by the hands of Crown.)

(To write about that... Can I do it?)

While thinking about such things, I was walking along the path--

(...Elbert?)

I found Elbert, gazing absentmindedly at the flowers.

Bathed in the faint moonlight like a veil, his figure was like a painting, and I was once again captivated.

Elbert: Hmm...oh...it's you. Good evening.

Kate: Good evening, Lord Elbert...

Elbert seemed to sense something from my face and tilted his head melancholically.

Elbert: ...Can't sleep?

Kate: ...Yes. So I'm taking a walk to change my mood.

Elbert: I see...

Kate: What are you doing here, Lord Elbert?

Elbert: Me too...something like that. I'm a light sleeper by nature.

Kate: I see...

Elbert: So...I can at least keep you company while you can't sleep.

Kate: .......!

His gentle, comforting words eased my mind.

(If it were last night, I might have been wary of this kindness and declined...)

Kate: ...Thank you.

Aware of my fading wariness, I took a step closer to Elbert.

(That's right...I haven't properly thanked him for earlier.)

Kate: Thank you for protecting me earlier.

Elbert: ...No. ...In the end, I showed you a cruel sight.

Kate: I wanted to see it. Don't worry about it.

I tried to sound cheerful, but Elbert looked at me and narrowed his eyes as if in pain.

Elbert: If you hadn't been taken to that place...you wouldn't have tried to see it.

Elbert: You're different from us. ...You shouldn't have come here.

Elbert: ...Sin doesn't suit you.

Elbert's emotions don't show much on the surface. Even so...

In his eyes, like the depths of a deep sea, I could see pure compassion, without a trace of cloudiness.

(You are the one who doesn't suit sin.)

At that time--

Even though there were no knives or bullets pointed at me, and there was no danger to my life, he tried to protect me.

(Surely...so that my heart wouldn't be hurt by the cruel sight.)

(The strength of his arms at that time.)

(It was as if he was afraid of me getting hurt.)

(If he were someone who felt nothing about that scene, he surely wouldn't have done that.)

I realized again the obvious fact that the people of Crown, just like me, feel fear, anxiety, and sadness.

Kate: You're kind, Lord Elbert.

Elbert: ...That's not true.

To value people's feelings. That was my goal in life.

(I chose the job of a mail carrier for that reason.)

(No matter what sins Elbert and the others may commit, I want to understand their feelings and--)

Kate: ...Thank you for your concern.

Kate: But this time, you don't have to protect me.

Elbert: ...Why?

Kate: I may learn many things that I'd be happier not knowing.

Kate: But I want to know...what you all are thinking, as you face those things.

I smiled, wanting to respond to Elbert's kindness in some way--

Elbert: .............

Elbert stared at me without blinking.

(...?)

His gaze was unusually intense, and I suddenly felt uneasy.

(Oh...was it rude of me to say "you don't have to protect me" when he's worried about me?)

His already overwhelming beauty seemed to become even more intimidating when he fell silent, and I unconsciously held my breath.

Kate: Um...

Elbert: ...Stay still.

Suddenly closing the distance between us, Elbert gently stroked my hair.

Elbert: ...There was a flower petal in your hair.

Kate: ...Oh.

Kate: Thank you...

(...I see. He was just looking at the flower petal.)

(That's good...)

Calming my racing heart, I quietly moved away from Elbert.

Kate: Well then, excuse me. I should get some sleep for tomorrow.

Elbert: .........Can you sleep?

Kate: Yes, thanks to you, Lord Elbert.

Elbert: I see...that's good.

Elbert: ...Good night, Kate.

Kate: Good night, Lord Elbert.

(...I wonder why.)

(I can't get Elbert's gaze from earlier out of my head...)

His deep blue eyes were burned into the back of my eyelids.

Even after I turned away, it felt like his gaze was following me from behind--

My chest felt strangely uneasy.

The next morning, my steps towards the dining hall were lighter than yesterday.

Kate: Good morning.

William: Good morning. ...You look well this morning.

Roger: See? She came, didn't she?

Alfons: I guess I lost the bet.

Kate: W-Were you betting on that...?

Alfons: Yes. I bet that you would be tearing up curtains and tying them together to escape through the window by now.

(He thought I'd be escaping...)

Liam: This morning, we have Victor's special extra buttery scones! Kate, are you hungry?

Kate: Yes! I missed dinner yesterday, so I'm starving.

