#trying to deny the system instead of changing it

[weedle-testaburger]

one big pet peeve i have with ideological posts on tumblr is when people treat philosophy as fact. yes there are really sucky things about the existence of ownership and laws as a concept but pretending like they don't exist is just gonna hurt you

[l-in-the-light]

This cultural mechanism of denying humanity of certain individuals (most often villains) has a name. Rene Girard wrote about it in his book called The Scapegoat. I tried finding ANY reblog of this post which actually mentions this, but despite scrolling through at least half of reblogs, I couldn't find it, which means even if someone did point it out then it still went pretty much unnoticed.

We all know who or what a scapegoat is. It's that thing or that person, the root of evil, the source of chaos, the troublemaker, the trickster disrupting the long established safety and order (which is, ofc, the ultimate good). If you only get rid of the problematic individual, everything will be okay again. That's how it works. But there's a problem with it. There's never one scapegoat. After one comes another, and another, and another, till you get hundreds and thousands of them and you can't fit them in one neat grave or prison anymore. They keep coming and there will be more and more of them, this will never stop, because it's a cycle. A cycle of violence. If you really want for "things to be okay", you need to break that cycle, instead of finding YET another scapegoat, yet another villain to bury for all of our sins. By sacrficing another villain, another victim, another scapegoat on the altar of society, you only support the cycle to keep on going.

Yes, you heard me right. Villains are scapegoats. But victims ARE scapegoats as well. Anyone we forcefully silence and refuse to give agency to is the scapegoat. The homeless, the LGBT, the mentally different, any disabled people etc. Anyone who fits into a very broad category of "otherness". But here's the catch. Because this category is so broad it's very easy to become that "other". That's why people are willing to go to extreme lengths just to make sure no one sees them as "other". They will deny their disabilities, they will deny they're not like those "others", they will even deny their own struggles, just to fit into the safe mold of "normal". And if you silence yourself just because you're afraid you might be the next one victimized or villainized, you're also a scapegoat, btw. Your inner life and self-consistency is the sacrifice on the altar of society that doesn't care if you actually have a heart. All it cares about is for you to make sure you're "normal", which has a very murky definition too. Who's normal? The one who acts like the majority of others? The one who has the applause? (applause can be shortlived and depends on trends, it's dangerous, you're dancing on the edge). Every time we see someone as the "other" we judge, we're scapegoating them. Yes, all of us, by succumbing to our fear of being judged, contribute to this mechanism. Otherwise the seams of the society might fall apart and we can all turn against each other, we can rip apart the system, they warn us of anarchy, you might get killed in the middle of the street, there will be no police to guard the order, no prisons to keep the bad eggs away from you. Stay quiet, endure, it's for the safety of all of us.

No one should have to carry that weight of the whole world on their own shoulders. Not like this. But we do, every single day.

We're all capable of being bad people and often are. But we also all want to believe we're good. People think if someone didn't get love there's a reason of why they didn't receive it. That belief didn't come out of nowhere. It's internalized violence and judgemental mentality. You prefer to doom someone else as long as it saves yourself from being doomed. You're not only hurting others with it, but YOURSELF as well in the process. You get rid of your true empathy for others, you decide whose pain or suffering is the one "worthy" of acceptance and which is not and needs to be condemned. You can't afford that empathy for anyone else than you after a while, after all you live in constant, silent fear of "being next" if you just stop for a moment and look too long at the scapegoats buried around you. And what you fail to see is that you're also a scapegoat. If we all accept each other and ourselves as "others", if we're all just different people and no one is normal anymore, will this finally break the cycle?

You want to feel like a good person? Of course, we all do. But you can't achieve that if you're too afraid to look into the abyss/mirror and realize you also do bad things. You also need to redeem yourself. You can do better, but it's not easy. You know what's easy instead? Finding a scapegoat and blaming them for their own misery. Literally requires no work, the world will applause you and all you need to do is repeat same words after others. The mechanism works like a perpetuum mobile at this point, it will mostly do this job for you. Just take a stand, deem the villains, blame the victims, ignore the struggles and pain of others.

But here's the catch. If you're too cold, you're also gonna be judged and called a psychopath. That's also a no-no, you're becoming the unacceptable "other" again. You have to show, in specific, allowed circumenstances, that you feel sorry for others. That you know how to choose the "right" side. That you understand "good" needs sacrfices and sometimes you're even expected to cry for them. And if you see those sacrfices as not-human "others", it's easier to accept it all.

Many people claim how scary it is to face certain truths, like "victims can turn into villains too", but the real truth no one wants to face is actually this: we allowed this to happen. We allowed the villains to be formed, all of us. Every time we engage in judgemental actions, every time we police someone dealing with their pain "in wrong way", every time we call someone "born evil". Every time we point a finger and call someone a villain, a victim, a barbarian, the other. By doing that we trap them in endless world of pain and suffering and abuse. They also want to be out of that cycle, but we keep trapping them, by silencing them and adding our own narrative on top. They suffer for our sins. Because they're our scapegoat, the sacrifice we made to keep on going, thinking how good this world is and how much worse it could have been, just look in the right places. Just don't look at the scapegoats too long. They corrupt. Maybe their otherness is even contagious, so stay as far away from them as possible.

You're allowed to be mad about this, btw. Anger is a neccessary emotion, it points at injustice done to you. But the society wants you to throw that emotion away and supress it, so you're tamed and silenced. It might even create a "safe space" to vent it out, by encouragig you into physical activities or taking part in some entertainment, so you can lose your steam in a way that doesn't challenge the system. It's a distraction. (the point here isn't to condemn sport or popculture btw, it just serves as an example, ok?)

All communities work like this. We're all trapped in endless cycle of violence. We bury endless scapegoats under our communities, they become our foundations. After all, nothing unites different people better than finding a common villain, it's us (the good) vs them (the evil). Wait, did I just say "different people"? But we're supposed to be all the same! No, that's a myth. We were all always different. We just have to choose who is "more different than others", so we can unite ourselves against them.

You know what that reminds me of? "We're all equal. But some are more equal than others". Animal farm was about power structures. By accepting easy scapegoats, by abiding to this mechanism, we support the power system that oppresses us. Think about it. Our civilisation is build on this and it would not thrive the way it did without the scapegoats.

And all of you blaming christianity for this instead, you need to understand one thing. What Jesus taught was actually the reverse of scapegoating. “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her”. This is literally Jesus telling people "you all have sinned, so why are you judging them if you don't judge yourself?". What you all mean by christian/puritanist beliefs is how christianity got distorted and institutionalized into a power abusing system called religion. Swallowed up by what it tried to fight against. Always identify the actual source of abuse, instead of doing more scapegoating. I'm in no way inclined to defend christianity (not in the form it exists now), but also if we keep on muddling the truth we will always make the same mistake, so, always dig deeper to avoid it. Thank you.

not to post even more Villains Discourse on main but it really bugs me how people read giving villains tragic backstories as inherently excusing their actions and/or demonizing trauma survivors.

the actual message of Tragic Villains is (almost) always “people who are never taught or given any healthy, constructive outlets for their emotions will often find unhealthy, destructive outlets.” it’s that people who are traumatized and never learn how to cope with that trauma can become a danger to themselves and others. the message isn’t “trauma makes you evil!!!!” or “genocide is okay if you’ve been sad before!!!!” it’s “people need compassion and help to recover from trauma instead of becoming increasingly angry and harming themselves and others in the process.”

this site takes an alarmingly behaviorist and punitive approach to everything and it’s literally the most annoying thing. y’all have this concept that “if we just punish people hard enough, if we just scare them enough, if we just make them feel guilty enough.” that people just Do Bad Things Because They Do Bad Things, I Guess, and Because We Didn’t Threaten Them And Shame Them Enough. but humans are an innately social species. at our very core, we need compassion and kindness. we need healthy relationships with other humans.

you can keep looking at traumatized villains and being like “haha this dumb pathetic sadboi thinks murder is okay because his parents died” but as a survivor myself, unaddressed/untreated trauma absolutely can make you ragey and destructive. i was lucky enough to have support and eventually get the treatment i needed. but it’s not hard at all for me to imagine how, if that hadn’t been the case, that could’ve been me. obviously not on a movie-villain scale like murder or war crimes, but it’s so irritating as someone whose trauma has always manifested as anger to watch people on this site be like “this is just bad writing!!! real survivors/good survivors don’t end up like that the writers just hate survivors and want the audience to condone murder!”

