#the funding issues ALONE are insane

[krakensdottir]

Why you can’t just ‘release’ dolphins

In case anyone who follows me was wondering about the captive cetacean stuff, I thought I’d type up a little thing about why they’re so difficult to return to the wild compared to many other animals.

Because animals differ widely in how easily they can be reintroduced to their habitat. It depends on how many life skills they need to learn, whether they have a complex social structure they also need to learn about first, how dangerous their habitat is, and how much they’ve already been accustomed to humans. Wildlife rescuers take in animals as babies and release them as adults on a regular basis, by taking pains to make sure they don’t bond with their caregivers. But this doesn’t work with all species.

Cetaceans are really complicated for two reasons: they’re predators, so they have to be able to hunt, and they’re extremely social, so they have to learn to navigate a pod structure. If they’re interrupted early in their socialization process, they actually fail to develop these skills. It’s why there’s a cutoff point around the age of 3, below which a stranded dolphin cannot be released. Like, legally. It’s not aquariums deciding this, it’s a national policy. A bottlenose dolphin that strands as a calf is not eligible for release, ever. It will not grow up into a wild dolphin at that point. It’s like the reverse of a feral cat.

(There are exceptions to this rule, typically involving less social cetacean species like harbor porpoises. They can be rescued as calves and later released, because the life skills they have to learn are less complicated. But bottlenoses and most other oceanic dolphins, orcas, pilot whales etc., cannot be released alone, and wild pods often don’t accept them. Hence the policy.)

They also bond to humans, like, hard. If a cetacean was captured or rescued as a youngster, or born in human care, it’s pretty much impossible to de-socialize them to humans. Every effort was made to do exactly that with Keiko, the whale who played Willy, and he just would not do it. Teaching him to hunt, trying to get him to interact with wild whales... he played along to some extent, but he wouldn’t take the final step of breaking ties with humans. He kept seeking them out. And since that wasn’t according to plan, he wasn’t allowed to return to human care. Wasn’t an option, it would’ve looked bad. Instead, when he refused to integrate, he was confined to a netted cove, where he died. This is on top of multiple cases of attempted releases, mostly of bottlenose dolphins, that resulted in the animals either starving, stranding, or coming up to humans in the wild and begging them for food and attention. (Including one in the 90s that was conducted by notorious anti-captivity advocate Ric O’Barry. The project failed miserably, one animal was killed in the attempt, but he didn’t learn his lesson and is still on his bullshit today.)

We’ve seen it again and again. Animals trained to go out to sea, who are reluctant to leave their pen and then reluctant to leave the escort boat. Animals that escape sea pens and come back, literally jump right back in as soon as the novelty of freedom wears off. On a few occasions, wild cetaceans have even tamed themselves. That’s how people used to end up with ‘pet’ dolphins back in the day when it wasn’t yet illegal.

Now, there have been successful cetacean releases. All of those cases involved adult animals which had only been captive a short time, usually after being rescued. They re-adjust just fine. But if the animal has adapted to living with humans, it won’t un-learn those behaviors. It is functionally no longer a wild animal. Ironically, considering their presence in captivity is more controversial than any other animal group, cetaceans are among the very hardest to ‘return to the wild’. And part of the reason seems to be that they don’t want to. Contrary to all expectations, they often choose easy meals and safety over freedom. A lot of wild animals will do this, given the chance, but dolphins are really stubborn about it. Releasing a captive cetacean involves convincing it that it WANTS to be free. And sometimes that seems to be the hardest part.

So yeah, we’ve tried it several times. We know what works and what doesn’t. It’s not a hypothetical, we have a very good idea what will happen if we try to release all captive whales and dolphins (most of which, by now, were born in captivity, since Western facilities haven’t captured wild animals in decades). We know that the odds of success are dismal, and animals will almost certainly die in the attempt. Hence the big clash between people who have practical experience with cetaceans, or in-depth knowledge of their care, and animal rights activists (and the public they’ve been misleading for years now). It doesn’t even matter at this point if you think they should be released. That’s not relevant. It doesn’t work, it’s dangerous, and it flies in the face of all welfare concerns. It shouldn’t even still be on the table at this point. I don’t know how many more times we’ll have to watch it go wrong before we accept that.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

I know you’re requests are closed but I had an idea for a Mickey fic and I’m an awful writer and you’re amazing so imma just leave this here. What if reader and Mickey are both the Ghostfaces along with Nancy and they’re both like, literally insane. Like to the point where after they kill they gotta fuck then and there whilst covered in their victims blood blah. blah but in the end Nancy kills one of them and it makes the other completely fucking INSANE for revenge.

OKAY! SO! Anon! I fucking love this ask. I went so hard. I hope you enjoy this enemies to friends to lovers over 7K massive fic! I stretched out the timeline of Scream 2 because fuck you, this is fanfic and we can do whatever we want to! I love this request and where it leaves off? I already have a sequel planned and mostly plotted. So thank you Anon seriously. Also, shoutout to @mrsaltieri-real for helping me out on this one! You are the best.

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.9K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Ghostface! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer. Reader Has Anger Issues. Fighting. Taunting. Teasing. Mickey And Reader Are ASSHOLES To Each Other. Blood. Gore. Murder. Death. Mild Fluff. Enemies To Friends To Lovers. Ghostface Partners In Crime Couple. Mickey Is Crushing Hard. Angst. Hurt. Crying. Emotional Pain. I Apologize In Advance.

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“So Good To You.”

—

You never cared much for the idea of getting a college education, or at least that is what you told yourself because financially it was way out of reach for you, an impossibility. That was until you got an offer you simply couldn’t turn down, what that offer was? It was for a free ride at a college by a benefactor with money to burn and some revenge she needed to be carried out. It would be a hindrance for some, but not for you. The reason you were chosen was because of not only your previous experience with this, but your outright willingness to spill blood. So you accept, you follow her instructions to the fucking letter and arrive at school in September. 

Once moved into your dorm, a few days into college you were meeting up with her in person, all the correspondence up to this point has been online and on the phone, meeting her had to be done carefully. The meeting is not even in town, the process must be delicate, and the wrong people cannot see you together lest there be talk and suspicion. When you show up and see that she is not alone you are confused, when you sit down, and she explains that you are not the only student she is “sponsoring” you are pissed.

You don’t hide this either, gripping your menu, so tightly it might bend, speaking in a hushed yell whisper, “Nancy, what the fuck?”

He, whoever he was, agreed, leaning forward and voice low, “Yeah actually, what the fuck?”

Nancy tried to have a measured response, attempting to calm you both, she set her own menu aside, fingers laced together, hands resting on top of the tablecloth. She says your name and then his, “Mickey-” you scrunch your nose, who the fuck is named Mickey? Like the fucking mouse? 

“-I have to make sure this happens. You both know the motive and I figured having two of you would make this better, all the easier. I can be very hands-off and honestly, you are both such great talents. How could I choose just one of you?”

That pissed you off further. You keep your voice hushed, not wanting to be overheard, “It sounds to me more that you don’t think I can handle this myself and that I need some shitty fucking guy’s help to kill.” 

Mickey scoffed, a roll of his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he said, “Yeah, you are such an empowered woman who doesn’t need any help to kill. So tough. So strong. If you are so capable, why do you need someone to fund your college career?”

You hated him. Everything about him. His stupid spiky hair, the dumb shade of blue on his sweater, his face, his voice, what he said in tone and also in content. “It’s called a scholarship. I know it’s a big word, you’ve probably never heard it, and what about you? She thinks that YOU need a woman’s help to kill, how sad is that for you?” 

By the way his eyes narrowed, you feel like he doesn't like you either. Good. You don’t want him to. 

The dinner is tense, but you manage to make it through and Nancy makes it clear that if you want to go or if he does that you can, but she will pull her funding and whoever is left will get to do it alone. You don’t back down and neither does he, so you are forced to work together, and you accept this fact with extreme reluctance.

The plan is for you and him to get as close to Sidney and her friends as possible, to insert yourselves and get in the right position at just the right time to make sure that this happens just as Nancy wanted. You did, and you were barely able to restrain your rage against him, it comes out sometimes, everyone else thinks it is an affectionate thing, a long-running joke of both of you disliking each other and exchanging barbs, but no one thought it was serious. 

You had to get used to his presence, but that proved to be difficult, you would sometimes get so riled up after an argument with him that you felt like screaming and ripping your hair out, he got under your skin in the worst way possible. You got to him similarly it seemed, you sometimes knew he left your interactions being the one who could barely reign in his temper, part of you liked getting to him like that. 

Staying away from him and avoiding any time you and Mickey were solo was a must, but sometimes you can’t help it when you are in the same friend group like this. You and he were at the same party and Sidney left to go use the bathroom, and Randy went to go get a drink, and that left you and him in proximity.

You and Mickey were both leaning against the same wall. He speaks first, “Getting real friendly with Sid there.” 

You smile, proud of yourself, you were making a great impression, fantastic progress, you allow yourself to indulge in feeling pride as you agree with his assessment, “Yeah, I am.”

“She seems super invested. You do know that you need more than a low cut shirt to get her fallin’ all over herself for you, right?” He turned to face you, and you turn too as you respond, “Yeah unlike you, I am not a total slut, I am not trying to fuck her.”

“Why not?” He asked, and you laughed into your cup, making sure to keep your voice low enough just for him to hear, “Who am I? Billy Loomis? Gonna fuck her then gut her?” 

He shrugs before taking a sip from his own cup, a swallow before he says casually, “I’ve read your papers in film class, derivative is your whole thing.” 

“Is it now?” You ask and he says, “It is. Taking from someone great, and regurgitating it back out as if it is some amazing new or profound thought, something original all your own, when it very obviously is not.” 

He was such an insufferable asshole. 

You swallow what is left in your cup and then push off the wall, “I need another fucking drink if I am gonna have to be around you.” 

He lets you go. 

After lunch one day you, and he ended up in the same direction, you don’t want to deal with him and so you pick up the pace, walk faster, and he makes sure to speed up too, “Awe where you off to in such a rush? Gonna be late for your gender studies class, princess?” 

“Gross, do not call me that shit.” You say as you adjust your backpack, rolling your eyes before you retort, “You ready to fail that test tomorrow? I know you haven’t been studying.”

His hands are thrown up, eyes skyward and a grin as he says, “Heaven forbid, I wanna enjoy the college experience and make the most of it out and about, not with my nose in a book all the time.” 

“I think you could stand to be a little more well-read, you are painfully fucking dull whenever I am forced to talk to you.” Breaking off for the turn you head towards the building for your next class, he calls after you, “I am so, so hurt. Hey, don’t forget to spell women with a y, you’ll lose points otherwise, okay?” 

He knew just how to really fucking bother you. 

You know how to bother him, too. 

A different day, you and him were meant to have a meeting with Nancy. You were waiting for her to arrive, and he was boasting about how he had gotten in with Randy and Derek, you said, “Finally, took you long enough. It’s weird, though, considering that you are the fucking worst.” 

“I’m the worst?” He asked, and you nod, “Yes you are, I don’t know how you pulled it off, I have seen your acting ability.”

His hand rubs over his eyes as he asks, “You insult my acting ability now? What is wrong with it?” 

“Mickey. Virgin teens faking on prom night are better actors than you are.” 

His jaw drops, brows pinch together, and you pile on before he can respond, “You seem so chummy with Randy though, you blown him yet orrr?”

Nancy walked into you both locked in another augment, and she slammed the door, making you both stop. “Can you please, please, for the love of God, not fight for one day? I know it must be very hard, but do it for me?”

“It isn’t my fault she is such a frigid bitch.” He spits, and you say back, “Rich coming from the school slut, seriously, do you sweat chlamydia?” 

Mickey opens his mouth and Nancy cuts him off, “Please, save it! Can’t you be the bigger person here?”

Mickey doesn’t even look at her, eyes locked with you, he says, “I know you are a real maternal figure, but I am not your fucking son so can you not talk to me like I am?” 

You have to bite back the laugh you were about to bark out, and Nancy was just done, thoroughly over you both and your petty rivalry. “If you both don’t knock it off, I will call off the whole thing!”

That had you and he both turning to her, “You can’t!” 

It is reminiscent of a tired parent on a car trip sick of hearing, “Are we there yet?” and responding with, “I will turn this car around!” When she tells you both, “I can, and I will if you don’t play nice at least in front of me!” 

You and Mickey both know she is serious. You do your best to chill the hell out and just get through this without killing each other. 

The road is long until the first kill is meant to happen. You and he have ebbs and flows of seriously deep hatred, neutral times of acceptance and even an instance or two of actually kind of getting along, at least on the surface. Below that, you still find times of hating each other.

One night after yet another tense meeting, after yet more endless frustration, you and he locked in another fight it happens without you meaning to. Both of you are just too pent-up and when he spits, “I am so tired of you being such a bitch, have you tried loosening up sometimes?”

“How would you recommend I do that in between keeping a low profile, getting closer to Sid and the rest, and keeping my grades up?” He tells you with crossed arms over his chest, “I’d recommend you taking a good dick every once in a while.” 

“Does it always gotta come back to that? Just fuck my stress away and that will fix me?” 