Alfons: Hehe, you're surprisingly resilient.

(I'm still a little nervous...but I think I can manage.)

This morning, after deciding to face their feelings, I was able to look at everyone's faces more directly than yesterday.

As I started eating, talking with everyone, Elbert stared at me intently.

Elbert: ...Al, is she beautiful?

Alfons: No, not at all?

Elbert: ..............Is that so?

Alfons: ...........

Alfons: This could be a bit...troublesome.

Chapter 2

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

#ikemen series #cybird #cybird otome #cybird ikemen #ikemen villains #ikevil translations #elbert greetia #elbert greetia translations #elbert greetia main story translation #elbert greetia main route translation

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skeletwinsauaskbox · 21 days ago

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Papyrus Mono Asterisk

7 ATK 3 DEF

Likes to say, "Nyeh heh heh!"

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Asexual/Aromantic/Aroace

Age: 19

Height: 5'6" (and a quarter)

Skeleton Subtype: Script

Font: Papyrus

Case: Uppercaser

Family: Sans

Personality:

Enthusiastic

Energetic

Overly confident

Kind

Witty

Sarcastic

Persistent

Resilient

Optimistic

Open-minded

Cares to the absolute extreme

Protective

Determined

Brave

Bold

Emotional

Creative

Self-centred (but not in a mean-spirited way)

Stubborn

Somewhat aggressive

Short-tempered

Arrogant

Secretly insecure

Naïve

Likes:

Adventure!

Puzzles

Banter

Magic

Music

Fighting

Cooking spaghetti (comes later)

Social media

Trends

Oatmeal

Milkshakes

Friendship

Hugs

Art

Japes

Video games

Puns (yes, even Sans', he just doesn't want him to know that)

Receiving gifts

Seeing his brother happy

Santa

Dislikes:

Grease

Hotland

Getting made fun of

Loneliness

Sleep

Sans getting hurt

People who don't even try to be good people, even after he gave him guidance (looking at you, Jerry!)

Dogs (somewhat)

Having his bone attacks stolen

Ruining childhoods

Being restricted

Fears:

Strong smells

Fizzy drinks

Bugs

Disappointing Sans

Being alone

Places that are too quiet

Being forgotten

Fun Facts:

He's a talented artist. His talents include painting, drawing, and sculpting.

He has a social media account and regularly "checks up on potential friends". Like Alphys, for example. It makes her skeptical.

Will rave about whatever he's interested in at the time, mainly puzzles.

He doesn't like sleeping and will only take naps. Even then, his dreams aren't particularly pleasant.

He is fully aware that he is a goofball, and loves being one! On the other side of the coin, though, he's painfully aware of how friendless he is. His main goal in life is to make friends and be a good example to people.

He has had many phases when he was younger! A superhero phase, a cowboy phase, a gothic skateboarder phase.

He's terrible at skateboarding.

He's very good at keeping track of his surroundings, but he's also very, very clumsy. Chances are he'll fall down the stairs about 33.5% of the time.

A lot of the clothes he wears are either modified by him or created by Sans. He cherishes all of Sans' gifts.

His scarf was actually made by Sans when they were kids. He's been either wearing it or carrying it around ever since. That's why it's so tattered. It's due for another repair soon.

He has a weird thing going on with his hands, which is why he almost always wears gloves.

Somehow, he's so good at suppressing bad memories that he genuinely gave himself amnesia. As a result, huge chunks of his childhood are missing from his memory.

#undertale #undertale au #undertale ask blog #skeletwins #skeletwins au #character profile #papyrus

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sprinkleonthatcriticism · 2 months ago

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I really don't like people's double standards sometimes and I'm not just talking about how stans treat Stolas and Stella, this ain't relating to that, I'm talking about the situation with Jack/Damagedcoda6669 Warning for Suicide mention, ableism, COCSA, SA and Child grooming

A while ago, Jack made a come-back video and he mentions that Kittydog had groomed him as well as commited COCSA (Child On Child Sexual Assault) towards him and barely there were any people calling Zola out and Kittydog makes a youtube vid and twitter post apologizing for what they had done to it, and seemingly everyone WELCOMES Kittydog back with open arms and acts like nothing had ever happened.

But when it was revealed that Jack committed cocsa when he was 16 and the minor was 13, suddenly Jack/Damagedcoda6669 (aka Birdie/Sansbirdie in case ya'll ain't in the loop) is a irredeemable monster all because he had that "He was birdie" label on him and all because Jack rightfully stolen his cat back from Synni.

