#they had such a good opportunity for a good power

[overclockedopossum]

FACT CHECK:

What trump revoked was executive order 11246, which required non-discrimination and affirmative action on the part of the federal government and contractors. The "Equal Employment Opportunity Law of 1965" does not as such exist, and if it did would not be something the president had the power to unilaterally revoke.

The Equal Employment Opportunity Act of 1972 exists, as does the ADA and Trump alone cannot change that.

If you are a disabled USian, your rights such as they are remain intact.

You can view the current status of enforced equal opportunity laws here.

What is under attack is policies, loosely referred to as DEI or DEIA, that seek to balance unconcious bias against marginalised groups through quotas, affirmative action etc. DEI is good and "ending DEI" is bad, it will make it harder for capable and effective candidates from outgroups. However, it's not as simple as flipping the big "discrimination" switch to ON.

Trump basically declared disabled people ‘unfit to work’ as he put it by revoking the Equal Employment Opportunity Law of 1965. It means employers no longer have to legally give accommodations to disabled employees. This will render so many Americans jobless and barely anyone is talking about it because disabled people like me are treated as expendable.

[qqueenofhades]

been seeing some responses to the many many lawsuits and other actions taken against trumpet and munkfruit that fall along the lines of "this isn't enough, it's already too late, you can't fight fascism with the law, we're all gonna die." i understand the fear, truly, but i'm curious as to your thoughts on it, as to me it seems like this sort of behavior/posting doesn't do much beyond embolden the narrative that everyone actually likes these bastards and they're too powerful to be stopped.

Welp. This is the kind of question that requires me to write a long and complex sociopolitical/critical/historical/Discourse-esque analysis that will take a while and which I am trying to do only selectively, but I'm at home on Saturday morning, I don't have anything else to do right now, and it does present me an opportunity to address some things I've been thinking about. So. We'll give it a shot.

The first thing that has struck me is that in a few short weeks, we're getting a sharp empirical disproving of two common online-leftist fallacies: one, the old "both parties are exactly the same" chestnut, and two, "the only resistance that matters is Violent Glorious Revolution" (which somehow and conveniently never happens). We had months and months of "Biden is just as bad as Trump!!!" being spread as gospel truth in online-leftist circles, and then when Harris took over, it switched just as seamlessly into "Harris is just as bad as [or even worse than] Trump!" Now, as I have said before, there were plenty of legitimate criticisms to make of Biden, particularly the Gaza policy (upon which Harris notably differed). But it's quite telling that the keyboard warriors who spent all of last year howling for The Righteous Punishment of Biden-Harris (regardless that the obvious ancillary consequence was letting Trump come to power) have either disappeared completely when it comes to dealing with the results of that rhetoric, or have switched to "everything is doomed so I guess we shouldn't bother anyway." Like. Trump is now proposing to fully ethnically cleanse Gaza and either blithely hand it over to Israel or build Jared Kushner Beachfront Resort Disneyworld, and what do we hear in protest? For the most part, crickets. These are not serious people. Their opposition is not morally consistent, and it only depends on how they can make themselves look good. I thought that Trump was somehow supposed to be magically better than Biden particularly on the Gaza issue, and that was why it was worth letting him get elected? Or something? Something!?!

I'm curious as to whether those people still legitimately think that Harris would have spent her first few weeks in office dismantling USAID, signing weekly anti-trans executive orders, unleashing ICE across the country and terrorizing immigrant communities, putting the Project 2025 guy in charge of the Office of Management and Budget, letting Elon Musk run rampant with Treasury data, nominating the likes of RFK Jr. and Tulsi Gabbard to Cabinet posts, trying to freeze all federal funding, stripping DEI initiatives, dismantle the Department of Education -- etc. etc. The thing is, as ghoulish as it is, none of this is a surprise, because it is literally what Trump and his people spent the entire presidential campaign loudly, openly, and repeatedly promising to do. However awful they were and are, they were not remotely secret about their intentions. That information was out in the open every time they opened their mouths. But too many people didn't pay attention, rationalized it away, decided that "he won't actually do that" (despite the fact that he launched a literal violent coup attempt on the Capitol the last time he was in office), or just made up their minds that Trump Will Reduce Grocery Prices and refused to listen to any information that countered that view. What do we get now? Trump laughing off the grocery-prices issue and insisting that it's "not a priority" and Musk managing to claim that the real problem is government spending, not corporate greed. Again, this was completely predictable, because y'all got willingly suckered. It was not hard to see it coming.

That said: if the Glorious Online Leftist Revolution is still coming, and by some lights we might now legitimately need it, where the fuck is it? Are they still out there banging the drum against Trump and his "let's ethnically cleanse Gaza" policy and anything else that they insisted, they swore up and down, was functionally equivalent or possibly even marginally better than Biden-Harris getting another term? No. They're either dead silent, offering weak excuses, or completely giving into "we're doomed there's no point fighting back through weak shitlib institutions that are obviously terrible and will fail" blubbering that makes no fucking sense. One, because they move the goalposts so constantly that there's not even any attempt to reckon with the last effects of their damaging bullshit, and two? As I said, where's the fucking Revolution magically coming to save us and install a perfect leftist utopia (which is never how revolutions have ever worked) and sweep away Government Tyranny? Is that only for when a Democrat is in office and you can have confidence that the government is not going to come after you in the middle of the night for talking about it? Now that there's an actual fascist in power, it's somehow too hard to resist at all, even in small, institutional, and everyday ways that are often far more effective at practically confounding the bad stuff instead of empty and useless online echo chambers, so guess we should all just give up??!

Fuck. That.

This is also why we have to talk about the catastrophic lack of information literacy and critical thinking skills in young leftist spaces. A good example is the recent migration of TikTok users to the Chinese app RedNote. It was sweet for a little while as there was cultural exchange and friendship and memes. But then, predictably, it dove hard into "ah, once again The Evil US Government Has Lied To Us and there are no problems at all in China!" I have seen posts float by on my dash that unironically claim this is the case and China is truly great and Americans should want to move there and clearly all that business about authoritarian control and mass repression was just a ruse by, again, The Evil US Government. If you are so utterly devoid of basic information literacy and research abilities that your standard of proof for "is the Chinese government repressively authoritarian and totalitarian" is "a random Chinese person on an app in a country where the Internet is viciously controlled and voicing the slightest criticism can make you disappear told me that it isn't," then for Christ's fucking sake, you need help. For one, it wasn't just the US government saying this. It was, y'know, Chinese dissidents, the entire nation of Taiwan, historians, academics, researchers, the Uyghur Muslims of Xinjiang, etc etc. If your only standard for believing or supporting anything is "the opposite of what the US government thinks," then you are perfect targets for authoritarianism. Hey, a person living under an authoritarian regime who will punish them if they speak out against it told me everything was fine! Clearly there's nothing to worry about and we should want it here in America!

Come on. Come on.

This is also the case because uneducated young leftists like to unironically label themselves "communists" or "Marxist-Leninists" as if it's cool and hip and has never been involved in anything problematic in all of history, so anything that calls itself that must be supported. Shoutout to the idiot in my notes recently who reblogged a several-year-old post just to shout at me about how historical communists NEVER worked with or collaborated with fascists, because something something The Communists Were The Pure Shining Good Guys! (Uh, nobody tell them about the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact.) Clearly, the Chinese Communist Party is good and beneficial, end of story, no more criticism or caution needed! Obviously, yes, official American policy toward China has often been driven by basic Sinophobia, and the determination that nobody can change American hegemony or unipolarity or its ability to call the shots how it pleases. But if that is the literally only criteria you're using, then yeah. If you're so unaware that "the Chinese people are ordinary human beings" and "the Chinese government is repressive and authoritarian" are statements that can and in fact do coexist, then apparently you've missed the situation you're in right now, where "the American people are ordinary human beings" and "the American government is repressive and authoritarian" is also the case. Because online leftism is essentially devoid of a consistent moral principle and will just blithely switch up to support Bad Things as long as they're being done by governments with the correct ideological label, here we are.

Anyway. This is getting long, but the main takeaway is that the "all resistance against Trump is doomed and I guess we just gotta die :(" line is now, somehow, often coming from the same people who were constantly yelling that the only hope was a Glorious Revolution against Biden-Harris, and it is somehow even stupider. So you'll trumpet about Gloriously Overthrowing The Government all the day long as long as a Democrat is in office, but the instant a Republican gets in there instead and starts acting like an actual fascist, welp, time to just shut up and accept our doom and not even bother to struggle? Please tell me how any of that makes sense. Especially when actively confounding the Trump/Musk Axis of Evil is already working. There is also the fact that the establishment-media types are supporting this narrative for reasons of their own; witness the fact that the entire US corporate media is owned by oligarchs who hastened to bend the knee and pledge fealty to Trump 2.0. They obviously also have a reason for inculcating hopelessness in you, and that the only recourse is to shut up, accept it, and let them continue to rob you blind. Because American democracy will never matter as much as money, power, and control for the Billionaire Bros.

The point is: this is a bad-faith narrative on all sides. Whether it's coming from the online leftists in their latest head-spinningly hypocritical volte-face, the oligarch-owned corporate media that wants to feed you constant Bad News to keep you clicking and worried and distracted and unable to resist, the Trumpist power that wants people to quit making this pesky stink about all their authoritarian fascist adventures, or anyone else. There is nobody who has your best interests at heart if they are telling you that everything is doomed and the only thing to do is lie down and take it. There is no logical reason you should listen to them. Go forth and keep resisting, in whatever way presents itself. Those cumulative small actions are far more effective than any Splendid Revolution that never, ever materializes, while the people who preach it just sit back and whine about how things are so bad now so clearly they couldn't. Shut up.

