#of course it's not lost on me that this happens with some identities more than others.

[fratttymatty]

Blaked

(All characters are 18+)

Evan Brooks had always been a quintessential college nerd. Tall, lanky, and bookish, he could usually be found with his nose buried in a comic book or his laptop, discussing the latest political developments or arguing about LGBTQ+ rights with his friends in the campus coffee shop. He was proudly gay, proudly liberal, and made no secret of his beliefs, often wearing rainbow pins and t-shirts with witty slogans about equality and social justice. His unruly, curly brown hair and round glasses were as much a part of his identity as his progressive values.

He was no stranger to ridicule from the more traditionally minded students on campus, particularly the jocks. But Evan didn’t care. He had his circle of friends, his own nerdy niche, and an ever-growing list of political science lectures he was excited to attend. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was his.

That all changed one fateful night in late spring, when Evan made the unfortunate decision to join a party hosted by one of the most infamous fraternities on campus: Omega Sigma Alpha.

The frat brothers were the quintessential jocks—blond, muscular, straight, and with a penchant for mocking anything that didn’t fit their idea of “normal.” They were, as Evan liked to think of them, the very embodiment of the type of people he didn’t get along with. So, when Evan was invited to the party, his first instinct was to decline. But after some peer pressure from one of his friends, who assured him it was "just for fun" and that he wouldn't have to interact with the jocks too much, Evan reluctantly agreed.

The moment Evan stepped into the house, he felt a strange energy. The music was loud, the air was thick with the smell of cheap beer and sweat, and the entire room seemed to pulse with an almost aggressive energy. He tried to stick to the edges of the room, chatting with his friend about politics and avoiding eye contact with the muscled guys who were throwing footballs around and challenging each other to drink shots faster than the other.

But it didn’t take long before he caught the attention of the fraternity's president, Jake, a tall, handsome blonde with a cocky grin. Jake was a textbook alpha—popular, confident, and straight as an arrow. He spotted Evan standing alone by the punch bowl, eyes narrowed in a mix of curiosity and disdain.

"Hey, nerd," Jake called, his voice mocking but playful. "You lost, or just looking for a safe space to hang out?"

Evan stiffened. "I'm fine, thanks," he replied coolly, trying to turn away.

But Jake wasn’t finished. With a confident swagger, he made his way over and clapped a hand on Evan’s shoulder, almost knocking him off balance. "You know, we could use a guy like you," Jake said, nodding to his frat brothers who were huddled nearby, grinning at Evan with barely concealed amusement. "Maybe if you’re willing to take the right steps, we can teach you how to actually fit in around here."

Evan’s heart pounded. He didn’t know what to make of the offer. He’d heard the whispers about the “jock transformation,” a rumor that had been circulating for a while but seemed too ridiculous to believe. No one ever took it seriously. It was said that a group of the frat’s most powerful members had developed some sort of mystical or scientific way of transforming people—changing them into ideal versions of themselves that fit their world. It was all nonsense, of course. Magic wasn’t real, right?

Jake leaned in closer, his grin widening as he spoke in a lower voice. "We can help you change, Evan. You could be one of us. You could be… like me."

The air around them grew colder, the room suddenly feeling very distant. The music seemed to fade as Jake’s words echoed in Evan’s mind. A sharp sensation shot through him—something hot and heavy, like he was being pulled in every direction at once. He tried to step back, but his body didn’t obey him. The room spun, and he suddenly felt incredibly dizzy.

Before he knew what was happening, his clothes began to tighten around him, shifting and morphing to better fit his changing form. His body felt as if it were being compressed and re-shaped—his limbs shorter, his chest broader, his waist slimmer. His once gangly form thickened with muscle, his posture straightened, and his once nerdy demeanor was replaced by an unshakable sense of confidence.

His curly brown hair straightened, growing longer and turning a rich, slightly sun-kissed blonde. His face reshaped—his jawline more chiseled, his features sharper and more rugged. His glasses vanished, replaced by a sharper, more intense gaze that reflected the physical transformation that was happening to his body. He could feel it all happening—his body, his very identity, changing at the molecular level.

Jake’s voice cut through the fog in Evan’s mind. "There you go, buddy," he said with a grin. "You look perfect now. Welcome to the new you."

Evan—or rather, the new person he was becoming—looked down at his hands, now large and calloused. His fingers flexed involuntarily, testing the strength he hadn’t had before. His breath caught as he saw his reflection in a nearby mirror.

The guy staring back at him wasn’t Evan anymore. He was a new person entirely—a tall, muscular guy with dirty blonde hair that was slightly curly at the ends, strong features, and a confident, almost arrogant expression. He was wearing a form-fitting t-shirt that stretched across his chest and jeans that hugged his legs, perfectly fitting the look of a college jock. The shift was total, all-encompassing, and irreversible.

For a brief moment, a flicker of confusion passed through Evan’s—or rather, his new self’s—mind. But it was fleeting. His mind quickly adjusted. The panic, the loss, the identity crisis—none of it seemed to matter anymore. This was who he was now. And he liked it.

"Nice," Jake said, slapping him on the back. "You look like a real man now."

Evan smiled—no, he smiled. It felt natural. "Yeah, I guess I do," he said, his voice deep and steady. It felt good to speak with authority. To feel... in control.

The transformation was complete. Evan Brooks was gone. In his place stood Blake Walker—a straight, athletic, cocky guy who loved playing sports, who reveled in his newfound masculinity, and who couldn’t care less about the political causes that had once consumed his life. It wasn’t that he hated them, he just… didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except the gym, his frat, and the weekend parties where he could show off his new look.

As he turned to join the group of jocks, he felt a thrill surge through him—a rush of excitement and belonging. It was easy to fall into the rhythm of this new life. The frat brothers cheered as he walked over to join them, already welcoming him into their fold.

Blake Walker didn’t think about who he used to be anymore. He didn’t care that the change was irreversible. He was happy now—at least, that’s what he told himself. And for the first time in his life, he truly believed it.

Blake Walker had fully embraced his new identity—muscular, confident, cocky—and with that, his political and personal beliefs had shifted drastically. In the span of a few short days, the liberal, progressive Evan Brooks he had once been seemed like a distant memory, a faded echo of someone else's life. He had no use for the old ideals of social justice, activism, or questioning societal norms. The world was simple now: men were strong, women were women, and life was about winning, not about understanding.

It was a Wednesday morning, a few days after the transformation, and Blake was sitting in the campus quad with a couple of his frat brothers. They were lounging on the grass, tossing a football back and forth, and discussing what to do with their upcoming weekend. The conversation quickly veered toward politics, as it often did after a few beers.

Blake wasn’t exactly sure why, but the more he listened, the more he found himself irritated by the mention of any "liberal" policies. One of the guys, Brett, was talking about how his sister was protesting for women’s rights, and the mention of "equal pay" set off a spark in Blake’s mind.

"Equal pay? You mean that whole 'pay gap' thing?" Blake scoffed, a smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted his weight, throwing the football up into the air with a quick flick of his wrist. "That's such a joke. Women have the same opportunities, and they don’t need to keep whining about it. If they worked harder, they’d get paid the same. It’s not about being a woman, it’s about performing."

The words slipped from his mouth with ease, and Blake didn’t even hesitate. His voice was full of conviction, the kind of boldness he’d seen in the more traditional, alpha guys who had molded him into who he was now. The frat brothers around him nodded in approval, some chuckling. "Exactly, dude," said Marcus. "I can’t stand the whole victim mentality. Like, the world doesn’t owe anyone anything. You have to earn it."

Blake grinned and slapped his hands together, feeling a rush of adrenaline as if he’d just made an important point. "Exactly! These people need to toughen up. The world’s not gonna hand them anything. They should be out there working, making their own way, not complaining about what they don’t have."

His words were met with approving nods. But deep down, a part of Blake felt a strange satisfaction in the way the conversation had shifted. The more he spoke, the more comfortable he became in his new skin. It was clear now—he wasn’t just another college student fumbling through his beliefs. He was a man—a man who understood the way the world worked, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.

The conversation soon turned to the upcoming election. The group’s mood grew more animated as Brett began talking about a local politician who was pushing for "progressive" policies that Blake knew he couldn’t stand.

"You know, this guy keeps pushing for free healthcare and all this socialist crap," Brett said, his voice growing louder as he leaned in, clearly fired up. "It's like they want to turn the country into one big handout."

Blake’s blood boiled at the very mention of socialism. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Yeah, it’s unbelievable. People don’t seem to get that nothing in life is free. Someone’s gotta pay for it, and it’s always gonna be the hardworking people who get screwed over. You work hard, you get rewarded. You sit on your ass and wait for a handout, you're just part of the problem."

The words felt almost natural to Blake now. It was like he was channelling the very essence of the conservative mindset, and it felt good. The anger, the frustration at what he saw as a broken system—he had been living in that system, but now he understood. There was no place for weakness in the world he wanted. Only strength. Only the ability to succeed on your own terms.

The group around him nodded eagerly. Greg, another frat brother, grinned widely. "Hell yeah, man. You’re right. It’s the hardworking men who keep this country running. These liberals? They just want to hand everything to people who don’t deserve it."

Blake’s smile widened, a deep, satisfied chuckle bubbling up from his chest. "Exactly," he said again, his tone dripping with certainty. "It’s time we took the country back from these idiots. It’s time for real men to step up and start calling the shots."

It wasn’t just politics now. It was everything. Blake could feel the weight of his new beliefs settling into every corner of his life. Even the way he looked at people had changed. The nerds, the activists, the people who still talked about “equality” and “inclusivity”—he couldn’t fathom why he had ever cared about them. In his world, there was no place for weakness, no place for division. There was only strength, unity under a banner of tradition.

His classmates who had once talked about LGBTQ+ rights, feminism, environmental justice—they seemed so... irrelevant to him now. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared about those issues. He didn’t want to. Why would he? He was a man now. A strong man. And that meant taking charge, not discussing issues that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. The things that mattered were simple: success, strength, and the preservation of the things that had always made America great.

Later that afternoon, as Blake and his frat brothers prepared to head to the gym, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of superiority over the other students on campus. He looked around at the other groups of people—the arts majors, the environmental activists, the overly polite, overly sensitive students—and couldn’t suppress the sneer that twisted his lips.

"Man, they’re just so soft," he muttered under his breath. "They wouldn’t last a day in the real world."

One of his frat brothers, Jake, grinned. "Yeah, dude. They wouldn’t even know what hit them."

Blake let out a low laugh. "Exactly. If they knew what it took to be a man—if they knew what real strength looked like—maybe they’d understand."

As he turned and walked toward the gym with his brothers, his dirty blonde hair catching the sunlight, Blake realized just how much he had changed. The old Evan would have never spoken like this, never thought this way. But Blake Walker? He was part of something bigger now—part of a brotherhood, a worldview, a system that prized strength above all else. And he knew that he would never go back.

His days of progressive politics and social justice were behind him, along with the nerdy, gay college student he had once been. The new Blake Walker was confident, straight, and unapologetically conservative. He had found his place in the world, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he truly belonged.

And that was all that mattered.

Blake Walker was becoming unrecognizable. Not just in the way he looked—though his new broad, muscular physique, complete with messy, slightly curly dirty blonde hair, was a far cry from the skinny, nerdy Evan Brooks he once was—but also in the way he thought. The change had been fast, but it had settled deep, like an invasive seed that had taken root in his mind. Blake felt comfortable now, in a way he hadn’t felt before.

He was a jock, an alpha. And to be an alpha, you had to project dominance. You had to push boundaries, show people you were the top dog.

It was Friday night, and Blake and his frat brothers were winding down from a grueling week of tests and workouts. They’d thrown a party at the house—loud music, red Solo cups stacked in corners, and girls swarming around the jocks in an attempt to be noticed. The air was thick with the smell of beer and testosterone. Blake leaned against the kitchen counter, one hand on his beer, the other hanging loosely at his side as he surveyed the room.

The conversation, like most of the night, revolved around two things: who was hooking up with who, and who was the "weakest" link on the football team.

Greg, a tall, lean guy with sharp features, was ranting about some kid in the engineering department who had the nerve to “act like he was better than everyone else.” Blake could already tell where the conversation was going.

"Dude, I swear, I was walking by the student union today and I see this nerd sitting there—one of those guys who's always talking about 'gender fluidity' and all that liberal crap." Greg laughed, shaking his head. "Like, what the hell is that even? You’re either a guy or a girl, dude. Stop trying to make yourself special."

Blake took a long sip of his beer, his lips curling into a half-smirk. He didn’t need to think about it—he knew exactly how to respond.

"I know, right?" Blake said, his voice dripping with that new, self-assured confidence. "It’s like they want attention or something. Just pick a side, dude. You can’t change your whole identity every week."

He threw back his head, laughing with his brothers as they all chimed in with their own jokes about the so-called "gender confusion" they saw in their classes. Blake’s tone was dismissive and casual. He didn’t even feel the need to elaborate. The fact that this kid was trying to “be different” was enough to trigger his distaste.

"I bet he’s just another attention-seeker," Brett added, with a grin. "I mean, dude’s probably just mad no one’s looking at him unless he says some dumb shit like that. Like, just be a normal guy. No one cares about your weird identity crisis."

Blake nodded approvingly, feeling a rush of satisfaction. He didn’t get it—he didn’t care to get it. Who had time for all that? In his world, being a guy was simple. You played sports, you lifted weights, you dated women, and you didn’t apologize for being a man.

"Exactly, man," Blake said, tossing his empty beer bottle into the recycling bin with a clink. "I don't know why people make things so complicated. If you’re a dude, then act like it. Don’t go around talking about all this 'fluid' crap and expect me to give a damn."

The frat boys around him cheered in agreement, their voices loud and drunk with entitlement. The women in the corner seemed to laugh along too, though Blake could tell they were mostly laughing because they had to. It was what the cool guys did, and if they didn’t want to be “excluded” from the circle, they had to pretend to be on the same wavelength.

Blake glanced at one of the girls nearby, a sophomore who had been flirting with him for the past hour. She caught his eye and smiled, a little too brightly. He offered a quick, cocky grin before taking another sip of beer.

"Man, I swear," Greg continued, "people like that are just looking for an excuse to cry about everything. They wanna be all ‘sensitive,’ but life’s not like that. You want respect? Earn it. You don’t get to cry about your ‘identity’ and expect the world to change for you."

Blake couldn’t help but agree. His mind had changed so drastically from the Evan he used to be. The Evan who was afraid of offending anyone, who stood up for people’s rights no matter how difficult the argument. That guy was gone, replaced by Blake, a guy who didn’t just accept things the way they were, but demanded them to stay the way he liked.

"Exactly," Blake said again, this time with a bit more edge. He wasn’t even sure what had happened to him. The old Evan might have felt guilty, might have been conflicted over what he was hearing, but Blake? Blake felt nothing but clarity. "These people think they deserve special treatment just because they’re different. Like, no one owes you shit for being ‘unique.’"

The guys laughed again, but now it was a little more sinister. They were pushing boundaries, making the atmosphere more charged than it should’ve been. Someone mentioned a rumor about a student from another fraternity who had come out as bisexual, and that seemed to set Blake off.

"Ugh, I heard about that dude," Marcus chimed in. "Some guy in the next frat came out as bi, and now he’s all about being ‘proud.’ It’s like, bro, just shut up. Who cares? I’m not gonna sit here and listen to some dude talk about his ‘struggles’ with his sexuality."

Blake’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he stared at Marcus for a moment. He couldn’t help it; he was getting agitated. "Exactly, man. Just keep it to yourself. Nobody needs to know about your ‘struggles’ or whatever. It's not like being gay or bi is some big revelation." He felt a sense of superiority creeping in. "Just stop trying to force it on everyone. The world doesn’t revolve around your sex life."

There was an uncomfortable silence as the conversation shifted, but the damage had been done. The guys had made their stance clear—they didn’t have time for “weak” people, and they certainly didn’t have time for anyone who didn’t fit into their idea of what was normal. Blake wasn’t even sure why it bothered him so much that people were “out there” being different—he just knew that it didn’t sit right with him anymore.