And before you all accuse me of downplaying the criticism that Jack is rightfully receiving (which, I'm not downplaying it, you can criticize Jack if you want as long as you ain't being clowns or bringing up stuff that Jack had already apologize for just as the borderline 13? thing) or say "But, Jack was talking to a minor under "sexual" art!!1!!!".

Lemme say that the minor in question (who is in fact a grooming victim like myself) made a post literally explaining that Jack NEVER pm'd xem as well as spoken weird to him either.

You guys claim to care for victims of grooming but you go around and talk over the minor or mock Jack instead of waiting for him to recover due to the stress that it had receive so he could hopefully make a post or vid talking about the situation.

Heck, you guys even claim Jack "suicide baited" (not using the term right btw you guys, suicide baiting means to maliciously try to get someone to off their-selves NOT faking suicide) instead of simply checking in on him when he made that post showing that you don't care for mental health either and just want to repeat history again because to your eyes "Birdie is still bad no matter what happened to it in the past".

And again, you guys are allow to criticize Jack, I also had criticized Jack in the past and even sent him an ask, explaining to him calmly and politely that "he should address the allegations but not now, he needs a break from online due to the backlash that it was receiving on twitter" and I even suggest him to stay on Bluesky since there is none of the "Let's compare a sexual assault victim (Jack) to his sexual assaulter (Synnibear03)." bs on that site, which quite frank is absolutely disgusting.... Again, nothing WRONG with criticizing Jack, and again, I do agree that Jack shouldn't of accused a (former) 13 yr old of having a grooming fetish but don't be gross and pretend that Jack isn't a victim of sexual assault, grooming, abuse and such or better yet, don't try to paint Synnibear03 as a victim of Jack, SHE is not a victim of Jack.

Just because he stolen Skqrp from Synni doesn't mean shit because Synnibear no matter how much she swears up and down that she didn't brought the cat as a gift for Jack, she still brought the cat for JACK and the only reason her name was in the papers is because Jack rightfully didn't want to write down his dead name and who can blame him?

#damagedcoda6669 #cw grooming #cw sa #cw suicide #cw ableism #synnibear03 #tw victim blaming #synnibear03 critical #allegations #birdie #sansbirdie #birdie drama #drama

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glitterjuju · 1 year ago

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Big Brat Energy

Summary: Sometimes it takes being a brat to teach Frank how you like being handled.

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Warnings: Smut. Degradation. Oral. Toxic relationships. Reader is mean. Weed smoking.

A/N: For all the brats who know that being a sub is a position of power.

As you reach across your bed to your nightstand, searching for your post-sex-spliff, a realization settles on your sweat damp skin.

You have to teach Frank Castle how you like being fucked.

The first time, right now, it's... pleasant. You don't want pleasant. If you wanted pleasant, you wouldn't have taken the time out of your busy schedule to seduce the fucking Punisher.

“Hi."

"Nice to meet ya.”

That’s what it’s like. Frank takes you out to eat despite you not wanting a “date” walks you back to your place and gives you some standard , mundane bullshit. Eats you out, doggy then missionary, kisses you all throughout, respectfully comes in his condom. To be fair, any normal woman would’ve been limp-legged from his performance, but you’re not the normal woman are you? It feels good, you come, multiple times as a matter-of-fact, but where’s the fire? The passion?

“I’m not your wife, Frank,” you spit. You hope it hurts him. He's built for it – his scar clad body all but proclaims that. Men after sex are vulnerable, nows the time to slip the knife between bone. “Don’t fuck me like her.”

Even he, a trained killer, can't hide the shock in those black eyes of his. It's shock and a glint of something else. You can't put a name on it and assume that it's anger. Good. He can take it out on you if he wants.

Only a small percentage of light from outside your window enters your room. It paints Frank hideously. Hard lines. Jagged nose. A small scrape cutting across his cheek. You can see the monster that terrorizes Hell’s Kitchen. You understand why so many are afraid of him.

He reaches for the lamp next to him. When his turns it on, the monster remains. “The fuck you just say to me?"