It is always important. It always matters. It will make a difference.

Courage, etc.

[blacknedsoul-blog]

Social climbers and the relationship with power: Ada's tragedy

You buddies don't dimension how much I raised my eyebrows when I saw this scene:

Ada climbing on top of a deer (a very typical symbolic representation of noble masculinity) who is trying to fiercely shake her off while she desperately clings to him with all her might...

And is THAT what makes her have a flashback of her relationship with Tamerline? Buddy, I'm putting on a hat to take it off.

Anyway, this means I have enough material to talk about Ada.

Social climbers and power

Ada is, apparently, a social climber: she longs for a social space to which she feels she is entitled, but to which she considers herself not to belong. This is something that can give us clues about her socio-economic situation in life: social climbers are extremely common in spaces such as, for example, the child of a first generation of professionals or of parents who have been able to provide better economic passages despite not belonging to social elites.

So, one thing to be clear about the way Ada relates to people in general is through this lens: the way she tries to move up socially (i.e. to power) is through her relationships with people, if she is close to a person who has power or belongs to an elite, then she is accessing these spaces. If that person does not have it, then she uses the relationship to reassert the position she wants to have.

Ada's personal tragedy is that this way of relating to the world puts her in an extremely vulnerable position with respect to her interpersonal relationships because, if they were not asymmetrical from the beginning, she makes them asymmetrical. It's as true that Ada gets into complicated relationships willingly as it is that she is a victim of people like Tamerlane. You know, the same logic of tragedies.

So let me do a little review of all the relationships Ada has had in the comic, how they go and what is the pattern they follow.

The triad of discord

There are three things that all of Ada's relationships have in common (except one, but we'll get to that): 1) She seeks to get some sort of validation from the other person. 2) She tends to push the person's boundaries, even if they were explicitly stated. 3) Even if the person has some degree of affection or sympathy for her, Ada will never be her priority over other things. Be these things other people, personal desires, etc, etc.

So let's review this a bit.

Let's start with the bastard of Thomas Tamerline. If anything their interaction during chapter 110 makes clear to us is that the guy is quite explicit with the fact that this relationship is purely sex for him (and he possibly enjoys the degree of control he exerts over her), Ada repeatedly tries to get some validation or affection from him and the guy barely complies with the bare minimum.

That he ends up murdering her indicates that, regardless of motive, he sees her as an inconvenience to his personal desires that must be gotten out of the way and, as the icing on the cake, puts the responsibility on her.

Now on to Prospero. His resemblance to Thomas is obvious enough to understand why Ada would be attracted to him and constantly seeks to touch him or be near him, no matter how much Prospero tells her that he is not interested in her. This is an attitude she has even before Annabel encourages her by saying that “Prospero is just being shy”.

Eventually it happens what it does: Prospero is fed up with her and doesn't hesitate to tell her so to her face. We can argue whether or not he's justified in being this cruel, but by the standards of this argument that's irrelevant: the important thing here is that Prospero doesn't care about Ada's feelings enough to be nicer.

Let's go now to Lenore. Ada is extremely mean to her until Lenore demonstrates that she was able to pass the maze test on her own. This is, in Ada's eyes, a demonstration of power and she, as she is wont to do, will not pass up the opportunity to get on the good side of a person who could be a potential rising star.

This is cut short by her same group, but they reconnect at the mansion trial. Since Lenore is not interested in relating on power terms (for better and for worse), here they have the opportunity to share on more equal terms on both their parts. Yes, Lenore is also doing this for personal reasons, but it doesn't take away from the merit.

Ada ends up overstepping boundaries and betraying Lenore at the end of the trial. And after she learns of her Ada's involvement in Duke's kidnapping, well, all she has to say when Pluto fills her in is says that shitty relationship is strangely appropriate.

Yes, Lenore may have come to have some degree of affection for her, but Ada is no more important than her friends and after getting into something like that, to hell with her.

With Annabel things start to get more interesting. These two have a cocktail of projection and resentment between them: Annabel is all Ada wants, so she treats her like a pretty accessory that gives her status (something that definitely oversteps Annabel's boundaries, even if she hasn't expressed them because it doesn't suit her) and, to Annabel, Ada is little more than an important piece she can take advantage of.

This take it with a grain of salt because there are some “buts.”

On Ada's side, that she seeks help from Annabel when Montresor is being a fucking psycho is an indicator that she felt, at least, protected by Annabel. But as is often the case with her, the plan Annabel is carrying out is no more important than Ada, she just lets it happen.

Twice. Under the circumstances, Annabel chooses to help Prospero over Ada.

However, Ada is not indifferent to Annabel: she is definitely furious with Montresor after what he did (In fact, this is the only scene so far where we have seen Annabel exercising any form of physical aggression)., she is uncomfortable when Prospero is mean to Ada, and there are a few small frames where she looks at her with sincere pity.

But again, that won't make Annabel prioritize her over her own plans.

Finally, we come to the most interesting relationship here.

Ada definitely cares about Morella, but that won't make constantly denigrating her a reaffirmation of the position she believes (or wants) to have: making comments like Morella's food “is poor.” Ada pecks at the boundaries with a stick, yet these things -for some reason- don't seem to bother Morella, who is able to see the good in her despite her bad attitudes. Until she stops doing it because not only participating in Duke's kidnapping, but also trying to play cool by making excuses is out of bounds even for Morella.

But an interesting thing happens here too, remember how Ada is never a priority for anyone? Well, for a moment in her relationship with Morella it looks like this is going to be different. Morella makes a feeble attempt to defend her when Montresor makes her bark and puts a shield in her face when Prospero attacks her in the mansion trial.

Unfortunately for Ada, Morella is someone too lacking in backbone and too concerned with following the rules to stand up for her when it really counts.

After Ada manifests and bursts into tears, she pushes Morella away from her with a shove.

Morella says she wants to help, but all it takes is for Poppet to remind her that she needs to get back the Merits she lost for Morella to finally give in.

The two people Ada considered her friends have left her: Annabel has chosen to help Prospero and Morella has left.

That's when Montresor enters.

And here begins the first break in Ada's toxic pattern of relationships...but not for the better.

Ada and Montresor

Oddly enough, these two are a good match...for horrible reasons. Montresor, like Ada, is a social climber who uses interpersonal relationships to get closer to power, only in a different way: where Ada sticks it to people who hold power, Montresor uses others to reassert himself in a position of power. So, Ada feeds Montresor's ego, while he can pretend to like her enough to keep Ada happy.

Because yes, Ada and Montresor's relationship fulfills most of the bad patterns in relationships that Ada usually has: she seeks validation in this relationship and Montresor definitely doesn't prioritize her (she constantly has to compete with Will for Montresor's attention, for example). But the important thing here is that, for once, Ada isn't the one constantly pecking at the other person's boundaries: it's Montresor who does it.

He pushes her around, teases her, calls her by other women's names, and it's probably only a matter of time before this starts to get worse. What's interesting is that Ada is able to get upset when this happens, unlike what we see in the flashback to her relationship with Thomas.

So there is something changing here.

Conclusion

I'm not sure where this is going to lead, but one thing is for sure: Montresor is a reflection of a toxic pattern of behavior that Ada has in her relationships and if she's starting to get uncomfortable with it, it's not just because the abyss is staring back at her, but because she's getting herself into a situation too similar to her relationship with Thomas to not know how it might end.

Add to that this:

This is the first time in the comic that Ada has had such a selfless gesture for another person. And that selfless gesture is something as big as putting herself in danger to save someone. As if all this wasn't enough, it's been to save Annabel: one of the two friends who turned their backs on her when she needed them.

I don't know if this will be the start of her character development or we should interpret it as deathflags placed over her head, but one thing is for sure: whatever is going to come out of here has quite a bit of potential.

[drdemonprince]

you are the first person ive encountered in my whole life who has actually attempted to really answer some of the more aggravating questions surrounding children and sex and just reading some of your recent posts has already enlightened me to my childhood situation a lot better. i will try to keep this brief bc my intent is not to air my whole childhood to the masses but to like. present a sort of spiders georg situation to help people understand why these things are important. here we go: (it is relevent to point out that i am extremely autistic and started presenting symptoms from two years of age onward.) i believe that i started being sexually active around four or five years old. i was extremely curious about sex to such a degree that it got me in trouble at school multiple times. it disturbed my mom greatly how often i brought up sexual topics. i discovered porn at the age of eight due to very poor parental supervision and a high level of internet access and i was immediately obsessed. i can confidently say that i watched more porn than any other kind of media as a child. by the time i was 10 id already had dozens of sexual encounters with kids my age and older, mostly initiated by me. i agree now that children cannot consent to sex with adults, but it took me a long time to come to that conclusion. for a very long time i wished more than anything for an adult who knew the ins and outs of sex to have a sexual relationship with me, bc i saw it as the only way i could be satisfied. children do not make good sexual partners when you are essentially ahead of the sexual curve i guess. i received absolutely no sex education until i reached middle school. my parents didnt talk to me about it whatsoever, deflecting everything i said about the subject. the sex education i did receive was piss poor, and i knew it. it was an "abstinence only" model of sex ed. no one took it seriously. my lack of understanding came back to bite me severely in high school. nowadays i understand concepts like consent and boundaries very well, and i think about these subjects deeply and am careful to consider them when interacting with other people. this was not the case in high school. my unusual sexual obsessions in childhood made me very uncautious about it with other people, and my level of autonomy and power was high enough that abuse was extremely possible. i am not proud to say that i did in fact commit sexual abuse in high school. i knew it was wrong. but to me, the wrongness was on the level of severity of stealing a pack of gum from the store. as soon as i had done it, i started to understand the true level of severity of what id done, and that still haunts me. i had up to that point believed that everyone must on some level have an interest in and desire for sex. i would have been ok with someone doing what i did to me, so it would surely be fine if i did it to someone else. i had no real conception of sexual violence and sexual coercion being real things that affected people deeply, both due to my physical and social isolation and extremely skewed perspective from watching porn for years. nowadays, i have very little sex, both because of lack of percieved opportunity, lack of motivation, and fear of committing the same transgressions i did in the past. nevertheless i remain extremely interested in and obsessed with sex, and wish i could spend all day having it. so i guess as someone who was sexually precocious: your kids need to know about sex. they need to be educated about it. a sufficiently determined child will find out about it regardless, and you need to give them the tools necessary to navigate it without hurting themselves and others. and additionally i think it would be a lot better for trans girls if our first exposure to transfemininity wasnt porn the majority of the time.

