#mob rule is not something anyone should want

[highonmarvel]

Ribs

Bucky Barnes: Mob!Bucky finds you. 18+ only.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of domestic violence. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are uncomfortable with explicit descriptions of physical and verbal abuse and rape. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I can not stress this enough. I am fucked up.

Non Con Warning!

What’s scarier than dating Bucky? Leaving him.

You thought with dating the most notorious mob boss in New York, the biggest danger would be his enemies, no: the biggest threat to your safety was him. When you had first met him, you hadn’t known who he was, having only moved to New York a few months prior. He was charming, and he had an air of danger about him you couldn’t help but be attracted to; you thought it would be fun, a New York bad boy, he was all mysterious. You didn’t have any friends at the time, so no one could have warned you about who he really was, and by the time you found out, you were in too deep.

Maybe him being suspiciously rich should have raised a red flag, because even the most pretentious of the wealthy don’t take a limo to a bar, but he had, that first night you met him. The loud chatter had ever so slightly dimmed when he entered the bar, but you only thought it was because he was wearing an expensive suit, and though you rolled your eyes at the flashy display, you couldn’t help but stare at him as he made his way through the room—crowds parted, everyone tried to appear that they hadn’t noticed him, but it was crystal they had. You can’t not notice a man like that.

He disappeared into a back room with two men trailing behind him, and after a few minutes emerged looking slightly disheveled, but satisfied. You tried your hardest to focus on… something else when he sat down beside you and ordered a whiskey, but that was practically impossible when everything about him was magnetic. You chanced a look at him only to find him already staring at you, blue eyes twinkling with a mischievousness you couldn’t quite place and a small smirk. He had taken you home that night.

You hadn’t fled because of his business, selfishly, you could live with the fact he hurt other people—for a while, you could live with the fact he hurt you too, because he just had you captivated. He was harsh, brutal, but could also be loving, he bent over backwards to your every desire—say the word and he’d do it.

Except when you asked him to stop.

You had to leave New York altogether, you knew; he ran the whole fucking city, there was no way you could hide from him in the kingdom he ruled. You had struggled to pick where to go next, if you had had the money, you honestly would have left the fucking continent, started a new life in Namibia or Australia or Japan or however far away from him as you could get, but for now you were restricted to the States. Was Los Angeles too big a city for him to find you, or was it too obvious? Maybe he had people there, you had no idea. Would a small town be too quiet to scream for help, or so obscure he wouldn’t even think to look there?

You settled on a random town in Colorado.

You had ditched your phone the second you could—you had had to hold onto it a bit longer in order to get around, and received many calls and angry texts, but you had tossed it into a street somewhere in Oklahoma and picked up a random brick phone just to have. You thought you were being dramatic at first, taking all these measures, but no, James Barnes is the most powerful man in New York state, more powerful than you could have imagined when you first discovered who he was. He runs everything. He always gets what he wants, and he wants you.

I’ll find you you fucking cunt.

His last text message to you before you had destroyed your phone. You didn’t doubt he could.

You cut your hair, dyed it a shade darker, and spent the first month looking over your shoulder, jumping at shadows, barely speaking to anyone, unsure of who you could trust and who you couldn’t, even from so far away you remained cautious. Picking a job was difficult; if you got an office job, could he find out through fucking white collar records or something? If you got a job in retail, would someone recognise you and alert him?

You got a job at a bookstore—fairly quiet, and the rows of shelves seemed like good enough hiding places were he to hunt you down. Hunt.

In front of the mirror, you pull up your t-shirt to examine your ribs: the bruises are starting to fade, and there’s only a dull pain when you run cold fingers over the light blue. The final reminders of the night you had feared for your life, the night you had decided you had to leave, were starting to fade.

Bucky had gotten violent many times before, but never had you feared for your life; you genuinely thought he was going to kill you.

He had come home fucking livid like you’d never seen before, and three months later you still have no clue as to why. At least when he had been drinking his blows were slightly less hard and you were sometimes (very rarely) able to outrun him and lock yourself in a bathroom for the night, but that night he was drunk purely on anger.

You were genuinely surprised he hadn’t broken your ribs; just hit after hit until you could barely breathe—you thought you’d suffocate. Turns out he had fractured your right foot, but even still you left New York limping badly, knowing if you stopped even to just get it checked out, you’d never make it out the city.

Here, in your new town, you got your foot checked out and fixed up by a friendly doctor, Dean, who you’d taken a liking to. Though it was a bit worse for wear considering you’d left it unchecked for a week, and even now you still couldn’t walk quite right, he assured you you’d make a full recovery.

Dean and you had been growing closer, and you thought he would eventually ask you out, until one day he stopped visiting you at work—usually he’d come in every Wednesday afternoon, but he hadn’t, and you couldn’t reach him online. You even went into his practice, but his assistant had said he’d just taken a camping trip. Your stomach twisted, but you left it, and took he had just gone away for a while.

Deep down, you knew.

The third Wednesday afternoon Dean hasn’t dropped it. You walk back to your place a little down; despite not knowing him well, you were really growing to like him.

You sigh, kicking off your shoes as you enter your apartment and into the pile by the door. You turn on the lights as you make your way through the small place, still limping slightly: corridor, light on; kitchen, light on; living room, light on.

You can’t even say your blood runs ice cold, more like it freezes in your veins.

Bucky is seated comfortably in your armchair, of course nursing a drink, face entirely stoic, and eyes fixated on yours, as if he had been staring at that exact spot for hours, knowing you would fall into his line of vision.

But the door was locked, you want to cry, How did he get in? No windows are broken, nothing.

“Sweetheart,” he coos as he sets his drink on the side table, “I’ve missed you.”

“Why?” is all you can muster, barely a whisper, more like a nearly silent whistle in wind, one you can only hear if you were to really strain for it, and if you knew what to listen for. Why is he here? After three fucking months, you thought (hoped) he’d just lost interest—this can’t be the first time he’s had a girl run away from him considering how he treated you. Why is he so set on this? You can only imagine it’s stubbornness and pride, not wanting to lose a prize, no matter how ill he treated it. And why you?

Of course, though, you can’t articulate any of these thoughts, you can barely even think them, can’t process them, all turning to a light buzz in your in your mind, one that could be mistaken for pure static—just absence of thought. No thoughts, all thoughts, you can’t even care about.

“Of course I missed my favourite girl,” he offers, a lopsided smirk forming on his handsome features, “Sit,” he instructs, so gently you wonder if you’ve imagined it—a very direct order (and you know he doesn’t like to be disobeyed), yet delivered in the softest manner.

The bruises on the right of your ribcage sting as you stare back at him, unmoving. Bucky never repeats himself, and he doesn’t now, seeming to overlook your defiance (though really it’s shock) as he leans forward slightly and begins speaking to you.

“You’re a smart girl, I can tell from how you really tried to cover your traces when you left, huh? You’re a smart girl, so why would you do something so stupid?”

He stands, and you stumble back with a whimper at a harsh misstep on your injured foot.

“And now you’re out here all alone… you need someone to take care of you; look at you, honey,” he gestures to your foot, and if you could get your vocal chords to work, you would scream at him that he did this.

He stalks towards you, and where the sudden adrenaline comes from, you have no idea, but you dart for the front door. He’s on you in a second, slamming your head against the door and watching you slide down. He stands over you a foot on either side of your body and looks down on you, slightly amused.

He’s pure evil.

It occurs to you the front door is locked anyway, you’re caged under him in the narrow corridor, and so you try to crawl through his legs, but he turns and grabs you by your injured foot.

You shriek in pain and desperately try to claw forward, but he tugs you back and twists harshly so you have no choice but to turn over or risk him twisting your fucking foot off.

With more strength than you’ve ever mustered, you swing your left foot up and kick him hard in the crotch. He howls in pain as he drops your foot.

“You fucking bitch!”

You scramble to stand and dart for your bedroom, hoping to climb out the window. He limps after you, and you cry out as he grabs a fistful of hair and tugs you back. You manage to stumble into the bedroom. He grips the doorway and you slam the door after him, hearing a deafening crunch and a yell behind you. You push your back against the door, planting your feet firmly in the ground and trying with all your bodyweight to keep him out, but he easily blows it in, and you fall forward.

You start screaming at him and kicking, but he catches your legs, leaving you to only pathetically wiggle underneath him. He leans down and shouts, “Shut the fuck up!” bringing down a hand you feebly attempt to grasp to stop him, but he slaps you, “You’re a fucking cunt!”

You assume you’re crying, but you can’t feel anything on your cheeks but the sting of his hand.

He drops down to his knees and straddles you easily, despite your struggling against him. He punches you in the face, his rings leaving deep cuts against your cheek. Again, and again, and again, until his knuckles are bloody from the cuts he’s left. You attempt to cough but he brings a fist down and punches your throat. You can barely gasp before he grabs your neck and pulls you up close to his face.

His voice is dangerously low as he drawls, “You’re lucky I have the decency to fuck you on the bed.” He spits in your face and slams your head back down into the floor. He gets off you and, before you can even move, kicks you in the ribs; you can feel the bruises—the healing bruises, they were healing—bloom once again against your skin, against your bones. You roll over before he grabs your left arm, twisting harshly and pulling you across the small room.

You feel your shoulder pop out of place and scream louder than you ever have in your life, an intense white hot pain shooting across your shoulder as it’s dislocated. You can’t even beg him to stop through your sobs and unbearable pain, you can’t breathe, you want to throw up.

This time, you almost wish he does kill you. You wish for him to kill you.

He pulls you up onto the bed, your shoulder blade sliding further across your nerves and sparking pain as intense as the first few seconds all over again. He tosses his suit jacket to the side as you try to sit up. He presses down hard against your injured shoulder, and you choke on your own cry, suffocating more than screaming, at this point.

He punches up from your chin and your head lolls back, your teeth hitting each other harshly, before he uses the opportunity to grasp your throat with one hand, tearing your skirt off with the other.

It’s too painful to struggle other than weakly kicking your legs, which he effortlessly ignores, maybe he doesn’t even feel it.

Mind over matter, Mind over matter, Mind over matter—

You repeat to yourself when you hear him spit in his hand and softly groan as he runs his hand up and down his cock. You don’t even know when he unbuckled his belt.

You close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing; Mind over matter, mind over matter, mind over matt—

He head-buts your forehead, effectively pulling you out of your attempted mental respite. Bucky is scary; he looks down at you with wild eyes, and you hadn’t noticed blood dripping from his temple. You briefly wonder how much blood you’re covered in when he interrupts your thoughts; “Stay with me, bitch.”

“Please stop,” you finally find words rather than shrieks, your voice hoarse and words slurred, like you’ve never spoken before.

He just smiles—smiles—and then thrusts into you, stretching you open, not giving you any time to adjust to his massive length before pounding into you, beyond rough, beyond violent, he’s a fucking mad man, he’s feral. You attempt to grab onto his shoulders and pry him off but your own shoulder hinders you. You weakly punch at him with your right hand, but he doesn’t feel it, and at this point, you’re just exhausted. Throat hoarse, head aching, shoulder burning, foot in pain, and your ribs on fire.

He lets go of your throat and feels around on the bed for his jacket, pulling something out of the inner pockets.

Before you can even process it, he places his other hand over your mouth and presses something cold and metal to your knee. He fires the gun, the bullet flying from the front of your kneecap, shattering the cartilage, and resting in your flesh. He presses down harder on your mouth so your scream is completely guttural.

“Try leave me now,” he pants as she shoots out your other kneecap.

He presses the gun to the right side of your rib cage, digging into the bruises, “Next time you leave me will be in a fucking body bag.”

Ribs (II)

✪

[inkdemonapologist]

FINALLY got these scribbles from last session of the Cthulhu game scanned in lmao, THINGS HAVE BEEN SO BUSY but cthulhu has been very exciting!!

While looking for some Alan Leroy guy to figure out why the Phantom is following(?) him(?), we asked around with (a) his book club friends and (b) the mob, as one does. Sammy managed to avoid seeing the yellow sign when he realised very quickly what Cool Obscure Book this book club pal might be describing (unlike Jack, a polite boy who does not RAPIDLY AVERT HIS EYES FROM HIS CONVERSATIONAL PARTNER), but did not manage to avoid being hustled off by the mob to talk to The Boss when Henry asked just a few too many questions. it went fine but Sammy was SO STRESSED, HES ALREADY BEEN KIDNAPPED BY GANGSTERS ONCE HE DOESNT WANT TO DO IT AGAIN

also hes still cute in this hat. you should wear hats more often sammy. ANYWAY if you're here for Out of Context quotes from this session, I GOT EM RIGHT HERE UNDER THE CUT:

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Sammy] He will mention to Henry, something about "Oh boy, dreams are starting up again" kind of thing. [Henry] Yyyyup. [Henry] Don't get possessed again. [Sammy] [Sammy] i dON'T THINK SAMMY KNOWS WHAT TO DO WITH THAT!! The last time he got possessed was BY PROPHET, whom he still shares a body with!! [Henry] Prophet doesn't count! Don't get possessed by anyone else. [Sammy] .... I'LL DO MY BEST, [Sammy] I just like the idea of Henry being like 'don't get possessed' and Sammy just LOOKS at him, like............ I'm already possessed, what are you talking about

[Sammy] Given how these things like to happen on auspicious days, I'm a little worried about New Years,

[Joey] That's exactly the spin he's going to put on it -- Some time off for New Years, and a bonus day off to recover from the celebrations! [Jack] Gotta account for those, now that drinking's back!

[Henry] Oh good, I was really worried Joey would call Norman and get a "who are you?" [Jack] Norman DOES do that, but just because he thinks it's funny. [GM] That's possible, yeah, [Sammy] Oh my gosh. I believe it, is the thing. [GM] I do too, honestly... this might just be a thing that happens.

[GM] And the studio seems normal, and nobody got kidnapped in the night, not even Norman, and Henry's family is safe -- things are doing so good! [Jack] Nobody that we're currently in contact with got kidnapped in the night! [GM] That's true. [Jack] I'm not ruling out Bertrum getting kidnapped. [Jack] ...unrelated to the Carcosa nonsense, he just got kidnapped. [GM] That's what he gets for hanging out with the mob. [Jack] Sorry, I mean, "The Great Bertrum Piedmont." Have to use his full and official title. [GM] That's how you get him un-kidnapped, he just breaks through a wall to correct you. [Jack] *laughing* The Kool-Aid Bert................ [GM] The Great Kool-Aid Piedmont, [Jack] Now that's fanart I don't want to see.

[GM] Welcome back! We've been talking about the Great Bertrum Piedmont Kool-Aid-ing through a wall to correct you about his name. [Sammy] *startled wheezing* Okay, well it sounds like I've missed some really important developments!

[Jack] I think Jack would lean in the direction of like, they wanted to get in touch with him at the charity thing-- aaagh, that's technically not true. He's not the fast talk boy, he's not allowed to, [Sammy] I mean, he CAN fast talk, Henry does it all the time! [Jack] But does he succeed-- [Sammy] Henry's not the Fast Talk Boy but he keeps LYING anyway!!!

[Sammy] I feel like Jack is good at looking worried, and, caring about his fellow man, [Jack] I don't think he has to TRY to look worried??? [Sammy] I don't think Sammy contains these qualities. Sammy looks like he's here to arrest you. [GM] She's actually giving Sammy a concerned look, [Sammy] Sammy is HERE FOR THE PROTECTION MONEY.

[Jack] Well, this was lovely! Time to leave, because Sammy's already... vibrating against the door trying to clip through it.

[Sammy] Sammy's IMMEDIATELY going to tell him about this clarinet with the missing E flat extension. [Sammy] ....and then ALSO mention that he thinks maybe he's seen this guy before.