He glanced over at the girl still lingering by the corner. She was staring at him, her smile a little less enthusiastic than before. Blake felt a flicker of unease—an old Evan-like twinge of guilt—but it passed quickly, like a fleeting thought.

"Yeah," Blake said again, feeling like he had the last word on the subject, as if it settled everything. "Just be a man or don’t bother. The world doesn’t need more confusion."

The frat brothers all agreed, and Blake let out a breath. For the first time, he felt like he could finally relax. He had his brothers, his strength, his new identity—and that was all he needed.

The rest of the night passed with more jokes, more trash talk, and a general atmosphere of “being a man” that felt intoxicating. Blake didn’t think about it much. He didn’t need to. He was on top of the world now, and anything that threatened that world—anything that threatened his new identity—just didn’t belong.

And Blake was more than happy to let them know that.

Blake Walker had fully embraced his new life. The frat, the muscles, the confidence—he was a man now, and everything felt easy. But with that confidence came something even more exciting to him: Stacy.

Stacy wasn’t just any girl. She was the quintessential “valley girl”—the kind of blonde, perky, ditzy sorority girl that every guy in the frat would have killed to date. But Blake? He wasn’t like the other guys. He deserved Stacy. She was exactly what he needed to match his new identity.

It was Friday afternoon, and Blake was lounging on the frat house’s back patio, having just finished another grueling workout at the gym. He was wearing a tight, white tank top that showed off his impressive biceps, his signature messy dirty blonde curls falling over his forehead in just the right way. As he cracked open a bottle of water, his phone buzzed with a text from Stacy. He grinned to himself as he read it:

"Hey babe, totes wanna meet at Starbucks for a little pick-me-up before our dinner tonight! 💅💖"

Blake rolled his eyes, but in the way that made him smile. He’d been seeing Stacy for a few weeks now, and while she was everything he shouldn’t want—a little airhead who lived for shopping, Instagram, and the latest gossip about "who’s dating who"—there was something about her that he loved.

"Sounds good, babe. I'll pick you up in 20."

He shot off a quick reply before tossing his phone down on the table, feeling the usual rush of excitement that came with hanging out with Stacy. She wasn’t just pretty—she was fun. And for Blake, that was all that mattered now. They were a perfect match: his strength and confidence, her bubbly, ditzy energy.

When Blake pulled up to the Starbucks parking lot, he spotted Stacy immediately. She was standing outside, balancing on high heels, looking like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her platinum blonde hair was perfectly curled, and her pink crop top clung to her body, showing off her toned stomach. She waved excitedly when she saw him, a wide grin on her face.

"Babe, like, oh my god!" Stacy squealed, rushing up to him. "I totes missed you! I was, like, just texting my girls about that new hot guy in the bio class. Like, he is SO cute, you have NO idea."

Blake chuckled, reaching out to pull her into a hug, his muscles flexing as he enveloped her tiny frame. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her words, but it didn’t bother him. Not anymore. Stacy was just... Stacy.

"I bet he's not as hot as me," Blake teased, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

"Like, NO way!" Stacy giggled, pressing her lips to his cheek before pulling back to look him up and down, clearly admiring the view. "You are, like, totally the hottest guy I know. You’re, like, so perfect, it’s unreal."

Blake smirked, loving the compliment. He felt invincible, like he was untouchable.

"I know," he said, his tone oozing confidence. "I work hard for it, babe."

They walked inside Starbucks together, Stacy chattering non-stop about everything she had done that week, her voice high-pitched and almost like a sing-song. Blake didn’t really listen to the details—he never did—but it didn’t matter. Stacy wasn’t saying anything of importance, just the usual girly stuff, and for Blake, that was exactly how he liked it.

"So, like, I heard that Brad from Kappa Chi totally hooked up with Jenny from Accounting last night?" Stacy went on, her eyes wide with excitement as she leaned in. "And like, she was wearing this totally amazing dress, but I, like, can't even imagine how they, like, did it in the back of a cab. That's SO ghetto, right?"

Blake smirked and leaned against the counter, pretending to listen. He was starting to feel like a real man now—someone who had it all. A hot girl, a killer body, and a world that was bending to his will. It was a far cry from the shy, nerdy Evan who used to spend hours arguing with people about the importance of social justice and LGBTQ+ rights.

"I dunno, babe," Blake shrugged, his voice low and deep. "I don’t really care about that kind of stuff. I got everything I need right here." He gestured to himself and then to her, giving her a wink.

Stacy laughed, throwing her head back. "Like, OMG, you’re such a bad boy," she said, practically swooning. "I totes love it when you, like, act all confident."

Blake’s chest swelled with pride. This was the life. No more thinking about the struggles of the world or trying to please everyone. Stacy didn’t care about his past. She didn’t care about the "old Evan." She liked Blake, the confident, strong jock who didn’t have time for politics, social causes, or even, it seemed, deep conversation. Stacy wanted someone who made her feel good—and that was exactly what Blake was giving her.

"Yeah, babe," Blake said, his voice dropping into that deeper, more commanding tone he’d learned to use. "You like that, huh?"

Stacy giggled, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. "Totes! You’re, like, the perfect boyfriend. I’m, like, so lucky to have you. You're, like, sooo much hotter than all those other guys at the gym. They don’t even have, like, a clue."

Blake’s lips curled into a smug smile. "I know, babe," he said again, taking the coffee she’d ordered and handing it to her. "But it’s not just the looks. It’s about who you are. And I’m one of a kind."

Stacy laughed, nodding enthusiastically. "Like, I KNOW, right?! You’re, like, totally the best."

As they left Starbucks, walking hand-in-hand toward his car, Blake couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride. He didn’t just have the looks, the body, or the confidence—he had Stacy, the perfect "girlfriend" for his new life. She was everything that fit into his new worldview: pretty, ditzy, and obsessed with appearances. And Blake was okay with that. He didn’t need anything else.

They got in the car, and Blake started the engine, glancing over at Stacy, who was already texting someone on her phone, probably telling her friends how amazing her boyfriend was.

As he drove through the campus, past the other students, Blake couldn’t help but feel like the world was at his feet. His life had become simple, uncomplicated, and perfect in its own, jock-ified way. There was no more questioning his identity. There was no more confusion about who he was. He was Blake Walker—the strong, straight, conservative man who had everything he wanted, including the perfect girlfriend.

And nothing was ever going to stand in his way.

[jewish-sideblog]

I am sick and fucking tired of the fandomsphere's obsession with explicit canon. A character can be coded to hell and back and people will still refuse to acknowledge it unless the character looks directly into the camera and says "I'm [marginalized identity]."

The Spider-Verse movies made Peter B Parker Jewish and made Gwen Stacy trans. I don't give a shit if it's never said outright. It's canon. Peter B Parker has a Jewish wedding on-screen and shows off Hannukah bling in promotional material. He's Jewish. Gwen has a trans flag in her room and a trans-coded coming-out story that peaks with being cast in clear and intentional trans flag lighting. She's trans. Good on Spider-Verse for giving us solid representation without sacrificing time that should be spent on the characters' stories to bring explicit attention to their identities! The consequence is that you can't say he's Jewish or say she's trans in a public forum without having to pull out screenshots to prove your case.

Those are just two irksome examples from the same franchise, but this happens all the time across all fandom media. If you refuse to accept evidence and coding as proof, then you're perpetuating the idea that privileged identities are more normal and default than marginalized ones. Gwen shouldn't need to say "I'm trans" and Peter B shouldn't need to say "I'm Jewish" on-screen. No character should ever have to do that, because we never expect a character to reveal that they're canonically cisgender or goyishe.

[the-orange-solace]

When I was a child, I watched an episode of Criminal Minds where a man had a split personality. A woman who killed other women who threatened the man she formed to protect. I remember her sitting in the dark on a couch, a cigarette in hand beside a lamp, as she spoke to an Agent about why she had to kill them, that it was to protect him. It was her entire purpose for existing.

As a child, I used to pace empty halls in the middle of the night and lay in bed, repeating in my mind that I would be the only being in my body. I will not break into multiple people. I will be in control. I have to be because, at the time, I believed I could break into those monstrous plurals you see on TV. The ones that killed their family after years of neglect, abuse, and wrongdoing. The ones you should be afraid of ever becoming, no matter who you are or your situation.

So I became terrified.

And yet, nearly every night, I'd look up at the sky or the ceiling and beg for something to change—to not be alone. I was stuck pretending I was a different character, a type of escapism that sometimes got out of hand, lost in an identity that wasn't my own. Looking up and imagining being taken away, every character I adored was by my side, caring for me in return. I had to keep going, be them, and exist in a world with them.

I'd made up stories, different realities, and places in my mind to escape to, as well as explanations for things my underdeveloped brain couldn't comprehend in the place I found myself within. I clung to concepts, characters, and situations that reflected my own, and soon, I no longer felt alone—not with all the escapism I conjured up, not with the different identities to help me face what was happening.

But I was in control. I was one being. No matter what. I had to be a single being because that was good. I had to be good.

I would never hurt anyone, and being many meant being bad. I couldn't be bad.

When I was a teenager, I started researching and getting involved in minority and disabled spaces. I loved being informed, the stories, the many perspectives, and the complexity of humanity. So it was no surprise when I shared a plural headcanon with a friend, and they felt safe coming out to me. They were many. They took my hand and guided me through a community I was fascinated with and wanted to aid and represent like so many others.

I spent years learning, staying silent as others spoke, just listening to everything I could. But then, one day, like so many others, I spoke through a different facet, a different identity I had created as a child. The many faces of me represented things I could not be, I could not hold, nor could I handle. I was struggling; some of me wanted to lash out. So she did. She lashed out.

As always, I was faced with kindness, listening ears, and aid that then pushed me more to the surface from drowning. But I never left; just another part of me was lost, right? Of course. People are complex. I deal with my emotions in a complex way. Of course.

My plurally disabled friend watched as I became more comfortable speaking through the identities I had, whether they were facets of myself or characters that helped me. Soon enough, the continuous "role-play" and "emotional processing" developed into normal conversation, a comfort, a relief.

They kindly approached me and asked if I was a system, too. They had never met anyone who spoke to themselves like I do, definitely not any singlets. None of our other friends did, in person or not, not even people in our families. It was just us.

The fear from my childhood arose. I couldn't be multiple; I couldn't be more than one. It was bad. But hadn't I learned about Plurality? All its ups and downs? Its complexities and nuances? I accepted it wholeheartedly; I learned and evolved from the demonized perception I was given as a child. So, why was it still bad?

Because I must be lying; I must be a fake, a poser. It was the only reason, wasn't it? I had seen so many conversations and arguments about fakes, those who wished to be special. Had I somehow become the harm they spoke of? How could I do this to a community I swore to listen to and fight for?

I obsessed over it, forcing the panic, dissociation, habit, and ease of speaking in multiple identities and beings of myself away. I buried it as deep as I could for the betterment of everyone else. The community didn't deserve such harm, and I wouldn't bring it to their doorstep if I claimed it to be something I'm not.

The loathing became so present it formed into tics that caused aches and disruptions in my life. Multiple stressors--along with an identity crisis--will do that to someone. So my shoulder and neck muscles ached from shrugging, flexing, and all the repetitive movements I couldn't stop without crying from the suppression. So I didn't. I let it disrupt and hurt.

Then, one day, someone, some random, unknown system to me out in the world, spoke about how it didn't matter what was real or not; it didn't hurt anyone. Plurality and the belief of it didn't hurt anyone. It hurt no one to discover themselves, to test the waters, to simply pry into yourself and learn. There was no shame in figuring yourself, or yourselves, out. There was no right or wrong, nothing to be ashamed of or fearful of. Just another part of living.

So I did. I poked and prodded. I gave my parts names, spoke to them in the middle of the night, asked questions, got to know them, and learned we couldn't talk through words at first but could emotions and sensations. I realized I couldn't find where my Plurality started or where it ended, that we—oh god, we—the idea was so surreal but...comforting—were so combined, living without specific individuality outside of me that there was no separation in sight. Not that I could figure out. For so long, I believed everything was just me. Only me.

But now it was someone else, too. These things that made no sense, these things that felt out of place or special, unique, and ever-changing could be someone else.

Someone else.

The more I reflected, learned, applied, and prodded, the more things made sense. Until one day, I looked at my friends, held my breath, and spoke. Stated that it like it was a sin for me of all people to say.

I was plural.

No one blinked an eye. No one questioned it outside of boundaries and clarification. It wasn't surprising that their childhood friend was many. How surprising could it be when they used so many different names for different parts of themselves to express hard things?

It was astonishing.

And here we are, years and years later, grown and still learning, living, fighting, but more in touch with ourselves than ever before with so many more sys friends and aquatints. More experiences, a better understanding.

It's not shameful to learn, apply, and reflect. You take nothing from anyone but your time and open-minded exploration of the world and yourself(ves). There is no evil in being human, living life, phase or not. There is nothing wrong with you, any of you, for existing or living. You just are. I embrace you, I embrace us, and I embrace everything that comes with a life of many.

So, if you're struggling, just know you're not alone outside the body. We know, and so do many others. It's going to be okay; you'll find yourself in time. Don't rush it. There will always be time.

[hikaaa-bi]

i think people pick sides too much rather than realizing that all of the characters in Gravity Falls were equally flawed. i've noticed it with Mabel and Dipper, and more recently, i've noticed it with Stan and Ford.

it's okay if you sympathize with Stan but some people act like he never did anything wrong and Ford was just being an asshole to him for no reason.

Stan broke Ford's science exhibit. he didn't mean to do it, but he did. and he didn't attempt to fix it nor did he come clean about it until Ford already lost his chance with uni and confronted Stan about it. then Stan spouted some "silver lining, now you can travel the world with me" BS.

i'm sorry to say it but this was a shitty thing to do. it's completely understandable why Ford was upset with Stan, and i'm tired of people acting like it isn't. of course, Stan didn't deserve to get kicked out of his home for this, but he deserved to face some consequences.

Ford had no obligation to forgive Stan and i honestly don't blame him for keeping a grudge. he lost a HUGE opportunity because of Stan. and furthermore, he also gets sucked into the portal because of Stan. again, yes, an accident. but an accident that left him stranded in a dangerous terrain for YEARS.

and don't get me wrong, i'm not saying that Stan is some irredeemable monster or anything. he worked hard to undo his wrongs and bring back Ford, and he deserves to be commended for that. but this only works if you acknowledge that he was a flawed character in the first place.

the whole point of Stan's and Ford's conflict was that BOTH of them were in the wrong. especially during the finale.

it's fine for Stan to want Ford to be grateful for what he did. BUT. he did NOT have to start bitching about it right when they were about to defeat Bill. it could have waited until after everyone was safe.

and Ford certainly did not have to start the whole "grammar Stanley" thing and act like he was above saying a simple thank you.

also, you have to understand that while it's sweet that Stan wanted to sail the world with Ford, it was also an example of their relationship being codependent. Stan was made to believe that he wasn't as worthy as Ford and he saw himself as useless and dumb, so he clings onto Ford for a sense of identity.

in Stan's mind, he was just part of a whole, and this was an extremely unhealthy mindset to have. of course it was because of their father's emotional abuse, but it was something Stan needed to change.

Ford had his own dreams, and Stan's dependence on him started to feel suffocating. i would say they both needed time away from each other, especially Stan.

at the end of the day, this conflict was mutual and y'all are erasing its complexity by acting like Stan was completely innocent and played no part in their falling out, and like Ford was some terrible monster who deserved everything that happened to him.

[thesamoanqueen]

Anatomy of an affair II

A/N: second chapter and I think I'll finish this mini series in the next one, but I hope this isn't useless anyway because I really tried to build a particular tension... y'all know what I mean. Once again, dedicated to Aly~

The first lessons had been... an experience, let's say. The classroom was always packed, a crowd just waiting for him as if he was somekind of an event. Throngs of students in the front row hanging on his every speech, giggling and sighing at every word, always waiting at the door as if gaining the best seat and attempting physical assault at the end of the lesson would somehow make the difference or attract his attention. Writing his reports and some notes for myself, I learned that that kind of technique didn't work. Not that I wanted to look for the right one, on the contrary... I tried as much as possible to keep my feet on the ground, my mind clear and my legs closed so as not to reduce myself to those levels.