“Why not try it?” And he says it so smugly, something inside just snaps inside of you, leading to you both being in your bed. Your clothes don’t even totally come off, it is a messy hate-fuck, “I knew you wanted me-”

Your teeth sink into his throat, a sharp bite that makes him jerk back, his hips faltering as you respond, “I don’t want you, this means fucking nothing, you mean fucking nothing, okay?”

 “Fine, fuck.” Another roll of his hips pulls a moan from you before he mutters out, “Crazy fucking bitch, just stop biting me.”

A terrible idea hits, and you execute it, a slap to his face as opposed to a bite and it is so shocking, catches him so off guard he has to actively fight the urge to cum. “Better?”

You ask sugary sweet, and he grits out, “I fucking hate you.” 

“I fucking hate you too.”

Hate fucking when the wait for the plan to kick off becomes a somewhat regular occurrence, one neither of you chose to acknowledge unless you were splayed over a surface together.

Currently, you were in Mickey’s place. You and he agreed to head over to a party together to meet up with everyone else, you were in one of those times when you didn’t totally hate his guts, just mostly did, so you could tolerate his presence. You were getting impatient, you were a punctual person, and he was not when it came to things like this. You were tapping your foot on the bottom rung of a stool as you sat at the bar as you waited, calling out to him while he is in his bedroom, “What are you doing in there? Jacking off? I’d like to go sometime this century.” 

“Yeah, I bet you like to think about that.” He called back, and you scoffed, “As fucking if.” 

While you waited, your eyes flitted over the bar, and you noticed there were scattered papers about, you are so bored you start to sift through them, looks like some kind of project he was working on. You look further, wondering what it was, you skim pages and words caught on, “slice” and “blood”.

You start to look further, flip through pages, and you find descriptions of murder, violent kills, strangulation, knives stabbed into warm bodies. You read of terrible brutality and the feelings that are invoked while experiencing it. You become so absorbed in the reading when his hand touches your shoulder, you jump nearly a foot in the air, heart hammering. 

“Catching up on some reading?” He asked with a grin, and you roll your eyes as you shake off his hand, “Creep.” 

“Says the girl who is currently rummaging through MY shit.”  Your eyes are back on the papers, ignoring what he said, and instead you ask, “What even is all this? Some fucked up project for a class?”

He takes the seat on the stool next to you, “It’s my work before coming to school.”

Your eyes go wide, you look at him, “Wait is this-”

He brightens further, “A scrapbook, yeah! I was rearranging it before you showed up, got a bit too into it, lost track of time, so I couldn’t clean it up before you came in, and then you were fucking rushing me-” 

“Holy fucking shit, you have a scrapbook of your previous kills?” You flip through, detailed accounts, pictures, small souvenirs, more still. It was amazing but also infuriating, how the fuck did you never think to do something like this? Most you had was scrawled out diary entries post kill, but this was truly in depth, a testament to his commitment to wielding a knife and bringing pain.

He leans closer, starts pointing out particular details, and you have to admit, an impressive body of work, clear effort put forth into this catalogue of violence. “She was the first. She was in my math class in high school, the kind of girl who thought she was way too good for everyone, you know the type.” 

His eyes meet yours, a taunting smile, and you find yourself letting out a laugh. He kept talking, and you kept listening until he says, “You are being awfully quiet.”

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” You ask, and he laughs, “No. It just isn’t like you, normally you make your opinions very painfully known.”

You sighed, “I just can’t get over what a good idea this is, I’m fucking pissed I didn’t think of it myself.” You admit, and he laughed louder, “I got one up on you and you admit it? Fuck, it is a good night.” He gets up, collects the papers and puts them in the open box nearby. You try to stop him, “Wait, where are you going?”

You ask as he takes the box back to his room, and he says, “We have a party to get to, remember? I’ll let you read it in full another time for you to cream yourself over, alright?” 

Yeah, sure, cream yourself over is what you’d do. You are simply curious about his work before you both met, you liked getting a feel for him and what he had done, it only makes sense since you are going to work together. He comes back and you both leave, but that night you had to admit is what started the shift, you started to look at Mickey a bit differently, had more respect for him. He obviously had skills to back up his talk, it was a comfort as well as just nice to get to know him on this level. No one else understood that side of you, getting to talk with someone else who has killed, he understands the depth, the complexity and more, you didn’t know how nice it would be.

After that night, you and he talk some more about it, his kills and yours, it is bonding, and it goes from hating each other and somewhat tolerating to being more like co-workers. A different night you were in your dorm room alone and both going over what your pasts. He showed you his newly minted scrap book, and you read aloud from your diary about how your first date ended in your killing the guy. 

“How often have you gotten blood in your mouth?” He asks, and you gagged jokingly, “Too many times! You never think that it is gonna spray like that until the first time you slash a throat, right?”

“Seriously. Okay, okay. Least favourite part?” He asked, and you groaned, “Disposal, dead weight is such a bitch at times. Once a guy almost got away from me, I cornered and killed him at the bottom of some stairs, but once he was dead I had to drag him back UP those same stairs.” 

“Fuck, how did you do it?” He genuinely asked, and you tell him, “With ropes and determination. How about you?” He hums, “My least favourite part has to be when the chase goes on for too long. Nothing worse than being winded before you even get the knife in them, feel like I can’t enjoy it properly, and I hate to do a rush job like that. It’s like the option is taken from me.”

“Lack of control is truly the worst.” You agree. 

While you felt closer, a small kinship as well as more mutual understanding, Mickey could still be a bit much at times, you still clashed on occasion, but those times were becoming fewer and further between. It makes the path to the plan easier. You study on occasion, able to have meals together, Nancy is pretty pleased you’d both calmed down, and you find yourself consumed with regular daily life. The hate fucking isn’t so hateful and has also slowed considerably to a near stop.

When you got the go ahead, you and he were giddy. Alight. It caused one of the worst fights you had with him where you insisted that you be the first one to kill, you wanted to show that you could, prove yourself and also, it had been so, so fucking long since you had. Eventually, Nancy sides with you but insists Mickey be nearby in case shit goes screwy, and you can deal with that. 

You revel in it. The phone call, the break in, the case and the actual kill. You being on top of her, stabbing her, running her through with one hand as your other is over her mouth. She struggles and whines, and you feel powerful, watching the light drain from her eyes the same way the blood does. 

Perhaps you linger just a touch too long, but you just can’t help it. Mickey comes to get you, urge you out, and then he sees it, the aftermath. You still sitting on top of her in your costume, the knife to the hilt inside of her, and you turn, ghostly white mask with small spots of red and his breath catches. He read your accounts, you’d talked in depth, he’d killed people himself, but this, seeing it, you, post kill, was a totally different animal. 

You pull off your mask, hair a mess, face sweaty with the effort, a manic smile as you ask, “What’s up?”

He lingers by the door of the balcony you were on, stuck in the threshold, the sliding glass was acting like a metaphorical doorway as much as a physical one, a turning point, one that cannot be forgotten or ignored. A shifting tide, your relationship, how he viewed you, permanently changed. His mouth feels dry, he swallows and says, “We have to go.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re right, just got a little uh-” You look down at the body, pull the knife out and drive it in one last time, you sound gleeful, “-stab happy.” 

The laugh spills from you both unbidden and then, you flee the scene of the crime. Costumes stowed in bags and knife hastily wiped down. He couldn’t stop looking at you after that night. Every time he saw you, it was like you went from black and white static to live and in colour, as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. He had it and had it so fucking badly for you, it was embarrassing. 

You could get him, understand him on levels no one else could or probably ever would. 

Mickey started treating you differently. You think it is because of what he saw, he finally was respecting you and sure it was part of it, but much more than you could have realized went into it. He was being much more than pleasant to be around, he was nice, fun to be around, he wasn’t an asshole like previously and slowly, much, much too slowly, after many meals bought, coffees given and notes shared you figure out that you think, he has a crush on you. It slips through even when with your “friends” and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially because he doesn’t hide it. He is kind, he flirts shamelessly, he makes his wants and intentions known.

You don’t know how to deal with or process that. 

So you don’t.

You let him treat you better, you feel previous hate and anger melt, but you write it off as friendship, nothing wrong with that considering what you were doing. You take his compliments with a smile, you laugh off his over the top promises of “I’d be so, so good to you.” with a wave of your hand.

The plan continues on, stretches out from days to weeks, Nancy claims she wants Sidney to really suffer, and you aren’t going to question or complain. 

The next kill is up to Mickey, you weren’t able to be there, but you got to see him after. Amped the fuck-up and excited, he told you about it all, how it went. “He was so pathetic, you should have seen him, begging for his life, crawling on the ground, oh my God.” 

You watched him pace back and forth, animated hand gestures, his t-shirt was sticking to him from the sweat, your eyes aren’t sure where to linger, defined arm muscles or that wide sick smile. He flops onto the couch beside you, a large exhale, “It was fucking incredible.” 

“And what are you feeling like, right now?” You asked as you looked down at him, and he says as his head pitches to look up at you, “I am feeling fucking starving. You want to order in a pizza?”

So you did. You ate sprawled on the floor and talked about the fact everything was meant to ramp up soon, that you and he were expected to both go in hard within the next few weeks. 

It still goes on, you and both grow closer, another kill here, one there until finally there is a night where you have to murder together. The talking beforehand is frantic, both planning what was going to happen, honestly excited to do this together. You and Mickey started off hating each other's guts, but that seems so far away now, you and he were actually good friends and a united front on this plan.

It doesn’t go well at first.

The struggle is hard, you and he almost lose the two people you were planning on killing, but you manged it. Watching Mickey up close, not only that but you both doing this together, it makes something in you and your perception of him change. It is startlingly intimate, you are so in the moment, weirdly in sync with very little verbal communication, at one point you are gutting one of them while he holds them down and even through the masks, you know your eyes are locked, you can’t see his gaze, but you feel it. 

It’s then. Between the smell of blood, the sweat making your black robe stick to you, over the screams of your shared victims, that all of it hits you.

It all comes crashing in, you thought he was the only one with a crush, with deeper feelings, that is not the case. You’ve come to realize that you have feelings for him too, deep and intense, scary and all consuming feelings, you care about Mickey and more than as a friend, a fellow killer, a partner in crime. You like him. Old memories flow through your mind now tinged differently, a highlight reel of neon recollection, synapses sparking, forcing you back, dragging you along to really look at those moments in the new light and context of your now fully exposed feelings. Raw and wriggling and out in the open air for you to contend with, screaming for acceptance and to be dealt with in some fucking fashion.

You had liked him for a long while and were far too stubborn and stupid to realize it. And you can’t ignore it any longer.

Snapped back into the moment you are staring. His strong gloved hands around the bitch’s throat, you can see the power he has, the way his arms strain from the effort, you can’t look away. 

Once it was over, once they are both dead, you and he had to separate, and it made your mind run. You were so nervous, you trusted him completely now.

You knew Mickey was more than capable, but still, the thought of him actually being caught, you don’t know how you’d handle it. The sudden change steals your breath, you feel crushed by your new feelings, the unexpected care you feel for him.

The emotions run high during a kill night on the best of times, but the rough and rocky start, the joined act of killing, the fact the police presence as stepped up, it all mixes together. You were worried, very fucking worried, and that makes you terrified. 

When you come back to the meeting point, he is already there, his mask is taken off, and you hastily remove your own. Staring across the space at each other, heavy breathing, and the look in his eyes upon meetings yours, he knows. He knows you feel differently now, and it can be felt in the air. You stride forward first as you exhale out, “Thank fuck you’re okay-”

As soon as you are close enough Mickey’s hands are on the sides of your face, pulling you to him and his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing you up in him, preventing you from speaking, stealing all words, you return his affection hastily, clumsily and with a moan of relief. Even during all your hate fucking, it wasn’t like this. There were no presses of your mouth to his, the only times your mouths were used were to bite, cause pain, or on occasion give each other some truly rough but brutal oral sex. 

You are greedy, need to make up for lost time. You kiss him hard, want to make him as breathless as you are, more than the chase made him. You and he end up on the couch in his place. Costumes are long forgotten on the floor. His hands wander, touch you all over, help pull clothes away and aside, “I’ve been thinking about this so fucking much.”

A laugh slips out as you straddle him, helping him out of his shirt and throwing it aside, “Yeah Mickey?”

He takes in the view of you in just your pants and bra perched on his thighs, his hands run up your sides, fingers press over an already flowering bruise left from when one of your murder victims kneed you in the ribs. You hiss slightly, a sharp intake of air from the stab of pain, you retaliate, fingers in his hair, you thread, twist and pull. He gasps, smile widens, and he nods as much as you allow, “Yeah, been thinking about you just like this.” 

“Just like this?” You grind on his lap, bare down on his clothed erection, short muted sounds of pleasure leave you both as you lose yourselves in the action, the friction before he manages to get out, “Almost, there are no clothes in the way, and I am buried deep again in that sweet fucking cun-”

You pull even harder and his sentence breaks off with a groan as you prompt him. “Stop talking and start doing.” 

He was losing it. Normally whenever he hooked up with people he was sure, in total control, but you got the drop on him. He should know better, especially after all the previous very violent hook-ups. 