[Joey] Joey slightly fixes Henry's hair before they head in. [Sammy] (That's a little bit gay, but alright,) [Jack] (I think it's more than a little bit) [Joey] LISTEN, listen, Joey recognises-- [Jack] Linda's out of town! [Joey] --Joey recognises the neighbourhood,

[GM] The door gets opened pretty quickly, but the guy inside actually looks a little like he's suddenly out of his depth, because whatever he was expecting to happen is not what is happening. [Sammy] That's a common reaction to Joey Drew.

[Joey] I feel like it's not going to be a fast talk roll, actually, to make this guy feel like this is NOT a dangerous ask? So I'm gonna go with persuade instead. [GM] Are you going with the tack that you were concerned parties from the event? [Joey] I think, concerned party, perhaps leaning towards the notion that they hit it off well at the party, and -- I'm just turning it into a fast talk, [Joey] *trying again* I think Joey is leaning more into an idea that they are freshly met, but have similar interests? Or... possibly leaning into he's ...a friend of a friend and we're looking into it for that friend? [Sammy] Joey trying NOT to lie is really funny. "Oh well obviously I'll just say -- oh, I guess that's not true; I'll just -- WELL, that's not technically true either," [Joey] ADMITTEDLY, if this does turn into a fast talk roll, using the same roll it's now a BETTER SUCCESS, so, [Sammy] Just really funny how hard it is for Joey to just, HONESTLY REASSURE someone without inventing a whole narrative [Joey] I'M GOOD AT COMING UP WITH STORIES!! I'm not good at... fact-checking them first...

[Joey] Please, if you hear from him, or get any more information, please reach out to us as soon as possible, because the sooner we can prevent this, the better off he'll be -- y'know, that whole thing! [Joey] Do the most heartfelt, emotional connection he can... it's a little gay, but... [Sammy] I fully believe in Joey's ability to extoll the virtues of this man he's never met.

[Sammy] We can just check with Norman, have him peek out the window and see if it looks weird, [Joey] "Hey Norman, is your house in the right location?" [Jack] "Dunno why you called me outside just to tell me that you moved my house!"

[GM] Norman answers the door, and gives you guys a quizzical look. [Henry, out of character] :D Hey, did your house move? [Sammy, in-character] >:/ Did your house move?

[Sammy] Sammy will point out things Jack noticed as being different, as if he also noticed them. [GM] He'll turn back to you, and just kind of observe in a blase sort of way that he's apparently moved. [Jack] I love Norman,,,, [Joey] I love Norman's 89% Sanity score that never gets hit, apparently! [Jack] His sense of humour is actually an indefinite insanity. [Sammy] A constant coping mechanism, [Jack] Can't go insane when you already are!!

[Jack] Jack is, not happy about this, [GM, as Norman] He wonders if you'd like to come in for a housewarming, then.

[Sammy] Sammy's going to just catch her up on, the guy we're looking for read the play, [Sammy] Also, might be a guy that Sammy saw in New Orleans, and that might be why he knew the music?? [Sammy] ALSO, WEIRD THING with his clarinet, he doesn't have the E flat extension that you'd EXPECT HIM TO HAVE? [GM] I think Susie knows enough that she would say that's weird if he's playing seriously. [Jack] I was about to ask if this meant anything to these two-- [Joey] Norman is regaining sanity by watching Sammy rattle on about all this. [GM] He's probably chiming in opinions, too, that are completely not based in any actual musical knowledge -- [Henry] Norman just like "He's missing the E extension? Next he's gonna lose the, the F Shortener!" [GM] "What's the world coming to!" [Sammy] Sammy's giving him the most unamused look, and this is all Norman wanted. [GM] Yeah, yeah, this is how he keeps his sanity high. [Sammy] Just annoy Sammy Lawrence. That's the secret.

[Jack] Good to make sure things aren't going weirder over here-- which, uhhh, [Sammy] Which they are!!

[Sammy] That's smart, but that's also really spooky. Like okay, cool! The whole world has re-written this! Cool cool cool cool cool. [GM] He doesn't seem PLEASED about it, but he seems about normal. [Henry] He seems Norman about it. [Jack] Yeah, Normal Polk. [Jack] *cracking up* He shows up at work the next day and he's called "Normal Ponk." That's his name now.

[Jack] Reality's rewriting itself, wanna kiss about it? [Henry] Ah, Jack's okay again.

[Jack] If this was Fowler, then WHO WAS PHONE????

[GM] Well, okay, first things first, does Joey have Peter's number memorised? [Joey] HM. [Joey] ...I feel like he wouldn't admit it, but yes.

[Joey] Joey says he's going to call Peter back in a minute. And hangs up. [GM] You cut him off in the middle of some sort of response-- [Joey] Cool.

[Joey] He managed to break into a safe once by doing this! [Henry] "Break into" is... a bit of a strong phrasing. [GM] *mumbling* "Get locked inside of,"

[Joey] The main thing is, Do Not Go Alone, because if something happens to Peter... we have no way of tracking down the information that he has! We, we lose, all of his evidence! [Jack] .....and that's the ONLY thing, [Joey] Yup! [Henry] We ALSO lose his, HIM, [Joey] *mumbling* No, no that doesn't matter as much, as evidence, [Joey] It's clearly just, the fact that they lose all the benefits of having a reporter with ghost powers on their side, and NOT Peter himself, that is the issue! [Jack] iTS NOT LIKE HE CARES ABOUT YOU OR ANYTHING!!!

[Jack] *spongebob meme* You like Peter Sunstram, don't you, Joey?

[Joey] Both Henry and Sammy are the best able to get themselves out of a tough, fight-y situation, [Sammy] We can both punch, and Henry has magical power if something supernatural happens... [Joey] Also! Also, neither Joey nor Jack are there to be taken hostage and used against them! [Sammy] ... I think you're actually right. I hate to admit it, but I think you're right. [Jack] I can't wait for Jack to be kidnapped at the magic shop, you guys!

[Henry] I can't believe we're sending the two least talky boys off together to talk to the mob, [Joey] LISTEN. Henry and Sammy can go to the restaurant! Henry likes food! There we go! [GM] I can't believe Joey's just making sure Henry gets a nice meal after his shake-up earlier... [Sammy] I dunno, maybe Peter should come with us, just in ghost form. Henry can see him, potentially, [Jack] So Pete's body can... Not be where he left it when he gets back to it! [Sammy] ....hm, [Joey] *startled laughter* [Sammy] ....okay, nevermind,... [Jack] Just leave him in the car, what could go wrong! That's not disappeared MULITPLE TIMES!

[GM] Johnny Nero is of average height and build, with dark, slicked back hair, and a neatly trimmed moustache -- so not like any of the other people that you know! [GM] Wears expensive tailored suits, though. [Jack & Joey] *snickering* So, not like, any of the people you know-- [GM] It narrows it down a bit!! [Sammy] Alright, alright; bargain bin Joey Drew, got it.

[GM] You guys do get an offer to have food, while you're waiting. [Sammy] Yeah.... why not..... [Henry] Henry will, not,,, [Joey] *shocked* NO????? [Joey] *absolutely flabbergasted* FOOD!!!!! [Sammy] Gangsters don't usually poison you, they usually give you nice food and then they knock you out and throw you in the river. [Henry] WELL HENRY DOESNT KNOW THAT! [GM] He hasn't done speakeasies like Sammy has!!

[Sammy] I'm noticing that this guy actually looks really nervous, and isn't taking charge of the situation, [GM] He DOES have something that's probably a firearm in his pocket. [Sammy] Yeah, yeah, but, [Jack] It's his emotional support firearm!

[Sammy] Actually... Sammy WILL ask him if he saw it. [GM] Uh, [Sammy] Because he was RIGHT THERE looking at him. And I feel like, once you've seen it, and it does the weird thing where it gets in your head, you're not going to be confused what somebody's talking about if they ask you if you saw the yellow sign. You're going to know what that means. [GM] [GM] Are you going to say the thing...? [Sammy] Have You Seen The Yellow Sign?

[Henry] Henry is half-considering... [Sammy] *manically excited* DO YOU WANT TO TAKE THE THORN OUT OF THIS LION'S PAW, HENRY???

[Henry] You haven't been able to think straight since, have you? [GM] He kind of squints at you, because he's a gangster and he doesn't want to be like "D: YEAH, ITS BEEN REALLY ROUGH :(" [Joey] *laughs* Henry IMMEDIATELY knows this look, because Joey does this as well!

[Sammy] Push the roll!! Push push push! [Henry] *nervous* I DON'T KNOW IF I WANT TO PUSH IT,,, [Sammy] WE'RE ALREADY KIDNAPPED! WHAT ELSE CAN GO WRONG!

[Henry] We didn't get kidnapped, so it's you guys' turn! [Joey] We have the kidnapping charm with us, also known as "Jack Fain"! [Sammy] Oh I thought it was Peter Sunstram. [Sammy] [Sammy] DO THEY STACK?

[Jack] I can't wait for us to get to these spooky occult magic shops, and it's just like, "here's a bunch of overpriced tumbled gemstones and some incense!" [GM] The first one you go to is kind of that style. [Jack] Ideal! I hope they have a really tacky fake skull. [Joey] Joey is judging the whole place.

[Joey] WAIT, wait, they took you from the bar to the restaurant, and then you got the heckin' sign out of Nero's head, and he's not even gonna offer you a ride back to the bar?!? [Henry] I think what we got out of it is "not being kidnapped". [GM] JOEY is the one with the history of talking kidnappers into giving him rides, [Sammy] I do think it would be classier if he gave us a ride. I'm with Boo on this, it would be a classy gangster move. [Sammy] With that guy they kidnapped to do music for whoever's birthday party, they dropped him back off later, but, you know, it's fine, [Joey] Show your heckin' appreciation! *exasperated* THIS IS HOW WE CAN TELL HE'S AVERAGE!! [GM] Uh, lemme roll a quick like............. etiquette roll, [Sammy] Gangster Classiness, [GM] *rolls terribly* Yeah, I think he's frazzled enough -- this is gonna reflect poorly on him later. [Joey] Wow.

[Jack] Normal success for Jack! How many terrible tacky skulls do I see? [GM] Just SO many. [Sammy] This place won't help you, buddy. [Jack] I dunno, if you buy enough tacky skulls, maybe the guy won't wanna get near you. [Henry] Just throw tacky skulls at him! [Jack] A tacky skull a day keeps the pallid mask away!!

[GM] A more discerning occult collection than the other one. [Jack] The kind of place that has the more occult things like, in a locked cabinet instead of in a heap on the counter. [Sammy] In the bargain bin, [Jack] "Box of assorted random magic junk"? Yeah, I wanna rummage my hand in that, I'm not gonna get five curses, [Jack] *laughs* I'm not even AT the other place anymore and I'm still dunking on it! [Sammy] Jack's just saying these things to Joey to like, keep his spirits up. [Joey] It would be working,

[Sammy] I am curious if the restaurant is at the same address that we remember it being on. [GM] It is the same address! The name is different. [Jack] What's the new name? [GM] Lombardi's! It was Leon's. [Henry] ... some dude got his whole name changed, [Jack] Oh man, when do they do that to me, I want a legal name change! [Jack] Bringing the Yellow King into the world to get a free transition, [Sammy] No! Don't do it! He won't transition you into a human, it'll be..... something else,

[Henry] We're gonna run over the Pallid Mask. Vroom vroom motherfucker.

[GM] You do bump into something that is unyielding. [Jack] Oh no, Jack's car! [Jack] ... and also, whatever he hit, I guess!

[Joey] Joey is immediately flipping around to grab his cane; if the guy tries to get in the car, he's going to bash him in the face! and say GET OUT!! [Sammy] Well, it worked really well for Nero, so [Henry] The guy just got hit by a car and didn't move! I don't think the cane's gonna do much! [Jack] Especially not with Joey's weak noodle arms! [Joey] Yeah but he's upset!! That this guy is trying to get in the car! He was not invited in! [GM] ...make a CON roll. [Joey] [Joey] oKEY DOKEY,,,

[Sammy] Peter now is NOT the time to astral project [GM] Luckily he doesn't have that insanity currently, or he'd already be gone! [Jack] The car stops and Pete's ghost just flies through the windshield,

[Jack] I'm losing my mind... [GM] You are! 1d6 of it!

[GM] This is kind of wild magic zone, so you get some creative license. [Joey] Hmm. Hmm! Hmmmmmm... [Sammy] Oh no, you've given Joey Drew creative license,

[Joey] But when I picked out Jack's car, it's the first car that has full safety glass in it!! [Jack] [Jack] SO EVEN MORE EXPENSIVE TO REPLACE!!!

[pterodactylterrace]

“The Blacks won because it’s Rhaenyra’s bloodline that continues on.”

Ok, first of all, Aegon II made Aegon III his heir. Rhaenyra was dragon chow by then. Rhaenyra wanted the iron throne more than anything else, and she only held power for 6 months before the small folk had enough of her bullshit. Six months. She managed to rule for half a year before she was overthrown, not by a usurper, but by her own people. Clearly, not a good ruler if you can’t even make it a year without getting chased out of your castle.

Second, Rhaenyra’s bloodline managed to fumble the ball two feet from the finish line. It started with Aegon the Unworthy and it ended with the mad king being overthrown just before the long night. Just one more generation was all they needed to last, and they fucked everything up so bad it put the entire world of men at risk. That… that takes skill. You have to actively TRY to fuck up that much.

After the conquest, there was noted to be one “good” king, and that was Jaehaerys. Between conquest and dance, Jaehaerys was noted as being a good, wise king. Aenys managed to have a mob trap his oldest two children in a distant castle right before he died. Then Maegor stepped in. He may have been decent if it weren’t for the brain damage. Most of the things he did before the battle on the hill were either rumors or just not that bad. He was also very against Kinslaying. Imo, one of the worst things he did was punish everyone involved in the Kinslaying in The Eyrie. Seems kind of strange he would dole out such a harsh punishment only to then kill his nephew in a very one sided dragon battle. That was the first thing he did after he woke up, though. Considering he had such a drastic change in personality, we can’t say how his rule would have been otherwise.

After Maegor’s death, Jaehaerys steps in. You know what made him a good, worthy king? Not the fact that he was a male, or could fight, or held the bloodline, or even that he rode the bronze fury. It was because he listened to the council of his queen. Alysanne was the real MVP of his reign. She did more for women’s rights than any other queen. She listened to her people. That is the mark of a good ruler. Walk softly, but carry a big stick. Know when to speak and when to listen.

People who know they have power and control don’t need to constantly remind others. They know. It’s not necessary to maim or murder people for speaking the truth, yet Viserys and Rhaenyra do just that.

When Saera majorly fucked up, they handled it. Not the way Alysanne wanted, by the way. She was sent to apprentice with the Silent Sisters just for sleeping with men while not married. Yet Rhaenyra can have 3 obvious bastards, insult the house with the largest naval force and prove to the entire kingdom that her words mean nothing, and Viserys still declares anyone who calls the strong boys bastards would lose their tongue.

Sorry, what? The Valaryons are one of the richest houses in the realm. They control most of the naval fleet. Maybe don’t make their son a cuckold?

“They had an open marriage!”

NO ONE ELSE KNOWS THAT. To the court and the small folk, Rhaenyra promised to be faithful to Laenor in front of the eyes of the gods, and she very obviously didn’t keep that vow. Why should they trust anything she says as Queen if she can’t even do something as simple as not birthing bastards? That’s what most people don’t realize in the bastard debate.

Whether you can prove it or not, the strong boys don’t look like either of their alleged parents. Like, at all. Even Aegon’s drunk ass could tell shit didn’t add up. Commoners are not going to be any different. They are going to know, and whether they can say it or not, it will still affect how they feel towards her. Can’t keep your marriage vows, why should I believe that you have my best interest at heart?