It was difficult though. The rough sound of his voice as he talked about muscles, bones and organs made it a challenge to focus, especially now that he was starting to get serious with lessons and I had to work hard so as not to end up like most of those desperate people who now couldn't find the show so entertaining anymore. My eyes constantly fixed on his muscles and organs, a perfect example of what a man should have been like in anyone's dreams, as if mother nature had taken special care of him to teach ordinary mortals. It was probably my unconscious seeing him like this in search of my well-deserved revenge on Tobert or maybe it was some kind of psychological test of my twisted mind to prove my dedication was stronger than temptations, but sooner or later would have been time for a real test and along with it, the others I still had to finish preparing for.

I was close going crazy, I knew it and with a sigh I ran a hand over my face, checking my phone to understand what would occupy my only hour of break that day. Lunch was already taken, but not by my meal and as if I had summoned him, Professor Reigns appeared in front of me again, almost making my phone fly out of my hand. I suffered from PTSD after our first face off and I had the impression he liked it.

- “So?” – he asked, with an amused smile, seeing me immediately get back on my feet like a soldier.

He absolutely liked it.

My mouth opened without a sound, unable to form even a silent insult, but as soon as my synapses began to do their job again I understood. The lesson, he was talking about the lesson. He wanted the report and didn't care what I was doing with my phone or my life. Of course.

- “It was... intense” – I admitted, seeing him listen carefully – “I think more than a few people got lost towards the middle now that we’re going deeper. There are already requests for more information, should be the same topics I wrote down during the lesson, I have the note here...” - I started rummaging in my bag looking for the notebook in which I had taken them, realizing with a silent curse that it was identical to the others that I constantly dragged with me to study everywhere.

- “It's here somewhere... just a moment, it's right here” – I apologized, already feeling anxiety increase as seconds passed and he waited, looking at me in silence.

I hadn't lost it, I couldn't have lost it, I had put everything back in my bag leaving the room empty, I had been very meticulous, but what if it had happened? Was it a possibility? If I forgot a notebook I could forget a gauze during an operation, a doctor could never be so absent in them mind!

- “Here” – he interrupted me, ignoring my search to hand me one of the cups he had in his hand.

I took it quickly, trying to continue with my free hand, but he stopped me, shaking his head, lifting my chin with a finger. The sensation, however quick and innocent, paralyzed me and I looked at him with wide eyes as he pointed the matcha he had passed me.

- “We’ll take care of your notes later, drink now” – he ordered more seriously this time and if my eyes were wide open before, they must surely have rolled out now, like in one of those cartoons I watched in Tobert's living room when we were both kids.

- “Me?!”

- “I'm a big guy but two is too much even for me” – and yes, he was right, but I still couldn't believe that he had bought something for me.

None of the professors I knew, not even the ones I was close with, had ever offered me anything. Usually it was students who did it, a show of respect, the opposite was strange, it couldn't happen... or could it? He had done it and he was acting like it was no big deal. Maybe he felt obligated because it was almost lunch time and he had asked me to stay longer, hadn't I seemed happy? Had I made a bad impression?

Trying to regain myself, I followed him as he headed down the avenue that led to the residential area of the campus.

- “It wasn't necessary, I could have taken it myself if”-

- “Tea is a natural cortisol inhibitor and you should keep your levels low.”

I had to keep what low? Jesus, I wasn't sleeping well and I had so many thoughts on my mind but was I really in such bad shape he suspected I was unwell?! I looked at myself in the mirror that morning, I wasn't so horrible, I had also put on a cute new jacket.

- “It’s some kind of dyagnosis”

- “It's a lesson. You are used to doing multiple things at the same time, but add the load of studying and unnecessary activities, it means more stress on a daily basis and when the brain detects a stressful situation the HPA axis is activated, releasing cortisol. High levels of cortisol for long periods of time risk damaging the brain, changing its anatomy in some cases. Drink it, it can become a good habit” – he explained and my stomach did a flip.

I wasn't a kid anymore, but I had been taking care of myself for so long I wasn't prepared for that kind of attention. I had always taken my responsibilities seriously and he had noticed my efforts after just a month of working together, he had noticed what I did even outside of the tasks he entrusted to me. Tobert had never noticed anything, I could have been sick and he would have only noticed if I threw up on his shoes, for the shoes obviously, not for me. Yep, it was a strange comparison and had nothing to do with it, we didn't have that relationship, we didn't have a relationship, but it didn't change the fact he had been attentive to me.

- “... thanks sir” - I murmured, unable to formulate anything else, overwhelmed by a sudden sense of embarrassment and he smiled one of those absolutely inappropriate smiles, watching me suck from the straw to hide my lack of words.

- “You must be in a good shape” – his comment almost made me choke, but he didn't seem to notice, walking unbothered under the yellowing trees of the campus with his takeaway.

He hadn't said it in that sense, there was no sense, what on earth should I have been in shape for if not to work?! I just had to stop thinking and follow him. Yes, I had to, but I didn't know where and I was only realizing it now. In fact accepting without knowing what I was getting myself into, it was becoming a dangerous habit with him.

- “Where we going? The next meeting will take place this afternoon” – I remembered, trying to play it cool.

I was sure of it because I had checked before joining him in the morning, so as to know when he would be free and consequently I should be free too, but he had blocked me as soon as the lesson was over, while we were still in the classroom.

- “My apartment” – I heard him reply with his usual nonchalance.

The sound I made in response wasn't a word, it wasn't even a noise, I didn't even know what it was, but I started drinking my matcha again like my life depended on it because I definitely needed to lower my stress levels now.

***

The apartment the university had provided for Professor Reigns was nowhere near the dorms and had nothing to do with mine, in comparison I was paying for a stable to share. It was an big apartment, a real one, furnished and with all possible comforts, it had its own private parking space and a delightful view of the central building with its characteristic bricks and avenues. It gave the impression of a movie location, especially because despite being used by a man it didn't seem to be. It was tidy, clean, impeccable just like its current owner, there were even carpets. Professor Reigns had given me a copy of the key, so I could use his house instead of the office that was constantly besieged by students and once I had overcome the anxiety of being in his most private space, I was grateful to finally be able to study and work for him without risking collapse between lessons or unpleasant looks from other students.

With my laptop open and the last notes for the test I would have on monday in my hands, I heard the front door open and after a while I saw him emerge, his hand already scratching the beard that was starting to turn salt and pepper, in that gesture I had learned to decipher. He was incredibly dutiful, but seemed to have a limited social battery and quickly became disinterested in matters that were not indispensable or fundamental to him.

- “Something wrong?” – I asked, watching him take off his jacket to make himself more comfortable and go directly to get some coffee in the kitchen.

- “We have to review my agenda next week, some appointments are not really necessary and take up time from the research project for the course” – he explained and I hid my smirk, nodding with my head down.

Oh yes, that battery ran out quickly and he didn't even bother to recharge it. It was crazy how he was gifted with everything that attracted attention, but he didn't care. There were men who would have given anything to have a position like his and that kind of success in every field, when instead he kept his distance.

- “Chemistry?” – he asked, glancing at my notes.

- “I had answered all the emails and the outline for the next lesson is ready. I made a copy, it's in the other room along with the preliminary test drafts” – I replied quickly, closing the laptop, while he sat down with a sigh.

- “Stop making excuses Savannah, I told you to do it this way and you're doing it. It works, right?”

- “Yep… it's more comfortable than the office” – I nodded, seeing him mutter a "good" before silence fell.

I had been working as his assistant for a month now, trying to make the most of the opportunity he had given me, but I still hadn't been able to talk to him about why it all started and why I kept making excuses, even though he always seemed more likely to tease me than make me pay for something. I had prepared for that discussion, reciting it in front of the mirror, to my roommate, I knew what to say, in the beginning it had been the only reason why I had gone looking for him and yes, maybe now I could have pretended nothing had happened because we seemed to work well together, but I already had another pending conversation with Tobert and that was enough. I needed to get another man off my shoulders and another thought out of my head.

- “Professor” - I started, but he stopped me immediately.

- “Roman. At least when we're alone. I'm not a professor, I told you.”

Roman?! I tried to start a conversation that was difficult for me and he cut me off by demanding I call him by his government name?! It was a joke. As if I could ever talk to him with enough confidence to reach those levels! Yes, we weren't that far apart in age, I was sitting in his living room minding my own business, after the agreed time, while he was there sipping coffee in that decidedly too tight shirt and staring at me, but he was still a professor, a famous doctor. It was very clear in my mind whenever other thoughts crossed my mind: don’t push the boundaries.

- “I don’t think I”-

- “I do.”

Speechless, I watched him put down his coffee, those eyes that I struggled to get used to focused on me without the slightest intention of giving in, with the expectation of actually seeing me do it.

It was inappropriate. We didn't have that relationship, we couldn't, it was forbidden by university rules. I thought, I hadn't checked and I wouldn't, it had to be and even if it wasn't, my mama had raised me well. She had taught me to be respectful, not to put myself in unseemly situations, and calling him by his name seemed like the kind of thing that would push me over boundaries. Yet the idea of not doing what he told me, with his full attention, made me lower my head and nod.

I was thinking too much, he wasn't asking for intimacy, he probably just wanted some normality and I instead needed to focus on what I had to say to him to make things right.

- “I still haven't apologized for what happened the day we met” - I started again – “I... I didn't want to sound rude, Im sorry, my mind was somewhere else and I didn't realize I was actually there and not alone.”

I wasn't that kind of person, I didn’t like myself people who always made a scene, but Tobert had hurt me without even caring, I felt so humiliated and offended that I freak out. I still couldn't tolerate the thought of having wasted so much time on someone who after a month didn't understand I knew and kept acting as if nothing had happened. But I was trying to move forward, I was dedicating time to myself and not wasting it.

Something in the way Professor Reigns, Roman... looked at me seemed to change and I saw him tilt his head to look at me, thankfully without a trace of resentment to me.

- “It was quite obvious” – he commented at the end, almost with understanding and although I could finally have sighed with relief, I nodded, sucking my teeth before speaking.

- “I could have avoided it. It wasn't worth it” – I said, pressing the pen I was holding in my hand with annoyance.

Wasting tears on a boy – he wasn't even a man with his little shrimp between his legs – like that had been an insult to myself that I regretted terribly. I had known Tobert forever and yes, I had feelings for him, but he had never been perfect, not even close to being perfect, me more than anyone knew that. It was like adopting an ugly stray dog that you become attached to. The amount of stupid things he did or got involved in was unquantifiable and he hadn't mentally grown a day since we were sixteen. I couldn't continue to close my eyes, pretend I still didn't see like his mama, if after having put my future at risk to support him, he was now also disrespecting me sticking his little thing in every available hole instead of building a life together. The asshole would have paid me with interest, I would have made him miserable. I just had to figure out how.

- “You need help?” – Professor Reigns asked and I straightened my head, for a moment fearing I had spoken out loud, but he pointed to the notes in front of me with amusement.

- “Oh, no, absolutely not, I can do it by myself, in fact it's better if I go” – I hurried, recovering everything I had scattered around while he was away.

It was already enough to witness the process of him creating his lessons and preview his notes, I couldn't stay there and use him as a personal tutor when the week was already over. Plus it was also getting late and it was best to avoid staying until the evening, people loved talking about everything and he seemed to be one of the favorite topics for a good portion of the students on campus.

In silence, feeling his eyes on me, I put everything in my bag as quickly as I could to meet his gaze just before leaving.

- “See you next week then Sav” – he greeted me.

- “Have a nice weekend.”

***

After days Tobert decided to make himself heard. Our circus was doing great, it was actually the third time he had called me in a month and he had had the courage to ask me if I was thinking of coming back in the next weekend. As if I were rich or had someone to see again in that shitty city! But I knew why he was asking, unlike him I had a brain whose cognitive functions did their duty and by imposing calm to myself, knowing what I was up against, I had hit social media as soon as our unforgettable three-minute conversation was over. I obviously hadn't found any trace of abandonment syndrome symptoms on his pages, but another video had showed up, this time on the page of one of his coworkers who I had also known for years. A new butt in the background, the umpteenth night and I had started writing my confession to the police for when I’ll dissected him, I was ready to take my credit.

Taking me out to calm down – or more likely distract me from murder – had been my roommate's idea, but between tequila, spicy food and cocktails it had been inevitable and both Mya and my friend Shanice had joined, watching endlessly the new video sitting at the table of one of the many clubs under the Memorial Bridge.

- “You could wait and say no to him at the wedding” – Mya proposed, cleaning her fingers from the loaded fries with which we had tried to buffer the effects of the alcohol.

- “As much as I'm sure you'd be able to wait that long, he'd have to propose first and I don't think that'll happen if he acts like this” - Shanice echoed, shaking her head in disgust at the sight of Tobert enjoying himself without a single thought in his mind.

The proposal. I had never imagined such a moment, I was more practical than romantic, but I had always taken it for granted it would happen, sooner or later, because what other alternatives could we have after all those years together? The answer was more than I thought and they all led to that fat unknown ass that he was enthusiastically groping thinking I didn't know anything.

- “He's too miserable to afford a ring” – I reflected, downing yet another shot of tequila like it was water and both Shanice and Mya looked at me.

- “Damn Sav…”

- “Yep, maybe it's better stop drinking and watch it. Eats, is gonna help”

It wasn't the alcohol that made me talk, I was simply disgusted. There had been a moment, however brief, when I thought maybe I should give him a second chance, be the bigger person once again, for all the years we had spent together. The first kiss, the first time, I gave him everything, but that stupid asshole forgot everything as soon as I loosened the leash, to drool over a bunch of total strangers who wouldn't even answer the phone in a moment of crisis and certainly didn't know him like I did.

- “Is that…” - I heard Mya call me, pulling me by the shoulder and I turned to look, choking.

- “Why is he here?!” – I asked, staring shocked at the bar counter, where Professor Reigns was discussing with a group of friends.

With a beer in hand and a less serious outfit he didn't look like a professor at all, but rather the kind of trouble most women would look for, the red flag you hope for. He was smiling, joking, in the yellowish light of the place, with music and voices filling the room, I watched him captivated as he emptied the rest of his beer, those hands capable of feats in the medical field tightly wrapped around the bottle, his throat in sight, his dark beard. I felt like I could smell him even from where I was sitting, no chemicals perfumes, just the smell of him and it was a strange sensation that made my body tingle. I shouldn't have dwelled on certain details, I shouldn't have noticed them, but he attracted my attention like a magnet.

- “Well, he has a life outside of university, busy one too it seems” – Shanice noticed, eyeing him without the slightest discretion and she wasn't the only one.

We had only noticed him now, but he certainly hadn't escaped the eyes of the other women in the club. A couple of them sitting not far away continued to stare at him and chatter, probably waiting to meet his gaze for their silent invitation. I knew the moves well, I saw them every day in class and when we walked across campus together, more or less brazen attempts to which he didn't even react, almost as if he didn't see. And maybe it was like that or maybe he didn't stoop to pay attention to anyone because he was already taken, I had never suspected anything since I worked as his assistant, but a man like that had to be taken. He was the kind who would never stay on the market with that perfect body and a successful career.

- “You know, he could be your solution” – Mya mused, sipping her cocktail with a thoughtful face.

- “I know, that's why I keep working as his assistant.”

- “So you can smash him?”

- “What?!” – I almost screamed – “No! I was talking about exams! He can help me with my goals!”

- “Nah, stop it, you'll pass them anyway, your goal at the moment is to make that asshole of your boyfriend, ex or whatever he’s, pay and you could get revenge riding him. Mya is right. Sex helps with a lot of problems”

- “He’s a professor, my professor, a well-known doctor and Im his assistant.”