[sunderwight]

SV scenario where Shen Jiu is also Shen Yuan's Meimei.

Trans egg SJ never got to examine her gender identity very much in her first life. What with all the enslavement, abuse (given as well as received), misunderstandings, betrayals, dismemberment, and death, there was far too much for her to ever come to terms with a set of concepts she'd never really had the luxury to entertain. By the time Shen Jiu was a peak lord, the Shen Qingqiu persona was locked in, and any dreams of a different life or inclinations to the contrary of her role were ruthlessly quashed by SJ herself.

But when SJ finally dies and her soul is free to reincarnate (taking a few more memories than usual along for the ride), she has mixed feelings about being born as the youngest daughter of a wealthy family.

The mixed feelings don't actually last long, though after a while she starts to wonder why the fates would grant her a reprieve? Maybe remembering her past life is her punishment, because it's certainly the worst part of her new situation. Her parents are indulgent, her older brothers all dote on her and spoil her, and when she tests limits she's only gently rebuked if she gets rebuked at all. Not only is she allowed to wear fine dresses and look pretty, she's expected to (actually the expectation does chafe, a bit). But even when she uses foul language, skips classes, reads controversial books, and commits myriad other tiny rebellions, no real retribution ever comes of it.

Even despite everything, after some years Shen Jiu starts to become... not complacent, but perhaps calmer would be a better description. She has a stable future handed to her on a silver platter. Very few things remind her of her past, either. She can read books about snotty highborn lords getting railed by werewolves as readily as classics of literature or academic papers on science, business, culture, politics, or whatever else takes her fancy. Her family doesn't even put demands on her to marry, despite some of her mother's hints in that direction. For the first time, Shen Jiu has a life where it seems like she can't fail, she can only succeed however much she wants to. It's like having nowhere to go but up, except without the part about hitting rock bottom.

A foolish set of assumptions, in the end. There's always something to lose.

When Shen Yuan suddenly dies, Shen Jiu recognizes the sinister hand of the same entity which oversaw her own reincarnation. One which had visited her dreams quite recently, trying to tempt her back to her first life with offers of being able to change the past. It wasn't even difficult to deny it. Shen Jiu doesn't believe she could change what happened, and she doesn't really want to try. Her one regret is what happened to that person, the one who died so horribly while rushing to her rescue, and even that, she doesn't know how she would change (because she still doesn't know why he bothered in the first place).

But how dare the System God take the silliest and softest of her brothers to try and fix her accursed first life?! Luo Binghe will eat him alive! Cang Qiong will mistake him for a demon or a madman or worse, and throw him into some cell somewhere, if they don't just kill him outright!

Shen Meimei tries to negotiate with the System, but it tells her the window of opportunity for her to go back instead has passed. Smarmy piece of shit. There's nothing she can do without supernatural help, however, except bide her time and wait for another "window of opportunity". It's in the midst of this that she discovers PIDW, and its (terrible) account not only of the broad strokes of her first life and death, but of what came afterwards. That little beast really wrecked the world, huh? And all those women, too. She's never been more grateful to have not figured herself out in her first life. But at least with access to this information, she can try and prepare more. (She's suspicious of who actually wrote this account as well -- is Luo Binghe himself in this world? Better to leave it now, in that case, before he inevitably makes another bid for power and destroys everything in his wake all over again!)

When the System finally gives her an opportunity to go back (as herself, or rather "Bonus Epilogue Side Character -- Shen Qingqiu's Mysterious Little Sister!") she is braced for any number of outcomes. Shen Yuan could be dead. He could be imprisoned. He could have had his limbs all cut off. He could be stuffed into a pickle jar. He could be hiding or on the run somewhere. Hopefully, he'll be hiding behind that person, confused and distraught but still intact thanks to the sect leader's guilt-driven sense of obligation. Most likely if the same number of years have passed since Shen Yuan "left", he's already been destroyed by Luo Binghe and all Shen Jiu will be able to do is avenge him. But she has some ideas of how to kill the beast, so, she will.

Of course, what she finds is nothing she expected, and almost even worse.

Luo Binghe married her brother?!

Death is too good for him! Shen Jiu's going to skin him alive!!!

[ddarker-dreams]

A Fool's Errand.

Yan Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, imbalanced power dynamics, alcohol mention/consumption, not SFW implications. Word count: 2.1k.

“Now that’s a scary look.” 

Ice cubes clink together as you stir your drink, feigning an air of indifference. The warm pinks swirl in a hypnotizing display. Golden flecks catch the room’s sparse lighting, shimmering within the miniature whirlpool. 

You return your focus to the reflection in your pocket mirror. 

The countenance that greets you is both familiar and foreign. Color is infused into your lips, brushed along your cheeks, and blended atop your eyelids. It’d been a while since you had applied makeup, but the muscle memory kicked in eventually. After some touch-ups, you found the results satisfactory. From this vantage point, you can admire your décolleté, complemented by a dainty choker with a butterfly charm. 

You can also see a pair of eyes staring back at you. 

You clasp the mirror shut, wishing the shadowy apparition would disappear.

Instead, it creeps closer, footsteps echoing throughout the empty room. 

You sip your concoction. It’s tart, with a splash of sweetness that soon fades into a bitter aftertaste. A hazy warmth swaddles your mind in a tight embrace. 

Blade materializes beside you like a phantom coming to life. His presence is heavy and impossible to ignore, but you try your best. He’s frowning, almost glaring at you, the skin beneath his eyes wrinkled in displeasure. Your continued apathy does little to soothe the brewing tension. 

This time, it’s him who breaks the silence. 

“How much have you had to drink?”

“This is my third glass,” you admit. His eyebrows scrunch together. “I thought you’d come faster.” 

“If you anticipated your failure, why bother?” 

“I dunno. Curiosity? Boredom?” Your finger traces the drink’s rim. Suppressing a wicked smile, you add, “Maybe I wanted to find a date.” 

For a fleeting instant, it’s like the room’s oxygen rushed out at once, leaving you to asphyxiate. Your eyes tell a different story — nothing’s changed, at least, not physically — aside from his pupils shrinking to a pinprick’s size. Faintly, what remains of your cognition advises against poking the beast. You’ve already done enough. In the coming days, you’re likely to regret this entire escapade. 

However, your present self finds immense satisfaction in spewing petty jabs. 

“Be mindful of your tongue, girl.” 

Blade’s timbre is dark and gravelly. Shivers envelop your body, which you chase off with another hearty drink. His eyes follow your throat as you gulp the liquid down. They remain fixated there for an unnerving few seconds. Shifting around in your seat, it’s growing harder to deny the magnitude of who you’re dealing with. His suffocating favor doesn’t grant you absolute immunity. 

You try reaching for another sip, only for him to stop you. 

“That’s enough,” he says. His grip around your wrist tightens when you try wrenching it free. “We’re heading back.” 

Heading back. To the life of a fugitive, forever on the run, wreaking chaos wherever he and his band of clairvoyant criminals set foot. It isn’t an alluring prospect. This brief stint has been the longest you’ve gone without constant surveillance. Even if it’s a fleeting illusion, destined to slip through your fingers, you want to hold on just a bit longer. 

The alcohol flowing through your system further emboldens you. “You wanna end our date so fast?” 