Because she doesn’t. She is a horrible ruler that lasted less than a year before the small folk rose up and drove her out. She feasted while they starved. It’s that self centered mentality that taints the bloodline and leads to The Unworthy.

Clearly no one learned about not having bastards, and this mofo decided to legitimize them on his death bed. Wasn’t going to be his problem, now was it? He died, someone else has to clean up his mess.

Hmm, not knowing how to clean up your own bastard mess, sounds familiar… oh, like Rhaenyra forcing her father to crawl from his death bed to make sure no one said mean (and true) things about her.

So I’m sorry, what were people saying about her being a good ruler? ‘Cause everywhere I look, I see another reason she should not have ascended the throne.

[werecreature-addicted]

Would the sparkling vampires have been reacted to differently if written by a better author? Possibly

I feel like the main reason (imo) for why the sparkling is hated on so much though is that the reveal of it just feels so ridiculous. Like edward claiming he’s a monster or whatever and then proceeds to reveal his shimmery 6 pack is….unconvincing at best

og tags on this post for anyone who hasn't seen it

Excellent question anon. If you think about it there are a lot of silly things we associate with vampires.

Exhibit A: the classic widow's peak black hair and dramatic cape

look at it with fresh eyes and imagine seeing this for the first time, goofy. silly even. but this style of vampire was iconized by Bella Ligosi's performance as Dracula in Dracula 1931 which is of course very good and a staple in vampire cannon as well as just culture in general. It's good and it's old which lends it an air of authority. whereas Twilight is new(ish) and bad so it's artistic changes and creative choices are fighting an uphill battle already, add in the fact that Vampires Sparkling is a little ridiculous and you can see why so many people dismiss Twilight's vampires outright.

This post is so long continued under the cut

Now I am a Twilight fan and I think Twilight is very bad in a lot of ways, the two ideas are not mutually exclusive. Twilight however is a fascinating case study in cultural knowledge and mythos. Stephanie Meyer informally did very little research about Vampire Cannon, if you can call it that, before writing Twilight (link to an interview where she mentions it) so instead of being carefully constructed world-building based on hard rules and strict internal logic, the vampires are kind of loosely defined shadows based on the broadest understanding of what a vampire is. They're dead, they drink blood, they don't go out in sunlight. Some other popular vampire staples go addressed but dismissed as myth (garlic and having no reflection) but then things like The vampires in Twilight don't have fangs and have weird additional supper powers sometimes go just completely taken for granted and not really expanded upon in a satisfying way.

This style of world-building and magic system has a tendency to chafe against readers who have a more in-depth context for vampires and Meyre's more simplistic writing style makes the text come off as juvenile and perhaps a little dumb.

All this to say the sparkling vampires are not handled super well. It is a very large jump from what most readers would expect to see from a vampire story and it is handled inconsistently at best in the text itself. Meyer describes the vampires in the sun both as A beautiful glittering like that of a diamond, and a reflection of light so intense that it looks like the vampire is being burned alive in the sun.

these two conflicting descriptions coupled with the again simplistic and juvenile writing style makes it seem more like a mistake you should roll your eyes at rather than an intentional complexity to read into. I'd argue that Bella sees this inhumanity as beautiful and alluring while Edward sees it as a curse and a reminder of his monstrous nature and therefore disgusting. That being said I don't fault anyone for not wanting to read that deeply into the vampire glittering and instead see it as the author trying to have her cake and eat it too, something Meyers does frequently throughout even just the first Twilight novel.

Not even to mention the movies.

Exhibit B: this is the skin of a killer Bella.

This is prima facie hilarious and stupid. the juxtaposition of the soft glittering effect and the chiming sound in this scene coupled with the seemingly unwarranted disgust is so fucking funny. which is not the tone this scene is going for. it's supposed to be tense, it comes off as corny instead.

Then there is the hate mob that dominated Twilight discourse when it first came out. I will not get into how much of that hate was warranted, what I'm interested in is how much of a cultural impact it had. There was, at least in the beginning, a large group of people who hated Twilight and would hate anything that came from it simply because it came from Twilight. These people grabbed onto the sparkly vampire thing and made it what it is today, these people were never going to be won over by any artistic liberty no matter what.

So to answer your question, I think that if a writer with a more in-depth understanding of vampires and a clearer vision of the magic system wrote Twilight with a more mature tone and more time given to expanding on just the vampire's powers and limitations, and the movies followed these hypothetical books more closely AND if there was never an anti-Twilight coultral movement. then yeah maybe Vampires sparkling wouldn't be seen as the dumbest shit ever.

thank you for coming to my Twilight Ted talk.

[101maverick]

Hearts Intertwined

< Chapter 2

Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: violence, mention of drugs and drug use, mention of overdose, mention of child and domestic abuse, attempted sexual assault.

Summary: Red Hood spends his Easter Sunday patrolling crime alley and finds some interesting (preoccupying?) evidence about a potential problem that might mean teaming up with his family. Jason Todd finds someone in need of help.

Word count: 3374 words

‼️⚠️REMEMBER TO REBLOG!!!⚠️‼️

Jason wasn’t having the best of days.

Easter Sunday was always a more quiet day crime-wise in Park Row, what with most of the mobs being Italian and culturally Catholic, and most of the smaller gangs not wanting to cross them.

Still, that didn’t mean Jason didn’t have his fair share of work to do.

He’d done a good job of claiming Crime Alley as his territory over the years since coming back, especially in the beginning, when the Pit Rage was ever-present and aided him in his shows of intolerance towards anyone who crossed him.

He knew full well that no one had forgotten about the duffel bags and the bodies lying in the alleys. He knew full well everyone worth their salt knew Crime Alley was his, and that it was best to follow his rules lest they end up like their rule-breaking predecessors.

Alas, that didn’t mean there weren’t still people stupid enough in the world to disregard every warning he broadcasted in his career as Crime Lord to try to pull shit he had expressly forbidden.

That made him mad.

The Green edged into the corners of his vision but he quickly stamped it down. He had work to do, and needed a clear mind for it to not hit the fan. After all, while he wasn’t exactly buddy-buddy with the mobs that operated in Crime Alley, he needed to keep things as civil as possible if he wanted to be able to take down the competition as he planned, and that meant not making too much of a ruckus during one of their most important festivities.

He obviously had their demise in the plans. For now though they presented powerful and useful connections and, unlike what good old B seemed to think about him, he was a smart guy and knew when to play nice.

That was why he was out in the first place, witnessing some low-level drug dealer offering some dodgy shit to what was clearly a struggling teen.

He had made it clear he didn’t tolerate drug dealing to kids, and seeing someone disrespecting what was one of his golden rules had him taking a deep breath, counting from one to ten and thinking about how he didn’t want to waste even a single bullet too-many on the waste of space in the alley below him.

With the grace and the stealth he had acquired from his years of training, he made his way down the fire escape of the building he had been perched atop of, stopping on the first-floor level to get a good look at the scene.

The kid was clearly in a bad place, clothes ill-fitting and worn thin from overuse, hair dirty and slightly matted, his expression hardened in a way a kid’s never should be.

He reminded Jason of himself.

The desperation laced in every look the kid gave his surroundings with flittering eyes reminded Jason of that scrappy street rat who tried to survive on the streets of the East End with nothing but the clothes on his back and a tire iron clutched close, grip white-knuckled on the rusted metal.

He too had been a dirty street rat, gloom clinging to him like a stubborn raincloud.

He too had been the target of dodgy individuals who accosted him at the mouth of grimy alleys, offering him stuff to numb the pain in exchange for cash or loyalty.

He too, was given the choice to ruin himself and forget the pain, or persevere with a lucid mind through the horrors life liked to throw at Crime Alley kids.

He didn’t want to see this kid, nor any kid for that matter, make the wrong choice.

The choice his mother had made.

Something akin to sorrow made way through his thoughts, taking control of his nerves and plastering a grimace on his masked features.

He dropped down noiselessly, merging with the shadows albeit the bright crimson of his apparel, and came to a stop a little ways behind the dealer.

The pungent smell of body odour assaulted his senses through his mask’s respirator, disgust and pity filling him. Everyone had a reason for turning out how they did, he wasn’t so shallow as to disregard that, but he also knew that struggling people should know better than anyone else how it feels to be vulnerable, and taking advantage of that was unacceptable in his book.

Getting into motion, he took another step forward and came to a stop behind the dealer, seeing the kid widen his eyes just as he put his hands on the man’s shoulders.

“Ya really should’ve known better than to pull this kinda shit here of all places.” The modulated voice interrupted the man’s talking, stopping the spiel he had launched into to butter the kid up into buying his product.

Red Hood didn’t even give the man time to turn around before he flipped him on his back, a sickening crack reverberating through the air, cutting through the stench of rotting garbage in tandem with his shrill scream of pain.

While keeping the man on the ground even through his thrashing, Hood bent down to whisper in his ear, voice scathing and rough.

“You’re lucky the kid is here, it means you get a head-start,” he seethed, modulator crackling and tone steely cool. “Better start running, bud.”

With that he let the dealer go, roughly pushing him down as he got up himself, turning around as the man stumbled to his feet and broke out into a mad dash, ignoring his cracked ribs.

As the sound of harried footsteps faded from proximity, Hood faced the teen. He was trembling slightly, having taken a few steps back in the few moments the scuffle had lasted.

The vigilante levelled the kid with a look through his mask, his posture loosening and his shoulders hunching slightly.

He had been a kid just like that, years ago, wide-eyed and frantically searching for safety anywhere he could, always coming up empty in his quest. Just because that kid was six feet under didn’t mean he had forgotten how it felt.

From behind the mask, his modulated voice came out with its distinctive roughness, but lacking any anger. Only understanding made its way out. “Kid, daylight or not, it’s not safe out here. You should get back home.”

The teen looked up at him, sorrow etching onto his features before he could get them under control. That expression told Hood everything he needed to know.

He sighed, taking a moment to breathe deeply, and moved to take out his wallet.

He hated how used he had gotten to this song and dance. Finding a kid in need of help in his territory, finding out they didn’t have anyone- or anyone reliable, at least,- and giving them a wad of cash and the address to the only people he even somewhat ‘trusted’ these days.

“Here, kid, take ‘em,” he said, voice calm and gentle despite the scratchiness. “Get yourself something to eat and then get to this address. Ask for a girl called Dollie, tell ‘em I sentch’ya.”

The kid hurried to take what was offered and nodded quickly, looking at him with wide eyes as his expression morphed to one of awe and slight disbelief.

After blinking rapidly a few times, he stammered out a quick “Th-thank you!” and made quick work of getting out of the alley and disappearing in a side street.

Jason silently watched him retreat, thoughts swirling and mixing with exhaustion. His mind wandered.

In the midday quiet, he found himself suddenly face to face with his mother, looking at him with mirth in her eyes and exhaustion in her shoulders.

Her voice was soft, amusement lessening the effect of her chiding tone. “Jason, we have to say Grace before eating,” she said, holding the palm of her hand to him. “It’s how we show our thanks for the food we are given, especially today.”

He looked up at her with a slight pout on his face, features crumbling into a smile as he tried to keep up the act. “Sorry, mama,” he put his hand in her roughened palm. “I promise I’m thankful!”

She laughed, timbre high-pitched and gleeful. “Don’t worry baby boy, I know you are.” Her smile coloured her words.

He smiled up at her, and together they said Grace.

A loud crash jolted him out of his stupor, the indignant mewl of a stray cat cutting the air as used beer cans clattered on the floor of the alley.

For a few seconds his gaze was transfixed on a point far away, his mom’s radiant smile imprinted behind his eyelids.

He briefly looked at the ground, his eyes zeroing in on the baggie the dealer had dropped in his haste. A bright orange powder sat inside, something he had never seen before.

He bent down and picked it up, putting it in one of his many pockets to study later.

With a stray tear and one last heavy sigh he turned to the mouth of the alley, straightening out and readjusting his stance.

In the haze, he had almost forgotten.

He had a hunt to get to.

—————————————————————

Jason walked at a leisurely pace, his footsteps the only thing reverberating in the early evening air.

It was always like this after a Red Hood patrol, Park Row quiet and still after the ruckus of the hunt.

It was in that quiet that he heard a noise pierce the air, a cut-off scream coming from somewhere around two hundred feet away.

Muffled screams and rustling clothes guided him to the mouth of an alley, where he saw a man trying to undo a young woman’s coat one-handed, the other busy trying to shut her up.

He was decently sized, around 5’8 and with a worker’s build, appearance unkept and clothes dirty.

She, on the other hand, was a pretty small thing, 5’3 by the looks of it and not very muscular.

He skidded to a halt, chest heaving as arsenic-green rage ran down the walls of his mind, scorching every rational thought away.

“HEY!”

His voice cut through the air, lifting itself into the air deep and rough and fiery and angry, the scratchiness of it the aspect he knew made every criminal he went against tremble.

The man turned around, brusque features pulled into an unpleasant scowl. “The fuck ya wan’, man?” He slurred, clearly drunk.

All of his self-control was spent not leaping to tear the man limb from limb, the knowledge it wouldn’t have helped the victim making its way near the logical part of his mind.

“For you to get out of here, and fast.” He grit out, fire in his throat scathing his words.

The drunk kept looking at him for a few moments, and Jason could see how his eyes widened in confusion and his brow creased in badly-concealed fear, no doubt recognising some of the fire in his voice as Red Hood’s. Jason knew he couldn’t see his features though, which was a relief.

He watched as the man took his hands off of the woman without even glancing in her direction, muttering something unintelligible from where he was standing. He kept his stance looming, gaze pinched and eyes narrowed to maximise the threatening effect his appearance already had.

Once the drunk passed by him while on his way out of the alley Jason gave himself the satisfaction of shoving him, hard enough to make him stumble, and enjoyed the sight of him breaking into a sprint to get away from him. Red Hood would certainly hunt him down first chance he got, but for now there was a victim Jason had to take care of.

He looked at the young woman left in the alley. She had frozen in place the moment he first spoke, tears streaming down her face and trembling like a leaf. She was staring at the spot het assaulter had last been, somewhere next to him.

He started slowly making his way toward her, the crunch of glass under his boots the only sound making company to the woman’s shallow and rattling breaths.

The roughness in his voice was something he could never control, his vocal cords mangled by months and months of screaming. Despite that, every time a situation like this came about his voice found a way to become gentle, almost soft. It was one of the only things that he still had from Before. From Jason Todd, malnourished 15-year-old that went around proclaiming ‘Robin is magic’ with stars in his eyes, who always knew how to comfort and nurture.

“Hey.” It reverberated through the night. “Are you hurt?”

After a beat, the lady shook her head. Her breathing was still shaky, and through her trembling she lightly swayed from side to side, like a blade of grass in the breeze.

“Can you walk?” He gently prodded.

Another beat passed and, after a moment, she slowly shook her head no.

Jason stayed silent for a few seconds, considering his options. Leaving her here was out of the question, Park Row was already dangerous in normal circumstances but especially for a lady at night and after such a traumatic event, plus she looked a breeze away from toppling over. The nearest police cruiser was outside of the East End all together, so moving as fast as possible was the priority. Even after a Red Hood Holiday-Special patrol, as he had just witnessed, people were still lurking. However Jason wasn’t entirely confident in the idea the lady in front of him would’ve been able to make it that far even with his support, so bringing her to the girls he knew and relatively trusted that worked the street corners was the best option.

With his decision made, he took a deep breath and steeled his resolve, slowly raising his hands to show his empty palms. He had to admit he was pretty rusty at the whole comforting-victims shebang, due to his threatening appearance and everything that had happened to him, but it still came somewhat naturally.

He looked at her, expression calculatedly calm and relaxed. “I’m gonna come towards you, ok? I swear I won’t do anything, I just want to make sure you’re okay and help you walk if you’ll let me, alright? It’s not safe here at night, I don’t want to leave you alone like this.” His tone was still soft, his voice careful.