Hello?! Was it just me who noticed and had a problem with it? It wasn't something to do! It couldn't be! They shouldn't have suggested it to me!

- “More practical, no one will find out. You said sometimes you two worked in his apartment to.”

- “He gave her a copy of the key.”

- “Uh! Yeah!”

I had worked and saw his living room, nothing more and they knew it, I had told them!

… and also his kitchen, for coffee yes. And the bathroom, I went there too, but I spent hours in his house working, I had to use it sooner or later! But nothing more! I would never have dared, I was even careful no one saw me going in and out of there at inconvenient times.

- “It's on the campus, inside the university, y’all can’t be serious?!” – they couldn't make me think certain things, they had to support me, help me, not create bigger problems.

- “I would do it”

- “Same here. It's such a good idea!”

- “I mean, why not?! You get it?”

- “If not her someone else, take the opportunity sis!”

- “Louder!”

- “Ok, good, I've heard enough” – I silenced them, getting up and leaving my money on the table.

The weekend was already testing me enough, I couldn't stay there a second longer and put other ideas in my head, there were already enough of those on a daily basis and that I had to keep at bay without having received yet another delusion or getting drunk.

- “What? Where you going? Come on, Sav! Get over here” – Mya tried to stop me, but I had already taken my bag and jacket.

- “I'll take an uber, see you at home” – I said goodbye, taking my way out of the club.

- “Don't you dare start studying again!”

- “And don't open IG!”

I was no longer listening to their recommendations, too busy with my phone to understand how soon I would have a car to go back. In that part of the city there were many clubs, it was very busy, but to my series of bad luck was added the only uber available was fifteen minutes away from me and resignedly I tightened my jacket once outside, peering across the road, where I could see the bridge and the skyline over the dark sea.

This night had only served to give me other thoughts and certainly hadn't helped distract me from what Tobert had done, again. Part of me knew that if I didn't do something soon I would go crazy, every revenge deserved a plan to get some justice and satisfaction back, but I needed to explode, to punish him immediately for the wasted years and humiliation. Knowing he was out there doing what he wanted, thinking I was so stupid to don’t understand or find out, filled me with frustration. I was better than him and would probably be even better if I hadn't spent my entire life babysitting him, how could he even conceive of treating me like this? Me?! And with all due respect, for someone who seemed like the cheap experiment of a pervert who had never left home!

- “I thought you had an exam on Monday” – the tone scared me to death and I turned quickly, discovering I was no longer alone.

- “Professor!”

- “Roman” – he corrected me.

- “Yep… I have it, it wasn't a lie” – I hurried to explain and immediately bit my tongue.

I was justifying myself. In a very bad way too, I wasn't even credible and it was frustrating because it was clear I could have avoided it since being off campus wasn't a crime.

- “Breathe, you’re always so tense” – he suggested to me, his voice calm, low, so reliable.

Gripping my phone, I nodded, avoiding his gaze as silence fell between us and his words echoed in my head. I had the feeling the alcohol in my body had suddenly decided to make itself felt now he was there next to me, a mixture of anxiety and heat that went from my neck down to my chest, my belly and lower, made me feel vulnerable and certainly the conversation with my friends before leaving didn’t help. I hadn't thought about meeting someone I knew, I hadn't thought about seeing him or talking to him, I was just trying to get home as quickly as possible and try to sleep with one or better two pills to keep me out of trouble. My fifteen minutes of waiting, however, were becoming an eternity and my eyes went to the blank screen, a gesture he obviously noticed immediately. He noticed everything, always.

- “Are you waiting someone?” – he asked, checking the road.

I was far from home, on the verge of exhaustion, there was no one waiting for me. Just hours of studying and too many thoughts... maybe Shanice and Mya were partly right, it would have helped me distract myself with someone, but I had too much dignity to risk picking up another idiot, a life with Tobert had made me almost completely insensitive to men. Almost.

- “I wanted to go back to the dormitory” – I explained and he turned around again.

- “That's not the answer to my question” – his tone was more peremptory this time and I looked at his tense jawline.

We had gone from not having to give excuses to explaining why I was there with my phone without even noticing and the way he was standing in front of me was making me wish for more tequila in my body.

- “Im waiting my uber. It’ll be here soon” - I said, unable to look away now.

He was an exception. He wasn't one of the many idiots inside a club. He was a grown man, with a successful career, goals similar to mine, plans for the future. I knew all that glitters wasn't gold, I could see it in his brown eyes, in his dangerous smiles, in the way he seemed to capture everyone who walked by him into his orbit, but it was the kind of risk someone would even seek. And he was fascinating, so damn perfect he made the air between us and my legs tremble.

- “I'll give you a ride. My car is there, cmon”

Something in my head told me to accept immediately, a part of me even cheered at his words, the impulse that during lessons made it difficult for me to take notes and filled my mind when we were alone with thoughts I had never had for anyone else. My friends would have pushed me without even thinking about it and the alcohol was playing its part, but I still shook my head no, looking up at him from the distance that separated us in a weak attempt to resist and remind myself, him, there were boundaries I shouldn't have crossed.

He was my professor, he could have become my mentor, I would have gotten into trouble.

- “I can wait here” – I tried, but my words didn't seem to reach him.

- “I won't let you go with a stranger, get in my car Sav” – he decided for me, without listening any replies, taking a step in the direction of the street before looking back at me.

For a moment, I clutched my phone, praying for something, for someone, anyone, to interrupt whatever was going on between us, but it might have been fifteen or thirty minutes, nothing happened and I moved numbly, following him with my heart racing and sure I was about to do something I never imagined.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @expert-texpert @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @darqchilddaydreamz @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @joannasteez @reignsx @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @333creolelady @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @dreamsinfocus @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @mahi-wayy @jxtina-86 @harmshake @southerngirl41 @smile1318 @headoftheetable @sortudademais @wrestlingprincess80

[karniss-bg3]

The Tragedy of Faith

So between tumblr and twitter I've read various takes on Kar'niss and what draws people to him. For some it's the monster fucking appeal, for others it's the desire to fix a clearly broken individual. There are in-betweens and of course this is subjective and depends on the person. Act 2 spoilers ahead. Where my personal interest comes from is how good Larian communicated the tragedy of faith and what a cult can do to a person. Kar'niss is a creature that has been broken by not one God, but two. Lolth broke him physically, the Absolute broke him mentally. His entire identity has been lost to a deity to the point he raises her in his speech. Referring to her as "Majesty" and "Queen", two terms you don't really hear anyone else address her as, he has elevated her to his final savior and leader. He also often refers to himself as "we" and "us", cementing him as part of the hive mind rather than holding any individuality of his own. When he does refer to himself as "I", it's mostly to show further loyalty to the Absolute, to maintain a position of importance in his fractured mind. Cults are notorious for targeting the most vulnerable in society as they are the easiest to mold and manipulate to their doctrine. The fact that goblins are one of the main races that fall to the Absolute's influence is telling in that regard, as they are often dismissed by the other races. Kar'niss was ripe for the picking, an easy target to lure into her arms. No doubt he was found shortly after Lolth twisted him into a drider and banished him, he didn't stand a chance.

Not even taking those elements into account, Kar'niss came from a society that is infamous for cruelty and violence, especially toward males of their species. Drow greatest hits include, but are not limited to: -Killing their young if they are not aesthetically pleasing enough. In other words, ugly. -Sacrificing every third born son to Lolth.

-If a male finds the favor of two competing females, it often doesn't end well for the male. The rival woman will kill the male and chuck his dead body into his opponents bedchambers, just for the sake of being petty.

-Love and emotions of any sort are in short supply, if not outright unseen as a general rule. The nature of drow to backstab and seek to rise in the ranks makes it near impossible to be anything other than fierce and domineering.

With these things in mind, it's easy to assume that Kar'niss had a turbulent upbringing and likely suffered untold abuse from many around him. It's not to say that good or reasonable drow don't exist, it's just not commonplace in a Lolthite society. Unfortunately, the game doesn't give us a great deal to go on as far as his past. What little he reveals only happens after he's dead, and even then its really a cliffs notes version. What we do know is that his devotion is intense and unwavering. He's willing to die for the Absolute because in his mind the Absolute are the only ones who care about him. We even see fellow followers talk down to him, dismiss him, and verbally eye-roll the guy. To them, his fanaticism is over the top and they follow the same God he does.

All told, this leads me to the conclusion that Kar'niss has never, or rarely, known true compassion in his entire life. He's been used as a puppet for one deity or another, and likely mocked or cast aside even when he did everything right. It doesn't surprise me that there are folks who desire a romance option, or barring that a side venture to break him free of the Absolute's hold. We don't know if Kar'niss did terrible things in his past, or where his moral compass sits as his entire personality revolves around God. But I'd love to know, and I crave more background on him in one form or another.

I've spent too much time thinking about different paths that could happen in-game. I also understand it's incredibly unlikely he'll ever become a companion. The sheer amount of time and resources needed to give a character a satisfying arc is likely more than Larian can do with other constraints, but maybe we'll be pleasantly surprised. So Kar'niss lovers, platonic, romantic, or everything in-between...I gotchu fam. We stan the spooder bby. Someone get that man a blanket and a nice mug of hot cocoa. And a cult de-programming kit, one of those would be good.

[poppy-s-rampage]

Once a Hero.

Chapter 1: Too late!

Warnings: Blood, Gore and violence. You can't sue me now!

‐-------------------------

Prologue| Masterpost| Chapter 2!

---------------------------

The Master of time leaned over the unmoving form of his young protegee, forceps needle and thread in hands. The old ghost deftly redid the stitches on the youngest torso. Slowly but surely closing the jagged ‘Y’ shaped wound shut.

‘How did it come to this?’

All it took was one minute of inattention for the young Halfa's timeline to be put in jeopardy. In a single moment of inattention, Daniel’s timeline tangled with another stray unstable one and merged. By the time Clockwork noticed, the timelines were already fused to the point of no return. Reality wrapped to fit the new Frankenstein series of events. So he did what he could, snip at some parts, and twist at others to make it so his protegee could have a chance of survival and still having a goodish timeline.

The gaping wound now finally shut, the old ghost went to treat the boy’s muzzle cuts and throat. The apparatus, when destroyed by the wail, had split open the right cheek’s flesh from the corner of the Halfas mouth, carving a morbid half smile. The boy’s tongue was bloody but could still be salvaged with diluted ectoplasm. The real problem was the throat; it was impossible to currently heal to a usable level with the concentration of ectoplasm he could safely use on Danny.

He was no Frostbite, but he was more than capable of putting back together the young ghost in a Time out. Daniel was too unstable to stay in the infinite realms, his core still too raw for pure Ecto. It would be like feeding a 10-year comatose patient a buffet after being kept alive via IV, transfer the concept to a fragilized and forcefully balanced core, and you get the idea.  It was also a way to better realize the consequences of his mistake. But not to apologize, nothing would ever be enough to fix what Daniel had endured.

Clockwork stopped believing in apologies an eternity ago.

It all had happened so fast, Phantom had no chance of changing the course of events. Ironically, the current timeline was the best possible outcome after the incident.

While his protegee’s original timeline’s parents would have been accepting of his heritage, the ones of the intruding unstable timeline were not. ‘Monsters’ would have been too kind of a word to describe them. Curiosity plagued individuals who could have given Dan a run for his money. The origin of a world’s collapse, the cause of too many deaths, terrifying geniuses with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and slaves of their obsessions. Even their children didn’t hold enough value for them to spare.

Thankfully, this world didn’t come to that and was still salvageable. Unfortunately, too many people have already lost their lives and existence to his mistake.

It had been like any tranquil day in young Daniel's life. He woke up groggy after a night of patrolling, went to school, hung out with his friends, patrolled a bit, saved a few weaker ghosts, stopped a few accidents and then went back home. The young Halfa had planned to finally reveal his identity to his parents- with no little insistence and encouragement from his sister and the reassurance of the previous Freakshow happenings. (He, of course, delayed the moment as much as he could.)

Of course, Clockwork had already watched and analyzed all the possible futures caused by this decision. He had assured Danny that no harm would befall him.

And since every possible happening was in Daniel’s favor, the ghost of time left the timeline out of his watch in favor of fixing yet another mess the Speedster’s had caused.

Seriously, what kind of mentally challenged troglodyte would erase an entire timeline to enjoy a cheap burger in loop instead of buying another!

*Crack*

The forceps broke in his hand. The Ancient summoned another one. Moving to stitch the lacerations on his king’s arms and legs.

It had, sadly, taken a while for the Master of Time to fix the Flash themed issues. It then took him an even longer while to salvage the tangled mess of timelines. He was far too late to save Danny’s loved ones. Humans, even Liminals, were fragile.

��-------------------

The reveal had gone well at first, Jack and Maddie had accepted their son’s new nature. But then the timelines merged, the Fenton parents became one with their alternates and the world was set ablaze.

The youngest Fenton was promptly drugged and knocked out, only to wake up on a dissection table. His parents and a few GIW agents circling him, tools in hand. The hours, maybe days, Daniel spent in these creatures’ grasps were a nightmare made real.

His sister and friends tried to free him, only to be captured and fall victim to the same fate. Amity Park’s younger population mutinied against the agency and scientists but quickly got shut down. Brutally. The city was deemed a lost cause and put on lock down. The elder Fentons and the GIW galvanized by their success, went after every single being standing in their way in the name of science and self-defense.

It was too much for the young Halfa. His every waking moment being haunted by monsters wearing the skin of people he used to know and love. To hear the same people who raised and loved him gloating at the harm they caused his fraid. At the harm they caused him, vindictive. Every ounce of strength Danny had went into figuring out a way to save what he had left. But alas, he was too late.

Everything culminated the moment the agents and his parents reentered the room for the how manyth time. Their make believe faces fixed into a cruel smirk, smiles too wide, eyes too bright and too many teeth. Were the ghosts truly the monsters ?

Black opaque bags were dragged into the room next. A dreadful foreboding feeling caressed his spine. It was different. What were they planning?! What did they do?!

Panic seized the Halfa’s heart, hair standing on end. Eyes wide and pupils dilating as he noticed the strong smell of copper permeating from the bags.  His restrained limbs shaking at the realization of the truth he oh so wanted to deny. 

The monsters kept talking, taunting and accusing him of something. Blaming him. But he didn’t ‘hear’ them over his ever rising dread.

They opened the bags and his world came crashing down.

Three lifeless barely recognizable corpses. Chest opened in a bloody imitation of a butterfly. Missing limbs and organs. An innumerable number of lacerations. All indicators of a painful and slow death. But yet their eyes remained closed into acceptance and welcoming the relief of death.

He wailed.

Despite the muzzle, despite his already severed vocal cords. The wail coming from his very core blasted everything in his surroundings. The muzzle shattered, the monsters vaporized into a red mist and the walls became debris.

The building shook. The creatures in human skin panicked trying desperately to flee the premise but they were too late.

The latest experimental portal meant to be mass produced by the GIW resonated with the Wail and destabilized. The explosion that followed erased the facility and its surroundings and triggered the original Fenton portal which in turn wiped the city above off the maps.

Every single being died. The GIW agents, the Fentons, the citizens and some of the weaker ghosts. The stronger Phantom rogues weren’t even in the range or succeeded in escaping. The Fentons and GIW were still ‘thankfully’ useless when it came to capturing them.

And then there was Phantom.

Unfortunately or fortunately for him.

Forever the exception.

--------------------------------------

Prologue| Masterpost| Chapter 2!

--------------------------------------

Author note:

Hello! Thank you for reading! This time I didn't write this at 3 am!

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I wrote it at 5am! Insomnia says what?

[aleksanderscult]

Analyzing Aleksander's reaction to Alina's loss of her power

(I'm so sick and tired of seeing people use his "You are nothing now" words as a way to justify how he didn't love her that I decided to create a whole ass post about it.)

First of all, let's see what the powers of a Grisha mean to a Grisha, shall we?

For a Grisha her powers is the same thing as the oxygen is for all humans. The constant beat of a person's heart.