At first, he was on top, or rather, he was trying to be, but all of a sudden a leg was around his hip and hands were on his broad chest pushing him until he fell onto his ass, back propped up on the arm rest of the couch. You settle into his lap quickly, straddling him and then lowering yourself, taking him deep, to the hilt, before he could protest. The moan leaves him on an exhalation at feeling how soaked and hot you are. His hands are on your hips, and he rocks up into you once before your hands are in his hair once more. Fingers thread anew, wrap around and twist before pulling, it makes his eyes shoot open, a harsh inhale from the pain, brows knitted together in confusion when you tell him firmly, "Stay fucking still. This is for me right now, not you."

He is shocked, stunned, your tone so harsh, leaving no room for argument, and you start to move, hips rise and fall as you ride him for all he's worth.

You look fucking stunning, gorgeous, and you feel even better. 

He didn’t know he could be so into this, but he thinks it is because it’s you. He has seen you kill, seen how capable and powerful you are, he is so fucking into you, feels so deeply for you, he thinks you could carve your name into his flesh and he’d beg for more. The praise tumbles out between groan and gasps, timed with the falls and of your hips, the rolls of your body, and it makes you laugh breathy, “You are really into this.” 

“Been a, fuck, while.” He confesses, and you slow your hips, “Mickey, have you kept it in your pants? Stopped fucking half the student body?”

You knew he was seeing other people in between your fucking for a while, but when you and he stopped, did he not get his fill elsewhere? He shrugs, tries to seem unbothered, but it’s hard when his hands are gripping your hips so tightly, browns pinched together, you clench on him and his head is thrown back against the arm rest of the couch. Sweat is down his temple, tendons in his throat as he swallows thickly, “Been busy.”

It is all he can force out. This is serious. Mickey the slut stopped screwing anyone else because he was crushing on you so severely. He did really like you, holy shit. Not an act at all, he was so consumed with you that fucking other people wasn’t something he wanted. 

The emotion radiating off him is filling you, bleeding back into you, and you let it take you without trying to show it too heavily. You fucking care about him, you really fucking do. 

Your hand below your waist, quick fingers bring you to your peak twice in short succession as you ride him before he finds his own high. The first time is frantic, needy, more about getting it out of your systems after so long without. It is undeniably satisfying and thoroughly enjoyable. 

The next time happens that same night. With reheated Chinese and in his bed. You talked about it all, how the kill that night went and in the process worked yourself up once more and made the shower you shared after your time on the couch utterly pointless from how sweaty you got again. 

After that night, you were together. You and he often fucked, maybe more than you should, but you just could not get enough. You’d been so busy that you hadn’t really fucked anyone other than him since getting here over a year ago. Times in your dorm or his, shared showers, traded oral in places that you shouldn’t like between library stacks. Once you had sex in the band pit of the theatre, your hands over his mouth and his over yours as you worked to keep quiet, him thrusting up into you, and you are slamming down on him as you worked each other over, bringing him and yourself to Earth shattering pleasure. 

Both of you kept it more hush, hush, but another secret just added to it. You didn’t run from your feelings, nor did you attempt to hide how into him, you were. The dates squeezed in everywhere you could also try to make up for your stubborn bullshit earlier. Affection was, often, moments of tenderness and vulnerability in private were shared. 

There is a moment that you keep coming back to. 

Another kill. You and he are blood splattered, you had a quickie next to the body, a rushed moment of passion with you pushed over a desk. Your legs were shaking from the strength of the orgasm he fucked out of you. Over the past while you’d gotten much more comfortable with him taking control, it wasn’t a fight for dominance, it was shared responsibility that you give into as often as he does. His cum was leaking out into your panties that you had just pulled back into place. You were heaving, body slick, and resting for a moment when he comes around the desk. His mask is pulled up, and he leans down, gloved hands come to your face, one hand holds the knife in his leather clad grip, the other holds your cheek. You feel the knife handle against the opposite side, and he moves in, he kisses your forehead half-in-half-out of his killer garb, and you melt. You smile up at him and he returns it. 

The lies and secrecy shouldn’t turn you on like this. Lying to Sidney and everyone else, the high you are both on from so far getting away with it is immense. You and he are too perfect of a fit.

It’s the day of. You and he are about to head out when the urge strikes. “Hey-��� Your hand quickly reached out and grabs his wrist, pulling him back from the door, so he was stood facing you again. His hand dropped to your waist, and he smiled down at you, that stupid damn devastating smile you used to hate that you now couldn’t see yourself living without, “- before we do this, there’s something I wanna tell you. Just in case.” 

He noticed you looked almost nervous, weight shifting from one foot to the other, he had never seen this emotion on your face before, and he knew exactly what was coming before you took a deep, unsteady breath and opened your mouth to speak again. “I lo-”

“Don’t.” He said quickly, eyes wide, raising his hand to place it over your mouth, an action you had both done to each other God knows how many times in a much different context. “Save it. Tell me after we’ve won, okay?”

You rolled your eyes slightly, prying his fingers away from your mouth. “God, you’re such an overdramatic dork, Mickey. Okay.”

It was stupid. You shouldn’t have listened to him. You should have said it.

You and he and Nancy were in the theatre with Sidney. The monologue was underway, big speeches, reveals, shock and awe. You’d been watching from afar, waiting for your cue to come in, when it happens all too quickly. Sidney made Nancy so angry so fast, unable to control herself, and she points the gun and with a simple move of her finger, the trigger is pulled and all of a fucking sudden just like that night your world is coming crashing in. He wasn’t expecting it, the bullet holes in his chest pour blood out rapidly. 

You are frozen in place. Rooted to the spot. You watch as his body falls. Here then gone. Stole from you in a single moment, no time to react, nothing to do, no time to process either. He was ripped from you, and it takes a moment for everything to come back into focus. Sidney and Nancy are struggling, and you find the strength. 

You move. 

The weapon in your hand is used on Sidney, not the way you’d intended to, the butt of your own gun is smacked full force on the back of her head. You knock her out and let her fall to the stage. You are left standing there with Nancy, who is wondering what you are doing. You are holding up the gun, pointing it straight at her, questioning her in the same way, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

“Why are you pointing that at me?” She asked in seeming disbelief, and you scoff, “Why do you think?! I heard you! I heard what you said, I watched you shoot Mickey, I know you want me dead next, right? Clean up the loose ends?”

You spit it at her with vitriol before you do your best impression of her annoying voice during her speech to Sidney, “There was a big scuffle, and you-” your foot kicking Sidney’s boot for emphasis, gesturing down to her with your other hand, “-shoot Mickey-”

Saying it makes you sob. Tears start to stain your cheeks, “I cannot believe you! Bringing us here, making us do your dirty work, and you were planning on killing us the whole fucking time!” 

“What, did you really think that he’d get away with it? His big plan about blaming the movies? What jury would believe that-” She shouts, and you stomp your foot, “Shut the fuck up, that isn’t the point!” You weren’t going to tolerate her speaking ill of him, not while he is still bleeding out in the band pit, you kept talking, “You double-crossed us!”

Your gun moves down, and you shoot, getting her in the knee. She crumples under the weight of her own body. She is on the ground, and she is the one sobbing in short order. You make your way to her, you step onto her busted knee, grinding your boot down into it and revelling in her anguished screams. Blood gushes and you still are not satisfied. You sink down, you lay into her. First the gun across her face, teeth are knocked out, displaced and rattle as they roll across the wooden stage. 

You hit her again and again, next the gun is dropped, your hand takes over, punching her, nose breaks, cartilage cracks, bones snap, she is coughing and wheezing and weak. Your knife is removed from the holster stored in your boot, and you hold it to her throat, “You are such a stupid fucking bitch.”

She was delirious, and you slammed her head against the stage, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Her eyes are unfocused, but they are on you, “This is your fault. You are going to die, but you didn’t have to. You killed him first, and now I’m gonna kill you.”

The response is weak from her dry cracked lips, “Why?”

“Why?” You asked, a bitter laugh, you hold the knife closer to her throat, “Dumb cunt wants to know why? Sure, I can tell you.” 

A deep inhale before you say, “You brought me here under false pretenses, made me work with one of the most annoying and insufferable people I have ever met in my life, forced me to be around him and in the process made me realize that…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it, but you instead say, “-That I care about him. That I needed someone else who could truly understand me on this level, who cared, who showed me how I deserved to be fucking treated and then, you just…You kill him, snuff him out, like he was nothing!”

You feel the tears falling again, “After all we’ve done to make your fucked up dream of a revenge plot come true, and you expect me to just lie down and take it when you kill him?!”

You can’t see her properly, not through how watery your eyes were. A steadying breath before you say, “And the way you did it. With a gun? It is insulting! Where is the intimacy? The care? The artistry, if he had to die by murder, he deserved better! Do you care about the art form at all?!”

You are tired of her, the anger and sadness had been bubbling up, it all comes to a head and bursts, the knife slices through her throat, she is choking on her blood when you tell her, “I’m not playing along, I’m not doing your stupid plot, not anymore. I’m rewriting it, Sidney’s gonna live.”

You don’t stop there. The knife is forced into her over and over. By the time you are done, her stupid white unflattering white suit is stained completely red. 

Getting up from the complete mess, you look over your shoulder, Sidney is still passed out. This is your chance to run, but you can’t. Not yet.

Your steps are tentative, your knees hurt from how long you were on them while hunched over Nancy’s body while you were killing her. Your hands shake, and you peek over the edge of the stage and see him down there, amongst upturned band chairs, and your breath is stolen. You and he hooked up down there weeks prior, and now he was down there, looking wrong, totally fucking wrong. He looks lonely, and you hate that, you move quickly, one hand on the edge of the stage, and you jump down, it hurts your ankles from the height, you don’t care. 

You stay there with him. You cling to him, you are reminded of that conversation, your least favourite. Dead weight. Quickly going cold, lifeless eyes staring up, past you, to some point on the ceiling, unseeing. You let yourself cry. You want to say it, tell him the depth of your feeling want to force the words out, you want to tell him you love him, but now it doesn’t feel right at all. He should have been able to hear those words from you while he was alive, while you still had a shot at a future together, whatever it would have looked like.You let yourself say this at the very least. 

“You were right…” You sniff, you wipe at your cheeks and say, “The time we had was short but fuck. You were so good to me. I should have let you be good to me sooner. I should have been better to you, too.” The next words sit heavy on your tongue, no matter how much you want to they are left unsaid, and you make yourself leave him. 

Before you do, there is one thing that feels necessary, like you have to. Hands cradle his face, one hand still holding the knife, and you lean down, you press a blood stained kiss to his forehead, near his hairline just like he did to you before. A mirror of that previous act of tenderness on a scarlet tinged afternoon but so much sadder because it was the last moment like this you’d ever have with him and again still, it was totally wrong. He can’t feel it, because he’s dead.

You get up and with one last forlorn look to him, you run. 

Sidney wakes up unscathed but dazed, Mickey dead and Nancy too. You hadn’t revealed yourself, she hadn’t seen you, Nancy and Mickey hadn’t made mention of you, you’d been wearing gloves and there was none of your blood or DNA at the finale’ site, so you got away with it. They think the last person is still at large, but they have no clue who. 

Your sadness is understandable, your real grief is able to be spread around, it is believable that it is for Hallie and Derek and everyone else but Mickey on the surface. You and Sidney drift apart. You tell her it’s too hard and she more than understands, she was initially suspicious at first, but you were too good an actor, your alibis too well planned and airtight. 

The unmarked account that your tuition came out of was still full. You intend to transfer to a different college next semester. You can’t stay here, the idea of graduating from here without Mickey is horrible. You need a new state, a new school, a fresh chance to try and attempt to move on. It’s after winter break at that new school that you meet. 

The events happened over a year ago, and you were still not doing good. Still sad, you wonder how you can ever process this pain, this total loss, no way can you talk about it, no way another person could ever understand. 

Until that is one fateful day, you get a knock at your apartment door. You answer it and standing in front of you is a ghost, one person who you thought, just like everyone else, was dead, and maybe, perhaps, the only one who can relate to you. 

Brows furrowed and gripping the door, so your legs won’t buckle, you asked nervously, in total shock and disbelief, “Stu Macher?”

He grinned with a point to himself, “That’s me. Can I come in?”

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Daniel Villarreal at LGBTQ Nation:

The Republican National Committee (RNC) has adopted former President Donald Trump’s platform for the Republican Party. The new platform removes the party’s opposition to same-sex marriage — though conservatives have signaled that they’d like to overturn it — and also "softens" conservative opposition to abortion and in vitro fertilization (IVF), two issues that Republicans worry could hurt them in the November election. The platform’s anti-transgender goals, numbered 16 and 17 among its 20 goals, are stated thus: “Cut federal funding for any school pushing critical race theory, radical gender ideology, and other inappropriate racial, sexual, or political content on our children,” and “Keep men out of women’s sports.” Chapter 9, Section 5 of the platform promises to “end Left-wing gender insanity,” stating, “We will keep men out of women’s sports, ban Taxpayer funding for sex change surgeries, and stop Taxpayer-funded Schools from promoting gender transition, reverse Biden’s radical rewrite of Title IX Education Regulations, and restore protections for women and girls.”