The woman jerked her head in a quick nodding motion, and with that he proceeded, slowly making his way toward the victim. He kept his shoulders hunched and his hands up at shoulder height still, splayed to show his rough but empty hands. He was trying to make himself appear as small and non-threatening as possible, despite the fact he knew of its ineffectiveness. It still helped telegraph his intentions and movements, so he didn’t stop. Plus, he saw the woman’s shoulders lower a bit, the muscles un-tensing slightly and tears stopping, even if she continued to tremble.

He stopped a few feet from her and slowly lowered his hands, letting his arms go slack at his sides. The young woman’s gaze wandered around his face, studying him. He held her stare through all of it, her study stopping to fix her gaze into his eyes. He kept his features gentle, in tandem with his tone throughout the interaction.

“Can I help you walk?” He asked. “If you say yes, I’d just put my arm around your back and help steady you, nothing more.”

Jason watched as the lady tried to speak, opening and closing her mouth a few times. He then watched as her breathing picked up once again along with the flow of tears, her eyes fixed somewhere on the ground of the filthy alley.

At your reaction he initially froze up. Gosh, he felt absolutely awful. He should’ve known it would’ve been overwhelming and downright scary to have such a thing proposed after an attempted sexual assault.

As much as Jason felt bad, he knew he had no time for self-deprecation right now. He swallowed down his panic, turning it all into concern. He didn’t come any closer, but he did lower himself to a crouch in hopes of catching the lady’s eyes.

He decided to shoot his shot, speaking up. “Hey, are you okay? Please, follow my breaths.”

As he asked this, he slowly reached out to gently touch her hand, which hung limply at her side.

The moment Jason’s hand made contact, the young woman jolted out of her haze and fixed her gaze on him, before taking a rattling breath with him.

He stayed like that, crouched on the ground and concentrating on his breaths and keeping eye contact with her, until her trembling subsided as much as possible.

With getting out of the alley probably off the table, he thought about an alternative. He could have waited with the lady to make sure she regained enough composure to go on her way and then follow her from a distance as Red Hood to make sure nothing more happened to her.

He spoke up, then. “I’m sorry if what i said upset you. Do you not want help with walking? It’s fine if you don’t, we can wait here until you’re fine enough to go on your way. I won’t let anyone bother you.” He kept his voice low, to not risk bursting the bubble of relative calm that had settled over the himself and the unknown woman.

Her eyes shone, a strong glint in them that looked to be almost anticlimactic in comparison to her frame and her trembling. It steeled her, in a way. Showed a window to a complex personality. It interested Jason, in a way.

She once again tried speaking, and this time succeeded. “Thank you.” Clumsily tumbled out of her mouth. “I’d a-appreciate the help.” Her voice was feeble, oscillating between a whisper and something barely above that, pitched high and slightly trembly, no doubt from the residual panic.

That… gave him pause. Jason’s eyes widened and his lips parted slightly,his expression opening into one of surprise, the control over his facial muscles slipping. He wasn’t sure what exactly you were thanking him for, he just did his duty. Any sane person would have.

The words were out of his mouth almost out of reflex, voicing his opinion. “You don’t need to thank me. I… I just did what was right. You needed help, so I gave it.”

His voice wavered slightly, faltering mid sentence, but the sentiment was all there, sure as ever.

The words were said many times by him and other vigilantes when comforting victims, but this was the first time Jason was so intimately sure of them. It wasn’t the sureness with which someone repeated an axiom, but the tone of someone who had just had an epiphany. And for all that Jason knew, he might have had one. In that moment he realised just how open he had been with this lady, and how easily his walls melted from just six words from her.

His vulnerability in the face of a stranger suddenly hit him, but it didn’t bother him. Nevertheless, he broke out of the moment. He got up from his crouch and came up to the woman’s right side, lifting up his left hand and setting it just under her left arm, in order to support most of her weight.

Her trembling had dialled down to little tremors wracking her body, probably a mix of cold and residual shock, and they were even more evident with her body so close to Jason’s.

Their size difference struck him also, and he realised how uncomfortable it must be to be so close to a virtual stranger in a situation like this.

Once again, he spoke on instinct. “My name is Jason, by the way, Jason Todd. You know, in case it helps you feel a little less uncomfortable with being so close to a stranger.”

The young lady looked up at him then, a spark in her eyes and a soft smile on her lips.

She gave Jason her name.

PREV. CHAPTER INDEX NEXT

[aricarianis]

Mask and Mirror | AO3 Simon "Ghost" Riley / Female Character Rape/Non-con, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Predator/Prey, Stalking, Violence, Aggression, Choking.

THIS IS A HORROR STORY. Chapter 1: The Stranger In The Shadows Estimated reading time: 19 minutes.

There are only two rules on Halloween: have fun, and watch out for the freaks.

When an unassuming girl tries to lose the masked stranger stalking her on Halloween night, a spine-chilling game of cat and mouse begins. Each encounter grows more dangerous and intimate, blurring the lines between predator and prey. As tension and terror build, it’s only a matter of time before one of them is forced to surrender—if they make it out at all.

The last autumn breeze brushed past a face that dared to be uncovered on All Hallow’s Eve.

It was cold enough to signal the onset of the darkest season, but not quite enough to force girls into warm clothing. Halloween was the one night where inhibitions faded and impulses ruled. For her, it was also the last chance to have some fun—pull a trick, take home a treat.

Confined in the soft cage of her mermaid costume, she made her best effort to walk quickly, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Partygoers brushed past in waves of theatrical ensembles. In the flashing lights and dark street corners, it was too easy to lose sight of someone. Which pair of wings or which set of bunny ears belongs to whom is anyone’s guess.

She, on the other hand, was hard to lose sight of. Being a mermaid for Halloween was hardly a groundbreaking idea, but the looks of disgust directed at her spoke for themselves. Most mermaids weren’t pallid, perpetually damp and slimy. Their costumes weren’t covered in a mucuous dark liquid that spread to their skin like a filthy sea rash. Their hair wasn’t tangled like seaweed, with nails as sharp as broken shells.

If philosophers who believe humans are inherently bad are correct, and goodness is just a layer people wear each day, then stripping that layer away should keep others at bay. No one should want to come close to something that looks deliberately sickly and unnerving.

No one but the man that kept trailing her, ignoring the warning signs.

Some might argue that being chased by a freak is part of the Halloween experience. After all, it’s the night when masks allow people to wear their ugliness openly, when the veil between real and imaginary gets a little too thin. Good people feel free to be a little bad, and bad people feel free to make the night of horrors live up to its name.

There’s a strange type of comfort about being at a Halloween parade, with celebrations and bonfires that have existed long before our time. The fake blood, the rusty houses, the dirty streets; air heavy with possibility. Any shoulder bumped against could open a door to the unknown. The music—too loud to let screams through. The people—too drunk to perceive danger before it’s too late. Anyone running past could be having fun or could be in genuine danger. Nothing seems safe, and that liminal space of perception, that limbo between bliss and horror that permeates every corner of Halloween night, is what keeps us coming back to celebrate death—as a reminder we’re alive.

Experiencing that limbo is Halloween’s ultimate allure. But sometimes the fantasy breaks, the veil lifts, and you realize that the danger isn’t imaginary.

The burn she felt in her legs as she tried to lose him in the crowd was real enough.

He stayed close despite the ever growing mob.

She grabbed her phone to call her friends once again. It seemed futile with all the noise, yet she tried. After a few minutes, a familiar voice cut through the buzz and made its way to her.

“Mae!” Her friend’s wings bounced as she waved enthusiastically.

Mae pushed through the crowd to get to her newfound safe haven.

“I told you not to call me that in public.”

“It’s short for mermaid—”

“No, it isn’t.”

“And… it’s just for tonight. It’s not safe to give our real names to strangers, you know that. Tonight, you’re Mae and I’m… Fae.”

Mae gave a light chuckle and nodded in agreement.

“Fake names aren’t much of a safety guarantee, I tell you that,” she said while looking around, but there was no sign of the man. She leaned in, close enough for her words to be just between them.

“I saw him.”

Fae turned to look at Mae, the gleam in her eyes matching the glitter on her lids. “Are you sure? There are a lot of masked people here.”

“I’d recognize that skull mask anywhere.”

A loud smash rang out, and the sharp echo of broken glass traveled the air alongside slurred insults—a brewing brawl. Suddenly, bodies pushed against one another like schooling fish. Mae grabbed onto Fae’s wrist, and as Fae’s eyes trailed up, Mae knew whose hand lay on her stomach. She felt the warmth of a body pressing against her, solid and unyielding; his form swallowing hers completely.

For a second, time stopped. She lifted her head, glancing over her shoulder to meet his eyes—dark as the night sky behind him. Her jaw clenched, anger bubbling up at her own vulnerability. She could’ve sworn she saw a movement, a slight raise of his cheeks behind the mask. Time resumed. A change of position, an unknown push, Fae’s other arm finding hers. Gone.

A man his size shouldn’t be able to vanish so easily.

“We need to get the others! Where’s your phone?  Mine's in Jennifer’s purse.” Fae raised her voice as the agitated horde pushed them to the sidewalk.

“Jennifer doesn’t get a fake name?” The confusion in Mae’s tone turned to heaviness as she searched her purse.

“My creativity only goes so far,” Fae replied. “Come on, give it to me.”

“It’s not here.”

“What do you mean? You just had it.”

“Yeah, I did, but I-I can’t find it. I swear, it was right here, it must’ve…” Mae trailed off, scanning the ground, hoping her phone would somehow be there, though deep down, she already knew it wouldn’t.

Their eyes met. The knowing exchange spoke before they could.

“The girls were at the bar at the end of the street when I left to look for you,” Fae said first, nodding toward the direction. “We can start there.”

“We have to get my phone back.”

“It could be just some creep trying to get your attention—”

“Now he has it.” Mae’s anger simmered back up.

“Or... it could be someone trying to hurt you,” Fae said softly, as if assessing her friend’s next step. “You've never had to deal with one like him before.”

“Well… I’ve always loved first times.”

Mae grabbed Fae’s wrist and led the way, her grip tightening as they squeezed through the last of the crowd toward the bar. The quick steps confined in her costume made her legs burn again—a sensation she now knew all too well, and only because of him.

Costumed folks packed the bar, as the air hung thick with booze and bad decisions. In their corner, Mae stared blankly at the far wall, hardly listening as Fae recounted the story. Something in Fae’s tone—how she spun it like a fairytale rather than the gruesome folk legend it truly was—kept Mae’s anger simmering beneath the surface.

“AGAIN?” Tammie’s disbelief pulled Mae back into the moment. Jennifer signaled for her to keep it down, holding the phone to her ear. Tammie leaned in, repeating more quietly, “Again? How many times now, three?”

“Five,” Mae snapped, her voice tight with frustration. “Son of a bitch has followed me five times in three weeks.”

“Not used to a little attention, huh?” Jennifer smirked, clearly savoring the drama. “I told you to do something about it on the third time.”

Mae rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think it’d go this far, Jen. The guy just seemed like a random creep, not a—”

“Stalker?” Tammie finished, crossing her arms. Her usual easygoing demeanor shifted to one of concern.

Silence settled around them, despite the rowdy bar.

“Nothing?” Tammie asked Jennifer, signaling toward the phone.

Jennifer shook her head, the phone still glued to her ear.

“It’s not too late to let it go, babe,” Fae’s soft tone came back as she caressed Mae’s arm. “You’re the last person to go into things without a plan.”

Mae clenched her jaw. “You know damn well he can’t keep that phone—“

“Hello?” Jennifer blurted, eyes wide. “Can you hear me?”

The girls all turned to her, holding their breaths expectantly. Jennifer furrowed her brows as she turned to look at Mae, sharing a glance of mutual confusion before passing the phone to her.

“Hello?” Mae’s voice grew tense, eyes narrowing. “Yes, yes I understand—”

The girls scanned Mae’s face for some hint of explanation, but got nothing. They couldn’t find reassurance in each others’ worried expressions either.

“Why are you…” Her expression shifted from disbelief to irritation. “I understand… Simon.”

Mae handed the phone back, feeling discomfort permeate her body, and watching the girls’ faces contort with anger as they reacted to what she’d just heard.

The Haunted House. Fifteen minutes. Alone.

Despite their protests, the girls reluctantly agreed to let Mae go. It was a public space, after all, and he’d never tried anything dangerous while in a crowd. Maybe it’d be a simple exchange, a creepy way to ask for her number. But what were the odds?

Something weird happens once, it’s an accident. Twice, a coincidence. Three times, a pattern. By the fifth time, it’s hard not to think of it as a threat.

Simon didn’t mind to be seen as a threat; he’d learned early that his quiet intensity threw people off. The way he scanned the most unassuming places, how his every step was measured, balanced; movements so controlled they felt artistic—a dancer gliding across a shadowed ballroom.

Big guys like him were supposed to soften the edges, to show their faces, smile, make themselves smaller. But that wasn’t his training. That wasn’t who he was. Each time he chose not to wear the layers people expected, it was as if they could smell the blood on him, no matter how long it had been washed off. He’d made a living off of realizing his threats, and he was one of the best.

Of course, his nature became a hindrance when he craved human contact, which is why dating was off the table. He fulfilled his desires on other bodies, but never looked for love in them. Love is the most volatile element in any situation, and to be as good as him, you have to give up anything uncertain. In his line of work, predictability is the key between life and death.

He spent most of his free time roaming around the towns his team was stationed at, not only scanning places but people. How they moved, how they talked. The joyful screams of kids when their fathers picked them up. The wrinkles deepening on old ladies’ faces as their husbands repeated the same old stories. How deep a lass bit into the caramel apple she shared with her friend. The way her lips moved and gleamed. How the wind carried the earthy aroma of the forest, the sweet scent of the treat, and her. How she strangely caught his gaze and stared back, longer than anyone would, waving slowly as her sharp nails cut through the air.

There was something off about her, something under the surface. Like touching a wall warmed by the day's sun, even though night has fallen. Or standing outside a seemingly calm room, only to hear faint screaming as a prisoner denies information. Things you’d only catch if you’re watching closely. Attention you only pay to what you’re familiar with.

He trailed her for the first time after she went back for a second caramel apple. The second time was at the local mini-market, her cart stocked with an expensive brand of wine. The third time, he saw her loading luggage into the boot of her car at two in the morning. The fourth was at a restaurant, where she laughed with a group of men, and he sent a bottle of that same wine to her table. The fifth time, he stepped in between her and a street brawl, adrenaline rushing through his veins like a long-lost pulse. His grip on her wasn’t protective; it was a taste of control.

He stared at her phone, patiently counting down the fifteen minutes. Strange how her entire world was just a numerical combination away. Each time the screen lit up with the names of other men, something in him twisted tight. None of them knew her like he did. Did they see how the light made her caramel-stained lips glisten? Taste the remnants of expensive wine lingering on her tongue? Feel the sting of her sharp nails as they left marks that only he could reciprocate?

On that first night, he stared into the void, and the void didn’t flinch—it stared harder and waved back. Unbroken. Defiant. He can’t afford to crave affection, so he made it his mission to watch her surrender. The quiet command in her eyes fueled the mad man within, and he’d treat her like any opponent: study her, approach her, break her.

The most quiet houses often turn out to be the scariest. They look mundane, traditional—the kind of place where a family would lead a regular life. Yet, that façade can be enough to hide the horror inside. Domestic privacy becomes the foundation for a certain brand evil, one that allows fear to fester like mold. Modest walls turn into breeding grounds for monstrosity. Haunted houses, then, are symbols of honesty, of all the decay and abandonment humans are capable of creating.