Indispensable.

And in a way it's implied that a Grisha cannot live without it. Just like birds can naturally fly, just like a fish can naturally swim. It's part of their nature, part of their body and soul.

Now let's see Aleksander's reaction to Alina's loss of her power.

The moment he saw Alina being unable to summon, he froze. At first he's in denial of what he sees.

How can a Grisha not being able to use her power? A power that is always there no matter what? A power that "feeds" them and keeps them healthy and alive.

We see Aleksander being in a state of shock as he tries to comprehend what is happening with her:

He had never seen anything like that. A Grisha losing her powers is unheard of. Impossible.

He tries again and again to summon her light and bring it to the surface. The fact that he can't feel it causes him panic and pain. In a way, he can't find her soul.

And the very fact that she also lost her collar and feter is impossible too. When a Grisha claims an amplifier, a connection is made that can't be broken.

Another fatal loss for Alina and a disastrous blow for Aleksander and his knowledge, since he knows more than anyone else how amplifiers work and how a Grisha's power work. All the hundreds of years he had spent watching and studying the ways of the Small Science and of power, have gone to waste right now as he tries to understand what is going on with the woman he loves.

His near immortality and rare powers always made him seek someone else to connect with. Someone to understand him and be on the same level as him.

People say that he never actually wanted Alina to be his equal. Well, based on his words and reaction here, I would say he wanted to.

Right now there's no pretense, no tricks or a façade. We see him "naked" and exposed showing us his terror of Alina's loss and despair for his fate. Of being alone forever.

"You were meant to be like me."

Aleksander wanted her strong and confident. Unafraid to rise above the others and to stand right beside him.

"You're nothing now."

I know it sounds cruel but it is true.

If a bird lost its ability to fly or a fish its ability to swim, would you call that normal? If a person stopped breathing or her heart stopped beating, would you call her alive and whole?

Alina lost the very essence of her being, her soul and identity. What happened to her was something completely unnatural and just wrong. Aleksander has lived for centuries and knows more about the Grisha than anyone else (except of course his mother) so he knows that what happened to her, has crippled her. She's not the Alina she was. And she's never gonna be.

It's not a statement of disgust, apathy or scorn. They're words of pain and mourning. Shock and anger.

It's a complete ruin for Alina.

A devastation and tragedy for the unfortunate Grisha that experiences it for the first time in their history. And an equal devastation and sorrow for the Grisha that watched it happen to the person he cared most about.

And it's actually funny how Aleksander seems to be the only person that was devastated for what happened to her.

Everyone else was:

"Alina lost her powers"

"Okay cool".

In a way you can say that it was proof of how he was the one that truly cared about her fate while the rest of her friends didn't seem to give two flying fucks.

The Darkling just gave up.

All he had fought for, all the patience he had mastered for years waiting for his equal to come, went to dust right in front of him.

In a way he committed suicide and just let Alina kill him.

Now if he didn't love her as some people say, why did he do these things after she lost her powers?:

1) Called her to his side and searched for her hand to hold it.

2) Smiled at her and stroked her tears.

3) Entrusted her with his last wish because he'd seen her kindness and believed in it.

4) Asked her to say his name one more time so he could hear it from her one last time. A name that he had probably never said to anyone else for centuries.

5) Begged her to not leave him alone while he died because loneliness frightened him.

I'm sorry but if I was dying, I wouldn't want anyone at my side but the people that I loved the most. And Aleksander wanted the same too.

There's no way he felt disgust or anger towards Alina even after she stabbed him. Whatever she did, he forgave. And whatever happened to her in the end didn't stop him from loving her and wanting her presence at his side until his own end.

(didn't really love her, my ass)

[clockwayswrites]

A Broken Sort of Normal Part 9

WC: 1431, Masterpost CW: blood, cannon typical violence, off screen civilian and first responder deaths, mentions of death

Danny and his Flash were both very busy people, there was no denying that. The good thing was that the worst of their busyness were the same events. Sure, they both had obligations outside of that. Danny had all of the other work with the outreach and now overseeing and even training other team members. Flash… well, Flash had whatever he did with the rest of his life. Danny assumed he worked, even if it was for the Justice League.

It was a little odd not knowing Flash past the mask. Danny understood, of course he did. A secret identity was important and, despite having been on several dates now, they still were getting to know each other. It wasn’t as if Danny didn’t know anything about his Flash. He knew Flash always comforted the kids first, was fiercely loyal, and couldn’t resist petting a dog. He knew Flash loved trying new foods, played video games with friends that Flash wished he saw more, and really did enjoy spoiling him. He knew a lot.

He just didn’t know Flash’s name or what family Flash had or if those freckles ran all the way across Flash’s nose.

Danny would be patient though, because he understood. It helped that he at least had Flash’s number. He didn’t know if it was a burner phone or an app or routed through a number of proxies; he hadn’t asked. The first thing Danny had done, in fact, was to send a Flash meme. It had gotten him shoved, but that had turned into a make out session on the couch, so Danny certainly wasn’t complaining.

And if Danny now kept a collection of gifs, memes, and other silly Flash things on hand to send? Well, who could blame him.

He rolled over to grab his phone from the coffee table and sent off another picture of a cat dressed up in Flash’s outfit. The amount of people dressing pets up as superheros was honestly shocking. He didn’t expect an answer right then, looking at the time, but he found it was… nice to be able to find things to send to Flash for him to find and respond to later. It made him feel connected to someone in a way that he hadn’t had in years.

Danny recognized, now, that he had been really hurting himself trying to stay so separate from everyone. One way or another, this is how things would be for the rest of his life. He couldn’t keep morning what had happened, what he had lost. Besides, he was just a civilian now, he wasn’t a danger to his friends and family anymore. So, along with Flash, Danny had started actually accepting the occasional invitation from some of his coworkers. He had even found a game store to go to and play at on the weekends.

It was harder than he thought, putting himself out there again, but his life was brighter for being around people outside of work every week or so. He had Flash to thank for that.

He also had Flash to thank for getting him addicted to the Percy Jackson books. He could personally do with less lightning, but the story had a real way of resonating with the halfa. Danny was three books in at this point and needed to know how it all finished up.

A few chapters further in a notification interrupted him.

Quick Boy: It’s not fair that a cat wears my uniform better than me!!

Danny laughed and tapped the message.

Danny: The cat is pretty cute. But I still think you wear it best. You have a better butt. 😏

The little dots wiggled as Flash typed. It was endlessly amusing to Danny that despite being, literally, super fast, Flash was slowed down by the physics of the world around him, like how fast a phone could accept input.

Quick Boy: 😳🫣🥵 Danny! Have you been checking out my butt?

Despite himself, Danny felt a blush heating up his cheeks. They hadn’t gotten any further than kissing, it didn’t feel right to go further when Danny didn’t know who Flash was, but that didn't mean Danny couldn't tease.

Danny: You run around in spandex, I can’t NOT check out your butt. Have to say, it’s a pretty good one. 10/10, would ogle again.

Quick Boy: How do you feel about ogling it in my most flattering sweatpants? Got a hold of that Japanese giant bug movie you were ranting about. I can grab food and be over to your place in about an hour?

Danny: Stop calling it that!!!You know the title! 😤

Quick Boy: I’m not typing out that title.

Danny grinned as he rolled off of the couch. If Flash was coming over, he should at least pick up a little. Danny knew Flash didn’t really care, but the pile of laundry that Danny had been avoiding folding was a bit much.

Danny: Thought you were supposed to be fast.

Quick Boy: 😒

Danny: Come on, quick boy, take the nanosecond and type it.

Quick Boy: I hate you.

Danny: No you don't~

(Danny sung along as he typed.)

Quick Boy: “Help I’ve Been Made a Holy Knight in a World of Giant Bugs and Need to Save the Prince”

Danny: Knew you could do it! Proud of you. 😘 See you in an hour! Bring Thai and ice cream!

Danny was just putting away the folded stack of laundry when an alarm on his phone screamed at him.

It was work.

Emergency alert.

All hands on deck.

Danny dashed for his door, shoving his feet in his work boots and grabbing the backup vest he kept at home. Someone would drive the trucks full of kits there, but Danny still took his little kit with him, just in case he ran into any wounded on the way.

So much for dinner and cuddling his boyfriend.

As soon as he stepped out onto the street, Danny could hear the sound of sirens and the acrid smell of smoke stung his eyes. Danny’s heart sank.

Whatever this was, it was big.

-

“Danny.”

Danny flexed his hands. Flakes of dried blood broke off and scattered in the wind.

“Danny, babe.”

He would need more gloves for his kit. Was he out? He had to be out. He changed gloves so many times. There were so many people. He had to be out of gloves. He would need more for his kit.

Other hands entered his vision, covered in bright red. Not blood red, bright red. Blood red was mostly darker than people thought. Bright blood was worse. He watched as the hands gently rolled down the gloves.

He needed more gloves.

“Not for today, babe. You’re done for today.”

He needed more gloves, there were so many people.

“Everyone is accounted for. You and the others got everyone.”

Not everyone.

How many people died under his hands today?

Were already dead when he found them?

Wouldn’t last the night?

How many people did he fail?

Too many.

“Danny.” The voice was worried now. “Come on babe, look at me, please?”

Blood had gotten under his gloves, staining his wrists.

“Babe, please.”

Warm, fabric covered hands rested on Danny’s cheeks, tilting his gaze up and away from his hands.

Oh. “Flash?”

“Hey there, babe, you with me?”

Why did he look so worried?

“Because you’re scaring me a little. I think you’re in shock.”

Oh.

“Do you have a shock blanket in your kit still?”

“No… used them all. Had to cover…”

How many people did he fail?

“Okay, that’s okay. I’m going to take you home, okay babe? Well, not my home, but where I used to live— right, that doesn’t matter now. We’re going to go and I’ll keep you safe.”

Danny motioned to a cluster of officials. “I have to—”

“I’ve already checked you out.”

“My team?”

Flash glanced down and away.

“Flash, my team?”

“They’re…. all accounted for. Larson…. He got caught in part of the building coming down. He didn’t make it. Patel was paired with him. She’s at the hospital, they think she’ll pull through.”

Danny tried to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to scream, to rage, to wail— it all caught up in his throat because he couldn’t. He let out a soundless sob.

Flash pulled Danny into his arms, holding him close. “I know. I know. I’m taking you home. You’ll be okay Danny. It will be okay.”

The colors of the world blurred together as Flash ran, but Danny hardly noticed.

-----

AN: So this has been 95% written since before I got sick, but just now was the first time I could get my brain to deal with it. A darker part of the story, I know, but it felt needed. Danny's doing a very, very hard job and one made all the worse because Danny used to be able to do more and now he can't. (Though I have no doubt he pushed use of his powers further than was really safe in this.)

Stay safe and delightful, my darlings!

I no longer tag people for several reasons, you can subscribe to the masterpost instead to be notified! (May notify this part slightly later, I am queuing it.)

[quixtrix]

dolph was always meant to be doomed; something of an analysis

i'm on my third rewatch of captain laserhawk, and on this one i've been focusing more on the little details that you don't get on your first or even second time watching it. i've noticed little things, such as pey'j helping and then going on to shield a hybrid who's dressed similarly to jade in the third episode. but i've also noticed bigger things, such as alex and dolph.

keep in mind that this show is just filled to the brim with political messaging, it was purposefully designed that way. so when someone mentioned on here that alex was an accelerationist, it explained a lot. we don't know much about alex in terms of his backstory, we only know he helped dolph after dolph attempted to mug him and they ended up falling in love. it's also implied that alex and dolph have been repeatedly reported on the news as terrorists more than we've seen, with rayman referring to them as being the usual suspects when the kaiju attack happened, despite dolph literally not even being there when alex did that shit. they're known to do this shit, and we know alex is a charismatic guy. it's not too far fetched to say once or while dolph was falling in love with this gayass white saviour saint that alex talked him into this shit for alex's own purposes. because yes, he has a cause, but he's also a bit in over his head, maybe with power. he's aware of the power he has over dolph, how he actively uses the 'i love you' card multiple times when they're together and when they're not together. he just had a bit too much confidence in his hold over dolph, but to be fair, alex, you were topping some indulgent mob boss for your cause (because let's be honest of course your sources would be tight if they were being fucked for it) then continued fucking said mob boss and got caught with your dick out by your ex who you think you can get back with. alex uses people as tools, he just doesn't put his shit in the right places at the right times.

i'm getting off track, but the point i'm getting to is that alex most definitely saw dolph, a man who clearly has some jacked up eden tech smacked onto his twink ass, at his lowest, and picked him up like a shiny new toy. he was always going to use dolph. but how come dolph is so easy to use? he's starved for kindness. he's the stray dog that comes up to you at restaurants to act all nonchalant because 95% of the time he gets neglected, but the second he gets offered scraps, he shows how hungry he is. we don't know much about his childhood, and what we do know is under the lenses of literal eden propaganda. we do however know how people get like underneath the hand of eden.

everyone say thanks to rayman, who concidentally, is dolph's foil. both of them worked under eden as their lap dogs, one as a propagandist and the other as military, but dolph had gotten out of the hold the propaganda had on him while rayman's barely shaking it off. both of them are also portrayed as poor little tragic immigrants and the impoverished stand ins both in universe and story wise. they're the feel good picking yourself up american dream stories that people can feel inspired by or feel proud about the country with. dolph had a photo with a kid holding a doll of him. before he became ex military, he was definitely the guy they paraded around as a previous lost cause that eden helped. red, who's as political as his assigned colour, bitches about identity politics in that one off line for a reason. he also jus hates brown people fr he kicked me down a flight of stairs

now we can assume that dolph had picked himself up out of the propaganda machine somehow. he realised he was used and he didn't want that shit. he's attempting to get himself his own life, for fucks sake. he jus happened to get lead on by the wrong guy, which then lead him to get used by eden AGAIN. this time not only in a physical way via soldier work, but emotionally too, with sarah easily manipulating him with what? a sob story and helping him out, maybe being friendly with him along the way.

he wants a normal life. he wants a goddamn normal life. he jus continues to be selected as a tool.

you can see how fucking starved he is for kindness. you ever think about the fact that in his dream life, he sees jade and pey'j? he knew these people for less than a week, yet they get a place in his dream life. most notably, jade gets a speaking role in his dream life. the only other person who speaks, besides marcus, is alex, someone who had known him and shown kindness to him. jade has also shown kindness to dolph. she's the friendliest face there in the ghosts, being the first one to check on dolph when he wakes up, offers an explanation to him, and also makes an effort to include him in her little shenanigans with the video and all!! dolph was all emo alpha wolf and all, but despite his constant cold shoulder, she was kind!!

there was someone who was more than kind though; bullfrog. because bullfrog actively looked out for dolph, despite his constant pushback against bullfrogs advice whenever they weren't separated. and in the end, it's bullfrogs kindness and compassion that hits dolph the deepest. dolph gets out of his depressive state to go back for bullfrog. he cares about people, he goes out of his way to do shit for the people who show him the slightest bit of kindness. he backed up sarah after one good conversation with her to marcus for fucks sake. dolph is just a guy who keeps getting used though. he's so loyal to anyone who looks his way that it's a fatal flaw that ends up with his head blown up. he's a shakespearean tragedy at the moment. i hope in the potential season 2 that he gets to have more moments where he gets to be his own person. not defined by an organisation or a person or a cause, but what he chooses to define himself by. he's on his way there. he jus deserves to be allowed to live for himself. after all, he has already met his end of that story. he can make a new one.

anyways if u reached the end of this im down to discuss this :D i also did get a few points from other people on here, but let me know what u think nd all

[thevirtualvalentine]

TAPE FIVE : PEEPING TOM !

Starring… YAMATO 📸

SET SCRIPT :

“Helloooooooooooooo! So im thinking voyeur yamato corrupting an afab reader would go really hard.”

MATURE WARNING(S) : fingering, roommates to more, afab!reader, modern au, corruption kink, dom!yama, cunnilings (he eats you clean 🐱), voyeurism, underwear stealing, slight size kink, praise (he’s obsessed w you), overly wordy author.