💯 thank you anon ♥️

[bleachification]

⸻ THE ART OF DYING WELL.

pairing: aizen x reader

word count: 2k

synopsis:  "lovers? we are much, much worse."

notes: good luck!

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

It’s not like you planned on killing the man you loved. You had wished for it, certainly. You had dreamed of it too—often enough that the steady, sickening crunch of your blade through his chest was well-memorized. In such dreams, the same scene played out, over and over and over, until you gasped awake, sweating and shivering from the chilling dread burrowing into your skin. 

His eyes would stare into yours, hollow and still. His lips, slightly parted, only whispered one thing: weak. . 

He called it out into the static space. The only sound breaking the eerie silence was his voice, heavy and mocking, as that one word repeated in vicious tandem. 

Weak for not letting go. 

Weak for what you felt. 

Weak for what you could not do—what you could not bring yourself to do—and deep down, you knew that weakness would ruin you. 

Just like Aizen did when he unraveled the Seireitei to a state of near collapse. 

They were ill-prepared for what he had set in motion and only desperately held on to the hope Ichigo and yourself brought. The Substitute Shinigami was an unknown and powerful variable, while you, as the Arrancar’s prisoner, had access to their inner workings. 

Aizen didn’t like it when you referred to yourself as a “prisoner” or his actions as what they blatantly were: kidnapping, so you continued to do so at every chance possible. It irked him—that small ounce of defiance. It made a man like him, weighed by hubris, sink a little deeper. 

The slight twitch of his lips every time—a signal of his discomfort— made you smile. You could still get under his skin. You revelled at that fact. Any chance to fight back was an opportunity you seized; Even though fighting him physically was out of the question, you at least had that slight over him. 

You didn’t ask him to take you with him. You didn’t ask him to spare you. And you certainly didn’t ask him to hold you captive, sequestered away while war rages on in the land above. 

You didn’t ask for any of it. So, you would make him pay for it in any way you could. 

Despite that, there had been a question nagging at the corner of your mind since the day he swept you away. As fitting of its subject, it asked something treacherous. 

The fact of the matter was: Aizen had spared you. He had taken you from your home and turned his back on everything you knew, yes, but he had also kept you safe—and not only safe, but well-fed, pampered, and shielded away from the violence. 

Violence he perpetuated, you reminded yourself. 

It did not matter how fancy your room was. It was still sealed by four impenetrable walls—a cushy cell made impossible to escape. It was a prison forged to hold its inhabitants captive.  

Aizen may not have shackled you with chains, but freedom was as lost to you as the man you once knew. 

Despite that, you had technically not planned to kill Aizen. Not today, at least, which is why the sight of his blood dripping down the dagger in your hand makes you scream. 

The shock of the sight jolts you awake. You find yourself springing up in bed, sweat beading on your skin as the nerves slowly dispel. The sheets are crumpled up in your fists and you try to let go, but the tension hasn’t yet dissipated. 

It was another dream?

Even in dreams, he haunts you. 

This time, however, it felt too real. It was strange. The vividness was startling—bordering on traumatizing—and you can’t shake off the foreboding feeling clinging onto you. He was right in front of you. Pale, cold, and lifeless. 

The door clicks open and Aizen strides in with a palpable air of urgency. There’s a crease in his brow, indicating worry. 

“A nightmare?”

You don’t even reprimand his intrusion. You are far too exhausted by what you just experienced. 

“Yes.” You run your hands over your face, trying to rub away the stress.  “Or maybe a very lovely dream.”

“Care to share it?” He inquires. 

“With you?” 

Aizen nods, moving closer. His steps are light and smooth, almost like he is floating. Maybe he is. 

“I want you to leave,” you whisper. The words are soft and unhurried, but they carry an unbearable weight. 

“Will you be alright?”

You scoff. “I am in a prison of your making. It doesn’t get any more secure than this, right?”

“I heard you scream,” he replies coolly. 

“Yes, well…” You lean back onto the headboard and stare up at the towering, empty ceiling. “If we’re both lucky, one day you will hear far worse.”

Aizen doesn’t leave. Instead, he makes his way even closer, until he hovers at the end of your bed. 

“What did you dream of?” 

Why are his words spoken with such gentleness?

“Your death. Your murder.”

A pause. “And it scared you?”

“It delighted me,” you lie. 

If he’s bothered by your words, he doesn’t show it. He just nods and makes to leave. Out of habit, you reach out a hand to stop him, only to freeze as you realize what you’re doing. Your grasp falls short and you watch as he ignores the gesture—for your sake or his, you aren’t sure—and turns his back to you. 

No more words are spoken as Aizen vanishes, leaving you to cold silence and muddled thoughts. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You keep me confined here. Why?” 

The question has been in your mind since the beginning, and your curiosity has finally reached its boiling point—alongside your irritation.

Aizen looks up from the book he had been reading and tilts his head in consideration. 

“Are you concerned for your safety? I promise no harm will come to you.”

“Your promises mean nothing,” you say bluntly. “Answer the question.”

He closes the book in his hands, but not before smoothly folding a corner crease to keep the page. He sits at the opposite end of the large coffee table, facing you directly. You had been reading something of your own when Aizen decided—much to your protests—to join you. It has been an hour of silent reading and uncomfortable tension—at least on your part. Aizen could not look more relaxed if he tried. 

“Let me ask you something then-”

You interrupt him. “I asked first.”

Aizen only smiles. 

“Indulge me?”

Again, you ignore him. “Why not just kill me?”

His smile fades. “I don’t want you dead.”

“Why?”

“So many questions…”

“And you still haven’t given me an actual answer!” You snap. 

He’s still infuriatingly calm, as always. You resent the fact you can’t leave—that every sense of your space is dictated by him. You want to be away from him, more than anything. Staying here with this man, stuck in this beautiful, suffocating room, is a tremendous effort. 

His continued silence drains you. You slump, anger whisked away and replaced by exhaustion. 

“Do you want me to hate you?” You whisper. 

“Quite the opposite. I would never hurt you.”

“So you say,” you reply dryly. 

“It’s the truth.”

“Is that what you told Hinamori before you stabbed her and left her for dead? Hm? Is that what you said to Central 46 before slaughtering them all?”

He sighs. “You can believe what you want.”

“Oh, but I can’t, can I? Thanks to you, I can’t even trust my own thoughts, much less my beliefs.”

“Your beliefs are your own to have. I would never take that away from you.”

“Ah, right. Just my freedom then.”

“What is freedom in a meaningless world?”

“Enough with the philosophy, Aizen. I’m sick of running around in these circles, chasing my own tail in search of answers.” You lean forward and hold his piercing gaze. Eyes so full of wisdom and judgement—how easily you could get lost in them again, just like before. “Tell me why.”

Something flickers across his expression, but whatever it is, remains unnamed. 

“This is how I guarantee your safety and secure my weakness.”

Your confusion must be evident because Aizen continues. 

“I can predict many things. I can plan and organize down to the very last detail—until the future unfolds along the seams of my script. I can prepare in every way imaginable. All of that… and I still cannot control everything. Not yet.” He drums his fingers on the armrest, frustration lacing those last words. “Your safety couldn’t be guaranteed unless I secured you myself. With that, I eliminate my weakness as well. With you here, contained in this fortress, I have no need to worry about you on the battlefield.”

You stare, unable to make anything of his confession. 

“Are you saying I’m your weakness?”

“As far as I understand.”

A short pause. You nod. 

“Good.”

He quirks a brow. “Good?”

“Yes. It is good I make you weak. It will make it easier to kill you.”

Again, he only smiles. 

“I look forward to dying.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You always act like you know everything—that everything is all a part of your plan.” You look up at Aizen through tear-filled eyes. “Tell me, was this a part of your plan?”

The blood is real this time. It is warm and sticky and runs viscous lines down your forearms before pooling at your feet. You press your palms against the gushing wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, but it’s no use. Doing so is as useful as putting a single bandage on a severed limb and hoping it’ll grow back. 

Aizen is leaned against a wall with his head slumped against your shoulder. His skin is a startling shade of white and sweat beads on his forehead. The sight makes you panic, and the panic makes you hyperventilate.  

This isn’t  supposed to happen this way. How is this even possible? This is Aizen, of all people—the closest thing to a God the world has seen. How could Aizen be this shivering, weak mess bleeding out in your arms? 