There’s not a more honest month than October. As Mae entered the local honesty spot, cobwebs danced to the sounds of wood groaning against wind. Plastic spiders and makeshift ghosts welcomed passersby as the flickering jack-o’-lanterns showed them the way. The man inside might as well be another haunted attraction.

The draped black cloth on the walls served as a backdrop for the fake fog swirling at ankle height, forcing Mae to watch her every step. She carefully navigated each room, searching for the skull mask she now knew too well, and the man behind it. The loud whirrs of animatronic witches and the sudden clatter of popping skeletons set her nerves on edge, as if warning her about the last room in the upstairs hallway.

The sign on the door made it clear—that place wasn’t part of the attraction. It was a makeshift storage room for personal belongings, a reminder that the house wasn’t haunted for eleven months of the year. As she peeked inside, her gaze swept across the room until she made out his form. He was staring at a portrait cramped on top of a dresser, next to other family items. A man, a woman, two happy girls and a dog. Normal, certain—an unusual type of predictability for him. He seemed at ease, peaceful. For a moment, his imposing frame and odd behavior seemed almost misunderstood. A view shaped by a pessimism she knew too well.

That feeling lasted until he looked over his shoulder and met her eyes. The way the light seemed to retreat from his gaze as it bore into her soul meant, this time, she was right to assume the worst.

“Give it back.” She stood on the doorway, palm open in demand.

He remained in place as if he were part of the furniture.

“Look,” her sharp gaze signaling an anger that never went away “I don’t know who you are or what you want. If you’re just some weirdo freak who doesn’t know how to ask a girl out, fine.”

She gave him a split second to react, to show that she had read him right. He was stone.

“But if you’re here because you think you can intimidate me—”

His arm shot out, slamming the door behind her. Right hand digging into her jaw; the left tangled in her hair. Her skull met the door with a sharp crack, and the room spun in the echo of her interrupted words. Yet the weight of his body wasn’t enough to crush her defiance.

“—means you haven’t learned anything from all the stalking.” Her voice barely cut through the ringing in her ears. Pain seared through her head, but she clenched her jaw, forcing herself to hold his gaze.

His hot breath cut through the cold air in shallow bursts—not from exertion, but from something raw and primal: rage fused with obsession and desire. He tightened the grip on her hair as his right hand slid to her throat, squeezing just enough to make it clear she was not in charge. Her eyes widened, a short gasp escaping her lips, and he took her parted mouth as an invitation to close in, their lips brushing against the rough texture of the mask.

“I learned that this,” he spoke into her mouth, his grip tightening around her throat, “is what you needed. You needed someone to control your disobedience.”

Mae furrowed her eyebrows in complete confusion. The weight of Simon’s words twisted something in her stomach, making each exhale heavier than the inhale that preceded it. Nausea creeped in and she felt a wave of tingles on her nose—a sign that his twisted reasoning was taking root.

As the first tears welled in her eyes, he let out an amused chuckle and released her throat. The sudden rush of air into her lungs stung, and she gasped sharply, a sound that turned into an unsteady wail as she noticed his gaze dropping lower. A chill surged through her before she even registered his free, rock hard member pressing against her stomach. It was as if the room itself contracted around her, suffocating with its silence. The veil had lifted—this horror was real.

Her body jerked reflexively, muscles going taut as a wire. Simon’s free hand moved down her skirt, fingers searching for her entrance with a methodical, invasive precision that made her skin crawl. Jackpot. He stroked over her folds, rubbing rough circles on her clit to get her body to react as it would if she were a willing player in this scenario. Her mind raced in an attempt to pinpoint what she could have done to deserve this. But she knew better. This wasn’t her fault, even if the terror whispered otherwise. This was what happened when you brushed too close to people like Simon—quiet beasts that reeked of blood.

“S-Stop, please, Simon, I—“

“Are so wet f’me,” a smug tone on his voice. “Gonna say you don’t want this, luv? Cunt dripping all over my hand and you’re gonna lie?”

Even overwhelmed, Mae’s mind searched for options. She was the last person to go into things without a plan. The first step was to slow down her breath—hard to do when Simon was already using her wetness to bully his thick digits into her; each stroke drawing a hum of approval from him. He rested his head in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent as if to answer one of the many questions he had about her. His hot breath, the weight of his body, his rough movements—all filled her senses. Yet she had to find ways to ground herself in the bleak present, to craft the perfect opportunity for an escape.

Mae shifted slightly, feeling the solid surface of the door pressing into her back. The faint steps of the last visitors leaving the house echoed from somewhere distant, signaling that they were alone. She closed her eyes briefly, recalling the layout of the house from her earlier tour. If she timed it right, there was still a chance.

Drawing a breath, she softened her expression, letting her hands move to Simon’s hips. His eyes lit up with a twisted satisfaction as she began to trace her fingers around his cock. “See?” he murmured, his voice low and triumphant. “Just needed some obedience fucked into you.”

But the look in her eyes was anything but submissive. In a sudden, decisive move, Mae clamped her teeth down on the exposed skin of his neck while her nails—sharp as broken shells—raked into his balls. Simon's eyes widened in shock, his grip faltering just enough for her to push her full weight against him. She managed to break the distance between them, the momentum sending him stumbling backward.

The reprieve was brief. He swung back with a brutal slap that cracked like thunder against her face, the force disorienting her and leaving a burning trail of pain that echoed through her skull. She staggered, vision blurring and darkness creeping at the edges, but she didn't let the agony stop her. Mae bolted for the hallway, every muscle straining as she tore through the space and spotted the back door.

Simon’s roar followed, along with the heavy thud of his boots closing in as he wiped the blood dripping from the bite. But she was already out, sprinting toward the woods, the cool night air biting at her skin while an all too familiar burn crept back up her legs.

Trees blurred past in quick flashes, yet Simon’s footsteps were nearly soundless. His breath was steady, pulse in perfect control. The forest was his ballroom, and he moved like a seasoned dancer, leaving no trail behind him despite the thrill of the hunt. Twigs snapped nearby, a deep rustle to his left, a faint crunch to his right. Probably a deer, maybe a bear. To an untrained ear, the woods were brown noise; to him, an orchestra conducting his every step.

The darkness had no effect on him; his trained instincts led the way with ease. He paused, sensing her movements through the undergrowth—chaotic, erratic. Naive girls who think they can escape if they draw a little blood. He knew exactly where she was headed; her scent lingered in his system. He tilted his head to the left, eyes tracking to the right. A footfall right ahead. Jackpot.

Her messy disposition blended seamlessly with the chaos of the woodland. Breathless, disheveled, defeated—a creature in unfamiliar territory. Fish out of water.

She stood a few feet away, slightly hunched in surrender, a stark contrast to her usual proud self. Too easy. A faint prick of unease nudged at the back of Simon’s mind; after all, she had drawn blood the last time he got too close. Still, he pushed forward. He couldn’t have misjudged a simple chase. He was too skilled, too well-trained. One of the best.

He moved patiently over the foliage, cautious as if not to startle a wild animal. She remained still, vulnerable, accepting whatever fate Simon had prepared for her. One step, not too far. Another, closing in. Third step. Loud woosh. Acute pain. A bear trap. Suddenly, a fierce electric sting shot through his limbs, his own body turning against him. A taser. Muscles locked, forcing him into uncontrollable spasms. His back scraped against the rough ground as disorientation set in, making him oblivious to the shadows slipping into his blind spot.

Before he could react, his arms were forced back, wrists bound tightly together. The harsh scratch against his skin warned him of how little time he had before he was fully restrained. He struggled against the bear trap clamping his leg—a painful inconvenience—while the bindings around his wrists constricted further, vertical loops added to prevent any twisting escape. Smart.

Without wasting a moment, they secured his wrists to his waist and loosely bound his elbows, preventing any upward movement even if he managed to wriggle. With his limited upper body strength, finding leverage seemed impossible. The bear trap made it easier for them to restrain his legs, rope wrapping tightly around his lower thighs and knees. To finish the job, they pushed him against a tree, encircling his torso with the final length of rope, fully immobilizing him. As they stood at his feet, admiring their handiwork, a sinking realization settled in—he recognized the three familiar faces. Loyal friends she has.

“Should we get it out?” Jennifer asked, panting lightly as she examined the extent of his leg injury, her expression focused.

“I’m not done with him yet,” Mae retorted, monotone as she bore into his eyes.

“What are you gonna do, babe?” Fae interjected, concern etched across her face, but it wasn’t enough to sway Mae’s resolve.

“Nothing he hasn’t done first.”

Simon watched as the women faded into the forest, leaving him at Mae’s mercy. His uneven breath and racing pulse revealed his disbelief, body heating with the anger of being caught in this situation.

“Good show, lass. Am I bear snack now?” Simon scoffed, his need to regain the upper hand surfacing, even if it was futile.

“Was that your plan for me?”

“Yeah… and I was the bear.”

Mae nudged the trap with her foot, drawing a low grunt from Simon. “You were.”

“You’re a proper nutter, you know that?” His breaths grew shallow and rapid, betraying his frustration.

Mae bent at the waist, lowering herself until her face was just inches away from his. Her gaze steady and unyielding. The void staring back. "Birds of a feather, aren’t we?"

With a swift motion, she tore his mask off and stuffed it into his mouth. Shallow and deep scars littered his face, moonlight glinting over each mark. His nose was crooked, broken one too many times. His eyes—dark, bottomless—widened as he watched her slowly remove her costume, piece by piece. Confusion and dread seeped into him as he struggled to anticipate her next move, to guess what trick she’d pull.

The light traced her form, hugging the curves and lines of her body. Soft yet firm, peaks and valleys of pure poetry that relaxed him at the sight—first time in too long.

She leaned down, straddling his lap, her hands slipping between them as they stared into each other’s eyes. Simon furrowed his brows as he felt a pull on his hips. He dropped his gaze to see his pants halfway down his thighs, his member firmly in her hand. She began to stroke it, slowly, feeling the pull of his skin under her touch. “Is this what you wanted?”

Simon grunted, unintelligible, as the mask suffocated his words, his forehead creased in confusion. His body reacted as if it had disconnected from his mind, unaware that this was not how it was supposed to happen.

“I thought you wanted to control me,” Mae sneered as she picked up speed. “You can’t even control yourself.”

Simon took a deep breath as he felt his cock swell under the friction. He struggled to regain composure, to remind himself who was in charge. This was a game—a game he could easily win if he could keep his impulses in check. Keeping his cool under life-threatening situations was part of his job; this should be no different. He was too skilled, too well-trained. One of the bes—

“Open your eyes,” Mae commanded, and Simon obliged, not even realizing when he had closed them. With practiced ease, she pooled saliva at the back of her throat, letting it gather at the tip of her tongue before she opened her mouth—thick strand glistening in the light before landing on the tip of his cock.

Simon could only respond with deep, muffled groans, his face contorted in rage. This was not how it was supposed to go. Veins bulged along his member, which at this point was fully engaged. Precum leaked as he shook his head in frustration, ashamed at how his body betrayed him, welcoming the assault even as his mind rebelled.

Mae raised herself slightly, adjusting his angry red tip right at her entrance, still wet from the earlier invasion. With a slow, methodical movement, she crouched down, easing his thickness into her cunt—tight and fluttering at the incursion. It was massive, almost impossible, the type of weapon used to bring more harm than peace. She shuddered at the thought of how things might have played out were she still under Simon’s reign, yet she remained impassive. “Control yourself.”

Simon’s brows furrowed in plea as he struggled against the ropes—desperate, confused, guilty. He was overwhelmed at the detachment, at how all the physical sensations were there but his mind couldn’t enjoy it. He just wanted out.

Mae picked up the pace as she squatted on his lap, walls spasming at the forced entrance. She could feel him in her bones, splitting her open, invading even when he was out of control. It wasn’t as comfortable as it could be, but it was worth it for his look of terror alone.

He felt dizzy as she fucked him so hard his back scorched against the tree. His pulse pounded in his ears, her warmth and slick mirroring the heat pooling in places he wished it wouldn’t. Simon squirmed, his eyes pleading with Mae to stop as he teetered on the edge of orgasm.

“Control your fucking self!” Mae shouted, her voice brimming with rage. “This is your fault. This is what you made me do!”

Her hands clamped around his throat, surgical, cutting off just enough airflow to push him toward unconsciousness. To Simon, her intentions seemed far more sinister. He let out a hoarse scream, overwhelmed by a surge of anxiety, shame, and a fear he hadn’t felt in years. Her hips plunged, the familiar burn creeping up on her legs as her cunt choked him—violent thrusts sprinting towards the end, demanding. Shockwave. He twitched and grunted as the climax spread across his body, the impact reverberating through them both. His cum leaked from her pussy as the realization dawned—he had severely underestimated his opponent.

As Mae’s movements slowed, her grip around his throat tightened. She watched as his eyes grew heavy, each blink longer than the last, while a disorienting fog clouded his mind.

“Do you know why people wear masks on Halloween?” Mae asked, her voice as calm as rocks in a seastorm.

Simon squinted in confusion, his body going slack beneath her hold. A tremor rippled through his limbs, marking the last moments of resistance before surrender.

“They believed the line between the world of the living and the dead blurred, and that spirits could walk the earth. They started wearing masks because they thought they could protect themselves from evil by blending in,” she continued, her tone hypnotic. “But, you see, we don’t know what evil looks like.”

His eyes fluttered, unfocused, a final shudder running through him as he hovered at the edge of darkness. The moment hung suspended, enough for Mae’s voice to cut through one last time before he slipped entirely into the void.

“Would you be scared of the boogeyman if he looked like me?”

[my-catsface]

When Minecraft first added horses, my brother and I dropped everything we were doing to play it.

We booted up the Xbox, opened a new world, and I waited diligently for his controller to pair for split screen. When it finally did, we set to work building the shittiest, ugliest, most lopsided stable ever. We didn’t add beds, because it wasn’t a house. It was a stable, we knew that. But we added stalls for the horses and an outside area, because of course, the horses should have sunlight.

When we found out they could jump over blocks and run faster than other horses, we set out to make the most elaborate obstacle course we could imagine. We raced against each other over and over again, using different horses and different rules until we were finally bored, hours later.

This post is going to be exactly what you’d expect. I am generally not a person who devotes lots of time to stuff like this. Other people have said better things about the quality of the Minecraft movie trailer (why is everyone backlit?), or how it doesn’t make sense (why are all those piglins normal in the overworld? Why are they even attacking?), and others have already shared their personal thoughts like I’m about to do.

But I have memories and experiences that belong to me, and I want to put them somewhere. I’m aware this won’t reach very far, it won’t change anyone’s mind, and it isn’t exactly full of revolutionary takes. But it’s mine, and I need to say it. And here seems as fine a place as any.

The only game my brother and I ever really played with each other was Minecraft. We’re about as different as you can imagine, with different interests and different ideas. But when we were both much much younger, we loved to play Minecraft together. Of course, that makes sense! Being young kids, we didn’t exactly have an allowance to spend, so our gaming options were in the hands of our parents. They didn’t agree on much, but each of them knew what Minecraft was. They knew it was safe, and they knew it was something we could share (IE: they didn’t have to buy twice), and so it was added to our collection.

And because we had no one else to play with but one another, and nothing else we could really play together, it was always Minecraft we turned to. Different as we were (to the point there are jests between us about being swapped for someone else at the hospital (my money’s on him)) we could find common ground on the same game. I liked to play creative and build houses, but he liked to mine and thought creative was cheating. To compromise, we turned keep inventory on and he would collect materials so I could build our house. We didn’t even know there was a wither. We didn’t even know there was an ender dragon. When we finally finished a house, the game was over for us.

But we would always come back to it. Always build a new house, maybe in the desert or underground. Always rush to our Xbox to play a new update until we were properly bored again.