DIRECTORS CUT : for my favorite writing cohort @gingersp1ce547 <3 I hope it was worth the wait.

Trying to find a place to live these past few weeks was stressing you out to no end. Every place you visited had some sort of mold infestation or made you pay insane utility fees that you know you couldn’t keep up with. That is, unless you wanted three jobs. That’s when you met him, Yamato. Supposedly he’s some rich nepo baby who split the rent at a price with you that was perfect.

You couldn’t understand why people wouldn’t wanna take the deal until he explained not everyone’s comfortable living with a man or understanding his gender identity. Fine, so be it, you both would make great roommates. That’s what you told yourself.

The two bedroom modest apartment stationed your rooms right next to each other with a living room and kitchen down the hall. Regular apartment things like a leaky tub, paper thin walls, and a light that never seems to stop flickering in and out were staples of your new cozy home.

Then there was him, a giant and boisterous guy who filled your dingy shared space with laughter and high energy. It was common to find him dancing around or working out if he wasn’t busy. You couldn’t deny there was a level of boyish charm to him that you found endearing. He made you feel safe, something about his larger than life presence caused you to feel at home with him. Almost needed. A mutual bond and understanding between you both as time went on.

You could trust him, Yamato always asked before entering your space or borrowing your belongings. He liked that you relinquished so much of yourself to him. His adorable little roommate that struts around the apartment always in a hurry to do something.

You were too tense, at least that’s what he thinks. He’s always wanted to find some way to relax you, pulling you into his hold while you both practice yoga in the living room. “You’re pretty good at this y/n, ya sure you haven’t done this before?”

He gets up to help ease your hamstring, he’s so much bigger than you are. Not that you’re paying attention though, lost in the bliss of easing that aching pain you’ve had all week.

Yamatos mind can’t stop wandering to indecent places when he sees that his entire hand almost covers the length of your torso. The contortions of your face as your muscles begin to relax. Fuck, he wants to feel you throb and whine like that on his thick fing—

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Just as quickly as his eyes glazed over, his impure desires were back to normal; big cheesy grin outstretched on his sweet face.

“Nothin! Just tryna stretch you out.” Your body involuntary twitches at his choice of words, pushing yourself away from his hold to have some space to breathe. Of course he didn’t miss that. “Aw, did I embarrass you? Your face is heating up.”

You throw a punch at him before he catches it in his large hand, pinning it down next to your face with light force. Yamato leans down into the crook of your neck, “careful, you could hurt someone with one of those,” he patronizingly says following the long line of spit he left up the column of your neck. You shiver and god does it make him want to take you, but he won’t, and just like that he’s off of you. Toweling himself off like nothing had happened between you both.

You’re left a hot, sweaty, sticky, and absurdly horny mess. Stomping through the hallway with more than displeased footsteps, making your way to the shower to cool off.

He’s not much better himself though, pouting as the fat of your ass jiggles when you walk away. Yamato never expected to get this attached to you. The guy can’t even go a day without rummaging through your clothes to get a good whiff of you when you’re out on business. He feels himself clenching his thighs together, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth thinking of the time(s) he stole your underwear and gorged himself on the scent of you. Fingers playing with the entrance of his cunt thinking of how you’d scold him for being a pervert. It gets him so hot.

On his way to come apologize to you that night with promises of your favorite snacks with a corny movie to follow, he stops dead in his tracks hearing the whine creep from under your door. The sound of squelching hung in the air as you whimpered. Were you touching yourself?

Yamato shook his head of long white hair side to side in disbelief, collecting himself as he took a few steps back from the doorway. As good and pure his intentions with you were; there’s always that grotesque feeling within him, the one that wants to listen to you moan and writhe as you pleasure yourself so close to him. He presses his ear against the door as you heave out cry after cry for more.

He felt his own slick collecting in his briefs as his breath hitched during a particularly pathetic plea of yours, heart rate skyrocketing with each passing moment. He felt his morality crumble altogether when you let out a meek, “Ya—Yama please.”

So this is what you think about when you’re alone? Yamatos mind was racing, he couldn’t stop his hands from finding the doorknob, nor stop his feet from walking through the door that separated him from you.

Your back is arched, legs spread as your fingers deliriously curl within your warm walls. The sight forever imprinted in his mind, you’re perfect. The same urge from earlier compels his hands to find his nipples as he watches you, each roll sending electricity shooting through him. He sees your eyes crinkle in frustration while trying to get yourself off. “Ha- Yama I need more,” you say as your thighs clench around your wrist.

But he continues only to watch, wanting to savor every little plea that spills past your lips. How long will it be till you notice him? Beg him to help get you off? He can hear the blood rushing in his ears, rubbing his clit in tune with the fluidity of your wrist. Yamato never anticipated just how hot it was to watch someone like this, so vulnerable as the endorphins consume you; so much so that it blinds you of his presence in the room with you.

Your eyes flick open when you feel movement around the room, and there he is basked in the halo of your ambient lighting. More of an incubus than anything else, his eyes burn with desire as you cower under your sheets. “Wha- why are you watching me?” Although it was a question, it comes out rather declarative.

First he has to stop himself from drooling, your nipples still hard as they poke out from your thin white sheets. Of course the first thing he says is optimistic and arrogant. “Don’t beg for my help then,” he says while making the bed dip with his added weight.

“I did not beg—” he still looms closer, “what are you doing?” You pull the sheets taught as he ghosts his hands over the plush of your thighs.

“What does it look like? I’m helping you out since you asked for me.” It’s in the way the way he says it, self assured that he’s all you’ll need. Ultimately, your body can’t deny what it wants. Your arousal pooling between your legs in self defeat and embarrassment.

Yamato allows his palm to sit snug against the sheet that separates him from your warmth, digging the flat of his hand against your clit. “I can feel how wet you are through the sheet, you needed me this bad?” Your words die in your throat as you look at him dumbfounded, taking advantage of your disoriented state he strips the sheet off your body.

Your mouth is left gaping, he wastes no time taking as he wants. Licking and nipping the skin of your neck with sharp canines. The pad of his finger teases your entrance before it eases in with the help of your arousal. He smothers you in his lust, stroking that spot within you that always seemed out of reach.

It’s not soon that you’re mewling for another of his lithe digits to be knuckle deep inside you. “Patience sweetness, it’s my job to take care of you.” He’s so reassuring, sending a surge of warmth throughout your body that makes you melt like putty in his pretty hands. Sliding his ring finger inside next to his middle, he scissors you wide open.

“So wet from thinking about me, you hear that baby?” Listening to his voice centers you, drawing heed to the squelching noise of your throbbing cunt. Your legs lay flat apart as he pounds your pussy, bruising the entrance with speed alone.

You’re so close he can feel it, your inside pulsing and gripping his fingers like you don’t want them out of you. That’s when he rips them out, leaving you clenching on nothing. “Do you want to feel really good?” He asks while licking his fingers like a mutt in heat, enamored by the taste and scent of you.

He’s stripped you to the point you’d do anything for him. So, obediently you nod and mumble out a yes. “When you feel good, don’t hold back on me.” Yamato drags his thumb down your folds till he finds your clit, lightly circling the pad of his finger on top of it. He leaves feather like kisses on the insides of your thighs, sucking the skin as he gets closer to your heat.

His own cunt throbs hearing your airy sighs and breathy moans, licking your entrance to collect his due. “You taste even better than you smell,” he says against your lower lips, sliding his long tongue past the tight ring of muscle.

It feels like fucking heaven, his thumb rhythmically rolling your bud as his tongue devours your insides. All you can do is allow your pleasure to wreak havoc against your vocal cords as you lose yourself to his touch. “Bet you could never make yourself feel this good, huh?” It’s condescending but it’s pussy clenching, and you best be sure he felt it against his wet tongue.

“Only you Yama, please don’t stop,” you’d do anything to forever feel like this. So small within his warm hands that bring you a burning feeling in your lower gut. He tongues your clit, applying heavy pressure while opting to curl two fingers against your g-spot. You can see the sheen of spit and slick against his face while he makes out with your pussy. It’s downright depraved how he consumes you with his hands and mouth alone.

He finally gets what he wants, watching you clench and throb around his fingers in a hot sweat while your orgasm licks at you. Yamato thrums the pads against your insides flicking his tongue against your swollen bud. “Give it to me baby, let me know how good you feel,” and that’s all it took. His soothing voice coaxing you to your climax. It hit you like a bag of bricks, making you twitch against him as you ride it out.

A string of curses leave you as the pressure in your cunt dissipates. You cling onto his wrist to stop the overstimulation consuming you, but he can still feel the way your walls hammer against him. “So pretty when you cum.” It’s small but it’s enough to bring you back, reaching out for him to take care of you like he always does. This time with the added intimacy.

“You should let me watch you more often,” he says softly while holding you against his chest. The fact you allowed him to see you like this was astounding, therefore he would hold you for as long as you needed. Aftercare was no problem to him.

“You are such a damn vouyer,” you joke as you snuggle deeper into his chest. Yamato laughs a little at the joke, but he couldn’t help feeling it may just have been true.

Enjoy? Reblog & click here 2 see more!

[marimbles]

ok since i’ve really only whined but not actually explained my reasoning lol, here is my take on the s5 finale. (this is long, sorry)

I think we’re all on the same page about the idea that gabriel being seen as a hero, by all of paris but especially adrien, is icky. and on top of that it does not feel good that marinette is supporting that lie, even if it’s out of love for adrien. most people are assuming this issue will be resolved somehow in 6, probably by lila exposing the truth. cool. that’s my hope as well. but even if that’s the case, i still dislike the framing of his wish and what the surrounding context seems to imply about it.

it is not my assumption that gabriel’s wish included green initiatives and a reformation of the parisian school system lol. I assume that his wish was to exchange his own life for nathalie’s. but as we know, wishes literally rewrite reality. the fact is that paris improved after his wish, so it is still related. he remade the world, and the new world ended up better. It all supports the idea that his wish was a good thing—a noble sacrifice that redeemed him in some sense. my impression is that even if (hopefully) he is exposed as hawkmoth, the actual wish he made will still be framed as admirable. obviously marinette found it noble enough to agree to lie to everyone about gabriel’s identity as hawkmoth.

which brings me to another pain point: the fact that gabriel essentially won the long battle against ladybug and chat noir. i’ve heard arguments that he didn’t win because he died and how is that winning? he got what he deserved in the end. but imo, he just put himself out of his own misery, because he was on the brink of death anyway because of his cataclysm wound, and he basically escaped having to face any emotional consequences from his literal terrorism and child abuse. and even if you don’t consider that a win, you also can’t consider marinette’s end of the deal a win either. her goal was to prevent hawkmoth from unifying the miraculous and making a reality-altering wish. which is exactly what happened. so she failed her mission. ladybug lost. and to me it’s sort of bizarre that the narrative seems to be framing that as a good thing? ladybug lost, but the new reality that resulted from it is so much better than the old one, and she is actively choosing to lie in order to protect the seeming goodness of that reality.

marinette is lying, of course, to protect adrien, which does not feel out of character. we’ve seen her do this before. but it is frustrating to me for precisely that reason. the final battle was meant to highlight how much marinette has grown over the past five seasons, but her choice here highlights the ways she has not grown. starting with syren in season 2, she has witnessed how much it hurts chat noir to be left in the dark and how it weakens their partnership. in that case, she convinced master fu to let him be in the know, and trust was restored. but then she continued a habit of keeping things from him, putting more and more distance between them, till it culminated with kuro neko in s4—a total breakdown of the ladynoir partnership, where chat noir renounced his miraculous. i would have thought that marinette would learn from that experience and realize that keeping people in the dark is harmful and that even if the truth hurts, adrien has a right to know it. but she once again made the decision for him, and when he finally finds out, it will be all the more painful to know that the person he loves and trusts most in the world lied to him. i actually really appreciate that marinette as a protagonist has such a good heart but is still such an imperfect character, so i want to respect this choice as a manifestation of her flawed but good intentions. i just can’t help but be really disappointed that after 5 seasons of making the same mistakes again and again, she has apparently not learned from them, which makes me feel she has not grown the way the writers say she has.

her facing hawkmoth alone for the final battle is supposed to be a sign of that growth—and yes, I can see how she has grown a lot in confidence and capability since her shaky debut as ladybug. but i also feel that her flying solo defies one of the central themes of miraculous: that in the fight against evil, good people need to stand together. just think of the difference between the s4 and the s5 finale. in strike back, ladybug is broken and sobbing because she has lost the miraculous and feels like a failure who is all alone. but then she is buoyed up by her faithful partner and all of paris, who express unbreakable faith in her and vow to stand by her side. that was so powerful! showing that she doesn’t have to be alone, and she’s not supposed to be alone, and that part of being a hero means accepting help and working with others to achieve good goals. this message was a major part of marinette’s character arc in s4 and it’s something that was introduced from the very beginning and has been supported over and over in the show. but then in “re-creation,” she has no team, and she doesn’t need one. which … good for her, I guess? But then why did we have 5 seasons of “you and me against the world” if in the end it was always going to culminate with “I'm sure we can figure out a solution if we work together. You … and me”—referring to Marinette and Gabriel, while Adrien is literally locked in a blank white prison hundreds of miles away?

it just really kills me that in kuro neko, adrien gave up his ring under the assumption that chat noir was not needed—that he was entirely useless to ladybug. and then the narrative proved him right. ladybug did not need chat noir to defeat monarch. she just needed his ring. the writers confirmed in their recent commentary that they had planned a bug noire fusion from the beginning, and they intentionally sidelined adrien so that could happen—they even had to figure out an excuse for why he wouldn’t be there. so they traumatized him with nightmares of destruction and fear of akumatization to ensure that he would once again give up his ring and conveniently remained locked away while bug noire faced down monarch alone.

you could argue that it’s better for adrien to have missed the final battle anyway, since facing his own father would just be even more traumatizing for him. i understand that. (that’s the reason i liked that in the owl house, it ended up being just luz vs belos, and hunter did not have to face him again.) but at the same time it feels so narratively unjust that chat noir—who has been fighting against hawkmoth by ladybug’s side since day 1—has zero part in seeing his mission through to the end. even though it’s all about him. because while marinette is the protagonist, adrien is the connecting piece of the whole story. it’s always been ladybug vs hawkmoth, and adrien is in the middle of them, because he’s both ladybug’s partner and gabriel’s son.

you’d think, logically, that as the connecting piece, Adrien’s decisions would be vital to the plot. That he’d have the power to tip it either way. but instead he is completely stripped of his autonomy—literally, because he’s a senti, and also symbolically in the narrative, because he’s simply removed from the equation. Like, he’s still central to the equation but he has no say in it. It’s all about him but he’s not even present. Everyone is fighting for him but he can’t fight for himself. Everyone is speaking for him but he doesn’t even have a voice.

the finale kind of sets up marinette and gabriel as narrative foils of each other, showing how they have the same motivation—to make adrien happy. and they make the same decision to protect that goal. which is interesting, sure, but also kind of effed up to me? i’m not sure what to take from the idea of the protagonist mirroring the antagonist in this way. that’s been done loads of times, but in this context, for a child audience, i don’t know what to make of it. what kind of message that is supposed to send to the children who are the primary audience of this show? ladybug is a good guy, and in the end, she’s just like the villain because they both love adrien and want to protect him. so that’s why she agrees to tell everyone the bad guy was a hero. ????

that gabriel/marinette parallel leaves adrien to parallel emilie, which makes sense and is fitting but also just sort of … depressing and again, lowkey effed up. that adrien ends up with the same narrative role as a corpse in a coffin. almost, like, macguffin-esque—a thing that motivates the agents of the story but has no agency itself. despite him being so central to both sides of the main conflict, his decisions don’t affect the outcome. because he doesn’t have the option to make any. because he’s not even present. both gabriel and marinette made a life-altering decision for adrien, thinking it was best for him, without considering that what’s best for him is to know his own story and make his own choices. him getting the rings was somewhat relieving, but it also felt like kind of a slap in the face. because it’s like, “look, adrien’s free! he has his amok and no one can control him anymore!” but, like, how free is a person who is living a lie? will he ever experience true autonomy, or will his life continue to be dictated by the decisions others make for him? will the narrative give him decision-making power or will his role continue to be symbolic?