[...] The platform also echoes the Republican opposition to diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) efforts in schools by promising to “expose politicized education models.” The platform also promises to “restore Parental Rights in Education”, a dog whistle for opposition to anti-racist and LGBTQ+-inclusive education. Anti-LGBTQ+ groups like Moms for Liberty and Leave Our Kids Alone have functioned under the banner of “parents’ rights.”

“We trust Parents’ Knowledge and Skills, Not CRT [critical race theory] and Gender Indoctrination,” the platform states. “Republicans will ensure children are taught fundamentals like Reading, History, Science, and Math, not Leftwing propaganda. We will defund schools that engage in inappropriate political indoctrination of our children using Federal Taxpayer Dollars.” As for higher education, the platform promises to “fire Radical Left accreditors … restore Due Process protections, and pursue Civil Rights cases against Schools that discriminate.” The line about accreditors may refer to the College Board, an organization that gives high school students a chance to pre-earn college credits through Advanced Placement (AP) tests. Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis (R) publicly criticized the board last year and tried to get it to drop AP test questions on racial justice movements and queer theory — he failed. The platform repeatedly mentions that Leftists should be removed from government. It also promises, “Republicans will use existing Federal Law to keep foreign Christian-hating Communists, Marxists, and Socialists out of America. Those who join our Country must love our Country. We will use extreme vetting to ensure that jihadists and jihadist sympathizers are not admitted.”

The GOP’s proposed platform contains several anti-trans items, such as keeping trans women out of women’s sports, de facto support for bans on gender-affirming care, support for forced outing policies under the guise of “parental rights”, and pushes the lie that trans people are a “danger” to women and girls.

[l0ves1ckf0ol]

NOT SO BAD | xavier thorpe x gn!reader

"rita wouldn't be wrong though."

this was requested by anon, but i accidentally posted it by accident ( a draft) but then i took down the post to write a new one (aka this one) enjoy (also theres some mentions of death so.)

"hey freak!" before xavier could even turn around and see who it was, he got shoved down to the brick floor, he would have tasted dirt if he didn't close his mouth. he sighed, standing up to look back at the jericho goons, "you think you could storm your way here? in our own homes? you're the one who makes drawings come to life right?" they flood xavier's head with taunting questions that he didn't even get to answer.

it was the dreaded day of the festival. he had a lot of stuff going on in his head, and he certainly did not want to have his fun with these normies. defeated, he continues to walk away, not wanting to deal with them right now. they kept on chasing him though, until he stops next to a certain someone.

"look will you guys just shut the fuck up and leave me alone, you won't even be eating real food right now if it weren't for our principal funding your stupid charities to a town that can't even appreciate the minority." xavier spat, fed up the dudes just looked stunned, he thought he'd shut them up but it wasn't quite the case. xavier turns around to see a normie, in which was glaring dread into their souls.

"scram." that they did.

once they scrambled away, xavier only stared at the person. they look towards xavier and sighed, "sorry. the welcome comittee isn't as welcoming as it is intended." they apologized. xavier hummed, as his eyes landed on the tray of bread samples you were selling by a bakery.

"hey, can i have one? long day." he asks and they nodded in response. he takes a piece of cheese bread and began to eat.

xavier begins to wonder why he hasn't seen you, in the previous trips to jericho. "you new here?" he asked "ancestors lived here for years, i just went insane and managed to run away. and by insane i meant that an outcast friend of mine was killed." you told him, xavier sighed "did you kill that friend?"

you laughed hysterically, he then grew concerned of your behavior. "no, no, i didn't. someone killed her, no one in this town would just admit it. it's kept on the down low since then." you replied gravely. "when was this?" he questions you, you could sense his own curiosity "she didn't even make it until school starts to actually go to your school, she stayed at home mostly, it was around june when she got killed."

xavier hummed, never hearing of such a thing. it really was well hidden, if not, the normie was lying.

"your name?" xavier looked at them and forced a smile "xavier." you nodded, "y/n."

"i'm visiting her later, well by later i mean 30 minutes from now, my shift ends from there. wanna meet up there?" xavier scoffed, "typical setting to beat an outcast up, huh?" you rolled your eyes, "look mr. trust issues, i know you're on edge and shit and it's more than fine if you wouldn't come. as much as i hate to say this, you're unattracting customers." you grit your teeth, facing the groups of people staring at the both of you. xavier then walks away, contemplating whether or not would he want to meet up a normie.

he looks back, seeing customers now swarning the normie with the tray of bread, seeing you smile and attend to them made his heart go soft for a moment.

at that moment, he swerved his direction to the cemetery instead of weathervane.

-

when he arrived, you were following right behind him. holding a plastic bag of chips and scented candles. "what are the chips for?" he asks you as you stomped on orange autumn leaves, on your way to your friend's grave, passing by mossy and old ones, xavier was still doubtful of his decision, the cemetery was inclosed and no one would even hear him scream for help. "rita hates flowers, she likes junk food and scented candles so i bought some." you told him as you finally slowed down to a less flithy gravestone. you set down a bag of lays chips on the stone and opened one for yourself, setting down the candles as well. xavier crossed his arms as he read the engravings:

rita lupin

born: 2006 died: 2021

it was glad to know that his possible normie friend wasn't an asshole after all. he has never been to a funeral before, let alone even visited a grave, this was his first time and he definitely didn't expect some smiles from you as you stare down at the grave.

"hey rita, this is xavier. he was going to be your classmate y'know? anyway what are you- a werewolf or.."

"i'm just telekinetic."

he did not expect a normie to be talking to a grave.

you looked at the sky, closing your eyes and smiled. "rita would find you cute." you chuckle, he raises an eyebrow, stifiling a giggle "wow, rita is nice." he mutters. you knelt down and grab a lighter from you back pocket and leaned the candles on the stone, lighting up each one "i mean rita is not wrong though" you wink at him and he rolls his eyes with a wry chuckle. now it was just plain silence, the wind brushing past them, leaves occasionally floating along with it.

"do you ever cry, whenever you... y'know, visit her?" he asked you. "who wouldn't? she's the best werewolf i met." you replied, now facing him ever since you both arrived here. "you've never visited a grave before?" you asked. he shook his head, "nope." you nod in response. "to relieve you right now, sorry for y'know whatever normies fo to you and your peers. i also actually never knew you all existed until.." you trail off. the silence grew louder, xavier raised an eyebrow.

"until?"

"until ol' rita here." you point towards her with a sigh. xavier examines you, you're glassy eyes and your longing gaze, you seemed genuine. he didn't know why would you invite an outcast like him to visit your dead friend, or why did he even agree.

xavier silently admits he was wrong about this normie. maybe they were the exception, they weren't that bad after all.

[akariamai]

Familiar [Part 1]

Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x immortal!reader

Word Count: 1238

You watched the world you’d always known become public knowledge. It was laughable in which the US government feeds their citizens lies, lies that the enhanced individuals are a new construct, lies that they only started to appear in the age of heroes. Enhanced individuals have always existed. They always walked among the non enhanced. The only difference is more dangers have bubbled onto the surface and now they’re trying to save face.

Steve Rogers might’ve been the world’s first superhero but he was not the first enhanced individual. He was made into one and celebrated for it. Acting as a poster boy for the US government to recruit young men with a romanticized version of war. Those who were born enhanced were often murdered, caught, or experimented on. The history of the lost to never see a glimpse of light.

You had known Steve once upon a time. Your paths crossed whenever you found yourself in New York. You heard him getting beat up in the alley next to the theater being saved by his friend, Bucky Barnes. It was a rather lackluster moment and you had no idea how important to history they both would become. He was but a boy back then, wanting to be a hero but limited by his body. 

Throughout years of torture and experiments by the government, you readily escaped and made a life for yourself. Hidden away from the government and living in isolation. At times, you would gather enough courage to leave your safe haven and explore the ever changing world around you.

Money makes the world go round and round. At least, that’s what those in control want the population to comprehend and accept. You had seen the value of money diminish and the cost of necessities increase unjustifiably. The concept itself is of greed as no person should have to justify their worth with the amount of cash in your bank. You had lived through the rise and fall of empires, the extinction of a plethora of animals and insects, and witnessed the destruction in the wake of greed for money.

As money had never been an issue for you, you’d donate religiously to charities in feeding and sheltering the homeless in various parts of the world, created multiple scholarships for students to get free-rides to their dream schools, funded research centers and other organizations. You had far too much money for just an individual.

Once you explored the world for what it had to offer, you became bored. Traveling was once exciting but the thrill dissipated. You now occupy your time reading books, mindlessly scrolling on social media, watching television, and other niche hobbies. You had so much time to do everything you’d ever wanted and search for the answers to questions that remained unanswered.

You found yourself in a decent routine to keep yourself from going insane. It might’ve been considered boring to the average person but you had done so much in your life, any downtime was welcomed with open arms and a bottle of whiskey.

“Do you think they’re here?” Hushed voices whispered in the distance. The forest creatures that usually surround your home remain quiet, not knowing what to think about the strangers walking through their forest. They had become familiar to you but were still wary of humans.

“Well-kept house in the middle of nowhere and Red Wing picking up one heat signature would suggest so.” It was another voice. A voice you knew you heard before. It was a voice from the TV. You’d realized the voice belonged to Sam Wilson, an apparent pararescue who fought with the Avengers to save the world. You didn’t know if he was considered to be an Avenger though. After the whole debacle with the Sokovia Accords, the breaking up of the Avengers, and the fight with Thanos, the question of the status of the group has been unclear.

“You’d think they know we’re here?” The voices became louder as they inched closer to her safe haven. You wanted them out. To leave you alone with your thoughts. You didn’t want strangers to mess up what you had built for yourself. They needed to leave.

You recognized the other voice as well. It belonged to an old acquaintance. He flirted with you after he saved his friend, Steve, from being beaten in an alleyway. It seemed like such a natural occurrence but hearing him now was a bit surreal. He probably wouldn’t recognize you after all he’s been through. You remember when he was falsely blamed for the bombing of the Vienna Bombing. Sloppy work for someone’s who’s identity remained hidden for so long, only whispers of the nickname Hydra had given him. Idiots. You thought bitterly. Bucky was such a kind man turned into a mindless weapon. You wished he would have lived a long and beautiful life without the violence or suffering that he so rightfully deserves.

He sighed, annoyed by the questions, “Yes. They’re probably aware of our presence. [Reader] we know you're in there. We just want to talk.” You didn’t listen. You couldn’t move. No one was supposed to know your name. You’d messed up sometime during the rise of technology, you assumed. It was easier to go under the radar before technology developed and expanded to the point where your face could be caught on camera. 

Your mind began to race as they made it to your porch and knocked gently. You couldn’t outrun a supersoldier. Your powers only consisted of immortality which you found to be rather lonely and painful. You slowly crept to the door, your arm uncontrollably shaking as you reached to open it. You were opening the door of uncertainty and allowing the outside world to enter. “What do you want?” It was the question that echoed underneath your breath.

Sam gave you a gentle simple, “I’m Sam Wilson and this is my associate Bucky Barnes.” He gestured to his companion. “We don’t mean to intrude but we have a couple of questions only you would be able to answer.” Bucky stared long and hard at your face. His eyebrows scrunching together as he tried to pinpoint why you were so familiar. “We have evidence to suggest that the soldier serum was recreated. Since you have been alive for a decent amount of time, have you heard of anything that’ll be able to help us?”

Of course you had heard of multiple instances of scientists, from all around the world, desperately searching for the answer to recreate the super soldier serum. Many had failed leaving a trail of dead bodies of unwilling victims.

“You should check with your own government.” You bluntly replied. The American government had tried to keep the experiments of their own soldiers a secret but people talk. Guilt overcomes silence. While the media caught smoke of what happened behind closed doors, drunken secrets were spilled for all to listen and you listened. “I know they tried… relentlessly.”

“You look familiar.” Bucky’s voice rang, catching the attention of both Sam and you. 

Sam gave him a questioning look before observing your reaction. It was neutral. No confusion or alarm emerged in your facial expression. You look straight into Bucky’s eyes, seeing the window of his broken soul trying to mend itself piece by piece, “I’m pretty sure we've never met.” The lie slipped so smoothly that neither of them caught it.

Masterlist

[sativapreroll]

!urgent sos/mutual aid request plz boost!

my apartment has a terrible mold problem and my landlords won’t do anything about it!!! ive reported it several times and my health and belongings have now been compromised by mold, all they did was paint over it this is insane!!!

i genuinely do not have any means to replace these items/find legal aid or let alone move. i am having terrible respiratory issues as a result of black mold exposure, i am afraid for my health and safety in my own home!! my doctor is saying it’ll take weeks for my breathing to be normal again!! i am trying everything in my power to get this fixed but it’s not looking likely

please boost and dono if possible i need to get out of here or raise funds to sue these ppl i am literally dying in this apartment

including pictures in read more please help me im so scared

venmo: @ wondy

cashapp: $wondy

paypal.me/wondys

here’s a link to my Twitter thread about this situation as well with more information

[starlightyellow]

Your "faves" should be more uncomfortable being complacent in/ supporting a genocide than people confronting them about it.