Eventually, we learned there were worlds built FOR us. It started simple; we found a Christmas map with a giant tree and a massive workshop, and marveled at how beautiful the world was. But of course, there was already a giant house built, so what was there for us to do? We couldn’t built one here, it might ruin all the other houses. Ah, of course! We’ll just live in this one, we thought. So we mob proofed as much as we could, and explored a place we couldn’t even begin to comprehend was made in Minecraft of all places.

Eventually, when we explored it all, we wondered what to do again. We couldn’t just exit and start a new world, we’d just be going back to the exact same place. So we made a story.

He was supposed to be an elf. But he had a frog skin so he couldn’t be an elf. He had to be a winter frog. It made no sense, but it didn’t have to. I was supposed to protect all the “reindeer” because otherwise the winter frog (who we decided was very mischievous) would release them. Naturally, I, armed with a blaze rod (the only thing that could melt the winter frog), would search up and down the place as he would jealously hide his part of the screen, and when I found him, I would hit him. When he made it to the roof of our giant house, he would declare he had won, set off as much tnt as he could, and then we would have to load a new world to play it all again.

I look back on that story, and I think it’s stupid. I think it’s probably one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done, and as a self-acclaimed writer, I should be ashamed. I’m not. It’s stupid, and it’s childish, and I was a stupid child when I played it. But more importantly I was a stupid child having fun with my stupid brother in our stupid game. And we loved every minute of it. I’m not ashamed of it because it’s nostalgic, because it’s a memory of joy that I hold as close to my heart as I can.

Only a few years later, when my brother and I could finally play on separate systems, we discovered the ender dragon and the wither. Maybe we knew about them before, but we had never beaten any kind of boss before and we were under the impression that those sorts of things were much too hard for us.

So when my brother came to me with a radical idea to beat those bosses, I was doubtful and so… excited. What if we DID beat them? What if we beat a DRAGON? I was instantly in. He had a plan, but he wanted backup, and of course we were each other’s number one choice. Thick and thin. Still are, I suppose, but back then we didn’t realize we could stand up without always making sure the other wasn’t actively falling down.

He agreed we needed creative mode for this. He said it would be hard, but he knew what to do, so for the first time we should use creative mode to get all the items we would need. Nobody ever wants to work something up in their head and then have it all fail in the end, so we made sure it wouldn’t.

I manually enchanted our sets of armor, our diamond swords, our bows. I stacked our gear neatly away with as many “super gold apples” that could feasibly fit in a chest, and declared us ready. We each took our gear, and set off towards… the nether. We could get blaze rods from the inventory easily, we knew that, but we were excited to test out our new gear. We never had a reason to enchant before, so how exciting would it be to test everything out? I discovered my favorite enchantment in the entire game was fire aspect.

When we got our rods (and our pearls) we put them together and shot an eye of ender into the air. We diligently followed the trail we were making on foot (because that was just how you did these sorts of things), and when night fell we didn’t just sleep or skip it. We pulled out wool, made some honestly really ugly tents, and put our beds under those. When we woke up, we left our tents there and kept moving.

The thought was that anyone else who had this world after us would find the tents and be able to use them. We had a pretty rudimentary (and quite incorrect) idea of how Minecraft world seeds worked at the time.

Eventually, we got to the spot where all the eyes stopped. My brother dug down. I jumped in the hole he was digging, but he made it pretty clear that I had to stand in the corner of the space or he’d hit me with his enchanted pickaxe and not be sorry about it.

The fortress was a maze. It was dark and there were mobs everywhere and it looked like a glitch of a structure. But we never gave up. We knew what was waiting for us at the end (pun quite intended). When I found the library, I walked right through it and kept moving (for what use are books to a soon-to-be-dragonslayer), and when I found the portal, I called my brother’s name over the shittiest microphone the world had ever produced, and teleported him over.

He set to work on filling the portal, and I set to work on dealing with the annoying silverfish. A spawner destroyed and a gate created, we readied ourselves. We didn’t place beds down because we didn’t expect to lose, and we didn’t jump in right away, because we didn’t expect to win. Eventually, one of us worked up the nerve.

The end, as many of you know, is an odd place. It is light stone and it is dark skies. It is filled with pillars that aren’t buildings and there is an alter of a stone that cannot (ordinarily) be broken. We knew what the end looked like. We thought it was something new to be there.

I remember staring off into the distance. I remember mentioning how small the end was, considering we had treked at least twenty times its size in the nether and the overworld combined just to get there. I also remember how panicked my brother was at the realization there were endermen LITTERING the place that you were absolutely not allowed to look at.

After dealing with the endermen my brother looked at, we were finally ready for the real fight. We heard the dragon when we got there, we could see it fly in and out, we were very aware of its healthbar looming ominously at the top of the screen. But we knew the dragon had to wait, too.

We aimed, missed, then aimed again at countless pillars until we saw the satisfying explosion signal our first few victories in the war. We knew the ones in cages had to be handled differently, though. We had to march up there and take them out ourselves. The only issue? I forgot to pack blocks. We had stacks of golden apples and tons of junk picked up on the way, but we had thrown most of what we got away in the lava under the portal to clean our inventories.

So, mid fight, we mined. Tunneling underground to avoid the wrath of the dragon, we mined until we each had a stack of end stone (because that would surely be enough), and then climbed. Once we reached the top of an obsidian pillar, we hacked away at the iron bars until the floating core was exposed to us. Without any hesitation, we would strike at one. As end crystals do, it would explode, and then it would throw us off of our platform.

Seeing as neither of us were particularly good at water bucket clutches (at the time we weren’t even aware that had a name), we simply fell to the ground, and let our enchantments eat the damage. It felt powerful. The same blow and the same height that would easily kill us before were nothing to us now.

When all of the crystals were gone, we turned to the dragon. It had seemed almost passively disinterested in us as we struck at its crystals, but we were sure it would be mad once we took out the final one. Instead, I thought it was scared. It ran away constantly and never stayed in one place for too long. That made sense to me. That was good game design. Of course it was scared, there was no chance it could beat us. There were two of us, one of it, (hundreds of useless endermen minions) and no way back.

I don’t remember who got the final hit. I guess it didn’t matter. It’s not like there was an achievement to tell us with all of the creative we had slipped in and out of (but never for the final fight). What mattered was we had done it. We won. An achievement that’s so lackluster today it means almost nothing. But to two kids with terrible headsets and elementary school the next day, it was everything we had hoped for. The dragon went down easily. Not because the boss fight was easy, no, it went down easily because we were that skilled at it. It wasn’t a bad fight, it was exhilarating.

We looked up how to collect the egg. We knew you could do it, we just didn’t know how. My brother clicked on it a few times, and it teleported enough for us to realize we were doing it wrong. With the fight over, we agreed creative was fair game again. I dug a big underneath the egg as my brother supervised up top to make sure it wouldn’t teleport away if we didn’t both look at it. I placed a red stone torch two blocks underneath the egg, and then mined up.

It fell with grace. The moment it landed on the torch, it popped away and slid into my inventory. Excitedly, I flew up and dropped it to him, then pulled a NEW egg out of the creative inventory for me. One for him and one for me. We both got one, because we both did the fight. Not our fault the game only tried to give us one.

We jumped into the portal after. At the same time, just like how we entered the strange realm in the first place. That was my first experience with the ending story. The message from two strangers to me, the player. Me, who explored this world, sure, but countless other worlds like it. Me who knew all the crafting recipes by heart and knew rotten flesh would always give you hunger but raw chicken would only give it sometimes.

I love story games. I did then, and I do now. I love when something makes me feel some way, when something carves its place into me and establishes itself as important. I think Minecraft did that long before I experienced its “end,” but I think that was the moment I realized I loved this game. It felt like everything I had done meant something, every action culminated into where I was there and then. I also thought, when it concluded, that my brother—who preferred action and fighting to stories (yet another difference between us)—would have skipped the ending of the game for being cheesy.

He didn’t.

When my brother and I could buy (with permission) a world from the Minecraft store, we would have to agree on what it was. The first one we bought was the Greek mashup pack, because he loved the hydra skin and I loved the harpy one (it added WINGS, what wasn’t to love about wings in Minecraft?) and we both loved greek mythology. Not that we were well versed in it, of course. When we loaded that world up, we experienced that Christmas one all over again. Years on, and it was the same feeling. There was a beautiful new world for us to explore, there was beautiful MUSIC we had never heard before, and there were countless hidden secrets we could find.

But we eventually ran into the same problem. We couldn’t build a house, there were already houses here! We couldn’t fight the enderdragon, it would mean leaving this place behind and that would just be pointless. Besides, we had done that already.

So, eventually, we made another story.

I won’t go into detail about this one, but you can imagine it was about the same as before. We made up something dumb, and played our hearts away following it.

I am not a kid anymore. I am not easily blown away by the ocean monument or amazed that the moon changes form in game. I don’t laugh aloud when a villager “hrrs” or burst into tears when I lose all of my stuff in a cave.

I dont think the stories I made with my brother over Minecraft are anything important. But that’s not what my point is. None of this is really what my point is.

My stories weren’t good, but that doesn’t mean Minecraft can’t have a good story. In the early days of maps and pumpkin headed men and signs that told you where to go, there were countless wonderful stories. Hell, even now there are countless wonderful SMPs made by communities, and most of them are created for the express purpose of telling. A. Story.

And they’re beautiful. Some SMPs are only between friends (and perhaps they’re short lived sometimes), some SMPs are beloved by hundreds or thousands (or perhaps millions) of people.

Most SMPs inspire artists and animators and everything beyond and between to make things. Beautiful things, from the soul and the heart and the nostalgia of creating. They’re things made with love, for love. The Minecraft movie is made of money, for money.

The biggest argument FOR the Minecraft movie is that it’s meant for kids. I understand. I understand I am not its target audience, and if I am, then something has gone horribly wrong in the nostalgia bait department. But honestly? I don’t even think it’s marketed to kids. Kids arguably love a good story. I would know, I very much was one. I think it’s marketed to parents much like mine, who know the name Minecraft and know it’s safe and figure it’s a fun thing to take their kids to.

And I think that sucks. Because there could have been something better.

Minecraft is not a story game. It’s a sandbox. And the best part about a sandbox is that it can be anything you make of it—which means that, ironically enough, you can turn it into a story game. I think modders probably display that the best (the create mod would’ve blown my mind back then).

But that’s unrelated. The point is that Minecraft can be anything. But to make it into anything good, you have to really love it. You have to spend time developing what you want, be it your story, your resource pack, your mod, your challenge, your lovely world, your book(s), it doesn’t matter. You have to love whatever it is a lot, and you have to want to spend time on it to make it. Like I said before, the Minecraft movie was not made with love in mind. It was made with money there instead. I understand why. I understand every action that was taken for it, and I understand that it is not going to be a detective pikachu, a sonic, a Mario, or even a fnaf movie.

It’s just going to be another stereotypical “bad videogame” movie. And I think that’s a shame, because there could have been something beautiful there. There could have been something that makes someone sit in the theater with their brother and remember a horse race or a Christmas game or a valiant fight. There could have been something that reminded me a lot of when I had nothing to do but waste time with my favorite person in the world and build the ugliest house imaginable.

But there’s not. That’s okay. I understand. But I don’t want to see it. I love stories, and I love Minecraft, and I love the feeling of being a kid.

That movie will have none of that for me.

[all-pacas]

This is not a CamChase post, but, I actually do want to talk about something I feel is deeply underappreciated by fandom, which is: Cameron and Chase are actually friends.

Long before they ever sleep together, all the way back in early S1. The two of them are almost always shown to get along! Cameron sticks up for Chase the entire Vogler arc, refusing (incorrectly) to believe he would rat, or that he should be fired. Chase, noted apathetic, actually tends to go out of his way to compliment or stick up for Cameron in early episodes: he passes along her good ideas to House (Maternity), defends her from House's criticism (Detox), and compliments her good ideas in Pilot and DNR, something he notable never does once for Foreman.

They get along! They have a joking conversation about lab results and House and Foreman's fight in Socratic Method. In Paternity Chase makes a sort of borderline inappropriate joke that the patient should take his mind off his pain by admiring Cameron's boobs; Cameron laughs instead of getting offended. In Sports Medicine, he teases her about her upcoming date with House. In Hunting, before the meth hookup, Chase is openly worried about her and asks Cameron to drinks; he even offers to do extra work so she can take it easy! Chase! The laziest man alive!

But to me, the most telling example is in in Mob Rules. We're at the start of the Hameron arc, and last episode Cameron asked House if he liked her, which he didn't answer either way. And what does Cameron do? She talks to Chase about it.

CAMERON: Did House seem weird to you? CHASE: Are you expecting him to be weird? CAMERON: We spoke about how we felt. CHASE: You told him you liked him? CAMERON: No, of course not. CHASE: What are you talking about, then? CAMERON: I asked him if he liked me. CHASE: Why would you do that? CAMERON: Because… I like him.

They're friends! Chase reacts with zero surprise that Cameron likes House; she goes to him for advice in a moment she's feeling vulnerable. He already knows she likes House, Cameron wants his opinion. This is a conversation between friends.

In fact, this happens a few times. Notably, Cameron tries very hard to get Chase to open up to her in Cursed:

CAMERON: You know, parents are never as bad as kids think they are. CHASE: You like my dad so much, ask him out. CAMERON: [joking] I’d make an excellent step-mom, I’m very lenient. [pause] He’s your father, you never see him, and he’s here. Unless he’s done some unspeakable thing, you should lighten up. CHASE: Right, thanks for the tip.

And, yeah, she clearly doesn't get it, but she's trying! She's joking around, she cares. Cameron tries to get Chase's advice in Sleeping Dogs Lie, she commiserates with him in Deception, she unilaterally defends Chase in The Mistake. They joke around sometimes, she confides in Chase when the TB guy in TB or Not TB asks her out: Cameron goes to Chase for relationship advice! More than once!

These are conversations that do not happen with other characters: Cameron and Foreman indicate they respect one another medically, but never have personal conversations; Chase doesn't open up to anyone, period. But whenever Cameron is looking for advice or to share romantic gossip… she goes to Chase. And Chase, for his part, likes to tease her (and she him: sex can kill you was 1000% Cameron trolling him), but honestly tends to be… if not automatically sympathetic, he listens, he jokes about TB Guy, he knows about her crush on House and treats it like old news. They're! Friends! I would actually argue this is probably the main reason Cameron goes to him when she decides she wants casual sex: Chase is someone she, in fact, likes. Even if that liking is not romantic. (Even the btw we should have sex, I will never love you is uh. Unless you are totally deranged that is not how you approach a fwb situation. Unless you. You know. Know Chase isn't gonna be offended because he already knows you're friends and aren't trying to drag him.)

And this actually does continue once they do date, btw. They're constantly hanging out. Chase spends entire episodes of S5 just hanging out in the ER. He still likes to tease her (Whatever it Takes), she inexplicably/hilariously still ropes him into her House drama (Ugly), but I can count on one hand the number of times they bicker or are unkind and mean it. They are friends! They always were friends. And that was the case long before they ever hooked up. In an AU where they never dated, they would still be friends. Their (romantic) relationship was badly written, no one likes it, I get it. But honestly I really do love how well they got along in S1-2, and I wish people appreciated that friendship more.

[teddybearsandspaceships]

Some random notes from yesterday's (25/05/2024) Scar stream. Not even all of the best parts because there were so many, at one point I was just laughing out loud pretty much continuously.

A chatter mentions Scar being the "mob boss." Scar is immediately delighted. In the shopping district he won't be the zoo keeper, he'll be the mob boss with his own outfit etc.

Scar built the nether portal for his train (it looks super cool!) and is now transporting skeletons to the nether so they shoot anyone approaching it because he wants to discourage people from using his nether portal. He put his own heads on the skeletons and calls them "Scar Junior." Only one of them dies.

