Thinking about Black Widow Luo Binghe.
Hear me out -- so just like in canon, Shen Qingqiu self-destructs to save Luo Binghe, dies, and Luo Binghe steals his body to put on ice while he looks for methods to resurrect him. But unlike in canon, staving off decomposition is simply not that doable for a matter of years, even with cultivation and Luo Binghe pouring qi into the process. The qi costs are still high, so is Xin Mo, and now Binghe also needs a special artifact that can actually preserve Shen Qingqiu, but that runs on blood sacrifices.
To get the thing working, Luo Binghe feeds it a bunch of prisoners from the Water Prison. Then he starts kidnapping cultivators to drain for his own qi reserves, but that's difficult, controversial, and he can't use the same victims for the blood sacrifice afterwards. Frankly, between one thing and another it would be easier to satisfy Xin Mo with dual cultivation, and focus on finding victims for Shizun's Snow White style glass preservation coffin without having to choose between using targets for one or the other. Especially given that, if he finesses it, Luo Binghe can extend the use of his sacrifices and get more out of them with fewer deaths that way.
He's pretty sure that Shizun would want fewer deaths.
Of course, he is not a fan of the logistics of the plan itself, but he'd do worse things to one day be reunited. He consoles himself that he's building up bedroom experience for one day being with Shen Qingqiu, and that it doesn't really count because his heart's not really in it, and also if Shizun got to spend all that time in brothels then it's only fitting that Luo Binghe be his equal in this as well. It still doesn't make it pleasant for him, but it makes him able to tolerate the necessity of it.
So Luo Binghe ends up marrying a string of rich and powerful figures -- mostly the villainous single fathers and mothers and evil uncles of harem members from PIDW, rather than their daughters -- and coming up with creative ways of making all their deaths a few months into the process look like accidents. After the third one people are undeniably wary of marrying him, but there's always someone with a big enough ego to think they'll be an exception, or stupid enough to believe that it really has just been so much bad luck up to that point. It helps that the universe is predisposed to let him hit it.
When SY wakes up in the shroom body and hears about Luo Binghe's succession of marriages, he's not surprised. What he is surprised by is the bisexual graveyard of toxic dilfs and milfs that has replaced the harem.
What did he do to cause that?!
And what does Luo Binghe mean that he wants to marry his own shizun now? Is this his new method of revenge??? Binghe, you don't have to marry someone to kill them!
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ghost fucking soap so hard and so good he passes out but he utterly panics about it
he thinks he must’ve ignored soap asking to stop; was it pain that made him pass out? how bad could it have been to make him pass out when he’s been shot and kept going? should he bring him to medical? he’ll never touch him again, he’ll never so much as look at him again; he’ll ask for a transfer- fuck that, a dishonourable discharge. there’s no coming back from this
he spirals, guilt chasing hatred chasing despair chasing fear, until soap finally wakes back up
soap's still floating, loose-limbed and buzzing; fucked so thoroughly out of his head that it takes him a while to notice ghost isn't in bed with him anymore. he frowns, lifting a heavy head off the pillow and freezes. ghost's on the other side of the room, curled up tight in the corner as far away from soap as he could get without leaving him alone
(he would've left, would've made sure soap never had to see his face again and be reminded of what he did to him, of the monster he’d let into his bed- but he couldn't just leave him unconscious; what if he didn't wake up, he had to make sure he was safe first even if he'll rightfully hate him forever when he does wake up)
soap's voice when he calls out to him makes him flinch, his head burying deeper in his knees. cold worry chases the bliss from his blood and soap pushes himself up but his shaking arms can't hold his weight
the sound of him collapsing back onto the bed makes ghost rear up, his panic growing and soap's heart breaks at his red rimmed eyes
it takes a long time for soap to coax him back to the bed, countless loops of, "sweetheart, please, come here, what happened? it's okay, everything’s going to be okay.”