The blood won’t stop. His clothing is soaked a deep red, forming a dark ring in the area around his chest where a hole has split it open. The sight makes you nauseous, but your desperation to save him overtakes that feeling. 

“I need to call for help. Comms are cut but maybe if I-”

“No.” His voice is so quiet that, for a split second, you think you’re hearing things. 

“What?”

“It is inevitable.”

“What are you talking about? You are not dying like this. You’re too smart for-”

He cuts you off again. “Which is…” he groans as he shifts back, head lifting to look at you through lidded eyes. The pain is tense in his face. “Which is how I know it is inevitable.”

Somehow, he softens. “You do too.”

Tears roll down your cheeks as you face him—and reality. 

“I know,” you whisper. 

His head falls back and he lets out a pained breath. Your hands are still on his chest, stained red with his blood. 

“I regret I could not be what you wanted.” Each word is quiet and strained. Your heart clenches in response. 

“For a while, you were,” you reply. You can barely speak the next words without choking on them. “I did love you. The ‘you’ that was presented to the world, at least.”

“Good.” He nods. 

“Aizen?” Your voice trembles. The acceptance is numbing. It is turning you to stone. 

“Yes.”

Do me a favour and die well. Die… happy. It will lessen the pain.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Can’t it be both?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Keep that promise for me, won’t you?” 

…

“Aizen?”

You wait, but an answer doesn’t come. 

It never comes. 

It takes his death for you to realize that your relationship with Aizen was a frantic undoing of legacy and trust. It was doomed from the very beginning—just as anything he touched would be.

Perhaps death came for Aizen because of that—because it was the only thing that had the power to free him from the confines of a world too small for him. 

Perhaps death was exactly what he needed.

You did not think you could envy death until now. 

[incorrectly-quoting-murderdrones]

Weird fanfic I wrote at 1am

Picture a worker drone who’s read way too many trashy fantasy romance novels where the knight saves the princess from the terrifying monster. For comedy’s sake I’m calling them YN.

YN visits Outpost 3 with a caravan of other drones who have come to trade goods with the colony now that it’s safe for them to travel around outside. YN initially came along in hopes of finding the next book in their favorite medieval fantasy series. However, they had another goal in mind.

You see, the entire fight between Uzi and the Solver was no small event. The tremors from the planet were felt all across the globe. Eventually, stories began to spread about murder drones and a tiny worker who ended the evil. Unfortunately, not all of them were completely factual. Warped through word of mouth, YN’s colony had begun hearing rumors about “the tiny worker girl” and “the gigantic murder drone” that had supposedly taken her captive instead of killing her. The stories described the girl as short, smaller than normal workers, and as beautiful as the sunset with intelligence to match. The murder drone, however, was described as being anywhere from 6-8 feet tall with sharp teeth and claws stained black from the oil of his many kills. Supposedly they had first met under the moonlight on a clear evening. The Murder Drone had been planning to eat her, but saw her beauty under the pale moonlight and was immediately enraptured. He instead kidnapped the girl with the plans to make her his monster bride.

As overexaggerated as they were, YN was excited when they heard the rumors. This was just like one of their novels but with the worker girl as the princess and the murder drone as the terrible dragon keeping her captive. All she needed was a knight to slay the dragon and sweep her off her feet into a happily ever after. YN knew fighting a murder drone was a tall order, but where else were they going to get the chance to finally be one of the dashing knights they so revered?

The first thing YN noticed upon arrival to Outpost 3 was the pile of corpses stacked high into the sky. “That must be the dragon’s lair!”-they thought in excitement.

Now YN wasn’t stupid, at least they didn’t think so. They knew unarmed combat with a powerful murder drone was a death sentence. So in anticipation, they made preparations. Snuck along with their luggage, they brought sets of steel plates, each one perfectly tailored to fit their body and protect their vital areas as well as a much bigger, thicker plate with a leather handle that would serve as a shield. However there was something even more special in their stash. YN heard from stories that the fair maiden was incredibly brilliant and quite the engineer, so they thought they’d take a page out of her book in order to impress her. With painstaking trial and error, they had fashioned themselves a sword of untold power. The blade itself was a striking silver, with the sharp ends curving out before extending into a serrated point tipped with the a stinger and a canister of murder drone acid they found while scrounging the night markets for parts. The handle had an elegantly carved wrist guard, jagged and spiked to prevent being grabbed. Finally, after hearing about the murder drones weakness to sunlight, they attached UV lights to the exterior. YN’s sword was their pride and joy and was sure to destroy the dragon!

But right now it was nighttime when the dragon would be at its most active. If they wanted to pull this off, they’d have to crafty and sneaky. Breaking into the spire in the daylight while the beast was asleep would be the smartest option.

While waiting for the Sun to rise, YN took the opportunity to check out Outpost 3. The bunker wasn’t too different from their own, but signs of fighting and claw marks indicated it saw much more battle. Definitely a murder drone.

YN decided to ask around to gather information about the beast and the girl he stole. They need to be sure what she looks like after all! Eventually, YN bumped into a worker girl with wavy greenish blue hair and light blue eyes who introduced herself as Rachel.

When YN recited the legend to her, she had seemed confused at first before suddenly lighting up in recognition. Rachel was all too happy to fill in some of “details” of the tragic kidnapping of the Doorman’s only child: a timid, anxious young woman named Uzi with hair and eyes the color of fresh spring grapes who had sadly been too terrified to run away when the murder drone stole her, killing her best friend and Rachel’s sister Rebecca. Rachel confirmed that she was kept in the beast’s nest way up high in the rafters of the spire where he would do just the most awful things to her. YN almost turned and ran to go immediately find Uzi, but Rachel quickly stopped him.

“Oh and be careful!” She warned, “I’ve heard that that dastardly beast has done something to mind control her. If the poor dear tries to defend herself or the beast, don’t believe her words!”

At those words, YN turned and ran back to their room in the caravans, missing the evil gleam in Rachel’s eyes.

Carefully, YN crept into the den. It was…it was! It was surprisingly homey? A large nest made of blankets and fabrics and anything else soft likely pillaged from nearby apartments spanned the space of the floor. The walls were covered in pictures and childish crayon scribble drawings. Fairy lights, powered by a cable leading who knows where, adorned the ceiling.

In the center of the nest however, was a far less homey sight. There laid a large male murder drone, at least 6 feet in height, clothed in a black trench coat and a pilots’ hat. He was curled around something, clutching it in his grip while blanketing it with his large metal wings.

YN tiptoed around the nest to get a better angle and spotted the his princess! While shockingly alternative for drone that was supposed to be timid and maidenly, she was exceptionally beautiful even if her odd purple-yellow gradient eyes did give them pause. Like the murder drone, she was curled up and asleep.

Poor girl, forced to sleep next to a monster!

YN took a deep breath and readied their sword, prepared to stab the foul dragon as he slept.

YN crept closer to the sleeping beast, but as they shuffled forward, they failed to notice the empty oil can under their foot.

A loud crrnk echoed through the room.

YN’s core started thumping hard as the loud noise startled both drones awake.

YN stood straight and firm as the murder drone got to his feet. Spotting the armored worker, a confused look crossed his visor before he perked up and spoke.

“Oh hi! I’m so sorry, we weren’t expecting any visitors today!”

The beast can talk?!

“My name is N, can I help you with something?”

YN was speechless as their processors tried to decode the fact that the 6’6” hunk of metal made of death and nightmare fuel just greeted him like a welcome houseguest.

YN steeled themselves. Remember the stories! The monster was obviously just playing friendly to catch them off guard so he could eat them!

YN pointed his sword at N, “Foul beast, I have come to end your reign of tyranny and free the precious maiden Uzi from your foul grasp!!”

Unfortunately, N seemed more confused than intimidated.

“Tyranny? Maiden? Is this one of those dragon dungeon games Uzi and Thad keep telling me about?”

“What?! No!!! I’ve come to kill you and rescue the poor worker girl you kidnapped to become your bride!”

N opened his mouth to protest but YN wasn’t about to let a villain monologue. They launched themselves forward, swinging their sword directly at the base of his head. N quickly sidestepped them, switching his hands for claws as he raised them up in caution.

“Woah there Buddy! Are you sure you really want to do this?”

Was that a threat? So the beast finally shows his true colors!

YN growled and kept swiping at the taller drone. Eventually, N was able to catch the blade with his hands and hold it in place.

“You villain! You’re nothing but a monster: killing Rachel’s sister and stealing her best friend to become your wife! I was told of her timid and anxious nature and her gentleness! How could you terrify her like that?! I will avenge Rachel’s sister and bring Uzi home!”

“Who the FUCK are you calling timid and anxious? And what stories?!”

YN turned their head to the female drone, who decided to finally speak up.

“Lady Uzi, I was told the story of the short drone girl who was captured by a tall murder drone beast and-“

“Dude, shut up.” Uzi looked furious. “I was having a nice nap with my N in our nice den when you decided to wake us up with your weirdass medieval roleplay shtick!”

“I-“

“And then you decided to swipe that admittedly badass sword at the love of my life and accuse him of kidnapping me?!”

YN couldn’t believe what they were hearing. The small worker girl, the perfect princess to their story, was acting nothing like the maiden they had imagined! She just cussed them out!

Uzi continued, showing no signs of noticing-or caring about-the confusion writing itself across YN’s visor.