This little provocation seemingly accomplishes the impossible — it throws Blade off guard. 

“‘Our?’” He repeats, the upward inflection uncharacteristic of his monotonous voice. 

“I was lookin’ for a date and you happened to come along, so yeah, why not?” You say it as if it’s the most obvious thing. He blinks. “What? Am I not pretty enough?” 

Blade’s lips part and close in rapid succession. He knows what you’re doing, you know that he knows what you’re doing, yet your flirtations still have a visible effect. His body’s gone stiff and his jaw’s set, like he’s concentrating greatly. You hear his leather glove creak as he clenches and unclenches his fists. 

Leaning onto the counter, you look up at him through your eyelashes. “You must not like me after all.” 

“That—” he exhales sharply, his subsequent words coming out in a low, measured drawl, “... You have until you finish your drink.” 

While your mind slowly processes this information, he pulls out a barstool and sits beside you. You can tell he’s still disgruntled, yet you’ve established a temporary truce. For all the brutality he’s capable of, he's willingly domesticated the instant you offer a piece of yourself. A guard dog who requires no leash, for leaving your side is unthinkable. 

This is what’s doomed you and posed as your salvation. 

You break eye contact. 

Outside, you hear the whirr of traffic through the bar’s thin walls. You’d already forgotten the name of the planet you’re visiting. It’s indistinguishable from most IPC-infected civilizations — intrusive advertisements carved in the night sky and menial work for the masses, who will never climb as high as they wish. The Stellaron Hunter’s prolonged presence is an ill omen for the oblivious populace. 

If you asked, Blade would tell you what they’re doing here and what will become of the inhabitants.

These days, you find it’s best not to know. 

“Why didn’t you try dating me, anyway?” You ask. An ice cube begins melting into the drink, losing itself. “I’ve always wondered about that. Who knows? I may have fallen head over heels for you.” 

His answer comes surprisingly fast, slicing through the air like his weapon of choice. “I am not the sort of man you should be with.” 

You whip your head in his direction, utterly dumbfounded. “Huh?” 

“What you deserve… I can never give,” Blade’s eyes betray nothing of his inner thoughts. “It’s best that you never believed otherwise.” 

The universe’s momentum slows to a crawl. You sit up straight, ignoring the wave of dizziness the abrupt motion inflicts, scrutinizing his visage. Dull emotions attempt to burst the pleasant buzz you've cocooned in. Their sharp edges push and push, testing the material’s durability. The lights flicker, unwilling to cast him in permanent light. 

“If you care enough to consider all that, then why—” 

Why rob me of normalcy? 

Why take what made me into the person I am? 

Why deprive me of my life to make what’s left of yours better?

He lets you down what remains of your drink. It burns as it travels down your tightening throat, washing away any playfulness that lingered on your tongue. Your stomach turns in on itself. Still, you lap up every drop, chasing after a numbness that can’t outweigh the grief. The act of pulling the glass away proves overwhelming for your frazzled brain. You sway, temporarily stupefied. 

The cold leather of one hand and textured gauze from another steady your shoulders, keeping your body in place. 

“Careful. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

You glare at him halfheartedly. “What’s it matter? Seeing me in pain obviously means nothin’ to you.” 

He pauses, considering a response you’ll never be privy to, as he keeps his lips shut. Instead, he asks, “Can you walk?” 

This questioning of your motor functions has you scoffing. Wordlessly, you hop to the ground, where you stay still, intent on keeping yourself steady. Despite your best efforts, your surroundings spin ever so slightly. The minimalist furniture of this automaton-run establishment blurs together. Heat flushes throughout your body, warming your cheeks like an internal furnace. 

You overestimated your tolerance. It’s been a while since you’ve indulged — you should’ve considered that. 

Your weak performance confirms Blade’s suspicions. He approaches you, raising his hands, likely to keep you secure like he had before. You dodge his unwanted advances out of reflex. This proves to be a mistake, as you lack the coordination to make any sharp movements. Your ankle gives out and your eyes fly wide open, arms flailing about for purchase. 

Blade moves faster than you can process. You’re made to feel weightless as he lifts you up, holding you firm against his chest. 

“Hey, put me down! I don’t— I can walk just fine!” You exclaim, writhing around like a fish out of water. Exerting a mere fraction of his strength is enough to render your struggle useless. Realizing that all you’re doing is tiring yourself out, you go limp, your breathing coming out erratic from the exertion. Humiliation prickles throughout like hot needles waiting to erupt from your flesh.

“Are you finished?” 

You’re close enough to feel the low vibration of his voice. It rattles your bones, burrowing deep within the marrow. You express your resignation by averting your gaze. With that, he walks out, holding you in a bridal carry. Cool air nips at your exposed skin as he kicks the door open. It lets out into a back alley, where he must’ve skulked in from. 

He stops here and gingerly places you down, muttering, “Lean against the wall.” 

You do as instructed, though given your impaired state, you would’ve fumbled around for support without his prompting. He sheds his outer black jacket and drapes it along your bare shoulders. The fabric engulfs you, smelling faintly metallic. After ensuring you’re properly covered, he scoops you back up, maneuvering your body around like it’s weightless. 

He follows the labyrinth-like expanse of alleyways, leaving the sounds and sights of the densely populated area behind. Not a word is uttered or a glance shared. You wet your lips, your mind racing for ways to break the tense silence. Blade’s always been a man of a few words, but this bout is different than what you’re used to. Heavier, somehow. Your actions have gone beyond petty defiance. Typically, you can gauge what nonsense you can and can’t get away with. 

With this latest excursion, however—

—You’ve stumbled into uncharted territory. 

“What now?” You ask, your voice unusually meek. 

“You’ll be leaving this star system before long. We’re headed towards the pickup site.” 

Your ears perk up at his word choice. “You aren’t coming?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’ve yet to fulfill my portion of the script on this planet.” 

“... Oh.” 

You can feel the look he sends your way. 

“Does this displease you?” 

“Ah, well,” you take a deep breath, finding the act of verbalizing your thoughts in this state difficult, “I didn’t think you… liked being apart.” 

“My preferences are irrelevant. Kafka will ensure you’re cared for until I’m suited to be around you again.” 

You furrow your eyebrows together, parsing through this information bit by bit. It’s like your mental faculties have been slathered with tar, slowing the gears in the mire. You’re only ever stuck with Kafka when Blade’s regenerating from significant injuries or dangerously mara-struck. You reflect on the evening’s events. The ease at which you snuck out, how it felt like the universe itself aligned along the way… 

Ah. 

You’re the ideal variable to tamper with when increasing (or decreasing) his mara. 

It’s a gross feeling — this sensation of being used like a pawn to affect the performance of the board’s stronger pieces. Perhaps the inevitably of it all is why he isn’t upset with you, or he might be trying to delay the onslaught of mara. Whatever the case, you’ve inadvertently done your part for this script. Stirring the sediments of his shortcomings and shoving your dislike of him to the forefront. 

Is this all you are? A side character in the epic Destiny’s Slave has penned? 

You grit your teeth. 

Using what little strength’s left in your muscles, you sit up, slinking your arms around his neck for support. Blade pauses, clearly more interested in your machinations than dropping you off like a package. He turns to face you. Though you’re nearly nose to nose, the night obscures his features, save for his eyes. The two blood-red moons have an otherworldly glow to them. Their gravitational pull is dangerous, yet you approach them as a willing sacrifice regardless. 

A gentle graze of your lips against his is enough for him to stop breathing. You can do what his mountains of deceased enemies gave their lives trying to accomplish. He must know you’re up to something; his grip is nearly bruising from the restraint he’s exercising. You test his fraying resolve by allowing your lips to connect. It’s purposefully brief, ending before it truly began. Upon pulling away, he chases after you, but you deny him.

Blade sounds pained when murmuring your name. 

Whether it’s a plea or a warning, you can’t tell. 