(and how ghost’s self-hatred grows hearing soap comforting him; hearing the concern and love in his voice when he doesn’t deserve a drop of it)
it takes even longer for ghost to believe soap when he says that he passed out because he felt so good; that he never asked ghost to stop, never wanted him to stop. that he trusts him more than anything and knows he'd rather die than ever hurt him, especially like that
“you’re not a monster, love,” he promises, soft with conviction and it’s as much a surrender as a relief when he collapses into his lap and lets him hold him close
ghost believes johnny but he still can't bring himself to be intimate with him for a while; that fear still haunting him, but soap doesn't hold it against him, doesn't complain about ghost's perceived "step back" in their relationship
hell, ghost seems to hate it more than he does; he misses being with soap, misses the connection, the closeness they shared, the safety and quiet he found in his embrace, but he's always trusted soap more than he trusts himself
soap doesn't let him be consumed by his fear or worse, sabotage them and turn it into a punishment; doesn't let him even get through the suggestion of switching because he knows how much he hates it and he won’t let him twist something as good and pure as their physical love into something self-harming
instead, he brings them back to the basics, working through the steps to get ghost comfortable with intimacy again, to get him to trust himself again; spends happy months just grinding and exchanging handjobs like when their relationship first started
and it's a happy day for them both when soap finally falls apart on his cock once again, anxiety the farthest thing from ghost's mind when his arms are wrapped so tightly around him, kissing a smile against his lips
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"UWU op defends Israel UWU"-
Have I not made it clear enough what I think of the Israeli government? Have I not made it clear enough that what infuriates me the MOST about all of this shit going on is that neither government gives a damn and civilians will CONTINUE to die because Hamas and Netanyahu are cranking that war machine for their own benefit? Have I not made it clear that I think what the Israeli government is doing is fucking horrific, a war crime, murder, a violation of human rights?
Why do I even need to MAKE that clear? Why is it that you can talk about LITERALLY anything else, any other country, and people don't rush to fucking accuse you of personally supporting the government when you discuss the wrongs committed against a people, but the SECOND you're a Jew you have to justify your stance about Israel?
Why is it that I cannot even be angry about the slaughter of MY FUCKING PEOPLE. Innocents. Civilians. Fucking CHILDREN. The slaughter of the Palestinian people. Innocents. Civilians. FUCKING CHILDREN.
Without one of you absolute fucking monsters deciding to slap some shit on an unrelated post about how "uwu op defends an apartheid state just ignore that"? Do you have to make it part of EVERYTHING I do? Do you consider everything I put out there tainted somehow because I don't support your joy, your cheering, your unrestrained GLEE at the murder of Jews? Do I need to publish a fucking thesis on my stance on Israel, Palestine, and their respective governments like a fucking disclaimer any time I want to talk about myself, my oppression, my experience as a Jew, or a disabled person, or a queer person, because you fuckers cannot for five seconds be NORMAL about Jews?
To decide to slap something about Israel and Palestine on a post I made about MY oppression, about how people will oppress you no matter who you actually are- it all depends who they think you are. It's a bit ironic, isn't it? Doesn't QUITE fit, but it's funny that someone would read that post, agree with it, and then think "Ah yes, THIS is the place to put some tags about how OP, a Jew who has been reeling for the last couple of weeks about the violence, who has been checking on their Israeli friends every day to make sure they aren't fucking dead, who is dealing with vicious antisemitism from people who they thought were friends, who watched as the people claiming to be progressive supporters of human rights on this hellsite and others OVERWHELMINGLY reply to the murder of their people with good they deserved it fuck you, is CLEARLY a defender of an apartheid state and that makes them a bad person because something something I don't know what nuance tastes like and I am a bigoted ass."
I am TIRED.
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Joking summary of this one bit of Foundling at the Door:
Clark: Phew, finally got Kon and Tim to go get a couple of hours of sleep down in the dorms. Man, they act like I'm going to just lose her the second they're out of the room or something!
Elle: *wakes up from her coma the second Tim & Kon walk out the door*
Elle: *makes direct eye contact with Clark*
Elle:
Clark: well
Clark: fuck
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rewatching the first episode of Hannibal and holy shit I forgot how good this is but it's actually insane that Brian fuller set up the ep like this, he introduces will and Hannibal by first briefly showing them at their core, at the darkest, most vile part of them---we get a glimpse behind the curtain---and then its gone, the curtain is snapped shut and we see their masks, their human suits.
Will empathizes with killers because he likes it, and he wants to kill but he refuses to give into the urge because he knows how much he'll like it and he won't be able to stop. So he lives vicariously through other killers, satisfying his own dark urge by feeding it little morsels of secondhand blood lust. Every crime scene he works gives the urge something that satisfies it, not enough for it to grow, but enough for it be sate. Enough that he can ignore it for long enough that he can walk around and be Professor Will Graham who is Weird, Brash, and Non-sociable.
And Hannibal is a cannibal at night and a psychiatrist by morning.
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