“First off, Bite Me! There’s no way I’d ever let myself get kidnapped to become some random disassembler’s trophy wife! Second off, I killed Rebecca, not N, and she sure as hell was not my friend. Rachel can shove her lies up her—“

At the mention of Rachel, YN remembered something important. Didn’t she say that the beast had mind controlled her?!

“—and thirdly-“

Before Uzi could finish, YN shoved her back towards the entrance with their shield and activated the UV lights on their sword. N howled in pain as the light seared and burned his arms and hands, letting go of the sword. YN acted quickly, severing his leg at the knee and the arm that was about to switch out for a gun.

“Any last words?”

N winced in pain but looked up at them and smirked, “Your stories got it wrong. The big, tall murder drone from your story isn’t the beast.”

“Oh? Then who is?”

N pauses before a massive grin splits his face.

“My wife”

As YN went to swing at his head, violent purple light surrounded their sword and shield, wrenching them out of their hands.

YN quickly turned around.

How could they be so foolish.

That tiny purple worker girl was no pure maiden.

Fleshy wings and a tail with eyes and teeth erupted from her back. Three grotesque fleshy but metallic tentacles shot out next, pinning YN to the wall and stabbing right through their abdomen.

“Wait, please, I didn’t mean—“

Their pleading was cut off as Uzi’s solver ripped their head off. The last thing YN saw was their romantic fantasy turned into horror.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Can I request some boba fett cockwarming (sith) male reader?👉🏻👈🏻

Boba Fett x Sith Tusken male reader

Headcanons

Why is the reader a tusken raider? I don’t know, I just really love them. This takes place back when Boba was still a bounty hunter, so younger spicier Boba. I really want to write more about tusken raiders, please ask me about tusken raiders. Reader doesn’t work for palpatine, but became a sith on his own, kinda.

Did y’all know a good chunk of tusken raiders aren’t actually the species, but humans or near-humans who joined their tribes? So, what the reader is, is up to y’all, he’s just got the bits needed for fun. I may have done more lore than smut, but yeah, star wars brings it out in me.

You had always been part of the sand tribes of Tatooine, born into it and raised their way. The peaceful life, or as peaceful as it could be, ended when the one with the flaming sword slaughtered them all.

You had not even passed your coming of age at the time, forced to watch as your clan members, mother and father were killed like womp rats.

There had always been a power inside you, one that the clan elders told you connected you to the stars and the sand, which would one day allow you to become the clan’s storyteller and lorekeeper, maybe you could even become the next tribe leader if the stars and suns smiled upon you.

This power kept you hidden from the glowing one, hidden under the bodies of your clan and loved ones. You had never thought of what your clan did as evil, it was needed to survive, and the settlers didn’t deserve the sand’s gifts. But it was enough to doom you all.

There you laid for hours, days even, listening to the power of the stars and sands telling you to wait, be cautious, or you too would die. This time let you surround yourself with the pain and suffering you felt, having lost everything.

The Tusken people were not peacekeepers like jedi, and knew that one needed to kill to survive. This meant there was nothing keeping you cautious of the dark side, allowing you to embrace it and pack it inside yourself.

No other tribe dared let you join them, your connection to the universe was too powerful. Their own storytellers and lorekeepers shook before you, letting out shaky guttural requests for you to leave them be, and take the eternal darkness you carried with you.

You were not evil, but you were not kind. You stayed by yourself for a long time. You found a cave underground where you could meditate, train as the stars taught you. Here you discovered a glowing orange stone, one that sang when you held it, and screamed when your darkness turned it red.

Yet it still purred like a loth-cat when you placed it inside your specially made garderffi stick, which also worked as a spear when you wielded the stones power.

You truly only left your self-isolation when you felt the universe shift. The light that had existed was snuffed out with a pained shriek as darkness filled the void left behind.

A hidden light settled on Tatooine, but he could not hide from you. Your darkness covered the planet in your own blanket, shielding it from outsiders who wished to look inside, it kept you but also these new lights hidden.

He called himself Ben, but you knew it was a lie. His vocal cords could not pronounce your true name, instead he simply called you Abyss, which was close enough to some part of your name that you accepted it.

You were not friends perse, but you two would sometimes wander the sands together, and you would lead him to places with water, and black melons, where he would not mess with the planet and her resources.

Bounty hunters were common on the planet. Tatooine was hutt owned, meaning all kinds of evil came through her ports. Spreading their evil like disease. Something your energy struck back at like an evil spear when the opportunity presented itself.

Boba Fett was like the mandalorians your past storyteller spoke of, except his armor made him noticeable in the force, as Ben called it. his mission was to find your light companion, and with nothing to do you decided to confront him.

He must have believed you were like any other Tusken, wielding only a gaderffi stick and maybe a rifle. But he stood no chance against the vacuum of darkness you possessed. You didn’t kill him, there was no need too, plus, his cursing and spitting was entertaining.

In the end Boba forgot all about his bounty, instead focusing on you since you proved to be a lot more interesting. How funny that fighting could be seen as flirting in both your cultures, as something hotter brewed between you as he shot at you, and you flicked it away with a small motion.

You had never left Tatooine and her embrace, but you ended up leaving with Boba. Something developed between you, and you decided why not see the galaxy. Of course, the colonizers were horrified to see the bounty hunter leave with you behind him, but no one dared say anything.

Ben gave you a small farewell in the mind bond you two had developed to be able to speak together, before you both closed it off, not wanting him to be found through it.

You ended up meeting Vader, who made your darkness grow from a pit to a black hole, as he was the burning one who took everything from you. Even in his new form there was no hiding it, and only Vaders slavemaster kept the battle from happening.

The old corpse admired your strength and ability to hide, nihilus reborn, he sang. Whoever that was. You had no interest in his ideas and plans, instead you left with Boba. A deal was settled between you and Vader, he left you alone, and you left him alone.

At some point during your travels with Boba your clothing had to be changed up. You wore your robes and bandages for as long as possible, since it was who you were. But it became a bit of a problem on different planets.

In the end, Boba got you something more flowy but it covered just as much. apparently, Sidious had sent it. It had a strange mask as well with red detailing, with another note about this Nihilus. You didn’t care. You kept wearing your goggles, though you put away the mouthpiece for now.

It allowed for a lot more touch between you and Boba, and the bounty hunter could get quite physical. It wasn’t common in your culture, so in the beginning you would growl and push him away with your dark powers. But over time you got used to it, even allowing his hands to linger on your thighs.

The first time he tried to slide his hands under your robes had you knocking him unconscious though, nailing him in the helmet with your gaderffii stick.

Courting took a long time for your people, at least in your tribe. And involved a lot of sparring and fighting alongside each other, which you two did plenty. Getting intimate was strange too, as it was mostly for breeding in your tribe, but Boba made quick work of showing just how good it felt.

For the most part you only allowed Boba to move your robes and layers enough to expose your cock, and luckily that was all he needed most of the time.

Kisses wasn’t really a thing in your culture, instead you two would press your foreheads together which was a display in the Mandalorian culture instead. It got especially intimate when Boba would ride you and press his forehead against yours.

Seeing all his exposed skin could be very erotic and blasphemous to you, but it had the power inside you striking out and grasping at him like a starving krayt dragon clamping onto a bantha.

Boba was able to teach you how to fly a ship as well. He claimed it was so you could be the getaway when bounties went back, but you had a feeling it was so he could act out his fantasies of cockwarming you.

The first time you allowed him to expose you kickstarted his hunger, something he had suppressed for a long time because it made you uncomfortable to think about.

He was always on you somehow, be it when you would steer the ship or when you meditated. Having his mouth on you was such a culture shock that you spilled the moment his lips wrapped around you.

The mind link you two had started developing also taught you that the act of warming you and pleasing you assisted in calming his mind as well. It made the intimacy between you stronger, deeper.

Boba never got to see your face, at least for a very long time (think after he joined the tribe in the Boba Fett series), but he did succeed in pushing your robes up more and more, so he could grope as your pecs and muscles.

The force was also a great help, as the dark side was fueled by darker wants and urges. So, you may have used it once or twice to keep him in place and supply him with air, so he didn’t need to breathe. Boba loved it though.

On the matters of sithlords, you never claimed you were one, but you got called one anyways. How that pans out with the resistance and the fall of the empire is for later though.

[jollyreginaldrancher]

My take on Lottie relinquishing her power in season 2 is not that she saw the violence that their survival necessitated and couldn't deal with the guilt but that she realized they stepped into a new era where it's not her comfort and guidance they need, it's a hunter...it's food. It's Nat they needed.

She was perfectly capable of devouring Jackie to stay alive. And if it came to it she wanted to be eaten. She wasn't horrified by the hunt. It didn't sit well with her that they decided to hunt when she was willing to die for them.

And the crux of that situation is that she realized that her role was really symbolic. She was a figurehead, not a leader. They wouldn't even obey her final wishes. And Nat had been opposing her for months. She couldn't even do the one thing she wanted to do, which is unify the group and help them cope.

So she delegated her power to the strongest person she knew. The one who has the balls to go against her and the one whose judgement she trusted the most. Because for all her faults, the most redeeming quality of Nat's is her empathy. Her heart. And that's what she trusts in a person. Misty is smart and she's empathetic and she loves deeply and has a great heart, and so does Taissa and some of the other contenders, but they are logical and they are ruthless and to a point they are gutless.

She saw the direction they were going and she realizes that she is losing control of them and she picked Nat because Nat is the leader they need right now. The hunter.