“What?” You ask. “You’re the one trying to get rid of me.” 

“...” 

Blade leers down at you. You meet his stare, unyielding, drunk on the idea of inconveniencing the Stellaron Hunters to any extent.

"... Stay still," he eventually orders, backing you against the alley's wall. "Time is short."

You wait until he's nipping at your neck to smile.

[mutable-manifestation]

Ghost Chirps AU Part 5

Part 1 & 2

Part 3

Part 4

***

While “Jason” (i.e. Alfred with an empty jet that Jason will meet up with later in order to “arrive” in Amity) hops a private jet, Red Hood is busy searching the Fenton home from top to bottom.

The local police move slowly, and by the time they arrive Jack and Maddie Fenton are both tied up and disarmed in their living room under heavy guard.

They hadn’t been restrained immediately, Batman talking him into giving them a chance to implicate themselves first.

Hood let him take the lead, but he didn’t even get a chance to ask a question, being cut off at the first indication he might want to talk about their “work.” Less than 60 seconds in, and the pair had outright confessed to violating the meta protection acts - and in tedious detail.

The questioning didn’t suffer any from them being tied up.

Far from the mulish silence or crocodile-tear laden denial of most criminals, they instead doubled down, insisting that nothing they had done was illegal, then jumping to the assumption that they were “possessed” - and boy had it been a nasty surprise when the whole house came alive trying to attack them with a quick verbal command.

Well, trying to attack Hood. And only him, for some reason.

One laser also freed the Fentons, who turned out to have even more weapons built into their suits. 

Somehow. 

Despite them being skintight.

That had been a pain, but Red Robin was able to hack the system using one of the couples’ own devices while Hood dodged - and kept the stray fire away from the others - leaving everyone else to recapture the pair. A blessedly simple task once they found out the lasers would splash harmlessly off of their armor (save for a gross film of green goop left wherever they grazed).

They take turns knocking each unconscious to change them in order to properly disarm them - Batman and Nightwing taking Jack first, followed by Orphan and Spoiler dealing with Maddie. 

The only non-weapon laden clothing they own turns out to be pajamas. 

This is around when the police show up, looking hesitant.

They, too, cite the “Anti-Ecto Acts.”

Oracle had debriefed them on the supposed Acts and “Ghost Investigation Ward” on their short drive over. Both were utterly bogus - the Acts had never even been proposed, let alone been approved as law, and the so-called “GIW” had no ties to the government.

The Fentons had been furious and denied the information intensely when told, but the cops mostly just looked relieved.

Apparently there’d been a lot of property damage by the GIW and Fentons both that had supposedly been dismissed under the Acts as “necessary in the pursuit of ecto-scum.”

For the Fentons, half of this damage was in the form of broken fire hydrants, cracked sidewalks, and totaled cars - they’d never been good drivers, before, the cops disclosed, but they’d become even more negligent since the ghosts began appearing, to the point they had to have a news segment warning when they would be on the road.

The lack of fatalities thus far had been nothing short of a miracle, they claimed.

“Of course there haven’t been any fatalities!” Mrs Fenton defends. “Our work is to protect people from those things, not make more! Officers, listen to reason-” Hood snorts disdainfully -”The Red Hood is clearly a ghost! All our systems targeted him the moment they came online - and they only target ecto-entities. He’s clearly taken these heroes under his sway - why else would they be working with a murderer!? You have to do something before he starts up his killing here in Amity!”

The officers look at him a bit hesitantly, but Batman is unmoved and gives the cover story Hood had outlined back in the alley.

Any concerns the locals have are quickly assuaged.

But for the whole explanation, Jason is trying not to shake even as he falls apart in place.

Their little website called them ghost-hunters, making it pretty clear what “ecto-entities” meant. 

Their system supposedly only targets ecto-entities.

The system had only targeted him.

The system only targets ghosts.

Jason had died.

A lot of his family members had died, too, granted. 

But Jason was the only one who seemed to come back wrong - anger sticking in his throat and never quite fading, an inclination towards violence even when he wasn’t angry well beyond what he’d ever felt before, and a sea of other emotions (that he would never acknowledge aloud) and triggers for those emotions that he always struggled to make heads or tails of.

He doesn’t have the meta gene. He knows that. He knew that.

He just assumed that the test missed it, because he knows he doesn’t know magic - the All Blades being the only exception - and he couldn’t think of another explanation at the time.

But he came back wrong.

And as he stands there, he wonders if he came back at all, mind on Solomon Grundy.

Wonders if he isn’t just some ghost, wandering around possessing his own corpse.

He jolts, as the thought strikes him: what about Danny?

If he’s a ghost and chirping is a ghost thing then what about his KID!?

Absently, he notes that Bruce has started interrogating the cops on what they meant by “ghost attacks.” 

He ignores the discussion, hustling for the door in the kitchen down to the lab.

He slams and locks the door behind him - in Red Robin’s face - as he descends, making a b-line for the computer he’d seen when the Fentons had dragged them all down there to start bragging about their crimes.

The only thing Oracle could get out of the whole building was things that were openly available online; direct connections were impossible.

Opening up the screen, he gets to cracking.

Going for the surface level files first, it turns out he doesn’t even need so much as a password to find what he wants.

One of the video game sub-files has an unrelated file in it: ghost notes.

There are plenty of other notes, of course, but he’d only been skimming to start, looking for anything hidden.

The Fenton parents were too open to bother, of course, with plenty of more obvious files strewn haphazardly across the home screen, but it’s always better to check. That there is a hidden file means it was likely made by either Danny or Jazz.

And it’s a treasure trove.

Sub-files for rogues, allies, conditional allies, and “halfas” were what greeted him.

The last being the only term he didn’t recognize, he clicked.

6 files: Clones, Danny, Dani, Dan, Vlad, and Red Hood.

He clicks his own file.

What greets him is a picture of himself 4 days ago, looking just to the left of the lens in an alley that he distinctly remembers searching for the kid in.

Just below is text.

~~~

??? Name: Red Hood

Species: probably a halfa

Status: Nnnneutral? I think? I know, I know, heads in bags. But Valerie tries to kill me all the time! And we’re allies sometimes! Hood- uh- looked for me? Okay I guess I can’t really judge this yet but please read the first met section before you judge please you guys?

First met: Aug 17, 2005, was in Gotham to bother Batman, stopped to think a bit on some fire escape - decide on the first prank yknow - but then my ghost sense went off. It felt like a halfa so I thought “oh cool, must be Dani” so I chirped, but then Red Hood - who was chasing some guy down an alley at the time - froze and looked around. I dropped visibility and chirped again and yeah, he definitely heard it. Humans can’t so he’s definitely a halfa - no glow so he can’t be a full ghost and it felt nothing like an overshadowing. 

Ended up following Hood around the rest of week - forgot to prank Batman, damn - and playing hide-and-seek with the chirps. It was really funny. But he very obviously doesn’t know he’s a halfa. But the guy is, like, scary levels of smart, so I’m sure he’ll figure it out on his own now that the chirp thing made it clear that something is up. Hopefully.

I figure I can go back in winter break - he should have it figured out and let his emotions process enough by then to at least hear me out when I explain the AEA and GIW and everything, then it won’t matter so much if he can, like, track me by voice or something if I talk since we’ll have MAD by then.

Despite his reputation, the people living in his haunt seem to love the guy. I can see why. On top of the whole smart he’s actually really nice to people he’s not shooting in the knees (which only even happened one time in the week I was there? It was actually pretty relaxing - most quiet week I’ve had since the portal opened THANK YOU TUCKER for hacking the portal hatch to be inoperable for a week). 

Where was I? Oh yeah, he’s actually surprisingly nice to people? So like, I think he’ll probably hear me out if I go back and be polite? I hope. Hate to leave the guy in the dark and him end up on the GIWs dissection table for “lots and lots of painful experiments.”

Not that those guys could even catch the Box Ghost. But uh, Hood doesn’t seem to have powers either? Or if he does he doesn’t know about them I don’t think - he only used the chirp the whole time I was their - not even to cheat with moving around.

Seriously. That guy's acrobatics could make Freakshow’s contortionist green - er, red??? - with envy. Actually wait, aren’t contortionists and acrobats different things?

SAM NOTE: help^?

Powers: 

?