one thing that makes this all extra dissatisfying is that Adrien literally does not have the option of getting closure with his father, because he’s dead. maybe a dramatic reveal in the middle of the final battle would not be the best way to go about it, but now he can’t have any sort of closure. in the owl house, it didn’t feel necessary for hunter to be present in the belos takedown because he already had his confrontation with belos in graveyard possession scene. belos tried to physically control him, and hunter broke free, and spoke his mind, and as traumatizing at is all was, it was good for him to be able to do that. it would’ve been so nice if adrien also had that opportunity. if he did break free from his father’s control, either by overcoming akumatization or the control of his amok somehow. or if not that, if he were just able to have one honest conversation with his father about emilie. like he did with his alt self in the paris special. it was so significant for the writers that bug noire detransformed and spoke to gabriel as marinette. why couldn’t adrien have done that? Marinette is the one to tell Gabriel that Adrien wouldn’t want him to make the wish and hurt someone else, that Adrien has made peace with his grief, that he has learned to cherish his mother’s memory without living in the past. wouldn’t that be even more powerful coming from adrien himself? if adrien was part of that final confrontation just as himself, we could even still have bug noire play a primary role.

i get that adrien being part of the battle is a risk, since we saw in chat blanc one option of how it could play out. but we also saw in the collector another potential way adrien might respond to learning that his father is hawkmoth—charging into battle by ladybug’s side. especially if he was given time to process the idea beforehand. it’s not impossible. you’d just have to compose the scene and its buildup a different way. so honestly it feels sort of lazy to just remove him for the sake of ease? and also sort of a waste of narrative potential? the villain being the father of one of the main characters is such an interesting plot element. imagine if luke skywalker did not ever face darth vader. if he never even learned that vader was his father. or if he learned that fact after vader’s death, which was the result of a confrontation he was not present for.

of course, i know adrien is not the protagonist. marinette is. and of course i want her to be empowered by the story. but i’m getting a little tired of what i see as kind of cheap feminism in ML. like, girl power for the sake of visibility so the writers can pat themselves on the back about it, if that makes sense? this show does have so much good feminist power with a strong female lead who has realistic flaws and a big heart, who overcomes self-doubt and other struggles, and who has proven time and again to be a smart, capable leader who has earned the trust of everyone on her team. but all of that sometimes feels undercut by the narrative treatment of adrien—like he has to be put down somehow to elevate marinette. ML has subverted gender roles in a lot of ways by having ladybug lead with her brain while chat noir follows with his heart. and adrien has a lot of other strong feminine associations—the focus on his physical appearance, the expectation of perfection and obedience, his soft and gentle nature, his romanticism, etc. And one of the biggest ones is all the ways he is trapped, all the ways he is pushed down and made to be submissive. they even depict him as a princess locked in a tower, with marinette as the knight in shining armor to save him from the evil dragon (his father). with adrien in that traditionally feminine role, it would have been empowering to see him to take a leading part in his own liberation. instead, he was locked away both literally and symbolically in favor of a solo bug noire confrontation, so marinette could look like a girlboss in her cool new outfit, taking on the bad guy all by herself, even when it would (imo) fit better with the themes of the show and her own character arc for her to fight alongside her partner. but as Thomas Astruc said, “She's Barbie, he's Ken. You don't like it. I get it. It won't change. Anything else?” (X) it just makes me feel that the writers cared more about the cinematic value and feminist brownie points of that battle than its narrative significance—which i feel could only be increased by adrien’s participation. “all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing” … and that is all adrien was allowed to do.

i think a lot of fans at this point are just assuming that whatever feels dissatisfying/off will be fixed in s6. they’re trusting that the writers have a brilliant master plan that we just have to be patient and wait to see come together. idk, maybe i’m just tired. or a little jaded. i think there will be a lot to enjoy in s6, but i’m also prepared for disappointment. i honestly did not love many elements of s4 as well as s5, and i had expectations that weren’t fulfilled there either. i’ve felt let down by the writers many times now, so i expect that many of their future choices will  not resonate with me. but i still love ML, and I am eager to see how everything will unfold. i’ve also read a lot of other analyses of the s5 finale, and there are great points being made on many sides. this is just my personal interpretation and opinion. i did not like the finale when i first watched it, and after sitting on it for months and trying to evaluate my feelings and look at it logically, i still do not like it lol. if you do, great! this isn’t intended as a personal attack on anyone—just me expressing my two cents, which ended up being more like $20. thanks for bearing with me if you read all this ✌️

[phantom-of-the-501st]

The Evolution of an Echo

Okay well I wasn't planning on doing this now but I decided to strike while the iron is hot and have now started writing a full on character essay at *checks watch* 22:06

But despite his limited screen time, I really love how Echo has been portrayed this season and I really want to have a look at his character evolution over the course of The Bad Batch and how he compares now to who we were first introduced to in The Clone Wars.

Steph waffle about Echo coming up down below! 🧇

@saturn-sends-hugs @inkstainedhandswithrings

So I feel like the main thing we see with Echo is that he generally has more confidence now than he did before. Don't get me wrong, he still had confidence in a combat situation and was not afraid to throw himself into the action if it meant he could help people (self-preservation who?), but he seems to have become more comfortable with being himself, like he's properly found his own identity.

And I think that that is interesting considering what Echo has gone through. Personality-wise (and looks-wise), he is very different to who he once was but he still feels like Echo. We haven't lost him, he's just become more aware of what makes Echo Echo. Because when he was first given the name, he hated it. He didn't like being called that because it stemmed from people teasing him about his habit of repeating orders. While there wasn't any true malicious intent (the Dominoes were his brothers after all), Echo ended up being the target of "bullying" during his early years in the GAR. He was a rule follower and believed that things had to be done by the book for a reason. But that resulted in him getting teased a lot and I don't think he ever truly built up the same level of confidence as some of his other batchmates. And for him, that name probably suggested that everything that made up his identity, everything that made him him, was that name and how it stemmed from his belief that rules were made to be followed. His identity was in some way intrinsically tied to his name.

However, over time we saw that he came to fully embrace the name ("is there and Echo in here?") and over the course of the last couple of seasons, have really begun to see Echo fully living up to his potential, no longer tying himself to the "rule-follower" identity that he had carried with him for so long. Because what happened to him on Skako Minor fundamentally changed who he was: not just physically, but personally as well. He had to navigate being a new person and that meant finding himself again, even if the person he found was not the one he was expecting. And remember that at this point, all of his batchmates are gone; the people who gave him the name that summed up his personality are gone. The Batch don't know the old Echo and in some ways that probably helped him find himself. There was no expectation from them for him to go back to who he was before because they don't know that side of him. It gave Echo the space to breath and I feel like in some ways there was less of a pressure for him to try and go back to who he was.

Now that's not to say that the old Echo isn't still there in some ways. When he first ran with the Batch, he didn't quite have the same level of chaos as them, didn't really have the same way of going about things. And that never fully went away. Look at the way he challenged Hunter in season 2: he didn't instantly fall into doing things that Batch's way, but still held onto his own beliefs. But that confrontation did show a build in confidence. Echo became much more confident in standing up for himself, for doing what he believed even if that wasn't how everyone else wanted to do it. And so much of that stems from what he went through. Echo has been through hell, and if he can prevent that from happening to other people, then he will, even if it means disagreeing with his brothers.

One thing that has stood out to me is how Echo has begun to accept that where he belongs isn't always in one spot. And I imagine that this was something that had never really occurred to him much until this point because he'd only ever really been in one place: with his batch. I mean, they spent rotation after rotation after rotation together on the Rishi Moon. Echo never really had to deal with change until his brothers died. Then he found the 501st and that's when Echo began to adapt to shifts. He was in new places, with new jobs, but he always had one constant: Fives. And yet, following his rescue, that constant was gone. The place that had once felt like home to Echo now didn't feel like that anymore because it wasn't what he remembered. It's why he went with the Batch.

And I think this change was crucial in building the Echo we see today. It was a point in which he learned that home didn't mean one place. And sometimes it didn't even mean the same people. Home is simply where one feels like they belong, and for Echo that isn't always the same spot. It's where he feels like he can truly be himself and for him that means being in a position where he can help people. Whether that be with the 501st, or the Batch, or the Rebellion, Echo has learned to find a place in wherever he feels he needs to be. And that's why he's become so confident: because he has found where he belongs and what truly makes Echo Echo.

So we can look at Echo now and see the change. But we can still see the old him there - the drive to do the right thing, the protectiveness he holds for those he cares about, and the incredibly stressful habit of always putting himself in harms way in order to get things done - but he's embraced it more than ever before. While his screen time has been short this season, what we've seen from Echo is the perfect demonstration of why he was made an ARC and why he has always been so amazing. He is an incredibly talented soldier and now that he's found his calling, he's flourishing. He's embracing the change and he's taking everything in his stride. He's a good leader, a competent soldier, an incredible tactician, and a genuinely nice person who cares about the wellbeing of the people around him. Echo has come out of his shell and truly flourished and it's amazing to see.

And his humour has come back as well! One of the things that was often pointed out was how Echo's jokey side had kind of faded while he was with the Batch and yet over the last season it's come out in full force. Echo finding his confidence has also made him snarkier and bitchier in the best way possible. He knows what he wants and he isn't going to put up with anyone's bs. And what I love even more is how much the Batch have embraced him. They trust him now more than ever; he's their brother and they respect his drive and support him, even if it isn't the path they wanted to take themselves.

Now Echo still has his struggles, he isn't perfect. He can still be overly blunt sometimes, and he still has his vulnerabilities ("I don't enjoy solitude") but they don't make him weak. In fact Echo is stronger than ever and embracing who he is even more. And we can see where his growth has been influenced by those around him; the soft side that has become stronger after caring for Omega and the complete and utter chaos stemming from Fives and the Batch for example.

And you know what, Echo is a fitting name. Not because he repeated orders, but because in everything he does, and everything he proves himself to be, you can see the echoes of his past, who he was, who he's known and who he grew to be.

[solomons-finest-rum]

Hello to one of my favourite Alfie fic writers! Since you're taking requests, I'd like to make one as well.

I don't know how it works but how about a scenario/imagine where Tommy gets in some kind of trouble (as always) and Alfie suggests that his lovely gangster wife could help and goes to introduce them but as it turns out it's none other than the Shelby's sister/cousin/relative/friend/or maybe even an ex? (Your call one this one) who they thought was dead or something?

Idk if it's even worth your time and effort but I just wanted to make a request ;) No pressure, of course!

Love you and your writing a lot!

“As The Crow Flies” (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader) — PART 1

SUMMARY — By all accounts Anna Gray died in Australia and had no business standing in Alfie’s living room, nor calling the man “darling” for that matter. But there you were, identical to the picture they took when they shipped you off to the colonies.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Thank you to @zablife for being the most gracious beta!💗💗💗💗💗 and thank you Anon for this request, because actually it inspired a full-blown multi-chapter idea! So this is set around... Season 5 I suppose? But I'm going to ignore everything in it and Season 6 too. Let's pretend none of it happened and just focus on the fun part! That is driving Tommy insane and making Alfie say outrageous lines.

WORD COUNT — 2,286

Masterlist

In retrospect, Tommy Shelby felt he should have known better. He should have fucking known that the moment, the moment, he came to Margate to sort the bloody situation out, exactly two things would happen.

One, he would have to sit and listen with a straight face to Alfie’s inspired monologue, the subject of which had swerved from elephants to bank robbery in about two and a half minutes, and then managed to touch upon just about everything else under the sun.

Tommy remained quite sure that the sense of Alfie’s rambling had been long lost to history and the point of it all was just to talk him to death, really. Put him out of his misery with nonsense alone.

“Now then, Tommy, as I said, right, I ain’t the vindictive type, I really ain’t, so I am gonna help ya out just this once, right, outta the goodness of my own heart.”

Tommy managed not to roll his eyes. Barely.

“‘Cause I am a changed man these days, Tommy, an’ it can be that the old man that I am, I’m goin’ soft on ya, right, an’ so tradition dictates, mate, to ask for more than ten thousand for my troubles.”

Tommy raised a brow.

“But as things currently stand with the medical bills, on the account of bein’ shot in the face by some cunt, right… Fifteen would sound proper fair, mate.”

Thank fuck for small mercies, Tommy thought, then lit another cigarette and promptly got up to leave. Alfie apparently managed to settle both sides of the conversation, negotiations included, and their American problem could very well sort itself out all on his own—thus proving to Tommy once more that the only thing he could really count on in this world had always been lunatics.

“Right, the fuck you’re doin’ now, sit down!”

Tommy frowned and remained standing, cigarette in the corner of his mouth and sheer outrage emanating from his entire person. The question of “what in fuck’s name do you want now, you crazy bastard?” overtook his face.

“Right, I need to make a bloody phone call,” Alfie said then, which explained exactly nothing.

Yes, that was the second thing Tommy had been so sure would happen. Alfie would first go on a tangent, then formulate a plan that involved three separate layers of deception, a bribe, and a crate of dynamite (probably).

Then Tommy would get caught in the middle as bloody always and Polly would have his head for going along with Alfie’s plan in the first place.

What he didn’t expect was for Alfie to change his tone of voice completely as soon as the person picked up on the other end:

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s me. Come to the house, alright? Right, ‘cause I need ya here for somethin’. No, not like the— Bloody hell, woman, just don’t fuckin’ argue with me for once, alright?”

Sometimes a rare occasion would present itself for Tommy Shelby to become fucking speechless. Truth be told, he remained rather surprised that two such occasions had also involved Alfie Solomons, undoubtedly purely for the Devil’s bloody amusement.

“Who was that then, Alfie?”

“None of ya fuckin’ business.”

Tommy had a sneaky feeling there wasn’t a clever enough question in existence that could have pushed Alfie to say anything more. He looked smug as hell for having pulled that stunt off so Tommy was willing to see it through.

For old time’s sake.

The sun was setting and they had another drink, then Tommy let Alfie go on another tangent about… Tea import. Perhaps. Who knew, he wasn’t really listening.

On drink three Tommy was alerted by a car pulling up to the house, followed by a door slam and a rhythmic clacking of high heels on the porch. Tommy looked to Alfie, but the man remained infuriatingly calm.

Just as Tommy was about to reach for his gun, the door to Alfie’s study opened unceremoniously and a scent of expensive perfume wafted across the room. Tommy turned around and tried his best to keep up the indifferent facade, but failed miserably. Nothing could have prepared him for you walking through that door, with a giant bodyguard no less, following you like a second shadow.

“Alright there, Billy?” Alfie greeted the bodyguard casually and the man grunted in response. “Right then, might ya wait in the car for us, mate? This whole bloody business will take a minute.”

Tommy then watched as Alfie approached you and planted an affectionate kiss to your cheek, at which point Tommy stood up abruptly.

For a moment he just stood there and stared; a state he didn’t find himself in too often these days. 

“Darling, are we having guests?” you asked Alfie in a tone so familiar to Tommy; so like your mother. Pleasant, on the verge of sarcastic. 

By God, either that Camden bastard was a magician or you had a twin sister that Polly never mentioned. Because it wasn’t possible… It couldn’t be you. Not according to the file he stole from the parish. By all accounts Anna Gray died in Australia and had no business standing in Alfie’s living room, nor calling the man “darling” for that matter. But there you were, identical to the picture they took when they shipped you off to the colonies. 

“Right then, Tommy, might I present my lovely wife,” Alfie said. “Sweetie, this here is Tommy Shelby, right, all the way from the ungodly place they call Birmingham—”

“Tommy Shelby?” you interrupted and looked at Tommy with a smile so like Polly’s that Tommy nearly lost his composure again. “My, my… And there you went and promised you were done with the life, Alfie.”