First and foremost, Free Palestine, The Democratic Republic of Congo, Yemen, Sudan, and Tigray.

You can't genuinely want liberation if you are more concerned abt your fave celebs being "uncomfortable." The reason for quotations is because there is no real uncomfortably for them. So what that they had to step out of their luxury cars and get the bottom of their designer shoes dirty to walk a few blocks? So what that they had people shouting about a genocide they are actively supporting or being complacent in?

They have no issue using their platforms to advertise Israeli products, content, or vacations funded by Pro- Israeli corporations. There are people experiencing famine, bombings, assault and harassment from the Israeli occupation. There were enough people in that room alone at the Oscars to spark up a genuine uproar, something that could be denied or looked away from.

Is it not dystopian to you that these people can put on thousand if not millon dollar outfits to enjoy top-of-the-line food and drink while there are breastfeeding mothers who can't provide enough nourishment for themselves to feed their children? Does it not bother you that while most of our country suffers from the insane inflation crisis, housing crisis, police brutality, and a COVID issue that people can't seem to grasp the severity of, we get the Oscars being peddled by any major outlet instead things that actually matter? WAKE UP.

These people get to go home to houses and resources that people are being killed for. The least they could do(Especially if they reside within a white male able body), is to stand up and use their voices when the only consequence would have been the stifling silence that comes with sitting with the vile choices they've made by being followers.

During this time please listen and follow the voices of the oppressed during this time. Now more than ever, information has to come from the source as well as the call to action. Build community in your neighborhoods, and don't stop talking about the state of our world. There are lives that depend on it as well as ours.

[thrawns-babygirl]

Here’s a Crosshair request for you if you’d like!

I’m a sucker for the undercover-at-a-gala trope so what if you’re a Jedi shadow (like Quinlan Vos) who works with the Bad Batch once and awhile, and you’re in an established relationship with Crosshair. There’s a separatist gala you need to infiltrate and Crosshair goes as your date. While you two are sneaking around the venue, you have to hide in the nearest room that turns out to be a bedroom and Crosshair has ideas 😏 thank you! Love your writing!!

ANON!!! I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!! I have literally no idea why i struggled with this ask for what? over a month??? I must have deleted a combined like 3k words for this over the time i was trying to write it. But i would not let it beat me, i had to finish this ask for u for waiting so patiently.

also its like, a bingo card of every trope for this trope so i apologies for how uninspired this is lmao

Side note, I am very sick at the moment and on a lot of painkillers, so like, I proof read this but please let me know of any glaring issues or mistakes because I'm not of this world currently.

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Unprotected PiV, Creampie, Clothed Sex Word Count: 1700+

Masterlist

Walking through the elegant halls of a senator’s estate on Scipio you can’t help but gawk at the splendour of it all. The insane amount of money one must have to own a home like this simply baffles you as you walk arm in arm with your date for the night through the ornate halls.

Some leaked intel let the republic know that some unscrupulous things were to go down tonight within these halls, and you don’t doubt the accuracy of that information given the amount of high ranking members of the Banking Clan you have seen engaging in hushed conversations in hidden alcoves of the grandiose estate.

Your partner turns to look down at you and you can’t help but blush under his gaze. Crosshair was always a handsome man, but seeing him clad entirely in a fine, black suit was a whole new level of desirable. A service droid passes you, stopping long enough for the two of you to grab a flute of what appeared to be more bubbles than liquid before continuing on its way through the winding halls of the building.

“You look absolutely ravishing tonight mesh’la” Crosshair whispers, breath fanning over your ear as you take a sip of your no doubt pricey beverage. You couldn’t find it in you to disagree with him, black silks hugged your frame, accentuating your figure in all the best ways, something your jedi robes were absolutely not designed for. While you did feel naked without your lightsaber, you understood the necessity of remaining entirely undetectable. You smile up at him, noting the make-up that has covered his trademark tattoo, his slicked back hair and absolutely dazzling smile.

When the moment called for it, Crosshair could reluctantly play the part of suave, chatty businessperson which honestly surprised you at first. He was absolutely the least talkative member of the squad by a mile, all short replies and clipped words, so when this mission was assigned to the Batch you were shocked that they had all immediately turned their attention to Crosshair.

“He’s the most arrogant, thus will fit in perfectly with the typical crowd at one of these types of functions” Tech had said, earning himself a smack on the back of the head from the Sniper, “among other reasons, Hunter looks too much like a regular clone, I am needed to extrapolate the data that you acquire and Wrecker is… Wrecker” Tech adjusts his goggles before continuing “It would also look out of place for one of us to go alone, and you two already have, um, chemistry, for lack of a better term”

He wasn’t wrong about that; you and Crosshair hadn’t exactly put a label on anything yet, but everyone knew there was something there.

Finally, after a few hours of simply wandering the halls you find your target, a simply unassuming Muun that has been implicated in embezzling funds and using it to pad separatist pockets. He was speaking in hushed whispers with a human male before the man passed him a small, innocuous looking data stick before parting ways with a polite nod.

Your time to shine.

You leave Crosshair’s side, giving his hand a quick squeeze as you go, before sauntering over to the target and ‘accidently’ spilling the contents of your flute, onto his silk robes. Stuttering and apologising you begin patting him down, slipping your hand into his pocket and retrieving the data stick as he shoved you away, telling you he was going to send you the bill for getting the stains out of his clothes. “This is pure shimmersilk you know!” he yelled at you as you made your hasty exit, apologising profusely as you retreat towards where Crosshair was waiting, arms crossed as he leaned against a marble pillar, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“You got it doll?” he whispers, wrapping a long arm around your waste as he begins leading your further into the throng of people and towards the exit. “Of course” you reply, sinking further into his side. Hopefully the two of you would make it out before he even noticed it was missing.

Your hopes were dashed as you heard a panicked “Hey! Wait!” coming from behind you.

Crosshair grabs your arm, pulling you into the nearest unlocked room before softly closing and locking the door. Both of you hold your breath, listening to the sound of approaching and then thankfully retreating footsteps. It doesn’t seem like anyone saw you, but you still wait together in silence before turning the light on to look at the room you have found yourselves in for the foreseeable future.

It's a luxurious bedroom, a four-poster bed draped in magnificent silks with more pillows than anyone could possibly need adorning it. Crosshair takes his comm and a small datapad out of his pocket, reaching his hand out to you for you to pass him the datastick before plugging it into the device and comming Tech to let him know he can begin starting the transfer and telling him of your less than ideal situation at the moment. He tells you that Hunter will be there within the next standard hour for extraction but until then you just need to hang tight.

You sit down on the bed, running your hands along the silken sheets before looking back up to Crosshair. His eyes are raking over your form as he placed the datapad down on one of the bedside tables before walking over to you.

“So doll, it seems we have the better part of an hour to keep ourselves occupied…” He trails off, sitting next to you on the bed, one hand finding your thigh while the other softly pushes you back onto the plush surface. “And no one knows we’re in here” his thumb begins soothing circles into your hip as he looms above you, one hand holding himself up as he stares down at you.

“So it seems…” you smile as you use the fact that your legs are still hanging off the bed to your advantage, kicking your heels off before you shimmy further up the bed, until you’re leaning back against the mountain of pillows. Crosshair crawls up the bed after you before his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss.

“Kark doll, you look so good in this dress, it’s been so kriffing hard keeping my hands off you all night” he mumbles against your lips, calloused hands already working their way underneath your dress towards your panties. You let out a small whimper, the feeling of his rough fingers digging into your flesh making heat pool low in your belly as Crosshair begins placing languid kisses against your neck, working his way down to your collarbone before sucking dark marks into your skin.

The chirping from his comm startles both of you, making you jump before Crosshair angrily grabs the device “What do you want Tech?” he growls out. “I just thought that you would want to know that Hunter will be arriving earlier than expected and to be ready for extraction in the next 30 standard minutes” Tech replies, obviously somewhat irate, not enjoying the tone that his brother is giving him. “Understood” Crosshair replies, turning off the device and throwing it onto the bed before returning his attention back to you.

“Looks like we will have to make this quicker than I wanted, but don’t worry princess, I’ll worship you like you deserve once we get back to base” his fingers begin toying with you over the fabric of your panties while his lips busy themselves against yours once again. His mouth swallows every sound that you make as his skilful fingers rub tight circles against your clit, already bringing you close to the edge with practiced ease.

Your panties are soaked at this point, his assault on your senses overwhelming you as you try to stifle your sounds as not to alert anyone who could potentially be loitering outside the door. His hand leaves you momentarily as he fumbles with the fastenings on his pants, opening them just far enough to free his weeping length.

Pulling your panties to the side, he sinks into you, letting out a breathy groan as he slides into your heat in a single motion. Resting his weight entirely on one hand he brings his other to cover your mouth as he begins an absolutely brutal pace, the layers of your clothing helping to muffle the sounds of him relentlessly driving into you.

You silently thank him for covering your mouth, the way he’s fucking into you would have you screaming for him. You wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him closer to you, trying to get him to go deeper and deeper with every thrust. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he hits that spot inside you with the head of his cock with every thrust, turning you into a mess with every drag of his hard length through your slick folds.

Lowering his head you can feel his breath fanning over your ear as he whispers filth into your ear “so tight for me kriff… I can feel you choking my cock you’re so close aren’t you?” you nod, staring up at him with wide eyes. He angles his hips, grinding down onto your clit with every thrust as he loses his rhythm, chasing his own release as he feels your walls fluttering around him. “cum for me doll” his whispers have an almost pleading nature to them, like he’s holding himself back from the edge waiting to tumble over the peak with you. A few more deep thrusts pull your orgasm from you, flooding your nerves as pleasure washes over you, causing your walls to clench around him. With a strangled groan against your neck he follows you over the edge, pumping ropes of hot cum inside of you, hips stuttering as his cock throbs.

You’re lying on the bed, Crosshair still sheathed inside you as his comm chirps again “Oh for the love of… Yes?” he slips out of you, tucking himself away as he talks, apparently Hunter is only five standard minutes away so you adjust your panties and swiftly put your heels back on.

Crosshair places a kiss to your temple before you make your escape.

@where-is-my-mind-tho @starborncyare @antishadow2021 @healingskywalker @crosshairlovebot

[damonrutherford]

Tales of the insanely wealthy and alone...

He got like this sometimes when the clock rolled over to the early morning hours and the high of his evening wore off. When there were no more skirts to chase and no amount of liquor in the world could drown out the dull roar in the back of his head. Hardly meant he wouldn't try to find another outlet though.

So there he sat on the otherwise dusty floor of his mother's tomb–– a vague mental note made to get someone in here to clean more often than the current cadence. A ridiculous luxury considering the subject, but if Andrew insisted that they weren't going to be buried in the ground like everyone else, then the least Damon could do was spruce the place up. Flowers, too. He'd get more of those.

Then, as he did in childhood, Damon rattled off about his day and spared absolutely no details. An odd sight he imagined, speaking so candidly to the walls of this crypt, but if she were still around, Cerys would encourage it. In fact, she'd probably be a bit hurt if he left anything out. Or at least this was how he preferred to think of his mother, despite the three decades since her passing somewhat muddying his memories.

Didn't all kids elevate their mother to a version of sainthood after losing her so young? At least in his case, she actually had been one.

In the middle of recounting his idea for investing in a tech driven hedge fund, the familiar ping of a text notification drew him up short. His phone was an endless abyss of unanswered messages, emails, and voicemails–– most professional, some scathing, most which remained muted to avoid inundation. Only four people had their settings converted to bypass that feature and all but one shared his last name.

It used to be five.

The reminder hit him unexpectedly when he read over Lara's brief response to their earlier conversation. Without thinking, he closed her text and opened his contact list, barely scrolling through the A's before the name jumped out.

On low nights, genuinely deep pits in the midnight hours, he sometimes thought about calling that number just to hear the other man's voice on the recording. Call it personal cowardice or misguided altruism (because what if Revati hadn't turned it off?), Damon could never bring himself to press the button. Not even once in the year since he received news of yet another devastating loss in his life.

Amir hadn’t deserved to go out like that. In his opinion few did, but especially him, regardless of how familial loyalty and complications drove them apart. Now the lack of closure or goodbye festered forever beneath his skin, the burgeoning what ifs would always linger; too bitter a pillow to swallow.

Another message flashed across the unlocked screen, this time a reminder from his assistant.

The Malaysian investors will be in-office soon for your scheduled conference call. 3:00 sharp. I know you're up, drink some water and be ready in 40.

Only six months on the job and already Dana managed the insurmountable feat of both organizing his entire calendar and keeping Damon somewhat in check. Maybe he would take care to not sleep with this one and ensure she actually stuck around long enough to matter, as Gideon so rightfully suggested. Or perhaps he should simply refrain from hiring beautiful women to avoid any future temptation.

Well, the plight of old dogs and all...

"Duty calls, I'm afraid. I'll have to regale my plans for world domination next time." His thumb traced over the inscription of Cerys' name. "Bye, Mum." With that, he turned and departed into the muggy cemetery air.