~~~

Jason leans back, breathing deeply.

“Not a full ghost,” “not 'overshadowed'” - a term that sounds likke some kind of cousin to possesision - “definitely a halfa,” “humans can’t hear chirps.”

Halfa. 

Half. 

Ghost. 

Half Ghost.

It should sound absurd - you can’t be half alive and half dead.

But Jason has seen the Lazarus pits, has met Solomon Grundy, has met aliens and bullshit magic and can pull magical swords out of his own damn chest.

Half alive. Half dead.

Hopefully not just a fancy way to say possessing his own corpse.

He doesn’t have time to deal with every file - he’ll “confiscate” one of their USBs with a copy of everything for himself before leaving the rest to Batman & co, of course, minus the halfa files (a small part of him wants to shove his condition in Bruce’s face and demand he kill the clown again even though he knows it’s a futile hope, but the rest - the same part that snapped and denied and refused to say he was a meta less that a day ago now - cannot stomach the thought of even more rejection. Of a Bruce that believes he’s a monster. Of a Bruce that mourns him even while he’s right there. Or at least, more than he already does.) - but while the files copy he take the time to look at Danny’s.

The image has two people, Danny Fenton on one side and a version of the kid in a black hazmat suit with white hair, tanned skin, and painfully familiar green eyes. And floating.

~~~

Human Name: Danny Fenton

Ghost Name: Danny Phantom

Species: Halfa (half-human, half ghost)

~~~

It’s the section after that that makes Jason’s breath catch in his throat.

~~~

Death: The Portal Accident

So like, there was no audio (thank GOD I do not want to hear myself screaming) so. Details: When the portal didn’t work when they plugged it in mom and dad left for fudge, Jazz went to try and talk them into a more realistic career choice than ghosts. Sam and Tucker came over and Sam dared me to climb in and check it out - it was broken anyway so no harm. Except it wasn’t broken, just that my parents put the on button inside. Which I caught myself on when I tripped on a wire.

Anyway, electrocution! 

(T - Danny for the love of god be more serious, the cheerful tone is creepy)

(D - Hey! I’m the one who died! Shouldn’t I at least get to write my own epitaph)

(S - …Danny this is not an epitaph. You don’t even HAVE a grave)

(D - wow way to rub it in Sam)

(T - yeah Sam)

(S - ugh! Whatever, just stop with the chatting in official files)

(T - “official”)

(S - Tucker.)

(T - shutting up now)

Electrocution! I got zapped to death, but the ectoplasm from the portal was also opening up on top of me and a lot got bonded to me I guess (S - probably because of the electricity with how you ended up with some of Vortex' powers for a little while) at the same time said electricity was reviving me? - probably getting my heart beating again or something, I was a little busy screaming to pay attention (T - yeah okay we're going to Nasty Burger after this. And playing Doomed) - not that it would’ve mattered without the ghostification preventing me from melting me all the way to death.

Status: Me!

Powers:

Chirps! (ghost echolocation of some kind! humans can't hear em - halfas can, of course, in either form)

Form Change (really Sam? This barely counts)

Human form

Ghost form (no need to breathe)

Flight (last clock speed 210mph) (T - and climbing. Dang dude)

Invisibility (S - don’t forget shareable.) (Shareable. sigh)

Intangibility (Shareable)

Ecto Rays (eyes & hands) (T - and butt) (D - dude! I’m deleting that. Tucker why can't I delete it. TUCKER) (T - bow down in awe of my ksill) (S - ksill) (D - ksill) (T - yeah okay it’s permanent now) (D - aw man!)

Ghost Sense (S - why do we never test your range?) (D - no need? They always make themselves obvious or are being sneaky specifically to annoy me so *shrug*) (S - I still think we should test it)

Power Absorption (that time with Vortex’s weather powers)

Cryokinesis (Wayyyyy to much ice. NOT testing max output on that) (T - yeah frozen city was enough, let’s not cause an ice age. Tech needs some cool but too much is still bad and I just upgraded Patricia)

Ghostly Wail (cone of destruction, very exhausting - always at max output. Not to be used)

GHOST FORM ONLY (but really just never)

Cartoon Body (D - what???) (S - Freakshow literally turned you into a puddle and you just turned back and were fine. I don’t know what else to call that) (D - okay fair. but:)

GHOST FORM ONLY

Physical Enhancement (better strength, speed, stamina, durability, reflexes, balance, etc much better than human) (T - why does this look like dnd knockoff stats haha)

GHOST FORM ONLY (S - obviously mr last place in PE)

Resistances (pretty solid on the overshadowing, avoided being taken in by Ember until targeted, didn’t get turned to stone during the Medusa thing) (S - which was pure luck! Be careful!)

Ecto Electricity (ghost stinger, but I really don’t think this counts Sam. I mean I just. Make my ecto zappy. But it’s still just ecto) (S - so is your ICE and you don’t just call that "just cold ecto") (D - fine, but it feels overly specific) (S - maybe writing it all down will make you stop. Forgetting. POWERS!) (D - come on Sam that was a lucky hit! I was distracted! And it turned out fine!) (S - Fenton…) (D - oop okay doing fire now)

Ecto Fire (made Dash’s shoes melty that one time by make the ecto hot) (T - really needs more testing)

Tech possession (chasing Technus into computers, not very tested)

Ghost form only, i guess?

Overshadowing (control people, copy their voice, invade dreams - the control one erases the person’s memory so they don’t know they were overshadowed just lost time. I hate Walker. SO much) (T - rip Danny’s reputation, you’ll be missed)

Probably ghost form only

Duplication (T - That’s optimistic) (D - I’M WORKING ON IT OKAY!?) (S - pretty sure it just falls under cartoon body until you can actually separate) (D - :( betrayal)

Probably ghost form only

More? (D - ugh I hope not) (T - hey don’t say that, maybe you’ll get a power to make the JL give a crap about Amity) (D - honestly I’m getting pretty close to letting Boxy loose in Gotham) (S - Danny, don’t stoop to their level!) (D - it's only box ghost!) (T - I mean he has a point)

~~~

Jason changes his mind, seeing the commentary, and deletes the entire hidden file from the computer as soon as his copy is made. He can go over everything and bring any important info to Bruce separately, the bat’s can just chew on the parents’ files for now.

Once the original files are thoroughly and irretrievably removed he pockets his shiny new USB, makes a second one with all the official files, and heads back up and out - carelessly brushing past a thoroughly irate Red Robin with a pair of firemen and broken jaws of life. And not a scratch on the door; impressive - just in time to get Oracle’s text that he’s got 2 hours and 16 minutes to be at the location on his HUD so he can “arrive” to Amity.

And a fresh set of civilian clothes will be waiting in the plane, Alfred as reliable as ever.

“Files,” he says, tossing the safe USB to Batman and interrupting his interrogation of the police officer.

He catches it effortlessly of course, but the officer stops paying attention to him to jolt at Hood’s reappearance - even outside of Gotham his reputation is fierce.

“I sent a copy to myself. I’ll review them and give you an overview, but other than that consider this the end of my involvement in this little shitshow,” he says, continuing smoothly to the door. “I’m heading back to Gotham.”

Now, he has a little over two hours before Jason Todd needs to arrive in Amity Park. He only needs to lay hands on a laptop that he can isolate from Babs’ influence and he should be able to review the Halfa files in full before he "lands" - after he figures out just why the kid has a grudge against the JL.