“Right, an’ how could that—”

“Anna,” Tommy interrupted what he was sure was a budding monologue from Alfie. 

“Yes?” you asked. “You know my name?”

“I… Know your mother.”

“Know?” There it was again. That curious smirk of yours that could really mean anything. Tommy found it harder and harder to keep up the charade.

“But that’s not possible, Mr. Shelby.”

“What’s not possible?”

Your tone remained polite, but your dark eyes said it all. The expression of quiet resolve Tommy thought only one person capable of delivering with such resentment.

“I’m an orphan, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy said nothing to that, because what in hell could he even say? All of a sudden the American issue faded into nothingness, replaced solely by the phantom standing before him.

“So you did not lie, I see,” you turned to your husband with a quizzical expression, seeing as Tommy went quiet again. “He really is as strange as the papers make him. No matter, though, Mr. Shelby, I hope you like chicken? My husband insists I’m a terrible cook, but you must stay for dinner.”

Tommy nodded mechanically and put out his cigarette just to busy his hands with something. When he looked at Alfie, though, Tommy noticed how the man’s mouth twitched, clearly indicating the scheme was playing exactly how he wanted it to. Mad bastard, Tommy thought. There was no saying if he was being played or tricked or helped. Probably all at once, but solely for Alfie’s benefit of course.

“Right, curious as I am, luv, what delectable fuckin’ option you maimed and butchered for dinner, Tommy isn’t stayin’—” Alfie then stopped himself when two sets of identical Shelby scowls got directed his way.

Tommy did stay for dinner and made sure to clean his plate, too. He didn’t mind the food at all; it reminded him of Polly’s simple cooking back in the day when she would take care of Tommy and his siblings in Small Heath.

The more he listened to you talk and bicker with Alfie, the more of your mother he saw in you and the angrier he got at seeing you here of all places, as Alfie’s wife, unable to speak to you in plain terms. Tommy wasn’t exactly sure which made him angrier, though—the fact that you were Alfie’s wife or the fact that the sly bastard had kept you from your true family for who knows how many years. How did he even find you?

All the questions he had were still swirling around in Tommy’s head and he wasn’t particularly paying attention to anything else, besides staring daggers at Alfie. He was hoping there would be a moment to talk to you alone, but of course your husband would never allow it. He watched Tommy like a hawk the entire evening, sometimes with just a hint of a smile to suggest he was still three steps ahead of everyone else.

“See you never got accustomed to that fancy cookin’ they’re offerin’ ya at the mansion these days, Tommy,” Alfie said, undoubtedly truly enjoying the charade. “Tommy’s an MP, darlin’, right about two steps from gettin’ a knighthood I reckon. Yeah, a real prince he is.”

The way Alfie said the word was so clearly a jab at Tommy’s ancestry that he didn’t even flinch. What he was curious about was your reaction, but you remained perfectly pleasant: 

“Don’t tease, love, we haven’t had guests in ages and I’m not letting you drive this one away.”

When the maid took away the plates, you lit a cigarette in a swift overdone gesture and Tommy was once more taken aback with your resemblance to Polly. 

“Well, I’ll leave ya both to it,” you announced as you got up. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Shelby.” You extended your hand and Tommy shook it. “I know you tried your best with the chicken and I appreciate it,” you paused and tilted your head to the side as if sizing Tommy up.

“I rarely trust your husband’s judgement,” he replied.

The way you smiled reminded Tommy of a cat that got into the pantry. He decided not to think about it too much.

“I see. Goodnight then, Mr. Shelby.”

As soon as Tommy heard you got upstairs, he turned to Alfie who, unsurprisingly, already had a gun pointed at him. It was a casual way of it that was the most infuriating—Alfie’s hand was more so resting on the table and the gun just happened to be there, pointing at Tommy. 

“Now then, Tommy, let’s be reasonable about this, mate.”

Tommy clenched his jaw and remained silent, but his murderous glare said it all.

“There are four people at the house, right, includin’ you, me, my wife, then the maid… Then there’s Billy outside, right, who’s gonna be rightly worried once he doesn’t get my dismissal for the night. So I want ya to be real cold an’ calculated about it, Tommy, just like I know ya can be, ‘cause if ya decide to off me for no reason now…”

“No reason.”

“Right.”

“You’re old enough to be her father.”

“Yeah an’ fortunately I’m not, ‘cause that’d be right fuckin’ awkward at the temple, mate.”

“Temple?”

“What’d ya think, Tommy, that I smacked her over the head and dragged her into my cave?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Right, we’ll have to show ya the pictures then, she looked stunnin’.” Alfie leaned back in his chair. “Tell ya what, mate, why don’t ya come by for tea one day?”

“Tea.”

“Yeah. We have it, Tommy, we’re not animals.”

Tommy said nothing to that. He was still reviewing his options, but as he wasn’t a fan of spontaneous action, the patient approach seemed appropriate. The offer, though, just like everything else about the situation, was fucking infuriating.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Fuck you, Alfie.”

That finally made Alfie smile and for some reason he lowered the gun.

“Right, so seein’ as we’re family, Tommy, and what a happy coincidence this is, I must say, I feel like we should talk fuckin’ proper. None of that shit.” Alfie then gestured between them as if he hadn’t been responsible for “that shit” in the first place.

“We’ve been talking, Alfie,” Tommy deadpanned.

“Yeah, but then there’s still somethin’ ya haven’t told me about your American troubles, isn’t there, mate, so I’m expectin’ you’ll be more honest with me in the future. Now that I’ve brought the right arguments to the table…”

The hint of a threat in that statement almost made Tommy wish he still had his razor cap around.

“She’s Polly’s only daughter, Alfie.”

“Right, I’m aware of that.”

Tommy nodded, feigning understanding between them. As always, handling Alfie very much resembled handling a live grenade without a pin.

“This can’t be the way to end things.”

“Who’s endin’ things, Tommy?”

“I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, an’ I’m going to let this one slide, Tommy, ‘cause you just got a lot to process, mate, so I’m prepared to be understandin’.”

Tommy shook his head and reached into his jacket pocket, at which Alfie uncocked the gun. Tommy slowly pulled out his cigarette box, but Alfie never even flinched. It was gruesomely reassuring to still have been right, even in the position that Tommy currently found himself in. 

Alfie Solomons would always remain Alfie Solomons, even with the whole song and a dance about getting old and senile. He was still the same mad bastard Tommy came to know all those years ago, and as things stood, Tommy found himself wondering if this time he shouldn’t try poison instead of a bullet.

“Tommy,” Alfie sighed, “with three good eyes workin’ between us, mate, I really would greatly mind if I somehow acquired a fuckin’ tumour in my lungs, too.”

Tommy said nothing and he knew Alfie hated it.

“Which means put that shit out, mate, and listen to what I’m about to say, ‘cause I got a feeling you’ll really wanna hear it.”

[sister-of-hitoshi]

Begging on my hands and knees for a Warumono san x small chubby reader who has body image issues PLEASE- like he doesn't understand why humans feel so saddened about their bodies sometimes, or why they think skinny people look so attractive???((I'm going off the idea that for his alien culture, it's very much akin to Sparta types of likes and stuff, ie: everyone wants to be the strongest in order to serve their planet and help.))

To my lovely anon, this is my first ever ask!!! Thank you so much for having faith in me with your request (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠) I hope it's alright ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

Sending loads of love your way<33

...You love me more??!!

Genre: Slight angst, fluff

Character: Warumono-san/Mr villain

Warnings: Body image issues ahead! Please love yourself <33

It was a regular day-off date at a nice cafe.

A regular day of admiring this tall and handsome man who had taken pity on your state a few days back and started to temporarily date with you.

Yes.....That's what you explained to yourself. There could be no other explanation.

It was just another day.

Another regular day of self-loathing.

You were never happy about yourself. At your home, you had even put some translucent sheets over your big wardrobe mirror as some sort of barricade which deterred you from seeing your full figure. You didn't care if you couldn't properly see which dress was more flattering on you, it was better than seeing your ugly, unflattering self. Yes...ugly.... unflattering...

"...There's no way that this hot guy would actually be in love with me." You muttered to yourself absent-mindedly, the other half of your brain busy admiring his sharp feautures. You were never going to believe that he was actually in love with you. You knew your place.

But what you didn't know was the extent of Mr hot guy's love for you.

For he was even willing to choose you over his lovely pandas.

Even though it had only been a little while, he became so open to you about almost everything- well everything except for his job and identity which were classified information. You were so soft to hug, just the right size for him to squeeze his chest when patting your head or booping your nose. You were just way too adorable. So much so that imagining you in a panda onesie was enough to make him cough up whatever food he was having at that moment and roll on the ground back at his home.

Right now at this quaint little cafe, as both of you were lost in thought about the other, you didn't fail to notice how his face suddenly became all serious as he scrunched up his brows.

Well it looks like even he's disgusted now.

He was about to say something when you beat him to it.

"I'll excuse myself to the washroom."

You didn't wait for his response and hurried away.

"Of course", you said to yourself. "Of fucking course."

You loved him so much, you were so scared that he was actually going to bring up his disinterest in you at the table, so you excused yourself first.

Your fist slammed beside the sink.

A coward. That's what you were.

"I knew it from the start... that's why I didn't try to love him too much but...what can I do when he's so good with me?..." You bit your lip hard, the air felt nauseous. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Why did he have to be so attractive and kind..."

It seems even your tears were mocking you, for they were fat, full of the weight of your misery.

"I hate myself, and I love him, and I hate that he has to date such a miserable looking person like myself"

With tears rolling down your cheeks and you using your hand to wipe your face to no avail, you turned around to leave the washroom and fetch some tissue papers from the dispenser. Seems like you couldn't even wipe off these ugly tears.

But before you could even comprehend it, you were swiftly hugged by strong, large arms.

"Y/n....what happened?"

A man with his familiar deep, soothing voice, voiced out his worry. This made you cry harder.

Mr villain felt akward, he didn't know how to comfort his favourite earthling who was crying like this infront of him, so he did what he thought calmed him the most when he was feeling stressed. He hugged you and patted your head.

"Oh it's nothing....But it's okay if you want to stop now....I know we are together only temporarily and I know too that...you don't really like this ugly unflattering thing that is me-"

"Y/n what are you saying?" He shook you by the shoulders. This was one of those very rare times when he was swiftly losing his composure. But he knew that he needed to comfort you right now. You are his top priority.

"You're my favourite. I love you..........even more than I love pandas"

Wait- wait what?

"No no- wait- pandas are your favourite, even a kid who sees you for the first time will get it... And you're telling me you love me more??!!"

You fake-gasped and started laughing a bit, finding it really absurd but more unbelievable.

He was glad that your tears that stopped now, and that he had internally taken snapshots of your face and saved them to his memory. He means- you looked so adorable even when crying. His poor heart could only take so much.

Deciding now was the best time, he confronted you.

"I heard everything Y/n."

His deep voice ran through your being, making you shiver. Your immediately became tensed. He noticed this. He only held you tighter.

"I really love you a lot, and I love hugging you too. Why would the way your body looks really affect my love? I love you for who you are"

You immediately looked up at him, and the sincerity in his eyes was enough to break all the bars of negativity that were caging you in.

"I appreciate that you like me too, so please accept that I love you, both you and your body, and I want you to love yourself the way I love you" He continued to look at you through his bangs, until he suddenly turned away from you.

"Iloveyourcuteness"

"Hmm? What was that? Can you please repeat it?" You were trying to lighten up the situation now, so you playfully pleaded him with those big doe eyes that always made him kneel and pull on his bangs even he even thought about them.

"I love your cuteness... you're adorable. The perfect size for me to hug and p-perfect for a kiss-"

You brought him down by the shoulders and kissed him on the nose.

He became so blushy, his eyes became glossy, he was so awkward and genuine, your love for him grew tenfold, while his for you grew manifold.

It seems that everything that you had claimed to know about your situation was entirely wrong. But this was a wrong that felt right.

___________________________________________

"So why were you scrunching up your brows at me and making a serious face back then? I thought I had offended you...haha, sorry if that's the case though" you said, looking at him bashfully while scratching your cheek.

"You don't need to be sorry, it was just me trying to imagine you with a panda costume...sort of"

"Oh."

The response did little to conceal your vibrant blush. You internally screamed and kicked your feet, he was soooo cute being all mumbly and blushy, you'd definitely make it a point to surprise him with it later, heheh!

Well looks like you'll have to say 'bye-bye' to those sheets now.

[hard--headed--woman]

Sorry for the very late post! I had to change my plans, because I wanted to talk about someone else but changed my mind for some reasons ; so I had to find another story and rewrite everything.

This time, the post isn’t going to be about one woman, but two. Last year, I had already made a post about these two women, but I couldn't just not talk about them this month given how amazing their story is.

Here is the story of :

Elisa and Marcela !

Marcela Gracia Ibeas and Elisa Sánchez Loriga got married on June 8, 1901, in A Coruña, at Galicia, in Spain. Their marriage was the first homosexual marriage in Spain since the Roman imperial era and happened more than 100 years before the country legalized homosexual marriages !

To achieve this, Elisa disguised herself as a man, and adopted a male identity, Mario Sánchez, which is the name on their marriage certificate. Their lie was later discovered, but their marriage was never annulled, and they remained married for the rest of their lives.

There is a Netflix movie about them if you want to see it. Though it has it flaws, I personally enjoyed it a lot, and from what I know, it is not too bad historically speaking. There's just one thing that happens in the movie that we are far from sure happened in real life. (I personally do not believe it did) Here's the trailer if you are interested! It's a very good movie in my opinion!

(But if you plan to watch it, maybe you shouldn't read the rest of the post as it's gonna spoil you everything lol)

The two young women met at the teacher training college in La Coruña. Marcela, 18, is a student there, while Elisa, 23, works there after completing the same course. They become friends, then lovers. Marcela's parents, fearing a scandal, send their daughter to study in Madrid, but this is not enough to put an end to their romance. Marcela is appointed teacher in Vimianzo, in the village of Calo, while Elisa, not far from there, works as a temporary replacement in Couso. They decided to live together in Calo until 1889, when Marcela left to teach in Dumbría, while Elisa remained in Calo. They kept in touch, writing to each other, until Elisa joined Marcela.

They live their love for years, hiding their relationship, until they get fed up and decide to hatch a plan to get married.

In 1901, Elisa adopted a masculine appearance. She created a past for herself based on a cousin who died in a shipwreck, and claimed to have spent her childhood in London with an atheist father. She was baptized as Mario on May 26, 1901, and made her First Communion under the same identity.

The couple married on June 8, 1901. A brief wedding ceremony was performed before witnesses, and the couple spent their wedding night in the Corcubión inn on Calle de San Andrés - Elisa and Marcela were officially the first Spanish homosexual couple to marry. Their plan was a success.

Unfortunately, the villagers began to have doubts and realized that this marriage was what they called "a marriage without a man".

The Galician and Madrid press reported the affair, and the two women lost their jobs, were excommunicated and placed under arrest.

Here's a picture of them after their arrest :

Despite this, and attempts by the Guardia Civil to prosecute them, their marriage was never annulled, and the two lovers managed to run away. Their story became famous in Spain and many other European countries.

(Un matrimonio sin hombre = a marriage without a man)

After that, we don't know what happened to them. The last thing we know fore sure about them is that they embarked on a ship bound for South America - perhaps Argentina, like so many other Spaniards of the time, where they spent their honeymoon and settled.

A book published in 2008 tries to tell their story after they left Spain for Argentina, but this books seems suspicious to a lot of people, including me, and I don't trust it so I am not going to talk about it but finding informations about it is easy if you are interested !

Anyway, this story is just incredible!!! It is so so important in lesbian history (though we do not really know if they were lesbian or bisexual. Elisa was probably a lesbian, but the book, based on some rumours, claimed that Marcela slept with a man in order to have a child, so she might have been bi if it is true) and so, so interesting. I can't believe it's not like 100× more famous. The fact that two women got married in 1901!!! Whith one of them dressed as a guy! I love it.