Doc shows up for distraction and support. He teaches Scar things about redstone, like how you can place a lever on the block next to a rail to activate it. They complain about the new YouTube layout, Doc blames Elon Musk, who according to Scar lives in Doc's head rent-free 28 hours a day.

"just because you look like a taxi driver in Indiana Jones doesn't make you less evil"

Ren shows up too. Doc and Ren start to complain about shipping. Scar tells them a heartwarming story about his local UPS guy.

apparently Doc was a wandering trader in the woods as a kid. He traded home-cooked German food to American soldiers from a nearby base. For ammunition.

Next topic: the "worst" (unrestricted) fireworks. At some point Doc does an exaggerated German accent. Doc also made a joke about Scar being 48, Scar says he prefers the rumors about him being smart and handsome, Doc says that's just the truth.

Scar and Doc getting trolled by horns, including Cub shouting "help" which they both thought was real for a second. Chat suspects "horn man" is Grian, but it's such a huge variety I'm pretty sure it has to be Cub. Finally Cub shows up (briefly)

After all the skeletons were moved Scar wants to add a drowned. He got the go-ahead from Etho to take one from his farm. Scar blocks off Etho's portal and Doc wonders what he's getting dragged into, calls himself an Ethogirl once again

unfortunate realization: a drowned will not attack people with tridents in the nether because there's neither water nor night time. But then chat did experiments and they say it should work? Spoiler: it works very well.

the first trident guy refused to put anything on his head, but the second one put on Scar's hat \o/ so he can even move during the day. It becomes night though, Scar asked people in chat to sleep and Bdubs logs on ^^ a few seconds too late though, Ren slept first.

Oh noo, the trident guy hit a free-ranging iron golem and was killed. Bdubs joins the group just to say it serves them right. Bdubs is telling on them to Etho.

Doc refuses to mess with Etho's landscaping. Bdubs makes a walkway but very carefully. Scar, head in hands, this is what it's like with Etho fangirls… next Minecon, Scar says he'll print Bdubs a shirt with Etho's face on it. Bdubs says Scar is the one obsessed with him, coming over all the time.

Scar talking about a Hermitcraft rule called the "open seas rule", if something is built on the ocean it's free for taking. (Bdubs is skeptical)

Bdubs says dealing with Etho is like dealing with a rabbit. Don't pester it, you just have to leave it and it'll come to you. "How many moms does Etho have on this server." "This is what it's like having a friend." "Oh I wouldn't know" xD "We're friends not moms"

Doc complains about how hungry he is. It's late and he really wants to eat his mini pizza. Scar: why don't you just get a feeding tube, then you don't have to eat.

Bdubs: "I'm just taking notes for Etho later." Scar: "this is just Limited Life the whole time." "Every second is a second closer to Etho logging on and catching you guys"

Scar is now shifting the blame for their misfortunes to Tango because he never offered help or even made jokes in chat. Threatens to throw him out of the LNC, even ^^

"Ooh, you're not trapping Etho's portal!" "No, it's his own" "Oh there's no reason for me to be here then." Bdubs logs out immediately, then…

NOW Etho logs in xD "Etho's here, he's gonna come over here and cause an issue." "What's this about trapping my portal?", and other quotes such as, "I'm watching what you're doing Scar and it's infuriating me." "Put some water down" ("It's the nether!"), telling Bdubs he should have let his iron golem die instead of healing it, and "What you're building a rollercoaster over here, what is this"

"How do we do this, Doc?" "I don't know, give Etho some blocks and let him do it" "No no, I came for the show" Doc is just standing there with two dozen tridents in the ground in front of him xD

"You're like the muppets, those two older ones" - Doc about Ethubs. "We're the comic relief" "Yeah that's it"

Etho is concerned, they're representing Hermitcraft after all, people will think they're incompetent. Etho: "Tango, what do you think?" "Oh god don't tell me Tango's here." Tango is now here :D

Scar: "just to be clear, I am competent, things just didn't go to plan…"

Scar is in protest to both the nether and their nether hub. Etho: "If only we had a couple people around here often referred to as the best builders ever…"

Etho, contemplating the skeletons and trident guy: "So what are you going to do if Cub comes by with his Thorns armor?" Scar hides his head in his hands.

aww, Bdubs and Tango telling Scar LNC will help him with that mountain ^^

Doc finally logs out. Spoiler: he got his mini pizza.

[stellar-solar-flare]

🍂 leaves: what does your editing process look like? how does your wip typically change as you work on it?

👻 ghost: can you tease some wip ideas that have been haunting you/something you want to write in the future?

💜💜

This ask is in response to October Themed Writeblr Ask Game. I apologize for taking forever to answer, and thank you for sending an ask!

Answers as well as a 1k sneak peek to a werewolf Bucky x Reader, Steve x OFC fic I'm very excited about is under the cut!

🍂 leaves: what does your editing process look like? how does your wip typically change as you work on it?

Depends on the fic, really. I don't outline or do a first draft in the very pure sense of the world - I aim to write pretty finished text since my way of writing is mostly about telling myself a story. My editing usually only involves making sure things make sense and elaborating where I need to, such as adding descriptions in between dialogue to make the scene more vivid, or changing sentence structure so that it flows better.

I usually finish an entire scene or even a short chapter before editing, but especially with longer chapters, I often edit in between writing new text since it's a good way for me to get in the flow and do something creative during the days when I don't feel super creative and bright. Most stuff that I publish goes through four phases: 1) writing, 2) general editing, 3) quick once-over, and finally 4) fixes and polishing once it's back from my beta reader (who is a precious angel with the patience of a saint and who always makes my chapters better).

I would say time-wise, writing takes about 70 percent of the time a chapter takes and the rest is editing, unless I end up doing a huge overhaul to a chapter, which happens pretty rarely.

👻 ghost: can you tease some wip ideas that have been haunting you/something you want to write in the future?

Sure! This one is something that right now has a working title Under a Violent Moon. A slow burn romantasy would be how I'd describe it, with some horror and action elements. It'll be an EXPLICIT fic when out but this sneak peek doesn't involve anything beyond a T rating.

CW: kidnapping, mentioned violence, mentioned mob life

The basic premise is that there exists a werewolf underground society that has a lot of mob elements to it - everyone sort of knows about it but it's not something that anyone would want to associate with unless you're looking to do bad stuff. Reader sees Bucky do something that she (or any outsider) should not see, and he panics and forcefully (but not violently) brings her with her to the magically protected place of residence of the pack and in front of Steve, who is the alpha of the pack.

🌙.

There was no sound – at least one you would’ve been able to hear – but regardless, both Bucky and Steve quieted down in the middle of their argument, as if someone had severed their conversation with a sharp knife. Your gaze followed theirs as they turned their heads towards the entrance of the hall and the short woman that had entered.

Save for Steve in his three-piece suit, all the members of the pack that had gathered in the hall favored a mixture of military and hiking clothing. The woman who was now making her way to you was the other exception to the rule; she was clad in a floor-length, flowing white silk dress that would’ve been suitable for a bride at a relaxed beach wedding. Its boat neckline would’ve left her shoulders and arms bare, but her almost white platinum hair spilled down her upper body in a luxurious cascade. Despite it, you could see the scars on her collarbones and arms, and she had brushed her hair away from the left side of the her neck to wear the bite there like a badge of honor.

You did not know which honor, and yet, she carried herself with pride that would’ve hinted at someone important even if every head in the hall hadn’t gently bowed down as she passed. Her eyes, burning bright yellow that shone its own light, locked onto you, and her lips curved up to a smile you didn’t know how to decipher. There was something deeply unsettling abut her, as if the ethereal beauty was simply a skin she wore to get close enough to her prey. She stood against the practical impression you had gotten of everyone else – she was a seeress from a myth, somehow present here and yet truly a citizen of entirely another world.

She was loaded with jewelry; it sparkled on her hair and neck and wrists and even the dress was belted with more platinum and pearls and colorless and yellow diamonds. On her left ring finger sat a giant round diamond flanked by two crescent moons, all set in platinum. Her gaze left you and found another target, her expression melting into a smile. Again, you turned your head to follow the direction of her eyes.

You had thought that getting kidnapped by a werewolf mob would’ve rendered anything else that happened today as entirely unsurprising, and yet, you were struck with shock as you saw Steve, who held the otherworldly woman’s gaze.

The change on him was almost laughable and yet, it made your throat feel tight. He was looking at her with bright, glowing eyes that shone with love and affection, with the kind of smile on his face that would’ve made you believe that she’d personally reached up into the skies and pushed aside the clouds of eternal night to reveal the full moon for him. You hade never seen such warmth and devotion on anyone’s face, and to see it on the face of a werewolf alpha was such a strange thought that it took you a moment to recognize the emotion lingering in your chest as jealousy. Not for Steve but for the love that she had.

You had hear many tales of werewolves – how they were cruel, brutal creatures, more animals than humans and thus unable to process higher emotions than those that followed directly from their animalistic needs. The unconcealable beacon of affection that shone on Steve’s face was the complete antithesis to those claims. No one in the world would have been able to look at him and consider it anything but love stemming from the depths of one’s very soul.

The woman stopped in front of you, turning so that you were standing face to face. Her wolf-eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you felt fear beyond anything you had yet experienced. Whatever power she carried, so plain to see and yet so hidden, was one thing – every hair on your body stood up in her presence as some long-forgotten instinct attempted to define a threat it had could not classify.

The way Steve had been looking at her was another. It was obvious that if anyone would do as much as look at her the wrong way, he would tear them into pieces with his bare hands. They had not spoken, and yet Steve stepped behind her and wrapped his giant arms around her midriff, engulfing her in an embrace and a measure of protection at the same time. She melted back against him, and in the flickering candlelight of the hall, it was almost impossible to say where one of them ended and the other began.

“What brought you here, little human?” she asked, and while the words could’ve been an insult – especially from someone who seemed like she was in her thirties herself, not much older than you if at all – they were too gentle to be that. “It is not often that any eyes that aren’t of the pack see what lies behind our gates.”

You swallowed past your dry throat. The cadence of her speech, as well as the old-fashioned words, reminded you of how different this world was to the one you’d known. Did that mean they would never let you go? But she didn’t seem to be accusing you of anything; she was waiting for your answer patiently, her pale fingers brushing over Steve’s forearm in a caress. The rings that were there somehow made the giant rock of the wedding band look even more enormous.

“I wasn’t given a choice,” you said carefully, deciding that the truth was the best option here.

She smiled. Her hand smoothed another touch over Steve’s forearm, and then she turned her arm so that she could entwine her fingers with his – as your gaze was drawn there, you saw a simple gold wedding band on Steve’s left hand, too. He made a humming sound against her temple as the rings clinked against each other, and her expression turned even softer.

“Fate rarely gives us a choice,” she said gently to you before turning to Bucky, who was standing frozen next to you. “You have brought a human here. You know our ways; you know our law. You know what follows.”  

🌙.

[thequietkid-moonie]

Cupid!Moonie is here to match you up!

This october the blog will be two years old and is close to reach 2k followers so of course I want to celebrate with all of you !!! 🎉🎉

In this time i have definetly become more confident on my writing and I have added so much fandoms! I being having a lot of fun and aaaaall of this is also thanks to all my dear readers and friends 🩷🩷 so im making this event so all of you will have more participation !

Rules, notes and the juicy details are under the cut! 🐭

× Notes that should be taken into consideration !

The event will be open for all october so feel free to take your time!

As well, the answers will be posted until the start of october but you are free to send your message since now

I will post a list with the names of the requests I have recived in case you want to make sure i have recived yours!

I will leave the anonymous asks activate in case someone feels more comfortable that way, but im trusting all of you to don't cheat!

Your information will not be share with anyone, once I finish reading it i will delete it, don't worry

I dont pretend to make anyone uncomfortable, this is an event for all of us to have fun so share as much information as you want, dont force yourself to talk about something you don't want

Since this is a match-up event there are high chances that i will took in consideration characters I normally don't write for

Please be aware of my current status with the fandoms since I may not know all the current characters of the story you are asking for

Sadly, some of the fandoms will not be avaliable to ask for in the event for personal reasons, here are those:

Kakegurui, Happy Sugar Life, The way of a House Husband, Devilman Crybaby, Mob Psycho 100, Haikyuu!!, Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, TLOZ Ocarina of Time & Majora's Mask, Gravity Falls

× Rules and more details of the event !

We all agreed on making this also platonic so you have to make sure to specify if you want romantic or platonic in your message, otherwise I will not do it (you can only choose one per chance)

The limit of fandoms you can ask is 8

Once you recive your answer if the event is still open you have the right to send your request one more time for diferent fandoms (or the same if you change between romantic and platonic)

Everyone has the right to ask only twice, but if the blog reached the 2k during october I will gift everyone an extra chance!

When you ask for your second chance there is no need to send all the information again, just tell me your name, romantic or platonic and the fandoms (if you want to add a details you feel is distinctive to help me remember you are free to do so)

× The information requiered for the match up!

First of all, your name/nickname, how should i call you

Your gender and/or pronouns if you are comfortable sharing them

If you prefer boys or girls (if you like both but has a preference thats okay too!)

Tell me about your appearance, just as much as you are comfortable sharing (if you want to just give minimum details thats fine just help me have an idea of how you are)

Most important, your personality, talk to me about you! tell me all you want and what you considere important feel free to rant, dont worry, I wont judge

Any hobbie or special interest you have, something you are good at or even something you want to learn

What type of person you feel attracted and what type is an absolutely no

[mintyisms]

The Powerpuff Girls Movie Starters

"They are utterly helpless and in desperate need of a true hero!"

"Well, aren't you all cute and bubbly?"

"Birthday! It's your birthday! I should get gifts!"

"All I've got to do is be a good parent!"

"Note to self: good parents don’t leave their kids home alone."

"Sugar, spice, and everything nice, who would have guessed that's what little girls were actually made of?"

"I'll go wash up, then we'll bring in the furniture."

"They’re really special. I mean really special and I just want to make sure they’ll be okay so what do you think? Do you think they’ll be okay?"

"This is what happens when you put twenty little kids in one room."

"What’s the point of this game anyway?"

"Oh, no! I’ve been infected!"

"You know, I've got a nice car."

"What are you doing? We’re in a serious pickle!"

"Got you, you little bunny."

"The game is over and it’s your bedtime."

"I'm glad you had so much fun because tomorrow will be a busy day too."

"Unfortunately, people often get scared or angry when they don’t understand something special or unique."

"People here are nice. Things will be fine!"

"He’s in cahoots with the evil pickle cart killers!"

"We really would like for you to come downtown with us so we can ask you a few questions."

"He hates us. He totally hates us!"

"He probably just got held up, or maybe the car broke, or maybe he just forgot, or... maybe he hates us."

"Should the manufacturing of super powered children be illegal?"

"I was reaching down between my legs to ease the seat back when this atomic bug buzzed in, with no fair warning!"

"Used to be a time when you could buy an honest pickle."

"They are little freaks, aren’t they?"

"They don't know I'm in jail."

"Well, it’s official. I have no idea where we are."

"Maybe there’s a box we can get in around back!"

"Go away. Please. Do not look at me."

"You’re no monster, mister. You’re just really dirty."

"How could you know what it’s like for people to fear and despise you for the very things that make you special?"

"This brain is full of brilliant ideas, but will anyone listen? No."

"Your powers are great! You just gotta believe in yourself!"

"You did very good. Very good indeed."

"Well, there is one last, teeny tiny, itsy bitsy thing we still need."

"I thought the zoo kept all the animals in cages."

"They are unaware that your actions will have helped change their world forever!"

"You think they'll still be made at us for playing tag?"

"Jail? Lawsuits? Angry mobs? What’s next?"

"This isn’t making the town a better place!"

"Do not continue with the ramblings, for my ramblings are the ramblings to be obeyed!"

"That big fat dumb jerk! He duped us! He planned it all along and we fell for it!"