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 2

previous part

tw: talk of past trauma/abuse, implied past s/a (not with ghost), alcohol, mentions of suicide

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

You were trying. You really, really were. For the first few days of this sudden deal you had made with a hitman you had just met yet somehow felt compelled to prove wrong, you were doing good.

You cleaned the entirety of your apartment, tossing out the old liquor bottles that littered your cabinets. You stocked your refrigerator that had been near empty for months apart from the old takeout boxes that had been slowly decaying away. You even went to work with a damn smile.

You were doing everything you could to prove to Ghost that maybe you didn’t want to die after all, that it was a fluke in your system convincing you it was what you desired.

You hated being a weakling. You hated that Ghost was right. You wanted to prove to him you could make it to two weeks and that you didn’t need him to kill you after all. You wanted him to be proud, though you didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he knew you, nor you him.

He was a stranger, but he was the first one to ever give you an ounce of care and attentiveness, even if it ended up being a facade on his part.

It took all but four days for your resolve to crumble, and you found yourself back at square one, entering your shitty apartment with bags of alcohol that you impulsively bought on the way home from work.

Like you said. You tried.

Stepping inside with a grim expression adorning your face, you shucked your shoes off of your feet, dropping your purse to the ground without an ounce of care for it.

Everything felt heavy as you slid further into the apartment. Your mind was running a marathon that went all sorts of different directions. It felt like the weight of the world laid on your entire body, and you wasted no time in heading straight towards your bedroom.

With the bags of alcohol still in your hand, you stepped into your bedroom, feeling a slight breeze that was never normally there. It sent a chill down your spine and caused goosebumps to rise on your skin beneath your sweater.

Eyes preyed on the state of you, and when you finally gathered the courage to look at the sliding door to your bedroom balcony, a familiar masked man stood there, lazily leaning his arms against the railing, nursing a cigarette.

The sight reminded you of the night the two of you stood out there, where he coerced you into making the damn deal in the first place, one you were too stubborn to deny at the time.

It was the first time you had somebody in your apartment since the last man in your life, and you swore you’d never allow it to happen again. Yet here he was for the second time, standing there like he lived in the apartment with you.

You felt like a complete idiot when he took in the alcohol bottles and the sunken eye bags on your face. Four days into the deal, and your facade already broke.

“That doesn’t look like figurin’ it out,” Ghost said in a dry tone, yet it didn’t hold judgment like you expected. If anything, he sounded a bit disappointed, maybe even pitiful.

You stood like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar, bags dangling loosely by your sides, eyes boring into his. Guilt gnawed at you for purchasing the alcohol and already failing at your end of the deal.

The smoke that slipped from his lips did nothing to fog over his piercing stare, and you could feel yourself becoming weak under it.

That’s what you were. Weak. A weak, stupid girl.

You don’t know how long you stood there in a daze, but it must’ve been quite some time because he turned his whole body towards you, leaning his back against the railings. Now you were definitely trapped under his stare with him fully facing you despite the slight distance between you in the doorway and him on the balcony.

“Still got about ten days left of our deal. You goin’ to back out so soon?”

Your hands balled the plastic handles of the bags tighter, and a feeling of shame came over you.

What were you doing? Did you really fail yourself after four days? Did you really buy more liquor to ease the pain?

“Don’t know why you’re so concerned about the deal anyway. You’re missing out on money by not killing me like I want,” you retorted with a frown, dropping the bags on the bed carelessly. The bottles clinked loudly, rattling in your ears like a cruel reminder of how pathetic you were.

He snorted, taking a puff of his cigarette that was slowly burning between the press of two fingers. It curled around him like an embrace, filling the night air with spouts of gray and nicotine.

“‘M not that concerned about the money, sweetheart. More concerned ‘bout the stupid girl who’s tryin’ to commit suicide through a hitman.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. It made you look defensive, which is absolutely how you felt. The day hadn’t treated you well, and now Ghost was here to taunt you about the silly deal you made in the spur of the moment.

You didn’t understand why he was concerned. The two of you met once — twice, technically, but all in the same day. Nobody ever worried for you, nor did you have anybody in your life to worry about you.

Why on earth did a man meant to kill you care about you?

It felt like a trick. Maybe it was all apart of his plan, maybe he was one of those sick, cold-blooded killers that posed themselves as hitmen. That must’ve been why he wore a mask, and why he pretended to care.

Your mind was eating you from the inside and out, spiking your anxiety and causing it to feel like little knives digging into you more and more. It sliced at your insides, tearing your chest and stomach with nerves and shame that made you want to pop open one of the bottles and drown yourself in a buzz of alcohol. At least liquor wouldn’t interrogate you.

“You goin’ to stop lookin’ at me like a dead fish?”

When you came back to your senses, he had a small smirk on his lips where the mask was lifted for you to see. It wasn’t a genuine smirk, and it was far from a smile — it was sarcastic and teasing, like he knew he was making you feel stupid and deranged, and was enjoying it.

“Can you just murder me and get on with it? Deal’s off,” you snapped, and he huffed out a laugh, flicking his cigarette to the ground of your balcony and lightly crushing it beneath his boot.

“‘M not a murderer,” he argued, and you gave him a bitter laugh.

“You’re a hitman.”

“Exactly,” he agreed with a shrug of his shoulder. “A hitman. Not a murderer. The real murderers are the ones who hire me to kill people. I just do the dirty work, sweetheart.”

Ghost had a twisted way of defending his work, but you supposed he had a point. After all, you were the one practically begging him to end your life.

“You— whatever,” you muttered, letting out a long sigh. You sat on the edge of your bed, burying your face in your hands and attempting to rub away the obvious exhaustion in your eyes.

There was no point in arguing with him in the first place. He was clearly playing you like a fiddle, and for why, you weren’t sure, nor did you have the energy to care.

Your entire body felt heavy with emotions from what transpired in your day, and Ghost was making no signs of leaving you alone to drink your sorrows away and hopefully succumb to alcohol poisoning — an easy way out.

“So,” Ghost began, breaking the tense silence. He took a step inside of your room, shutting the sliding door behind him and allowing the night chill to remain locked outside. “How ‘bout you tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty head, and we make it to day five of our deal, hm?”

You lifted your head from your hands to see him standing in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets, mask tugged back down over his face to hide his mouth, head tilted down at you in a way that made you realize just how much of a behemoth of a man he was.

“‘M waitin’.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” you defended with a scowl.

“Mm. Try me.”

“Fucking Christ,” you hissed. The emotions that had been brewing inside of you were threatening to spill out like a damn geyser, and it was becoming near impossible to hold them back.

You sat for a moment while he patiently (or impatiently, you didn’t care either way) waited for you to collect yourself. Truly, despite how annoying he was being tonight, what was the harm in telling him? After all, he was offering, and he didn’t know you. Plus, hopefully by the end of this stupid deal, he’d kill you and learn to forget about what you were about to say.

“I saw somebody at work,” you grumbled quietly, turning your eyes away from him as if ashamed. “Somebody I didn’t want to see. Brought back bad memories and now here I am, spiraling to the point of no return, all because I let that fucking idiot get to me.”

Ghost hummed in acknowledgment, one of his gloved hands coming out of his pocket to rub at the fabric covering his chin.

“Hm. An ex, then?” he asked, and you nodded your head.

“Guess so, yeah. He… he was a bad person, y’know? Really fucked me up, in the relationship and after. Can’t seem to get away from the fucker.”

“Makes sense.” Ghost shrugged a shoulder, letting his hand fall back in his pocket. “You really goin’ to let some arse have control like that? Thought we had a deal, sweetheart. Four days in and you’re already droppin’ like a fly ‘cause of one brute.”

You scowled to yourself, feeling a mix of embarrassment and shame settle in your bones. God, how weak were you?

“He was an abusive asshole who took everything away from me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on. Tell me more.”

So you did. You don’t know why, but his words were the green light for you to spill out every bit of misery you’d been holding in for so long, you couldn’t even recall when it began.