Don't get me wrong, they can all lead, and they can all do what needs to be done, but in different ways. Misty can be calculating and ruthless, but acts out impulsively a lot, and that works to her detriment. Furthermore she's better not as a ruler when the attention is all on her but behind the scenes, augmenting, rather than obeying or rather influencing the outcome of things in her own way rather than setting strict rules and ordering people around.

Look at the hunt-off or Natalie's hunt. She's not a follower. She'll obey and go along with a plan but when a better one comes along she's an opportunist who will jump at the better opportunity. And while that's a good thing to have to survive, as a leader you need to be someone with follow-through like Natalie.

Taissa has the opposite flaw, where she pushes and takes things too far, doubling down on her opinions because she's always sure she's right, and doesn't care about the collateral damage, she will carry through whatever plan she has, and if normal Tai can't do it, other Tai will. She's susceptible to manipulation by Van, and she's not open minded at all, but she'll bend the knee for Van's sake so that makes her a bit of a liability. Also the fact that she has to mentally check out to do certain things that aid in her survival, such as eat Jackie.

Shauna doesn't want to rule, she just wants to be picked. She genuinely just wants the power and none of the responsibility. The way she put all the blame on Jackie for Shauna making the life choices she did? Yeah, she'll not take any responsibility as leader and Lottie knows, and as much as she likes her or wants to support her and sympathizes with her losing her best friend, she knows that she would absolutely mismanage her power and then complain and make it everybody else's fault. Shauna was the antler queen there'd be a revolt in 5 business days.

So that leaves Natalie who's stubborn and rebellious but empathetic -managed to be sympathetic to Travis even when Lottie didn't want to give him the benefit of the doubt, and stuck up for Misty of all people -who is practically considered to be the human embodiment of a scab- when Shauna un-rightfully started beating on her, so Lottie knows she'd be a just leader. She doesn't go too far when she thinks she's right, having called a truce on Lottie, and even when she thinks something is bullshit, like drinking Lottie's blood for good luck and shit, she'll still bend the knee for the greater good and for other people's peace of mind, which Misty would do too, but Shauna and Taissa would be too proud to.

Van and Travis would not be considered leadership material cause they were some of the biggest followers of hers. Both also have a partner which makes them impartial to all but one person in the group at least. Plus it's not likely people would take well to a guy being placed in a leadership position over a whole group of women. Just no.

So Lottie gave the role to the person she thought was strongest, most likely to do the right thing even when it's not popular, and is willing to go where she needs to in order to keep everyone alive. Has empathy for everyone and isn't likely to sideline anyone or use the power to her advantage. Is willing to be flexible and cede to things she doesn't like for the sake of the group but is stubborn enough to not be a complete pushover. Mainly doesn't do things for approval, does things because of her moral compass, which is something that doesn't guide most of them.

[prettealolilol]

So Tim starts stalking Batman and Robin and photographing them when he's like nine. Imagine little Timmy, looking at those pictures, amazed by his two favourite superhero, thinking that if anyone took pictures like this of his family, he''d love to have them because there's like one family picture and it's scary. So he decides to send them to the Wayne Manor, since the bats deserve to know how good they look and how awesome they are, and because it's always nice to have printed memories over the years. And maybe he also does it because he craves being aknowledge, and even if they don't know it's him, he'd like for the bats to appreciate his talent.

So little very smart Timmy, makes copy of the pictures and put them in an enveloppe, carefully not leaving any finger prints or proves (because if they find out it's him they'll tell his parents and he can't have anyone take this away), waits for the factor to pass by Drake Manor, silently drops the enveloppe in the man's bag while he's distracted, and watches the man go away toward Wayne Manor where the eneveloppe will be sent. There's nothing on the enveloppe except for Wayne Manor and nothing inside except for the pictures.

Naturally this break havoc in the batfamily because there's someone following them close enough to get those shots and knows their adress so their identity ?!? They wait for the other shoe to drop, for blackmail, ransom, but nothing come excepts for amazing clear shots every sunday that clearly shows admiration and worship. They look for this stalker during patrol, but since they can't catch him and nothing happens, Bruce put it at the back of his mind.

As the years go on, the pictures keep coming, always updated to the latest addition of the vigilantes family, although less often, maybe every two weeks/once per month. There're less pictures in the enveloppes after Tim joins, nothing too noticable, since Tim is not around as much (between patrol, college/WE, Teen Titan, not living at the manor...). He probably stops taking pictures around the time Damian arrives and the time stream happens, and since the enveloppe have been coming less and less, no one really notices.

A few years later, Duke moves in and decides to discover the manor. He ends up finding a box with the pictures and asks the others. Damian is as confused as him.

Two options from here, either Tim is exhausted (had been awake for 4 days, running on caffeine) when Duke asks; so he lets it slip it's him and chaos ensues, someone does the maths and Omg how old were you when you started ?? Then Stephanie asks him to take more, and Damian is like how preposterous there is non of the current Robin, when he just want to be included in the photos. Tim takes the cue and starts photographing them again, and realises how much he missed this.

Second option, Tim decides to mess with them and uses the opportunity as a stealth training, by following them and sending the pictures again. It's more difficult since he is busy. He has the hardest tim with Duke, because he patrols during the day and his powers don't help. It takes months for the batfam to realise it was him all this time.

[kei-crocker]

May I ask a question? In your Twisted pitch pals au-

What's Vlad doing in all this? Like, how does he feel about Danny’s ghost half essentially kidnapping him? I imagine he might be a little freaked out or concerned

I've been thinking about this situation, and I feel like Fenton might have personally convinced Phantom before leaving Wisconsin Manor. He would have done everything he could to make sure Phantom didn’t hurt Vlad.

At that moment, Vlad might have felt a sense of humiliation toward Fenton. After all, he owed his life to a kid he had always considered several steps beneath him. Of course, that feeling probably wasn’t too strong—at least not at the time—since he was too overwhelmed by sheer terror to dwell on humiliation. In the show, Vlad had already lost to Danny quite a few times, but up until TUE, Danny had never defeated him purely through sheer power. (I think that was the case even until the finale, but I don’t remember Phantom Planet at all, so I can’t say for sure.) Danny always compensated for his lack of strength with cleverness.

But now, without Plasmius, Vlad is nothing more than a powerless human. Meanwhile, Dan Phantom has not only fused with his own ghost half but also absorbed Plasmius, making him unimaginably powerful—and on top of that, he harbors a deep and personal desire to kill Vlad. At the moment he was attacked, Vlad probably had little room for any emotion other than fear. But once the situation settled down and Phantom left with Fenton, he would have had plenty of time to think.

I've always thought Vlad was a well-crafted character—deeply layered, with complex motivations. His obsession with Danny has a clear purpose (replacing Jack), but TUE makes it clear that he doesn’t see Danny as just a means to an end. I believe, to some extent, his concern for Danny was genuine.

So when Phantom took Fenton away, that concern likely started creeping in, though he was too terrified and injured to stop it from happening.

As time passed and he regained his composure, he would have started reflecting on everything. Once Fenton was lucky enough to contact him, Vlad’s thoughts and objectives would have solidified.

It’s possible he would try to use Fenton’s reluctantness toward Phantom to bring him back under his control. Vlad is highly calculating—he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity if he saw one. He might also see this as a way to reclaim his ghost half. Ideally, he would want Danny Fenton as a complete halfa, but if he deemed Phantom uncontrollable and too great a threat, he might decide to eliminate him and claim only Danny Fenton, the human boy, as his son.

Valerie would likely play a role in this scheme as well. Fenton, of course, wouldn’t be happy about any of it.

As this process unfolds, any lingering guilt Vlad has toward Fenton would fade, replaced by an even stronger obsession. Just as with Phantom, Danny has become the only person in the world he truly loves—aside from himself. And along the way, he might justify his actions by convincing himself that everything he’s doing is for Danny’s own good.

Thanks for leaving me an ask! <<3 it's fun to think how Vlad goes here after these all incidents 😖

[anystalker707]

I <3 making pretty boys cry

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: Anakin cries when you blow him Tags: drabble / Anakin's pretty whimpers / teasing him / edging / dacryphilia

MASTER LIST

          The Jedi code was extensive, descriptive, and strict, but it never stopped exceptions, and Anakin himself was a great one, ever since the beginning. He was supposed to be many things, but none mattered the moment he was with you, away from prying eyes. Sometimes, when you were lucky enough, you would manage to slip away because spending nights in the Temple was too risky, within the sense of so many powerful Jedi that could sense your connection as easily as one could notice a sudden breeze.

It was a cheap motel in the lower levels of Coruscant, but it was more than enough if it meant the two of you could be together without worrying about anything beyond the closed walls of the bedroom. Not even ten minutes had passed since you two entered the room, and Anakin’s pants already echoed through it, punctuated by soft whimpers.

A pretty pink dusted Anakin’s cheeks as he looked down at you through half-lidded eyes and blown pupils, hands pressed to the wall, each by a side of his hips. Fuck it if the floor would stain your pants and leave marks on the knees, you just couldn’t waste any second by moving to the bed or the couch, much busier with continuing to mouth the outline of the bulge that strained his pants, keeping your eyes on his face as much as you could.

“You’re so hard for me, baby,” you mumbled, easily earning yourself an adorable whine. Anakin’s cock visibly twitched when your fingers grazed the waistband of his pants, so you took a few more seconds than you planned to start tugging it down, letting it grind along his length, and when you did the same with his boxers, he let out another breathy moan. “So pretty. Look at you.”