The joint magically appears after rummaging through your junky desk. Right there beneath all the ripped out magazine pics you hoard for inspiration. Indica after dick was a tried-and-true ritual regardless if the dick was bomb or not. Now all you needed was a light-

He smacks the preroll from your hand, you sigh. The spliff rolls somewhere in your junky room – forever lost amongst clothes and art supplies. You’d never see it again. Not unless you plan on cleaning which you didn't.

"Dude,” you say, “The fuck?”

“Why would you say that shit to me?”

“Because it's the truth. You're the punisher, I wanted to be punished,” you say. It's a flat tone. Deadpan. It's also a test, if Frank couldn't handle your nasty attitude, toxic and all, he didn't deserve you. And you would've been wrong about your prejudgement of him. Something tells you, he can handle you, he's just holding back. “Feels like I slept with Mr. Rogers and now I'm out of weed. I deserve a refund.”

You expect him to be angry over bringing up his dead wife and surprisingly, he's not. If his next barb back to your is any indicator, he's pissed about something else. His bare shoulders hunch and he’s quiet. Mute. Like he’s trying to put together a puzzle not knowing that you’d stolen some of its pieces.

“You weren’t talking all that shit when I was making you come.”

There it is. The criticism of his sex game irks him.

Aww, you hurt his precious male ego.

“So? That’s what a dick is supposed to do. You did your job. You want kudos because you did the goddamn bare minimum?”

“The bare minimum had you calling me daddy.”

“To be fair, I thought that moaning Mr. Roger would've been inappropriate,” you chuckle. “Dude, don't be so sensitive. Man the fuck up, marine.”

It's mean. Who cares. You're without weed now so he has to feel your wrath. It's not a surprise that Frank leaves after that. He grabs his clothes, puts them on in silence, and slams the door shut behind him.

Whatever.

You suck him off next to one of your graffiti paintings of him.

Did he really think he wouldn’t sleep with you again? Did he really believe he had that much restraint? You had him figured out before he could get the one-up on you.

He’s on punishment. After that last fuck session he’s not allowed to touch your pussy let alone fuck you. But goddammit if you weren’t going to swallow every inch of him.

Head bobbing along his dick, you take your hands and grab his own. You place them behind your head. It gives him the go ahead to control the pace. Let’s him fuck your mouth just how he wants.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, pushing your head further than he ever anticipates it going. If anyone catches you both on the rooftop of this random building, they were in for one helluva sight.

He looks down, watching as you go to town on him. It’s a work of art. A trained skill that he doesn’t want to know how you got so talented at. It’s wet. More spit than he’s used to. It coats him shaft to ass crack in smathers of sloppiness and drips into his pants that pool around his ankles.

“You got a mouth on you, girl, I’ll tell you that.“

Your throat convulses around him and you make a strangled noise. He immediately lets go of you, but that’s when he feels it. The slight pinch of your teeth along him. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s enough to wake him the fuck up.

"Alright,” he says. “Alright. I hear ya.”

You choke on him and it’s an odd thing for him to get used to. But get used to it he will.

His head hits the back of the wall behind him when he sinks into the rhythm of your mouth. A rhythm that he commands you to follow. You know what’s to next. Can feel it as his hands tighten in your hair and his breathing deepens to hard grunts.

You moan around him, that sweet fucking mouth of yours vibrating against him tip to base and he loses it.

“Goddamn,” he grunts and you taste him in the back of your throat. He fills up your mouth pretty damn quick. You can’t contain all of it.

“Fucking fuck.”

He’s not a very poetic man.

You’re teary eyed and pouty lipped when you finish Tiny trickles of his come and your spit drip along your chin.

His eyes stare directly into yours. They’re lust filled. Hazy with it. Just a hunch, but you bet he probably can't see straight right now. You did your job and you did it well. Because of it, you own his ass. He didn’t even fucking know it yet.

You gather the remains of his juices on your fingers and make sure none of him is lost.

“Thank you, sir,” you’re panting. He’s fucked the wind out of your lungs and you’re proud of your work. As proud of it as you were the mural you painted that sits behind him like a halo. “May I get off my knees, please?”

Jesus Christ. He’s never been at the receiving end of this kind of shit. He and Maria had a good sex life, but it was not this. Never this.

“Sir?"

Your voice bring him back into his body.

"Yeah,” he says and you stand. You were kind enough to pull his pants up along the way. Beneath your dress, there’s harsh bruises on your knees from where cruel asphalt dug. Shit, he didn’t mean to hurt you. “You alrig-”

“Did I do a good job?” you ask. Your voice is gentle, but he knows. He’s not that daft. You don’t want kindness.