He listened, putting in his own input at times, or giving you the occasional nod to show he was listening.

You told him everything — the abuse, the mistreatment, the torture. How you lived a life full of black and blue, skin so tattered it was permanently damaged from the pain your ex would cause you. How he wouldn’t ever let you say no, and would manipulate you into giving in, no matter where, no matter when.

You had permanent scars on both your mind and heart from how much of yourself had been torn down. Even now, you can remember the screams that caused your throat to become raw and you begged, pleaded for him to stop. You wanted all of it to end, and you remembered how much you wished your ex would just kill you so you wouldn’t have to suffer a life like that anymore.

Old habits die hard, you suppose. Things don’t change, even with time.

It was pitiful how long you had put up with such abuse, but you did, and there was no rotating the clock so you could go back and redo your entire life again. If you could, you wouldn’t be here, trauma dumping on your own hitman.

You weren’t sure how long you spent pouring your heart and soul to Ghost, but by the time you were finished, your face was red, your breath was heavy, but your shoulders were more relaxed than before, as if the weight had been carefully lifted and placed elsewhere.

Ghost stood silent for a long pause in time. He stared at you, eyes taking in every movement of your chest, every twitch of your fingers. You didn’t stare back, for your glare was locked on to the ground as you took that time to recollect yourself and not appear like the broken, battered girl you knew you were.

“Well,” Ghost finally spoke, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were on his phone. You don’t remember him ever pulling it out, too focused on your own self destruction. “Would you look at that. Made it to day five.”

He turned the phone to face you, screen lit up to display his lockscreen. It was the default wallpaper, no sign of life or personality evident. When you took a closer look, you saw the time, and realized he was right.

It was 12:01. Just past midnight.

“Let’s make it to day six, yeah?”

Ghost shoved his phone in his pocket, giving you a nod in farewell before he took steps forward towards your bedroom door.

You sat there in stunned silence, eyes blinking dumbly. When you realized he was leaving, you whipped your head in his direction.

“What—“

“I'll be back soon, sweetheart.”

He didn’t let you finish your question, giving you a small wave of his hand. You noticed his eyes crinkled where they were exposed from under the mask, and you realized he was smiling at you, even if you couldn’t see it.

You couldn’t help but give him a relieved smile back.

[14dayswithyou]

I'm going to be a little evil :3c /silly

*I have stolen all of their headwear, leaving only FROGGY HAT in his closet.*

"Boy it sure is chilly today. Don't forget to wear a scarf and a hat when you come pick me up, okay [REDACTED]?"

✦゜ANSWERED: I believe in froggy hat [REDACTED] supremacy 🖤🐸

He knew. Of course he knew. [REDACTED]'s security system alerted him the second you stepped foot into his apartment, and it took the dark-haired hacker almost all of his willpower not to rush home and see you. But alas, he had other matters to attend to and messes to clean up here. Things he couldn't risk putting on hold, lest he pay the consequences for them later.

So, [REDACTED] settles for watching you through his cracked phone screen as you try to sneak your way around his apartment. They didn't really understand why you felt the need to be so secretive; you knew your boyfriend would be out for the day, you had his spare keycard and access to the entire 14th floor, and [REDACTED] had made it explicitly clear early on in the relationship that everything he owned was yours completely. Nothing was off limits to you, and that included every inch of his living space.

...And even himself.

Curiously, they watch with keen interest as you quietly slide the door to his walk-in closet open and take in your surroundings once more — making sure that you really were alone in his dimly-lit bedroom. But barely a moment passes before you stride in with a newfound purpose, unzip your backpack, and begin to stash all of his caps and beanies inside.

Well, alright then. If you decided he no longer needed those items, then so be it. He was never one to deny you anything.

But in retrospect, you were honestly doing [REDACTED] a favour. He genuinely didn't really need those items in his possession anymore — especially considering how he had no real reason to conceal his identity from you after all these years of being together.

He could never forget about that pivoted moment in time when you opened up to your beloved hacker about his rather... intense need to watch over you 24/7. And after you had scolded him��multiple times for stalking you from darkened corners and alleyways outside your apartment complex, [REDACTED] had all but tried to change his ways. To better themselves for you.

After all, you deserved nothing less.

Glancing back at his phone once more, [REDACTED] takes in every little movement you make as you continue to tuck away his belongings; down to the turn of your head and the flex in your muscles. Not a single twitch or glance goes unnoticed under his watchful gaze — and had the dark-haired man not been so enraptured by your ministrations — he surely would've noticed that it was just about time for him to start packing his tools up and head home.

Home, in time for the date you had planned for the evening.

But the way you purposefully moved around his closet had [REDACTED] in a trance. You were extremely methodical about the things you were swiping from his shelves; neatly packing away all of the headgear, earmuffs, and scarves on display (and even the ones hidden within the depths of his drawers!). Yet... One single item remained in the aftermath of your wake.

Atop one of the lone shelves in the corner, it sits, isolated from the rest of its kind. Worn out yet well loved; it was no more than a novelty item your boyfriend had originally won for you from a crane game. But even after their constant insistence that you should keep it, you rebutted it all by saying it'd look better on him instead — all while pushing the cute, froggy hat back into his hands with a teasing smile.

("If you keep bleaching your hair like that," his real name falls from your lips like sweet nectar, "All of your hair will fall out. When that happens, you can use this to keep your bald head warm!"

"...When that happens? Hmph. You're gettin' cheeky." With a smile of his own, your boyfriend reaches out to gently pinch your cheek. "I haven't touched m'hair in ages.")

So after watching you be so meticulous with the items you were "robbing", the hacker couldn't help but wonder what your main motive was. Why leave that silly, little frog hat alone unless... Did you want him to wear it? You knew [REDACTED] would never say no to you — let alone to a frivolous request — but admittedly, they did find it rather endearing to watch you put in all that effort just for him.

Just like how he used to be... Back before you opened the curtains of his life and brought sunshine into his heart.

Gone are the days of "Ren", when [REDACTED] had to snoop around your apartment just to get any sort of inclination of what your type and interests might be. No longer did [REDACTED] have to "borrow" some of your old clothing to keep himself company on lonely nights; to put them over his pillow and pretend like it was you he was holding close to his chest. He no longer had to steal your presents and tokens out of spite and jealousy — only to return them days later once they noticed how upset it made you.

Too caught up in reminiscing about the past, [REDACTED] had almost missed your swift getaway from his bedroom. Living up to your nickname, you glide down the staircase and across his foyer as if you sprouted angel wings on your back and stroll into the elevator, before closing the door and pulling out your phone.

And just like clockwork, [REDACTED]'s camera feed gets replaced by the bright red and green call buttons that shake and taunt him at the bottom of the screen — alongside the personalised caller photo of you smiling towards the sunset ocean with [REDACTED]'s jacket atop your shoulders. The dark-haired man leaves no room for pause before he's swiping his finger across the screen and eagerly anticipating the sound of your voice.

You greet him in that casual, nonchalant tone of yours, and [REDACTED] had to resist the urge to start recording the call — to save the addictive timbre of your voice for when he needs to hear it the most.

"Man... It sure is chilly today, don't you think?"

There's the familiar sound of tacky elevator music playing in the background, and part of [REDACTED] thinks you're purposefully calling him right now to let him in on your (not so) secret escapades... To let them know where you are.

Or perhaps you were already aware that he knows, if the way you were glancing up at the elevator camera was anything to go by.

Regardless, you don't give away any other telling signs as your beloved hacker watches you through the camera. Your bag is still carefully slung over a shoulder, while one of his old, black university caps received the pleasure of being fiddled with in your hand. Your voice returns once more, and it causes a grin to form on his lips.

"Don't forget to wear a scarf and a hat when you come pick me up, okay?"

There's a newfound teasing lilt in your tone, which has [REDACTED] latching on to your every word with bated breath and scrambling for a reply.