All at once, his formerly somber expression fell behind the mask of public charisma as he dialed his assistant's number. Since apparently she was also awake at this hour ––enough to send him a cheeky text–– it shouldn't be an issue. “Dana, love, can you send a car to the location I’m about to drop?” Morbid to share like this, but she knew precisely who was buried here. Everyone did.

Answering without apologies nor puttering for her earlier message, Dana only offered to reschedule upon reviewing the address he sent over. Which was precisely what he liked about her, respectful with enough moxie to snap him back to reality.

“No need to cancel, I wouldn’t want to keep our prospective friends waiting.”

[maxwell-grant]

Street Fighter 6: Issue #2 thoughts

Not at all a fan of this new art style especially for the women characters but I must say, I never thought Street Fighter of all franchises would make their geriatric Russian terrorist wizard villain look cute and not as an ironic thing.

Seriously though he looks WAY different than he does in-game, but I’m not complaining. I actually really like how Johann is drawn here, one of the highlights of this issue for me. The way he’s drawn here actually succeeds in making him look like he’s not a villain. He looks way more like someone you could buy as a deceiver, someone who’d trick you into giving your savings away to help poor starving children.

They scale him down hardcore from his game design in a way that would suck if this was meant to be in-game, but here? It works great. He has this breath of expression that you just don’t see in the usual villains of the series, because he is putting a lot of effort into pretending not to be one and actually succeeding! He gets sad and worried over hearing about the opposition, he reacts with convincing shock over the broadcast, he looks scared and distressed over the news reporters closing in, he even displays enough moments of genuine concern over his assistant without anyone looking. I know none of this is that groundbreaking but we never actually see fighting game villains in storylines putting in effort when it comes to this stuff, even the ones we’re supposed to buy as great deceivers or upstanding public figures. The art style really does a lot for him here.

In fact, JP in-game doesn’t act like this, he quite clearly embraces his villainy more openly in it, which means this is pointing to a neat little arc of sorts where we’re seeing Johann on the backfoot working the long game in terms of attaining power, versus in-game where he’s clearly not afraid of openly skewering and poisoning his opponents with Psycho Power and then making a point out of not crushing their heads beneath his heel when he’s through because they are that insignificant to him, and I really want to see that mask-off transition as it plays out.

Okay so for those viewers at home trying to keep track of the score so far: After last issue where Ken was almost assassinated with a car bomb in the midst of a political riot, this issue kicks off with him being framed by a terrorist hacker group of anti-capitalists dressed like plague doctors (a BANGER of a fitting design choice the more I think about it) who wish to “expose the agents of chaos to the world”, who seem to be using A.I deepfakes to frame Ken and claim he was both working with the Nayshall establishment as well as funding terrorists to manipulate the cryptocurrency market, and that they have seized these funds to be “an iron hammer, swung down upon the head of all capitalist exploiters”.

And this is part of a master plot to increase viral searches for Nayshall and the tournament, thus driving the crypto value up as well as bets related to it, which we know has to with a N.G.O oligarch and policy advisor’s personal project to secure military power and political stability for his nation through, among other things, viral popularity and weaponization of content and successfully scamming a billionaire into thoughtlessly tanking his country’s economy so he may rebuild it better than before.

...

I feel like I should clarify that Street Fighter and pretty much all fighting game have never really so much as acknowledged the word “capitalism” before, let alone made a plotline focused on it. And yeah the “anti-capitalist terrorist” is a loaded archetype to say the minimum in it’s own right, I’m certainly trying to keep expectations measured, but look, it is insane that this is happening at all, this is the franchise putting on big boy pants in regards to a storyline in a way it never really has before.

Street Fighter’s been dark enough allright, even too much, and it individually brushed past or even handled mature storylines from time and time, but it’s never remotely been this topical or even tried to be, it’s never made a conscious effort to go hard on being political, that’s just not what fighting games tend to do. Maybe they’ll botch it, maybe it’ll just be window dressing, but I’ve not been dissappointed so far and I think it’s very commendable that they’re actually giving it an effort here.

(Also calling it right now that Amnesia’s leader is JP’s assistant)

How long was this before the game? In this, Chun-Li’s still with Interpol and got promoted apparently, but in-game she’s clarified as an ex-agent. So how much time passed?

Chun-Li’s fairly boring in here visually and character-wise, I’m not happy to see her as a cop ever. I like them putting her in work clothes and putting the characters in different outfits in general, but I don’t like how generic she looks. I like her scene with Li-Fen though.

Completely forgot Li-Fen was put in SFV as a hacker prodigy because I forget most things about SFV on the regular, but I dig her being Chun’s “guy in the chair”. Some people got confused by it but I dig that Li-Fen calls Chun her older sister, that’s kind of a role Chun-Li’s played before with other characters and I like that it makes their dynamic more casual than if it was a mom - daughter kind of thing, gives them more room to bicker a little and I think it gives Li-Fen a little more independence in their dynamic.

I do like that Chun-Li clarifies she isn’t fooled one bit by the video and that she’s keeping Ken in custody for his own safety, because Ken turned into a worldwide-hunted criminal overnight and it’s the safest place for him to be on. I also like that they’re clearly not close and barely even recall meeting each other and so they don’t really talk things through, I like it because it acknowledges that these characters don’t all know or even like each other just because they’re on the same sides. Small thing I know, but the more recent games really homogenized the cast dynamics so I like anything that corrects that.

Oh man now THIS is great, Ken is so fucked. I need to talk about this guy.

This is deepfake A.I Ken, and if anything he looks way too convincing to be an A.I thing (but then again Street Fighter has enough sci-fi tech, I mean Seth was a thing years before this and so were the Illuminati shape-shifters), but putting all that aside, damn, this was kind of a revelation to me. I finally figured out why I just never liked Violent Ken as a concept and this is why: because he quite clearly should have always been THIS guy.

Violent Ken was designed as a counterpart to Evil Ryu, a Ryu who’s overtaken by the Satsui no Hadou and fully given in to his worst self, but because Ken doesn’t have the Dark Hadou, instead he’s based on the SF II film concept of Ken having been fully brainwashed by Bison’s Psycho Power. He’s not that terrible a concept or design, I think the SVC Chaos artwork is pretty cool, but he was never really worth much, not that much more interesting than if they did like, Evil Dan or Sakura (...well I guess they did do both at some point).

See, Evil Ryu as a character is not the best idea in the series by a long shot, but he works mainly because he’s Ryu designed around Akuma, which is not just cool but also works meaningfully, since Akuma was already designed to be Ryu’s darker opposite and ultimate enemy. Besides the fact that “hero becomes like their own worst enemy” is a time-tested cool idea with a lot of storytelling power and Akuma being an incredible all-timer design that is very clearly worth ripping off, Evil Ryu takes the shared traits they have, powerful martial artists who wander the world in pursuit of strong opponents to challenge them and to prove themselves the greatest among warriors, and twists Ryu into the fascimile of Akuma that he always dreaded becoming and was always in danger of becoming with or without supernatural bloodlust, changing very little about his motivation.

I’d argue Evil Ryu only really reached his potential as a character when brought back for IV, when they made him look like a monstrous and savage endgame for Ryu instead of just Ryu with a tan, and showed more thoroughly what would happen if Ryu was consumed by the Satsui. His already tattered gi is shredded beyond repair, he burns with overflowing uncontrolled power, and he is more animalistic and brutal than even Akuma because he has no control whatsoever over this power. Like Ryu, he lives for battle, he wanders the world with nothing on his back to seek out and fight the strongest warriors, but he has fully devolved into a fighting beast who fights and maims and kills wantonly, who finds no answer in the heart of battle because the heart isn’t there anymore and there’s only a volcanic gaping necrotic mark of shame and tragedy where it should have been.

Twisting Ryu to make him more like Akuma works because Akuma is Ryu’s nemesis, and because they have enough in common to have a middleground, something that Ryu cannot concede ground on (because the one time he did, he nearly killed the world’s strongest fighter with a cheap shot attack, over a fight he clearly lost). But twisting the other shotos to be more like Akuma always felt more tacked on than anything, because they just don’t have the same dynamic and motivation that Ryu has, and that’s kinda the major problem I have with Violent Ken: he’s an evil version of Ken who actually has nothing to do with Ken’s character, he’s just an imitation of Evil Ryu in Ken cosplay, and he doesn’t even get to fall in the dark side of his own accord since it’s Bison’s doing.

And so this is why I think this, this thing that shows up for like a couple of pages? This is what Evil/Violent Ken should have always looked like. A Ken who becomes the worst version of himself, who maintains his basic character and motivations but is wholly and completely stripped of humanity, isn’t going to be a fighting hobo in torn clothing and an obsession with pursuing strength, because that’s not what Ken is.

Ken is the upper class rival who has everything his rival does not, the champ who flaunts his strength and privilege and fights with flash and style, the “arrogant steward of globalized capitalism” as he’s called in the comic. Evil Ken isn’t going to be a battle berserker caked in blood and dirt, he’s going to be Dio Brando squeezed into an immaculate yuppie shitbag suit. He’s going to be the picture-perfect image of selfishness

I frankly really hope this design shows up again even past whatever else they have planned for this cover-up. I love this split-second idea of Evil Ken too much to never see it again. I really want Terrorist A.I Ken to be a thing they bring back.

[baelpenrose]

Nihilus Rex 43: "Honest" Misunderstanding

Lash and Nils fight and make up after the relationship issues they've been having. co written by @canyouhearthelight

Nils

I was heading to my meeting with Lash, to speak again for the first time in weeks. I’d showered, and I’d been sure not to screw around with the pills for a few days.  

I had been too irritable with her. She was competent, in so many ways - more so than I was. I never should have guessed she was delicate - she had shown some issues I hadn’t, when seeing the results of our handiwork when we’d gotten our first kills, but she’d rallied fast enough, gotten back on the right track. I shouldn’t have underestimated her. I was the one with something to prove - the nepobaby who’d been doing this since I was a teenager more or less just to prove that I wasn’t just my father’s son.

I allowed myself a slight smile as I thought about that. My mother had always asked why I insisted on a shitty apartment, why I insisted on working on and off as a freelance techie or a paper-writer or a tutor at a margin that would have paid my tuition had I been forced to pay it myself, then poured it into rent and given away the excess. Jessie had seen something in me, and I wanted to prove to myself I had value independent of the silver spoon I’d been born with. Lash, God knew why, wanted to partner with me…Hell, I remember my father asking about why I avoided almost all the neighborhood kids, the answer was that none of them would have ever amounted to anything without the trust funds and I desperately needed to surround myself with people I could actually tolerate. 

I shrugged. I was getting distracted. I always did the first few days I went clean after a long drag on stims. That was probably a thing I should have talked to the therapist about, but my therapist had been too busy questioning my weird combination of Catholic guilt, desperation to prove myself, broad-strokes self-hatred and far-left anti-authoritarianism. 

The result was a thoroughly useless lack of diagnosis, a statement that she hadn’t felt fully qualified to give me a clear diagnosis, and a question that had rattled around in my brain for years. Had I escaped a diagnosis for a stigmatized mental illness because I was rich, white and erudite that I otherwise should have absolutely been treated for, or were most of those diagnoses fundamentally bullshit that existed to pathologize people who saw the issues with society? Contrary to what my father and several others seemed to believe, I actually was open to the former possibility; I was very aware of the possibility that I was, indeed, cuckoo for cocoa puffs insane, I just wasn’t convinced I was wrong. 

I drove to the cafe where I had agreed to meet Lash. I already had the thing with Weasel well underway, and I was hoping that Agent Watson would take the bait and fuck off once Weasel bit it - but if she didn’t we’d have to get creative. Come on, Fibbies, show up, deal with Weasel, and then let him bite it and then dig…

“Hey, Lash.” I sat down with her, as I usually did. “How’ve things been since…our fight?” 

It was a fight, right? We could call it that, publicly, at least. 

“I take it you’re over whatever you were pissy at me about?”

Apparently I was wrong.

“Pissy is not…” No, think. Somewhere in my brain I remembered my mother giving me advice regarding how to talk to Jessie. When it came to women and emotions, don’t ever tell them that they’re overreacting or that the way you handled a situation was fine or not obnoxious. I had a feeling that this should be an exception, but I also had a feeling my father would agree and my mother would tell me exceptions were not a thing, and for that reason alone I decided to ignore my gut. 

“Pissy,” I said, starting again, “is not how I intended, but I apologize. Yes, I’m over it. I wanted to get in contact fast for the sake of moving our project forward and thought something was more time sensitive than it was.” 

“You were upset with me because children died and I needed to save some. So yes.” She inhaled loudly. “You were, at a minimum, pissy. BY THE WAY” she whisper-shouted, “I down-graded it to ‘pissy’ because Ayanti was working with both of us. Otherwise I would have assumed you were fomenting insurrection with your pet gun nut.”

For fuck’s sake mom, I know you told me never to tell a date to calm down but what about when she’s shouting confidential information? Uh…fuck it face tank the bad. Ask for volume control, maybe? “Lash, your concerns are valid and understood, but also, keep your voice down we are in public.” I took a breath. “Also, pet? I trust our hunting enthusiast ‘friend’ as far as I can throw him. I fully expect we’re going to find some lovely camp knife in our collective back as soon as he’s able. Doing unto him first is going to be one of the steps of this little project.” 