“Yeah, you did good. Real good.”

“I should’ve waited for you to tell me to swallow, but I couldn’t help myself.”

This was a test.

He wipes at the fucked-out tears on your cheeks. The next bit makes you smirk. “Don’t let it happen again.”

He kisses the top of your head and you guys get pastrami sandwiches after this. You talk about life as an art teacher. He tells you a few stories of his life in the Marines. You both realize how weird each other is.

He sleeps on just a mattress. No bedframe, nothing. Just a mattress soaked in y'alls combined sweat. It’s like fucking on concrete. It makes it nasty - makes it primal.

You’re face down, ass up, a tried and true position. But the way Frank is handling you has you biting sheets. You never bite sheets. What in the fuck.

He’s earned his way back into your pretty pussy after careful training.

You’re in his apartment this time. It used to be as cold as a prison cell. Now it’s a cold prison cell, but with little shit of yours in it. A sketchpad. You have a towel. He fucking has tampons beneath his sink. Even keeps your favorite frozen pizza in his freezer.

Neither of you mention what this thing has become. No waaaay.

It’s stupid for him to be involved with you: a stoner who idolizes him in graffiti across the city.

And you’re fucking a mass murderer.

It’s recipe for disaster. The bomb is going to detonate one of these days.

But he’s dicking you down so good now. You couldn’t let him go and let the next bitch prosper.

“Get it, girl,” he grunts, slapping your ass. He does it again without giving you time to settle into the sting. “Get it.”

“You liking the view?"

"Did I say you could talk?” Your bratiness is rewarded with another hand to your ass. It’s much harder than the other two. You cry out, but you don’t tell him to stop. If you did, this whole operation would be shut. the fuck. down. “Shut up and take it.”

You toss your ass back on him and he meets you with forceful thrusts. There’s nowhere to run, no softness in how he handles you.

You give in.

“There you go, atta girl. Come on it.” He pushes you down by your spine, furthering your arch. That’s when he starts to give it to you nice and slow. He presses deep into a part of you that makes your eyes roll. “You take every inch of me so well and it’s all for you. Now come on it.”

He’s a fast learner.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle #frank castle x you #the punisher #jon bernthal #jon bernthal x reader

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sir-adamus · 8 months ago

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i feel like digging up old news

we knew from the start that the 'rwb/y is disappointing' video was gonna be bad faith horseshit but one thing that's stuck out to me looking back on it was how he was gonna attack Barbara for telling people not to watch the show if they don't like it as his 'evidence' that the people working on the show can't take criticism, until he was told the context of it (one particular dipshit had publicly linked her and Arryn a - stolen from yet another asshole - piece of art of their characters horrifically mutilated, just to be an asshole), at which point it was removed

but that inclusion was in the script, it was recorded and in the video until the early patreon viewers provided context

now, this video took him seven months, for some reason, and clearly that seven months wasn't to do research or fact-check anything, because otherwise he would've done his due diligence in the name of being 'objective' (hah) and found the context Barb said that before including it. now to have included that, without finding out the context in the first place, means either he knew and didn't care until he realised it was common knowledge and he'd get pulled up on it and make him look bad (which are the same reasons he doesn't go after Monty in that video despite publicly hating the man less than six months before his death, or how he doesn't get on Mark Gatiss's case for his writing in the Sherlock video and only shits on Moffat. because he's more concerned with looking morally pure than being factual. dragging a dead man's name through the mud, or criticising a gay man despite that Gatiss's writing has nothing to do with that, doesn't gel with the image he's putting out, you see), or that someone must've given it to him without context, knowing he was looking for ammunition to attack the crew with and didn't care what the context was until it made him look like an asshole to do so

it was a bad faith hit-piece from the start from someone who never liked the show, holds contempt for everyone involved (and honestly from some of the things he says, fandom in general), and despite his enormous ego is an extremely bad media critic. and no matter how much he lied about it not being a hit-piece, he'd already shown his ass over it with both how he chooses to present himself and the people he works with not making any secret of hiding it

#rwb/y

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stolentrekblr · 18 days ago

Text

Some FAQs

"I feel compelled to tell you I am pleased/angry/don't care about this!!!" I am not telling anyone how they should feel about this. While my blog title is a touch incendiary, I am tracking down the posts I find in the wild and tracing them back to their original poster. It bugs me when screenshots get reuploaded here when the original posts still exist, so I'm doing my best to track them down for you. I also wanted other people to know when their posts/art/edits/words officially escaped containment. While I'm personally irked by the behavior of taking without credit, that doesn't mean you have to be. Your response is valid :)

"Why only Star Trek?" Focusing on Star Trek alone is already a massive undertaking. If I could do more, I might, but I am most active in the Star Trek Tumblr sphere and more capable of identifying and tracking down the original post.