Pearls of cum glazed the flushed tip, enough to ease your hand’s motions as you wrapped it around his cock and pumped him slowly, feeling every vein, every pulsation. Your eyes followed attentively as another bead escaped his tip, rolling down your thumb’s knuckle.

“Please,” Anakin’s breathy plea cut through your thoughts, and you glanced up at him again, wishing you could swallow the moans straight from those soft plush lips, but you focused on busying your mouth with something else right now.

Anakin was sensitive, and you never had the opportunity to have him often enough to cure that sensitivity away, which was far from bad. He was responsive to every little touch, craving everything and anything from you, and who were you to deny?

The tangy, salty taste was more than familiar, spreading on your tongue as you licked a stripe from the base to the tip before going back down, tracing the vein. Up again, your tongue reached the underside of his tip, snatching a higher-pitched moan from Anakin as his hips bucked forward. You could only imagine how painfully needy he was after only being palmed and mouthed through his pants for so long, only now getting the friction and contact he ached so much for.

Your tongue swirled around the tip before closing around it, and Anakin’s breath fell completely out of pace when you finally took him in your mouth. First, deep throating, then bobbing shallowly. Even if he tangled his fingers in your hair, it was mostly for leverage than to fuck into your mouth, because he obediently kept his hips in place when you held them against the wall.

“G’nna cum,” Anakin whined, cock twitching, leaking more, thighs quivering. How adorable. A sound of frustration followed after you pulled away, and cold air replaced the warmth of your mouth; he almost folded over. He looked down, eyes glazed, as he observed you nuzzle into his crotch, in a way you mouthed at his balls lightly. It felt so good, but he didn’t want to cum like that, he needed you, he needed you to have every drop.

“Mmph, please,” Anakin repeated. He hoped he could hold back.

“What’s it, baby?” You raised your eyebrows lightly, heart fluttering when you caught the sight of a tear finally escaping his eye and trailing down his cheek. Your thumbs rubbed circles into his hips, soothing and demanding all at the same time.

“Need your mouth ‘round me,” Anakin babbled. The words ran one into another, his small voice breathy and whiny. He exhaled shakily, another tear escaping his eyes as his cock twitched painfully.

“Oh, poor little thing,” you whispered, kissing his tip while wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. “‘M gonna take care of you.” You took him into his mouth again, cock heavy on your tongue, throbbing even more when you hollowed your cheeks. Something similar to a sob escaped his lips, and it didn’t even take long before he came, salty bitter cum coating your tongue as you kept working your mouth around him, despite the soft sobs that still escaped his lips, muffled by his palm.

[greenleaf4stuff]

In Convenience, Chapter 1, Part 2

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage to marriage of love AU, post story chapter 1, part 2. Despite Adar’s reassurances, the smith tries to overcome his own apprehension and create the wedding rings himself. After facing difficulties, his uruk husband offers them both an alternative solution.

Poor Celebrimbor is getting hit with a dose of ambition again. It's good he has Adar with him this time. A big thank you to @plotdesigner once again, who undoutably inspired some of the ideas about uruk marriages and related customs with her writing! <3

As Celebrimbor quickly found out two days later, the thought of forcing himself to make rings for himself and his husband was, indeed, a bit of a foolish one.

It was frustrating, to say the least. He’d given the others instructions to spend the day outside and rather help the uruk better set up their camp to brave the bright sunshine, since there had been few clouds during the last couple of days.

It had been both an honest attempt to help Adar and his children, but also a welcome opportunity to sit in the remnants of the forge and try to reclaim another part of himself.

A part that Celebrimbor felt had been stolen from him, tainted and twisted, when 'Annatar' had taken his knowledge and skill and used it for his own means.

Some of it, he had already regained in Gurlak’s little forge. But some facet of him – his pride, he’d come to suspect with a scowl – wasn’t satisfied with that. It wanted to work in his own forge again, and it wanted to work on something similar yet wholly different than what he’d last worked on in here.

Weddings bands. Simple, elven wedding bands.

Celebrimbor knew the tradition well – silver rings for engagement, and then a simple gold band for married pairs, worn on the right index finger.

Of course, as a smith with his heritage and due to the fact that this was not a traditional Eldar marriage, Celebrimbor had felt as if that would have been too simple a task for him.

No, he wanted to create something that encompassed both the beauty and the depth of the love he felt for his husband, perhaps even rivalled the elven rings of power. Something that Adar would be proud to wear and display, simple enough for a warrior, yet distinct. Shaped with intention as well as skill.

Yes, that would be a good way to represent their union.

The problem was that Celebrimbor had been unable to complete even a single, satisfactory sketch.

He was ruffling his own hair in agitation as he faltered, then stopped, with yet another design – too clunky, too big, too elaborate – and leant back in his chair with a loud, frustrated groan while he rubbed his hands over his face.

He’d been at this for hours, judging by the movement of the sun outside. And yet he had nothing to show for it.

The elf flung the graphite he’d used across the table in a sudden, almost petulant surge of anger at himself. It jumped off the table once and, as it did so, broke apart.

Celebrimbor’s anger broke right alongside it.

At the door to the forge, he heard movement. The elf could immediately guess who it was, but did not consider himself to be in the right state of mind to turn around and greet the other. Instead, he leant forward and buried his face in his hands, elbows propped up on the table.

Out of anyone, he’d hoped his husband might not be the one to find him here, like this.

"A very kind gesture, to send us your assistants to aid my children in erecting sun tarps," the uruk spoke as he entered the forge proper. "However, I must admit that I was missing your presence at the camp."

It was said in a teasing manner. And yet, Celebrimbor almost felt as if that made it all worse.

He remained hunched over his work table, unmoving, and let the thought pass him by. This was his husband – he had obviously missed Celebrimbor, had actually decided to come and visit him in his forge despite his many tasks. He did not and could not know of the smith’s struggle with himself.

The uruk fell silent when he got no answer, and soon, measured footsteps were nearing the table. While the elf didn’t particularly look forward to the conversation they’d undoutably soon have, he felt a weight fall off his shoulders knowing Adar was here.

He had felt terribly lonely, all by himself, amid the remnants of destruction and previous failures.

The uruk finally came to stand directly next to Celebrimbor’s table, so close that the elf could feel his body heat. It was tempting to remain in the dark and imagined safety of his own hands, but Celebrimbor had never been the one to choose the easiest route over the most sensible.

Most of the time, anyway.

He let his fingers slip off of his face, before he folded them and pressed his mouth against them, staring straight ahead. He needed a moment, and then glanced up at his husband, aware that his unhappiness, the sheer dismay in regards to his current predicament, was likely showing on his face.

Adar had leant his hip into the side of the table where he stood next to Celebrimbor, close enough that his cuirass was almost touching the elf’s arm. If they hadn’t been together, perhaps the proximity, the other’s stance, the way he looked down at Celebrimbor with a straight back and a tilted head, would have been intimidating.

As it was, the elf knew it to be concern, and he didn’t make any attempt to hide his failed sketches or the broken graphite as Adar took in both his husband and the work table with quiet, intense eyes.

There was a slight frown to his face for a moment, before that expression smoothed itself out again, as the other seemed to come to a realization, or perhaps a conclusion. He looked at Celebrimbor for a while longer, then turned around and stepped back into the room.

It only took a short moment for him to return, this time carrying a stool, which he placed close to the smith’s own chair.

Adar soon sat down upon it, legs facing away from the table and into the room. He propped the elbow closest to Celebrimbor onto the table’s surface, and then leant over, moving in close enough that their upper thighs were pressed against one another.

His face was open, and it carried a silent request – that Celebrimbor talk to him.

They stared at one another some more before the smith finally lifted his face from his hands and averted his eyes. His words came out haltingly at first.

"I thought I was ready. It would have been...I’d hoped to replicate what I managed to do with Morgoth’s crown, I suppose. I wanted that same feeling of – of doing something worthwhile. Something beneficial. That would not cause harm and misery."

He paused, took a breath, leant back in his chair. Why did he feel so defeated, when the evil that was darkening his thoughts had already been vanquished?

The slump of his frame felt uncharacteristic even to himself. "I know you said I shouldn’t push myself for your sake, and I also know you were right about that. And yet, who but you would deserve to have a ring made for them? It might not have the power of the three, granted. But I wished for yours to have a measure of their beauty, at least."

He felt his face pull into a grimace for a moment, and tilted his head this way and that as he grit his teeth. "He doesn’t deserve to taint this. He’s done far too much to you, to both of us, to also steal this. My joy in creating, and you having a token that shows the whole of Middle-earth what you mean to me. I- it feels like a defeat, that I cannot overcome this hurdle. As if he’s won, in some small way."

He turned towards Adar again, and could feel excess moisture in his eyes before he managed to blink it away, but barely. "Do I make any sense?"

Adar considered him intently, but not for long. He hummed. "Far too much, in fact. Yes."

The elf blinked, and moved forward in his chair as Adar reached out to wrap an arm around his waist. Soon, Adar had pulled himself into Celebrimbor’s side, against his arm and hip, and lifted his own chin over the elf’s shoulder.

He placed a kiss at Celebrimbor’s temple before pressed their faces together, his nose and lips and jaw to the elf’s cheek, his chin on the elf’s shoulder, both staring at the sketches.

Celebrimbor, himself, reached out and held onto the arm Adar had propped onto the desk still. He soon found his hand held in Adar’s as they both applied gentle pressure.

"It honors you, that you would wish to display our bond so openly to the world. In a manner none could misunderstand," Adar said, slowly. "That you wish to claim me like this. Believe me, you have already done so, even without a public display."