“Doing him in how,” she hissed, somehow less reassuring than when she was semi-yelling. “How are we going to ‘do in’ your pet arms dealer? Mister ‘oh, get the Black Panthers and the KKK to agree?’.”

“Lash, why were we meeting up if you weren’t ready to…arms dealer?” I trailed off. “Hey…we’re gonna go to the funny not-at-all-low-budget-cyberpunk-hacker-layer now. We need to talk about the shit you just said.”

“What is there to talk about?” she spat. “You made all this clear the last time we were online with him. Oh, get your militant black peeps and your white gun nuts on the same page?”

I took a breath. “Okay, get in the car. We’re going to the mall.”  Where we can discuss this without being overheard. I prayed she’d just roll with it so we could get the conversation underway and stop making a scene - if only because any of these people around us might be informants. Might see the duo from the hospital and wonder what was happening. Might ask why they were talking about arms dealers. And then all that work with Weasel would be for nothing. 

Lash narrowed her eyes. “And I should go with you because..?”

“Because,” I said, trying very hard to remain calm. “We have business to discuss that we maybe shouldn’t be discussing in front of…possible rival startups.” Please, God, get the message, go back to talking in code. FUCK FUCK FUCK. 

She clearly got the message, because she nodded. “Makes sense. Are you going to be angry if I take a separate Uber? Mama will be upset if I can’t prove I wasn’t in the backseat with a boy.”

I blanked for a minute, trying to decode that cultural norm, flogging my caffeine and adderall-withdrawing brain to get it to switch gears faster, and finally gave up. “What?” 

“Mama knows we’re dating,” she scolded, almost in direct conflict with the way she had been actually scolding me earlier. “But if I come here and come home from somewhere farther away, Mama will want to know why.”

“Lash, I am sleep deprived as hell,” I opened. “Is the concept here that we are meant to be doing something in an Uber, that you are breaking up with me but can’t have your parents know, or that you need to keep up the impression that we aren’t doing something, like…what’s the impression we’re supposed to be giving here?” I hoped she wasn’t breaking up with me, I did love her, but in truth at this point the lack of need to dance around this mystifying crap probably wouldn’t change and as long as she remained on board with the overall plans, I could actually live with us remaining friends, even if I’d miss everything we did on top of that.

“Jesus Christ on a motorbike,” she muttered before staring me down and hissing some more. “Say Yes. Yes, I can take a separate Uber, yes, you understand that my mother will gossip - you do, you just don’t right now - and yes, we are just going to ‘the mall’ like any two little fourteen year olds without real lives.” Lash started rubbing her sinuses like she was getting a headache, but allergies were beyond my responsibilities.

“Yes. Please take a separate Uber. By all means. I grasp your mother will gossip.” I said, obediently. I didn’t know why I was asking - this was also a conversation for in private, and ideally between a rested, not-experiencing-withdrawal Nils and a less-pissed-off Elakshi. Pushing it right now was definitely a stupid thing to do.

“See you at the mall?” I asked, standing slowly. 

“ I should be there in… Uber says 25 minutes.”

“Works for me. We’ll talk there about that…contractor we hired for the project. I’m curious about his side hustle.” I said, hoping to hint to Lash that he wasn’t as fully my dog as she thought, give my more rested companion something to chew on over her Uber ride.

[the-badger-mole]

Hallmarks of the Season: Part 3

The rest of the morning was a flurry of family time. Hakoda had closed the mechanic shop he and Sokka ran for the day, and Kanna came by with a tray of baked goods she had made the night before. As promised, Katara sat with her grandmother and showed her the most recent pictures she had with Zuko. The wedding came up, of course, and Katara had to disappoint Kanna by telling her that they hadn't even decided where to get married let alone when.

"Don't wait too long to set a date," Kanna warned Katara. "That's how you end up engaged for ten years."

"We're not planning on a long engagement," Katara laughed. "We wanted to enjoy this part for a little bit and then talk about dates, but then this whole mess with the investor happened, and I don't think either of us has had the mental capacity to even think about considering wedding plans. Honestly, I'd rather just pay someone else to plan it."

"Now, where's the fun in that?" Kanna huffed.

"You know I hate planning parties," Katara said. "I'd be happy to marry Zuko at a courthouse then go out for noodles afterwards."

"No way!" Sokka exclaimed. "You're marrying a jillionaire! I expect to be served steak and top shelf liquor at your wedding!"

"Sokka, don't be crass!" Hakoda tossed a dishtowel at his son. "I need to be on Zuko's good side, so he'll put me in a nice retirement home." He winked at Katara.

"I'm starting to regret inviting Zuko," Katara grumbled. "I need you two to find some couth before he gets here."

"We will be on our best behavior for his Fieryness," Sokka promised sarcastically. "You might want to give Toph a heads up, though. You know she can smell pretentious trust fund kids a mile off." Katara reached for the dishtowel Hakoda had thrown and smacked her brother in the head with it.

"Zuko's not pretentious," she said. "He's a bit stuffy, but that's just his introversion manifesting."

"Everything is going to go fine, honey," Hakoda promised.

"Yeah, assuming he actually shows up this time," Sokka muttered.

"Sokka!" Kanna scolded him with a swat to his arm.

"What?" Sokka nursed his arm. "We're all thinking it. I just said it!" Hakoda glared at his son and motioned at Katara with his head. She looked at her brother stricken.

"He-he's been working to get this company off the ground for five years," she explained quietly. "He doesn't mean to cancel last minute, but he's been working on this for a long time."

"We understand, Kat," Hakoda said, hugging his daughter. "It was the same when I was trying to get the mechanic shop off the ground. Lot's of long nights and missed trips, but it got easier to balance work and life once we were off the ground." Sokka reached out and patted Katara's arm, looking like a chastened child.

"I was only messing with you," he said apologetically. "Honestly, Zuko seems like a great guy. I guess...I just want to know that he makes you a priority, too."

"He does," Katara insisted. "He's incredibly thoughtful. He came by my apartment last week to drop off my favorite coffee on his way to fly out for a business trip. He surprised me with a picnic dinner on the roof when we both had to work late. And not just to me that he's like that with. He works insane hours to keep the business running, but he makes sure that everyone else feels free to leave at five. The whole reason he's not here right now is because this cashflow issue is threatening this month's payroll, and he just wants to make sure everyone gets their money before the holidays.

"He does sound wonderful," Kanna said. "If you say he's worthy of you, then I will take your word. I can't wait to finally meet him in person."

The conversation drifted away from Zuko after a few more minutes to the possibility of getting together with Toph and Aang, then to Sesi's martial arts class (she insisted her aunt come see her practice). Soon the afternoon drew on, and Hakoda began to make preparations for dinner that evening, and Sokka and Katara started preparing to head for the school. Katara went up to her room to grab her purse and paused to check her messages. There was nothing from Zuko since he'd confirmed she'd made it to her father's house safely. She tried to ignore the sharp pinch of disappointment in her stomach as she sent a short message to him.

Miss you😢💖

-:-:-:-:-:- The dojo stoon on what Katara remembered being at different points in her childhood an arts and crafts shop, a music store, the headquarters of a short lived farming MLM, and an even shorter lived ballroom dancing studio. The Kyoshi School of Martial Arts had been open for a bit over two years, and the head instructor was an ex-military officer who's short stature belied her intimidating reputation. Katara could immediately tell her brother was smitten.

"Sifu Suki!" Sesi ran up to the instructor and nearly dragged to Katara. "This is my Auntie Tara! She's getting married!"

"Congratulations!" Suki said hiding a bewildered laugh. "It's so nice to finally meet the famous Katara. Your brother and niece have nothing but great things to say about you."

"You've made quite an impression on Sesi yourself," Katara said. "She couldn't wait to introduce us."

"I see!"

"I told Auntie that I wanted to be just like you and just like her," Sesi told Suki. "But she said that it's better to be just like me, even though it's okay to be..." Sesi scrunched her nose and tried to remember Katara's words. "...to be perspired by you." Suki had to hid another laugh as she patted Sesi's head.

"I think you mean inspired," she corrected Sesi. "And she's right. Being you is the absolute best thing you can grow up to be. Now, go get changed. We're starting warm ups soon." Suki spared one last smile for Sokka and Katara and went to prepare for class.

"She's cute," Katara said when Suki was far enough away. Sokka shot her an arch look.

"Should I warn Zuko he's got competition?"

"Oh, please," Katara scoffed. "Are you telling me you're not into her? You were doing that weird thing where you try not to stare but then end up staring super hard."

"Knock it off," Sokka shoved her lightly. "It's not like that. Sesi likes her, and she's been a great teacher. I...I respect her."

"Respectfully love her," Katara muttered. Sokka scowled at her, but there was no heat in it. His eyes drifted over to where Suki was passing out small wooden fans to her students, and his gaze softened. Katara nudged him and smiled knowingly.

"Seriously, I can't think about dating right now. I've got Sesi and the shop..." Sokka's voice trailed off as he tried to come up with more examples of his busyness.

"I'm not saying run off and marry her," Katara said. "You don't even have to tell Sesi that you're interested in her. I'm just saying, if you like her, see where it goes." Sokka grunted noncommittally and studiously kept his eyes away from Suki. Katara eyed her brother with concern. After a moment she poked him in the side.

"Hey, are you alright?" she asked. Sokka turned to her in surprise.

"I'm fine," he said. "Why?"

"I don't just mean right now," Katara said. "I know you're still grieving Yue, and I know that grief doesn't have a timeline, but you know that she wouldn't want you to put your life on hold out of loyalty to her. You loved her well when she was with us. It's okay to move on now." A few emotions rippled across Sokka's face, as if he were deciding whether or not to be angry with Katara. Then he let out a long breath and seemed to deflate.

"It's not just about Yue," Sokka confessed. "I miss her terribly, and sometimes I get so angry because she doesn't get to be here for...this." Sokka gestured around the room, lingering on Sesi. "It's not fair that she doesn't get to remember her mother. I don't want her to have to live through a parade of would be mothers who just... leave."

"So do what Dad did," Katara said. "Only introduce Sesi once you're sure it's going to last."

"Right," Sokka let out a bitter laugh. "Remember how that turned out?" Katara shuddered. When she was a freshman in high school and Sokka was in his junior year, Hakoda introduced them to Malina, his girlfriend of nearly a year. Malina immediately tried to take over as their mother. She was oddly intense in her insistence of reorganizing how their home was run and trying to forcibly bond with Hakoda's kids, despite him assuring her he wasn't looking for a replacement mother for them. The final straw was when she replaced a family photo with Hakoda, Kya and the children with a picture she'd forced them to pose for on a trip to an amusement park Katara and Sokka were far too old for. Hakoda never told them what he said to Malina, but they never saw her or her photos again.

"That was one time!" Katara said.

"And Dad has never introduced us to any of the three women he's dated since." Sokka folded his arms and shook his head. The class had started. Suki was guiding the kids through their warm up exercises. Every so often, Sesi would look over to make sure her father and aunt were watching. Katara would wave and motion for her to pay attention.

"You can't let that one experience color how you feel about dating," Katara told Sokka. "I don't want to push you into anything. I just want to make sure you know, dating is allowed." Sokka shrugged and huffed, but Katara could see his gaze still lingering on the pretty martial arts instructor.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Auntie! Did you see when I knocked down the dummy?" Sesi danced excitedly, holding onto Katara's hands.

"I did!" Katara grinned at her niece. "You are getting really good!"

"You're exactly who I want on my side in a fight," Sokka said. "Go get changed. Grandad made your favorite for dinner." Sesi cheered and rushed off to the changing room. Suki walked over to Sokka and Katara.

"She really is improving fast," Suki told them. "I think she'll be ready to move up a level in a few months."

"She's going to be thrilled! And...and of course, she wouldn't be learning so quickly without having such a great teacher." Sokka's voice was just a bit too high, and his smile just a bit too wide. Katara had known her brother to be a massive flirt in his younger years, but it had been a long time since he'd asked Yue on their first date. It was clear he was out of practice. Katara smiled to herself.

"So, Suki, how long have you been in town?" she asked.

"Oh, about three years now," Suki told her. "I used to live in Kyoshi, but I was stationed not to far from here when I was in the military. I fell in love with the area, and when I got out of the service, I thought I'd try to settle here."

"Yeah, this place is really amazing," Katara agreed. "I loved growing up here. The community is really warm."

"Yeah," Suki shrugged reluctantly. "I mean, I have a great rapport with my clients, but I don't know...I feel like I haven't found my people yet." Katara clicked her tongue in sympathy.

"I know what you mean," she said. "I live in Ba Sing Se now, and it took me a while to find really close friends again. The first few years had some really lonely stretches."

"It's been really hard to feel like I've put down roots," Suki admitted. "I've been so busy with this place, that I just haven't had time. But I'd love to find people to just hang out with."