"Can I send you something I found/my own post that was reuploaded?" Please do! I am but one person with a questionable attention span, and this is an ambitious undertaking. Tumblr may be the incubator of the Internet, but its search function makes finding things challenging. There is no way to automate this process that I know of.

"What's your issue with this particular Data page?" Initially, I didn't have a problem with this page. My Facebook friend had sent me a couple memes from it, so I liked the page and moved on. I assumed the page runner was just another Trekkie who made memes and reposted art. As time passed, I noticed that many of the memes that lacked credit were coming from Tumblr and from mutuals who had no idea their words/edits/art had migrated off the platform. I noticed the page was uploading peoples' edits without credit and taking captions verbatim, and that bothered me personally. Two of my posts were lifted in a row, and I had made a couple posts on my main ( @thresholdbb ) about it. It eventually hit a point that I decided this endeavor needed its own dedicated space.

Maybe it's because I spent my entire professional career in education, repeatedly citing all of my sources and teaching students that plagiarism is wrong. Maybe it's because the page runner repeatedly solicits money via subscribers, not to mention the "Gift" button that appears in the corner of every stolen picture. It seems disingenuous to present content as your own and also profit from it. On some level, I think the page runner knows what they're doing is at the very least morally questionable/dishonest/wrong, since they do not like or reblog any of the posts they re-upload to their page. (Believe me, I spent a long time trying to track them down before starting this blog.) Far as I can tell, they do not make original posts here, but I cannot confirm this. They make a few original posts on their Facebook pages (I think there's something like 7 that all have the same MO), but they are mostly selfies soliciting money. Like do what you need to do to support your family or whatever, but stealing from people in this way is not cool IMHO.

While it is the nature of meme culture to spread them around without credit, these posts are regularly being taken from a community in which I actively participate.

"Why would they watermark my post?" From what I can gather, straight up screenshots can get nuked because they go against some term of service, but I'm not a super active poster on Facebook and cannot confirm.

"What's your goal with all this?"

Awareness - now you know if a post has broken containment, if your art has been reposted, if your edit has gone uncredited, and where the original post is so you can reblog and add your own tags for OP to read. I'll often see a post in the wild and want to add my comments here but then can't find it, so I'm doing that legwork

"What if my blog has a do not repost disclaimer on it?"

It seems reposters don't particularly care, but I do. Even when art is reposted with the username/link/credit, the two can quickly become separated if your work doesn't have a watermark because of how some people tend to repost. Let me know you have a disclaimer and I'll add it to the repost report. If you have merch or a tip jar associated with your work, let me know and I'll add that too.

"I'm concerned about Meta's AI"

You and me both. I'm not wild about the fact that tumblr users have no say in what happens to their words, art, and images on another platform. Here they at least gave us the illusion of choice that we could opt out of LLM training, but that disappears once it migrates to Facebook and other social media platforms.

"Can I reblog the post and delete your screenshot from it?" Please do! Let the original post be free! In fact, I encourage you to get rid of my reblog completely.

"What's your Facebook name?" Must really suck when someone is anonymously taking screenshots of your posts, uploading them somewhere else, and you don't have a say about any of it. On that note, what's your Tumblr name? Mine is @thresholdbb :)

"Why not make your own monetized page?"

I don't want to. I want to post, connect, and nerd out about Star Trek, not profit from my incessant posting. I could and might have moderate success, but it's a lot harder when the posts are original and haven't been vetted by another user base before reposting. I like the Ferengi, but I don't want to emulate them. Besides, even the Ferengi followed the Rules of Acquisition

Also as a side note, reposters often take uncredited memes and images from Tumblrs that do have monetized FB pages/tip jars that post all original content

Overall, the Trek community has a lot of good will, but in my experience that typically comes with a strong sense of justice. I'm just out here spreading the word

#captain to all hands #no one really asked me but I thought I'd put it out there

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