"What does it look like I’m doing? I’m building a house ‘cause now we have to live here!"

"I don’t wanna sleep on a rock!"

"We weren't going to get people to stop hating us by breaking rules!"

"Ugh, never mind! I’m not fighting with you and I’m not talking to you, EVER!"

"There's too many monkeys!"

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM YOU DARN DIRTY APE!"

"I didn’t mean it! It was an accident! And he wouldn’t let go! And then the dog! That stupid dog! And then the monkeys!"

"Come on, let’s put an end to this gorilla warfare!"

"We’ve got one last monkey to get off our backs!"

"It’s good you little freaks know when you’re beaten."

"I have to seize control of an area and force its inhabitants to follow my way of thinking."

"Now let’s get out of this town and find a new, safe place to live!"

"We already tried running away."

"Oh, my! You’re actual trying to stop me? That’s so cute!"

"Who are you calling cute?"

"You dare challenge ME? Attempt to defeat ME? Try to destroy ME?"

"None of them will ever understand you as I can."

"Maybe everyone would like us more if we were just normal little girls."

"I was wondering if maybe sometime we could like call you to save the day or whatever."

[lus-sav]

im chronically obsessed with your daredevil aus!! if you have any headcannons you want to share id love to hear them (ps. your mob au has eaten my brain)

Me with my AUs:

Ah. I wish. If only I could clone myself. 😂

Some stray thoughts on the mob au to further the brain rot ❤️:

Bruin has the most fun when he’s in court.

He’s argumentative by nature. He likes debating and solving problems. Loves it even, when the stakes aren’t human lives and his mother isn’t playing games with rules that change constantly.

The years he spent studying to be a lawyer were the closest thing he had to a happy life. So. Bruin often represents his own people whenever they get caught for this or that crime.

Sure, he has a team of excellent lawyers, Marci Stahl included, and he defers to them whenever their field of expertise crops up. But if he has the time and the means, he’ll take on the case.

(This is probably how he met Matt Murdock. Met him and decided he likes the lawyer. Perhaps far more than he should. And imposed his protection on the man when he started being recklessly heroic and pissing off people who’d happily brain him. Bruin had, at different points, tried to recruit Matt. But the man was so vehemently against it, visibly enraged at the mere thought—Well, Bruin, the charmer, was charmed.)

(Bruin often helps Murdock with any cases that involve Bruin’s opponents. Free labor, right? He’s also deeply suspicious of how Murdock doesn’t seem to doubt his words. Doesn't respect him, doesn't like him—hates him really—but doesn't think him a liar. Interesting guy. Definitely needs further observation.)

(Bruin doesn't think he's ever met someone who seemed to know him and trust him at the same time. Talks with Murdock were. They were something.)

Bruin prides himself in this. Unlike Fisk, who’d brute-force his way to the top and a pile of bodies, Bruin would find another way. A better way. Murder isn’t off the list—he’s a Sharpe—but there are a hundred other things he’d try first. And he’d never touch anyone uninvolved. That’d be just. Too easy. Bruin is above that; he had ensured it.

(This is probably how he got Brett Mahoney. Corruption would always be part of the police force; it had been designed that way. But at least Bruin ensured outcomes that Brett could live with. Better Bruin than any other devil in Hell’s Kitchen.) (Oh, this could also be how Karen got on Bruin’s radar and directed to Murdock’s arms.)

So. People loved Bruin. Or at least vastly preferred him. More people are willing to give Bruin a chance. Not the best profit but excellent job security. (Matt would like it if Bruin was hated so he could have zero charitable thoughts about the guy.) (Actually, he wouldn't. The guy just takes too much of his thoughts.)

[charles-leclerc-official]

Did you see the drama that went down with Lizzie the f1 tiktoker and how she called out ferrari fan behavior? Personally I think she’s right and those against it are part of the problem.

I have seen the things about fan behavior(regarding filming drivers without consent and making excuses for that behavior) I am not on tiktok so I am unfamiliar with this specific creator and their statement. But I have seen the discussions being had on twitter.

On this page I have always stuck to my personal rules of only posting race weekend footage from official outlets, and official promo or posts from a driver themselves. Anything that is fan photos or paparazzi isn't something I want to share. A good rule of thumb is that if a photo or video cannot be traced back to an official source it's probably best not to spread it. Even a fan selfie that Charles posed for and agreed to, that's great for him and the fan who met him, but it doesn't need to be spread around. I don't need/want to see every single photo ever taken of the man.

I am only really concerned with a driver if they are doing the whole driving the car thing. I want to see Charles in the SF-24 on track, and maybe some pics of him and his puppy if he wants to post some on insta to share with us. But I am really here to see the drivers doing their job. I hope they have nice lives outside of the sport but it's none of my business.

I think that anyone who feels the need to see what any driver/celebrity is doing at any given moment and feels the entitlement to film/photograph their daily lives and private moments is a creep and you should reflect on why you want to see those moments. (royal you used here I know it isn't you anon <3)

I think it says a lot about a person who feels entitled to viewing a celebrity's private life without their consent.

Additionally do not crowd or harass drivers for photos or signatures. They have very demanding schedules and they should be able to arrive places without being mobbed. I do not care if it is "your one chance to meet him" leave him be and give him personal space. I really don't understand why it's hard to treat drivers with human decency, but here we are. I really wish Ferrari (and other teams) would get better security for their drivers so there aren't dangerous crowding issues.

Enjoy them driving the car. That is what we all should be here for.

That's my stance on the issues.

[moltensmusings]

With the GMG arc almost wrapped up i feel it's now a good time to give my overall thoughts about it, mentioning the things I did and didn't like. Note: this will be more negative than positive as unfortunately I was disappointed by this arc in a way I haven't been with the others. This will be a beefy post as the arc is longer than any others before it.

I want to start by saying I went into this arc with positivity towards it. I may be critical of the show but when I read the arc as a teenager I genuinely adored it. And I feel that, while rocky, the arc started off fairly strong. The first test to enter the games was a fun concept. We got a bit of focus on one of Lucy's silver keys which is always a treat and the nature of the maze itself was great.

I loved getting to see more guilds for once and the choice to include GMG as the first major post time skip arc isn't a bad idea. The thought to give fairy tail a fall from grace isn't terrible (the execution of it is another story entirely) as it adds some stakes to the games themselves with fairy tail aiming to reclaim the public opinion.

Sabertooth as a foil to fairy tail was again, a solid idea even if the plotting didn't fully do them justice. A sanctioned guild built on the idea that strength and power are all that matter is something that could've worked but unfortunately fell flat.

Acnologias backstory is one of my favorite reveals in the show. As is the twist that two people appeared from the future and Ultears magic only getting 1 minute back. Erza vs 100 monsters is always going to be a highlight.

Unfortunately I'm going to now shift into criticism territory:

The issues with this arc start from the timeskip itself. First none of the fairy tail characters left behind were allowed to get stronger and begin to hold their own. They still could've been a much worse guild with the lack of members and harassment from other guilds in the area but we can't have anyone outside of team tenrou hold any weight so instead fairy tail gets to be pathetic unless a specific group is there. This ties into Mashima generally just ignoring his side characters that don't have immediately obvious strong powers.

Even Romeo suffers from this and that's such an intense level of disappointment for me because he's been going on missions with Bisca and Alzack for years at this point. Let the kid be capable of holding his own in some way.

Next: the 3 month time skip, there was no reason for Mashima to skip over yet another bit of time and avoid a training arc for his characters. Them training hard to get stronger and their work paying off in the games would've been way more satisfying for the audience and (if the group separated for it) allowed for some really awesome reveals of what everyone accomplished in their time apart.

But we didn't get that so we go into the games and have a few episodes that while not perfect, do a decent job of exciting the viewers for what's to come. Then we get to the games themselves and it starts to have problems. People cheating and nothing coming of it other than fairy tail getting brutalized for the sake of angering the fan base on their behalf. The guards and council being essentially written as incompetent unintentionally so that we can make sure dramatic story beats happen. Raven tail being a mockery despite how it's been built up since before the timeskip as a force fairy tail will need to face down.

Endless fights that are written to "prove fairy tail is just superior because they're stronger" with the same tired cycle over and over again. Natsu specifically is the worst offender of this with him going from being destroyed by sting to somehow being able to take both him and rogue on all by himself in spite of how worn out he should be. The audience of the games similarly being given a mob mentality of apparently wanting fairy tail obliterated because they kind of suck at some arena games? The games themselves having a pretty unclear set of rules that is adjusted based on what Mashima decides will happen. Villains, as always, being written as heavily sadistic monsters who care about no one without thought to future potential redemption arcs mashima will opt to add in.

Lucy being humiliated at every turn because we can't allow her to have any level of success. The ridiculous level of red herrings that are just outright lies told by Mashima to trick his audience in the most childish way he can. He basically beats his readers over the heads with how they should feel about his plot rather than just writing it and allowing consumers to form their own opinions.

I can't even really enjoy Sabertooth being a foil to fairy tail because the very thing they're supposedly different for, a focus on strength, is something mashima prides fairy tail on as well. How often do we get shown characters being pathetic and uninteresting because their powers aren't as good as the main characters? How many times does the writer himself depict people in the guild being made the butt of the joke for not being as battle savvy. I mean fairy tail itself falls out of favor and the story shows us that them being stronger than everyone is how we should know they're worthy of our attention. The message doesn't work.

Raventail was absolutely wasted as an antagonist and building them up for so long only to take them out in the most boring way possible makes it feel like Mashima wasted his audience's time. I don't understand how time travel magic works since half the time they tell us time magic takes your life and the other time it actually takes no life at all to do, bringing in confusion on what stakes we should even take away from using it.

The guilds themselves also feel incredibly empty as Mashima gives them almost no members outside of the ones named who compete. I don't need a bunch of named extras, but if you're going to give us boxes for the guilds at least show us the full boxes of the rivals and have them working with their guilds during the final battle.

This arc cemented that Levy was fundamentally changed as a character in a way that doesn't line up with her original depiction and angered me since she's my favorite character. She was literally shown to be the most competent member of Shadowgear who saved jet and droy in tense situations and yet now she's apparently someone they need to protect and save because she can't take care of herself despite testing to be an S-class wizard.

This arc was also not helped by the animation changing half way through and the budget seemingly decreasing along with it making the story issues much more prevalent when the art isn't something the series can fall back on.

I wanted to like this arc, I expected to have far more highs than lows and was sorely let down in every capacity. I know I actually missed specific mentions of things that irked me and that's largely due to how much their was.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

New Rule: The Truth About Christmas | Real Time with Bill Maher

Finally, New Rule: Praise Jesus, it's a Christmas miracle. For the first time in the 21 year history of this show we are on in December, which gives me a chance to explain to everyone something I've always wanted to expound upon in this show.

You know that whole thing about Jesus being born on December 25th? Well it's a crock of shit. Now, this is not an attack on Jesus. Although, he was a nepo baby. But also a revolutionary philosopher with a beautiful message. As to whether he's a God, that's up to you.

But if the subject is "Gods born on December 25th," we have enough of those for an entire Jeopardy category.

He was the Egyptian god who took the form of a falcon. Who is Horus?

He is the god from ancient Persia born bearing a torch. Who is Mithra?

He is the Greek god of rebirth. Who is Adonis?

He was the fertility god in Cleopatra's time. Who is Osiris?

This Greek deity was known for having a good time. Who is Dionysis?

So you may be asking - those are all real by the way, I think that was the problem, they think I'm making this up but I'm not - why do all the gods want the same birthday? Well, because December 25th was a pagan holiday coming a few days after the shortest day of the year, when primitive peoples noticed that the days were starting to get longer again, and so a cause for celebration.

Cut to:

And that's the story of Christmas. A holiday I love by the way. The tree, the presents, the music, the Christmas memories with my sister and our cousins filling the bong with eggnog. It's the only time of the year it's okay to put alcohol in milk. Christmas is fun if you just accept it's pretend time. Like a Hollywood wedding.

Yes, I love Christmas and always have. Just don't try to make me take it seriously.

And that is what has been going on a lot lately here in America. We have a new Speaker of the House, Mike Johnson, who says America is actually a Biblical Republic and that he's even got a flag picked out that hangs outside his office, and which also could be seen in the mob on January 6th. Mike also says, "the separation of church and state is a misnomer," and congresswoman Lauren Boebert concurs saying she's, "tired of this separation of church and state junk." So too Marjorie Taylor Green, who says, "I say it proudly, we should all be Christian nationalists."

Now I know it may seem like this is just a few crazies, but I gotta tell you, dumbass Republicans who believe horrible ideas are like ants: there's always more that you can't see.

And in in fact, these ideas are no longer the fringe. According to a recent survey, over half of Republicans are either adherents of Christian nationalism or sympathetic to it. And they agree with statements like: "The US government should declare America a Christian Nation," and "Being Christian is an important part of being truly American," and "God has called Christians to exercise dominion over all areas of American society."

I'm sorry but I don't want anyone exercising their dominion over me unless I pay them and we've established a safe-word.

Boebert says, "The church is supposed to direct the government. The government is not supposed to direct the church." Well, no and no. Neither one is supposed to direct the other. That's what separation of church and state means.

Republicans, Jesus fucking Christ. First you stop believing in democracy - Senator Mike Lee said it, among others. Trump lives the idea every day, and here we have the Speaker of the House saying it. And now Republicans also don't believe in the separation of church and state? Does anyone in that party remember what fucking country you're living in?

We're the place that stakes so much of our greatness on being the first to specifically prohibit having a state religion. There are dozens of countries that have an official religion. There's 13 where being an atheist is punishable by death. Four have "Islamic" right in the title of the country.

And maybe that warms the hearts of the TikTok crowd who lately have found heroes in Hamas and Osama Bin Laden. But that's not us. That's not what we do here. I get it you kids like to switch things up. But I can only handle one side at a time being ridiculous about religious fanaticism, and right now I've got my hands full with Mike Johnson.

Because Mike Johnson has the power to actually make laws. And I don't want my global warming policy decided by someone who is rooting for the end of the world so we can get on with the Rapture. And who once filed a legal brief before the Supreme Court arguing that what he called "deviant same sex intercourse" should be a crime. Even the lesbian stuff?

Mike thinks God personally chooses, raises up our leaders, which is a very dangerous thought, because then when you lose an election you think it's just another of God's tricks to test your faith. Like fossils. Mike says, "We began as a Christian nation." We didn't. Did you miss that day in home school, Mike? If you don't know that the pilgrims came here to get away from the Church of England then you don't know, literally, the first thing about our country. Mike says, being a Christian nation is, "our tradition," and, "it's who we are as a people."

It's not. We're the people who have a First Amendment which says, "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion." And we have an Article Six which says, "no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office."

So, I take these people at their word when they say that they think we should be Christian nationalists. But then they have to take John Adams at his word when he wrote, "the government of the United States of America is not an any sense founded on the Christian religion."

But I still love Christmas!

--

Introduction The rising influence of Christian nationalism in some segments of American politics poses a major threat to the health of our democracy. Increasingly, the major battle lines of the culture war are being drawn between a right animated by a Christian nationalist worldview and Americans who embrace the country’s growing racial and religious diversity. This new PRRI/Brookings survey of more than 6,000 Americans takes a closer look at the underpinnings of Christian nationalism, providing new measures to estimate the proportion of Americans who adhere to and reject Christian nationalist ideology. The survey also examines how Christian nationalist views intersect with white identity, anti-Black sentiment, support of patriarchy, antisemitism, anti-Muslim sentiments, anti-immigrant attitudes, authoritarianism, and support for violence. Additionally, the survey explores the influence Christian nationalism has within our two primary political parties and major religious subgroups and what this reveals about the state of American democracy and the health of our society.

==

Freedom of religion and freedom from religion are the same thing.