"Well, you're in luck!" Katara said. "Sokka and I are meeting up with some old friends in a few days. You should join us! Our friend owns a barcade in town, so if we ask nice, she might let us play on some of them for free." Suki's face lit up with excitement at the thought.

"The Badgermole?" she asked. "I've walked by that place so many times, and I always meant to stop in."

"Well, now you have a reason." Katara nudged Sokka forward. "I'm only in town for a few more days, but you should take Sokka's number. He can let you know all the details, and keep you looped in when other fun stuff is going on in town." A flush bloomed on Sokka's face across his nose and to his ears, but he managed a friendly smile as he put his number into Suki's phone. Suki was called away a moment later by an insistent mother who loudly demanded to know why her daughter wasn't getting Suki's undivided attention during the lesson.

"You are too meddlesome for your own good," Sokka said once she'd gone.

"What?" Katara shrugged. "Suki needs friends, and you're local!"

"I don't need you to hit on women for me." Sokka scowled down at his sister. "That was humiliating."

"Oh, please," Katara snorted. "She's coming to a casual hang out with your sister and high school friends. It's not like I asked her to marry you. And you gave her your number. Ball's in her court if she even wants to come out."

"Whatever," Sokka grumbled. Sesi emerged from the changing room and bounded across the room towards them. Sokka scooped her up and they headed for the door. Suki caught Sokka's eye and waved at him. Sokka grinned in spite of himself and waved back. Katara regarded her brother with a knowing gleam in her eyes, which Sokka did his best not to notice.

"I think the phrase you're looking for is thank you," she said out the side of her mouth.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six

[supermaks]

F1isms aside how are you doing? sounds like it’s been a rough half year, hope you’re hanging in there

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀 tysm for asking🩷

I mean our fund raiser nearly hit its goal but tbh like it’s so crazy to me that so many people already wanna help us so like even irl I have family and friends who I thought wud come thru and didn’t. Like my aunt literally just called us this week offering COTA tickets and I was like . Can’t u just help pay a few medical bills. Can’t u send my mom some rent money because yk shes about to lose the house and she can’t get a job and we’re gonna be homeless lmfao. And my aunt was actually super offended that I was offended lmfao and now I feel like I shud have told her yes and then made another giveaway for those fucking tickets because fuck her. but whtvr. I think for some reason I just didn’t expect to feel so alone. Yk other people struggling wid their own shit but like. Me and Mrs kat have my mom, who’s can barely afford to feed us and keep us off the streets. Mrs kat parents came out all the way from Marseille to have Xmas wid us and it was nice ((I thought)) and now they refuse her calls and say they will send HER money but only her, under the condition that she dumps me because I’m holding her back wid all my baggage and my chronic pain and fucked up shoulder and addiction. And I’m black so I’m not right for her anyway 😐 I served these people food in my moms house lmfao.

Mrs kat got dreams of her own here tho she wants to finish her studies and pay off student loans like .. and she wants to be wid me. So her parents like cut her off completely and they stopped sending money a long time ago.

This shit is really fucked up and complex Im just trying to tell u , yeah. It’s been fucking rough. 😣😣😣 I do have a ‘job’ now which is something, I do errands for this like INSANE woman who’s prolly gonna get me arrested but she’s paying me weekly and that’s all that matters. My mom says I need to find something wid a contract immediately and that’s why I need the fundraiser money so we don’t completely become homeless while I search for safer options. I also need to go back to rehab and physio asap because I feel like I’m losing my mind and my benefits only afford medical physio from a shitty fucking clinic like once a month and it’s always full. I’m in pain all the time rn. I got duped into this extremely expensive surgery I’m STILL paying for and now it’s like they don’t care that I still need physio to actually getter better.

My cats are ok 🥹 Chica rejected some medicine for some stomach issues she had and had to back to the vet ((more bills 😭)) and it was scary but she’s back super stable and almost 100%. Calypso is SUPER pregnant, due prolly next month and we want her to have the babes wid us because it’s her first litter and she’s an anxious diva but that’s sm WORK and we’re kinda like NOW??? Ok. But she seems safer wid us, comfortable, and gonna be a real good momma. Chica has been incredible wid her too. They really be taking care of each other.

So yh if u still got some spare change u wanna throw our way my p.aypals is: kt.s.mays@gmail.com . U will also register for my bdays ((august 5th)) first anual ‘supermaks gives back’ where I pick a few of u thru p.aypal to send back my much beloved max merch as a thank u . I know this is dumb but idk what else to do. Idk how that’s gonna work either but I’m excited we’ll figure it out. Y’all been here for me twice now . Makes me wanna cry when I think of it too much.

I appreciate all yalls help wid all my heart. Just knowing there’s strangers out there who still want to c us fight to c another day and do better, bro that’s more meaningful to me than words can say.

I am hanging in there. Thanks to u

God bless u 🤍

[almostthre]

O K A Y.

So in the beginning of the year I decided that I needed to write again, mainly so I can empty my head a little, however I’ve been thinking about jacegon so much, there’s not enough fics of them, and then it occurred to me that I could fix that problem. Thus I must start writing, which is very hard you know, especially because I’m the type that just imagines things and, at most, conceptualizes them. What I’m trying to say is that I need someone to talk to about my ideas to properly develop them and since I’m not asking my friends about their opinions on this I’ll just scream at the void that is this hellhole and hope that it screams back!

Anyway, let’s start with my beloved idea that I like to call “The White Lotufication of HOTD” so basically we would be following the Targaryens as they go to this luxurious resort for a family reunion and the rest is just truly horrible! But in a fun way, like idk Vissy, as I like to call him, survived his eleventh heart attack or something so he forces everyone to go cause “life is just so precious and PLEASE my beloved family get along for once” as he always does. A few things I have already decided to include: Daemon is adopted, because I feel the need to minimize the incest since this would be a modern au, Aegon has been sober for some time, Jace has older daughter syndrome, Rheana is an influencer so the whole thing is being posted on her insta and so on.

But what really matters is the jacegon, right?

That’s why I’m here, so let’s talk about them, as mentioned Aegon is sober, or at least trying to be. Why? Because he got the family into a big scandal, I was thinking of a sex tape that leaked and the stuff in it was just nasty(please read this with the voice of an old lady for the effect). Thus Vissy(read Otto) gives him an ultimatum: get his shit together or get a job and stop living off of his trust fund and thanks to that he would be trying to keep a low profile for the first time in his life, it’s hard for him, okay? Now to his relationship with Jace in the begging of the fic. They used to be besties until Aemond lost his eye and the family split in two. Since then he’s had no one so in some ways he resents Jace, since once he was out of Aegon’s live he realized that he was alone while Jace still had Luke and the others by his side, also Jace is the perfect son, he doesn’t bring shame to the Targaryen family which fuels Aegon’s insecurities and this beautiful cycle where he wishes to be close to his nephew again but eventually just pushes him further forms at some point.

Now for my boy, Jace! He’s the oldest daughter, he can never fail or disappoint, he must be perfect or he’s nothing at all so needless to say he’s got some issues. I think his feelings for Aegon started when he was just a boy with a crush on his pretty uncle, but as he grew he couldn’t help but desire for more,however he feels as if they could never be together since Aegon is still a piece of shit that pushes Jace away, don’t get me wrong Jace is very much in love but his uncle is an undeniable asshole that treats him like shit and as I mentioned incest wouldn’t be as accepted in this scenario, so those two getting together would be a scandal, and, as mentioned before, Jace cannot have that, he must be perfect. In some ways he would remind me of Henry from “Red White and Royal Blue” in this scenario, hiding his true self behind the perfect persona.

As for why this would be “the white lotusfication of hoft”

1. There will be death, but not of a major character, this is a comedy;

2. These people are all clinically insane;

3. I find that writing about the extremely wealthy without sprinkles of my hatred for them thrown around to be impossible;

4. Idk I just think it would be cool okay

Anyways if you’re part of the void I beg you to talk to me

[thekrows-nest]

(anon)

You know, I don’t think Krow has properly thought this whole kidnapping thing out. 🤔

They’re already run ragged with work and the efforts of staying barely fed, they’re already stretched financially to the point that they have to do horrifically risky things on the side and sometimes even then go hungry, and that’s all just to support themselves.

Add on top of that the living costs of a captive Dove that isn’t working, isn’t free to help forage, needs precious time for care and supervision, and is completely dependent… the cold damp air and crumbling mouldy walls could even make them sick which is doctors and medicine. (This is assuming Dove has no medical issues or expensive special needs. And no pets.)

Logically how are they both going to survive on one low income? Both dinguses are now borderline homeless, freezing and going to starve. Forget having any children.

(Upping the murders to cover costs could get Krow caught. And if by some chance they lose a fight and are killed themselves nobody knows where captive Dove is.)

Also on top of losing Dove’s income/ability to help seek food there’s the loss of Dove’s apartment. Which could have been much more weatherproof, furnished, had heating and cooling during extreme temperatures, a proper kitchen and shower, laundry facilities… private internet access!

Krow bro, you’re making a mistake.

If you were so smart you’d pull the Uno Reverse card and get Dove to kidnap you.

Krowspiracy anon making me having to play Devil's Advocate for the birb boi. /lh Also stop being so perceptive anon. /j /lh /teasing

You DO bring up valid points, and they're not without truth or merit. Part of it is, the idea is neat to have a yan who DOESN'T have the resources or money to kidnap their beau, yet... tries to anyway.

That being said, the reason Krow does so is out of insane desperation, for whatever reason. He has to be really pushed to consider kidnapping Dove, let alone actually carrying it out.

Even with his crazy desperation, he would still try to adequately prepare for it. Getting things secure, having some kind of a rainy day fund, medication if needed, etc. etc.

...And maybe this is a tad spoilers but probably should be said lmao. The state of Krow's house is a bit of an ongoing joke with some friendo's, but it is not quite in THAT bad of repair. Krow in fact has done some fixing up of the place himself. So some of the rooms are actually... fine. That's all I'll say though dfgnx;dfg

Then the idea of Dove kidnapping Krow well... He really wouldn't mind it. Really he'd just chuckle on waking up to see he's been taken and just go "I-if you w-wanted me to l-live with you m-my Songbird, all you had t-to do was ask~" (and y'all are totally welcome to send in asks of an Uno Reverse situation of a yan Dove kidnapping Krow if you so desire.)

[theflagscene]

Fundraising for my doggo 🐶

Meet Pebbles ⬇️

A GoFundMe has been created! Link below, PayPal can still be found at the bottom of the post.

Pebbles is a 3 and a half year old long hair chihuahua that I rescued from a hoarding/backyard breeding ring from a Mexico border town in Texas, she made the long and terrifying trip across the USA to come to me and my family where we currently live in Canada, she was adopted legally through a rescue in case you were concerned, you can learn more about the rescue here.

When Pebbles first came to us back in 2019, she was underweight, dirty and covered in bruises. We first thought she had just been horrible abused, and while that was partially true, she also had a severe medical issue. She had a bad skin condition, basically she’s allergic to most things. It causes extreme itchiness, she will scratch herself until she’s torn flesh off herself if she’s not watched. A few years ago I woke to find my bed covered in blood as she had torn her entire side open, I have those pictures as well as pictures of her bruising which I will put at the end of this post under a trigger warning. Eventually we managed to get enough money to take her to a vet and find out about her allergies and skin condition, she was put on medication for it and it actually helped quite a bit, she was doing very well. Problem is now our vet had closed, the pandemic has left a lot of small businesses unable to continue on as normal. We now have a new vet, I’ve paid the deductible for her, but to actually get her blood work done, skin scraping and then hopefully more medicine, it’s going to cost money I just simply do not have. Since the beginning of the pandemic myself, my family and closest friends have all suffered pretty hard and slipped down from just teetering above the poverty line to now living completely below the poverty line. I can go to food banks and go without my own medicine if need be, but I cannot have my dog suffering because I was unable to go through the pandemic unscathed. Pebbles has been unmedicated since January, it’s literally taking that long to find a new vet that is even somewhat near where I live. She’s in pain and uncomfortable and as much as I loathe having to do this, I am asking for help. I considered starting a godundme but as I was told they take 10% of the funds donated, I thought going through PayPal would make more sense.

As many of my mutuals and followers know, I do write, quite a bit, I’ve even debated starting a Patreon for a while there. Anyway, I would be more than willing to fulfill any fanfic prompts for anyone who donates, seriously, anything, I’d do anything to just be able to show my appreciation for you.

I’m looking to raise around 500 dollars CAD, which is a shit ton of money, I know! Trust me, that would feed my family for 3 months. But unfortunately veterinary costs are insane, it’s 250 alone for a simple blood test! Another 150 for the skin scraping test and the medication costs around 170 dollars. Ugh, it hurts my heart. But it’s what must be done to take care of Pebbles.

So please, if you can donate, that would be amazing. If you can reblog this post, that would also be amazing. Getting the word out would mean so much to me, the more people who see this the more likely we are to be able to reach our lofty goal.

Thank you!! 💖💖💖

Here’s my donation link, it’s currently only PayPal but hopefully other options will be added later.

Below are some pictures of Pebbles current injuries due to her skin condition, trigger warnings for extreme bruising, hair loss and scarring of an animal.