The reassurance was like a balm to Celebrimbor’s troubled mind.

Still, Adar continued. "Eventually, you will reclaim this part of yourself as well. I have no doubt about that. You are far too passionate about your craft not to."

"But not today, not here, and not like this. You cannot force a wound to heal. Even if your intentions are noble. And truly appreciated."

The elf hummed in response, and turned his face into Adar’s until their foreheads and noses touched. He let himself lean onto the uruk as he breathed a quiet sigh.

"I suppose you might have a point there," the smith replied and a small, but humorless grin found its way onto his face for the blink of an eye. "I’m sorry, I know you have a lot on your plate right now. And don’t get me wrong, I do not think of our marriage as diminished if we do not wear rings, or if I’m not the one make them for us."

A pause. Being this honest with both Adar and himself was still a novelty, and at times a little painful. "I suspect it’s less my love for you so much as the expectations I have for myself that are making this such a difficult topic for me. I love you, and us, just as you are. Never doubt that."

That was important to him. As much as he still struggled with what had happened during Sauron’s stay in Eregion, he never wanted Adar to feel as if their relationship needed to hold up to some kind of outside notion. The problem was, at least partially, in Celebrimbor’s own head. And not with their marriage.

He could feel Adar smile against his face, and opened his eyes to see the uruk with his own half-open, watching Celebrimbor with an incredibly fond, if sad look.

The elf felt as if his own feelings were directed back at him.

He wanted to further reassure the other, but Adar was faster to speak.

"Let me try something," he asked. The way his expression was changing had the elf perk up quickly; there was a spark in the uruk’s eyes, as if he had gotten a particularly good idea.

Intrigued, Celebrimbor nodded.

Adar leant back from his husband, taking his warmth and his hands with him. The elf, however, was far too curious to mourn their loss.

The uruk grabbed his own belt; he had stopped carrying his large broadsword everywhere he went, but as the smith soon saw, that did not mean he was unarmed. He carried a small knife, made in a similarly improvised manner as most uruk weapons. From what the other had told him, it had been fashioned from the broken-off tip of his sword.

Celebrimbor briefly frowned in response, especially when Adar lifted the knife up and towards his own head. The only thing the other did, however, was to grab a fine, thin strand of his own hair, and then cut it close to the root.

The elf blinked and raised his eyebrows in confusion as he watched Adar put the knife away again and tie a small knot at one end of the strand of hair. Soon, his husband was reaching forward and grabbed a hold of the elf’s hand.

He put the knotted end of the strand in between Celebrimbor’s digits, tucked between thumb and index finger. As he pressed the tips of the two digits together with his own, he sought out the elf’s eyes once more.

"Hold onto this tightly."

Again, Celebrimbor could only nod mutely.

And then watched as Adar sat back, separated the strand into three smaller sections, and began to braid it.

Judging by the speed and the evenness of the braid as it came together, he had done this before. Not even the gauntlet seemed to be a detriment, but rather, the pointed tips helped him separate errand pieces of hair from each other. It was quite fascinating to observe.

"Among the uruk, marriage in the traditional, Eldar sense of the word did not exist for a long time," Adar began as he braided, focused on his task. "Unions between two of my children have only become somewhat common after the first time I managed to defeat Sauron. Under his and Morgoth’s reign, it was just not feasible."

"But my children endured, and developed their own traditions and customs in response. We had no precious metals, but we had other means to show affection and loyalty."

Finally he had finished the braid, and tied another small knot at the end. Gently, he slipped the side that Celebrimbor had held onto from between the elf’s fingers. Though not without brushing his own over his husband’s hand as he did so.

The elf kept his eyes on the finished braid, now utterly captivated, as Adar twisted it around and into itself. Again, this seemed to have been something the other had done before, Celebrimbor could not guess how many times.

His mouth fell open and his eyes widened slightly when, by the end of his motions, Adar was left with a braided ring in his hand. Small, thin, yet intricate. Beautiful. Made with intention, and skill.

Celebrimbor stared at him in what was both surprise and awe, eyebrows raised and mouth still slightly open. The uruk took his husband’s right hand, held it up with his gauntleted one, and used the other to slip the braided ring onto the elf’s finger.

Celebrimbor found his breath stuttering on his next exhale, as his eyebrows knitted briefly and he stared at the little trinket he now wore. It fit perfectly.

A myriad of emotions overcame him then, from astonishment, to wonder, to love. He looked up into Adar’s eyes again, and his face split into a wide smile as he did.

The uruk had looked...not apprehensive, per se, but a little questioning. After seeing Celebrimbor’s reaction, he seemed to be fully at ease once again.

"We usually carry braids or strands of hair, but sometimes turning them into rings is a safer option, to avoid losing it. Perhaps, this might serve as a solution to our conundrum until you have healed enough to attempt making rings again."

Celebrimbor smiled and felt moisture creep into his eyes once more, though this time, for a much more welcome reason. His smile turned lop-sided as he looked down and carefully moved his fingertips over the ring, felt the smoothness of the hair, marveled at how it shone in the color of rust in the sunlight.

"That...that is more than a compromise," he decided, and looked at Adar again. "Or a replacement. I quite like it, and what it represents. As well as the thought of renewing it with you. Thank you, Adar."

He tilted his head to the side a little. "Do you think my hair might be long enough for a braid as well?"

It was Adar’s turn to be stunned for a moment. Soon, a small smile touched his face, and the edges of his eyes crinkled. The uruk grabbed his knife again. "I think I can figure something out. Turn your head a little, so I can find a good strand to cut."

Celebrimbor gladly let Adar touch his jaw and chin to move his head in the direction he desired, smiling all the while.

It took the uruk a bit more time to fumble with the hair for the second braid, but Adar did end up making another ring. When Celebrimbor gingerly took it from him and then slipped it onto Adar’s index finger, it contrasted nicely against the uruk’s skin – and the hair of Celebrimbor’s ring.

Both of them held up their hands next to each other, turning their new tokens about this way and that, watching the light play off of them, the delicate details of the braids. When their eyes found one another once more. They both were smiling.

Yes, Celebrimbor would need more time to fully reclaim all that which he felt he had lost in the last few weeks. But the fact of the matter was, he had also gained something in turn.

He and Adar both had time, now. They’d figure it out together, and forge their own path.

[drdemonprince]

(i'm not great at wrapping words around my thoughts, so i hope this makes sense!) i like the phrase 'sex exceptionalism,' it really makes me think. this morning i also had the thought: 'youth exceptionalism' -- i have a feeling you've already thought about this, about how we sort of treat children/youth as both sacred and subhuman.

i get this hard-to-describe unease whenever i see signs saying 'protect trans youth.' like changing words doesn't actually change actions, but i wish it said something more like 'defend trans folks.' without trans elders, trans youth don't have a future modeled for them. and we lose the wisdom and insight of people who transitioned in politically tumultuous times, when doing so was at least as stigmatized and difficult and dangerous as it is now. people with the benefit of seeing changes come and go, who have the lived experience of survival-pending-liberation and trans folks helping trans folks through direct immediate action and support.

youth exceptionalism -- it gets in the way of thinking clearly and critically whenever it pops up. it seems more emotional and ingrained than conscious. i feel it around programs aimed at giving youth opportunities, with cutoff ages. which to some extent makes sense, but not to the degree of fetishization of youth & kids our culture hangs on to. one too eager to discard humans as soon as they age (or rage) out of this impressionable, doll-like imposed role.

i think it also puts unconscious stress on youth, a sense of adults/power-havers heaping dreams & expectations on the next generation. and claiming all the sacrifices they chose to make were for the children/next generation. but at the same time expecting a specific outcome, a specific return on that transactional investment.

anyway, that's my jumble o' thoughts.

I think you're getting at something real. I have never liked the "Protect Trans Youth" shirts and banners, the way that certain supportive and well-intentioned parents cling to an identity for themselves as parent to a trans kid (often putting their kid's trans status out into the open and denying them the chance at ever being stealth, should they want to be), the advocacy that gets too perversely focused on the threat of a trans kid killing themselves (as if that were the only reason to give young people rights), the fixation on protection and innocence rather than on liberation... the heart is genuine that is driving a lot of this stuff, but it still sees children as the helpless precious object of their parents, a proto-human that has to be shielded from the world rather than a human of their own, with their own right to make decisions. it still treats transness as a rare fringe case; we might as well be talking about child cancer patients, for how focused the language is on protection and death. everybody's debating about what is best for the kid, and how to best prevent harm, and nobody is letting the kids speak for themselves. there's something so cloying and inert about it. even if the Protect Trans Kids group wins every political battle they get involved in, all they've done is provide children with one exception from the usual denial of body autonomy they live with. and they only get that exception because supposedly death is the alternative and they're that rare and sick. it's not good when you really drill into it.

[useless-lesbian-canadian]

Ok but like the deep fake HOH would be a great power if A) they changed the way the nominations happened this year so that it wasn’t super obvious or B) Quinn didn’t tell the whole fucking house about it and actually kept the power a secret. Because just thinking about having an HOH being like those aren’t my noms and nobody knowing who did it. That would be so much better.

[quietwingsinthesky]

rip to the real guy that demon was possessing but lucifer killing that elementary school teacher with sam after revealing it was one of azazel’s gang that had been manipulating him his whole life WAS romance actually <3

[winesharksea]

and what if i said that before the start of tda kit could probably count on one hand the number of times someone hugged him, what then