"'Course. Wouldn't miss our date for the world. 'N make sure y'stay warm too, angel." Without missing a beat, he easily takes his place in your little game. "Wouldn't wanna misplace your jacket 'n get cold now, would we?"

Your pixelated smile on the screen gives everything away.

You hear the unmistakable sound of [REDACTED]'s sports motorbike before you see it; watching the corner of your street as he appears from the darkness like a phantom.

And like the gentleman that he is, [REDACTED] doesn't make you stray far from the safety of the streetlamp either. The moment your boyfriend pulls up in front of you, one of his large hands reaches around your waist to draw you near (almost as if he'd gone years without being in your presence), while the other makes quick work of the latch of his helmet. In one swift motion, he pulls it off and rests it against the tank—

Only to reveal that cute, pastel green frog hat sitting atop his head.

He can't help but smile when you do; clearly pleased that he went through with your silly request. At that, you let out a low hum of appreciation as you lean against your boyfriend's chest, and [REDACTED] returns the favour by bending down and pressing a chaste kiss against the crown of your head as well.

"...Think y'could give this unworthy prince another kiss, love?" Your beloved boyfriend leans in closer until your lips are millimetres away from touching, "Otherwise I might stay cursed t'live in this froggy form forever."

[angelinpiink]

ex boyfriend! eren headcannons ࿐ྂ。

❥ note: as a disclaimer, these headcanons are a bit toxic/dark, if that is something you find triggering i recommend you skip this one, you can find other works of eren that don't have this particular theme here just want to make it clear that i do not condone this sort of behavior and this doesn't represent my idea of what a healthy relationship should look like thank you and enjoy

Firstly, eren doesn't even consider you guys to be actually broken up, he’s convinced. you’re just screwing with him or playing hard to get. Even once he realizes you're not, the breakup is still completely one sided. He loves you far too much to even fathom that the relationship is over. He’s already planned your entire future together–he's been doing so since he first met you, from the house you'll live in together to the garter you'll be wearing on your wedding day.  In short, he’s delusional when it comes to you, head over heels or do he likes to call it and for this reason he still goes around telling everyone you're his. 

Everyone around him, including his friends is obviously taken aback by this and so they sort of just play along, listening to him rant   about you the moment he’s gotten enough alcohol in his system. This happens  at every get together they have had since the breakup.  “she’s just confused and going through a tough time right now. She doesn't know that she wants me,” he’ll say anytime he hears about you having moved on with anyone else.  If anyone even has the courage to challenge his statements he has the habit of angrily shutting them down. “Shut the hell up, you don't know anything about our relationship.” 

He spends the first few days blowing up your phone with texts about how much he loves you and that though your relationship has had its ups and downs – him being the one who’s mostly responsible for the downs, you guys will get through it as you always had if you just keep trying. When he received no response ,he changed his approach, no longer attempting to convince you to stay but now begging you to come back  home. “Come back to me please..” he’ll bombard your voicemail inbox with pleas and sob stories about how he hasn't slept because he misses holding you each night. 

 Weeks or even months  will pass since the break up itself, and every second of  his time he uses to  reach out to you, whether it's through phone calls or text. You better believe he's taking time to check up on you to see how you're doing–most  importantly, what you're doing and who you're with. He wants to make sure you're safe and not in the hands of any trouble or anyone he considers trouble. He has a habit of speaking with you as though you two are still together, ending many conversations with  “i love you.” and “hope to see you soon.” When he isn't reaching out to you he's thinking about you or talking to you about whatever poor soul is forced to listen. 

When he hears it from you that you’ve moved on to someone else, his heart shatters.  He had been able to deny and ignore the reality when he heard it from others but now that it was coming from you he had lost the energy to keep pretending to be okay with how things were, he feels as though you’re betraying him. In his eyes you were cheating by being with another.  Still, he doesn't make it known then and there, instead he responds with. “He can't love you the way I do.” and beyond that point he stops reaching out, and waits for you to come running back. 

 You'll learn the hard way that he was right  when you are riding back to his place drunk with tears running down your cheeks because you caught the very person you’d moved onto cheating on you with another girl. Once you two arrive, he carries you into the apartment where the two of you had  shared many memories together, because you are too drained from the events of the day to walk. He takes off your makeup using the makeup remover you’d ‘left behind’ when you moved out. Really, he stole it out of your things, along with other items because he was certain you’d come back to him under such circumstances. 

 He takes you into his arm, holding you so close and so tight to him because he’s afraid that you’ll leave him again as  you cry in his arms. “Don't know what i was thinking” his fingers stroke your hair.  “You weren't. but you should have known better.”  eren isn't too interested in giving you his sympathy because he feels he’s the one been betrayed the most here. If only you hadn't run off with someone else, none of this would be happening.

“I warned you,” he added. “I'm so sorry..” you sniffled, he swiped away your tears. his way of speaking to you had caused a wave of guilt to wash over you, you had left eren behind only to end up being made to look like a fool because you thought the grass was greener on the other side. Though he was upset with you,  Eren hated seeing  you cry.  especially over someone he didn't believe deserved your tears. “Make it up to me then.” a weight lifted off your shoulders at the offer of redemption. Little did you know, he plans to have you crying tears of another kind. 

❥ nsfw (things get sexual from here, if you are not comfortable with this kind of content pls turn back)

Before you know it, he’s ripped your dress off you, both your clothes and underwear are thrown about the hallway leading to the bedroom you used to share. He hasn't made a single change to anything since your absence and you find yourself feeling nostalgic, thinking back to a time where things werent easy but never this complicated. you're on the bed exposed and bear before him. He hovers between your legs. “Been so long since i've seen you like this, god i've missed it so much.” he’ll coo, his emerald gaze admiring your glistening folds that have spread with his fingers. the way your cunt throbbed under the lightest of touch, begging to be filled made him grow hard. “Missed you too.” you mutter, hazily bucking your hips against his touch.

“I know.  I know.” he reassures you, giving into your silent  demands, he continues toying with you, pushing his fingers past your folds,his finger strokes at your clit. “bet that boyfriend of yours didn't know how to take care of this needy little cunt, did he.” your juices now coating his fingers, he pounds you with them, earning a symphony of moans from your lips.  “not like i do..” he says, the satisfaction of you being so reactive to his touch bringing a smile to his face, your back arching as his movements become overwhelming for you. He soon pulls out his fingers and replaces them with his cock, that had been aching to be inside of you for far too long.

He pushes one of your legs outward, granting him more access to your sweet hole, He pushes deeper inside of you all self control leaving his body the moment he hears you cry out for him, tears welling in your eyes from pleasure as he fucks into you. “So pretty, gonna fill you up with my cum.” he groans,the moment he feels you clenching around his cock, your thighs trembling. He threw his head back as he rubs his thumb across your bottom lip, admiring you in such a state.

“Eren, you can't!” You shriek, his fingers gripping at your hips harshly. He continues fucking you hard and deep, his hips smashing against your own. “cant cum inside you?” he’ll question. he continues to pound you, this is his way of letting you know he has no intention of pulling out.

“but i thought you were sorry? I thought you were mine?”There is a heartbroken tone in his voice as he speaks to you, hoping for you to reassure him you meant the words you'd spoken earlier.  You were left feeling guilty for even thinking you should have denied him. after everything you’d already done to hurt him. You had said you would make it up to and part of that required doing as he wanted.  “I am!”

“shut up and take my cum then, you said you’re mine. gotta prove it. this pussy is mine too, right baby?” you nodded in agreement, tellinf him whatever he needed to hear to keep fucking you so good, muttering the best “mhm, i love you so so much!”  you could muster while being overtaken by your orgasm as eren came inside of you, the creamy liquid dripping out of you and down your thighs. “You're not going anywhere, not now, not ever, I won't let you.” 

 Eren, Who was responsible for it all, and had developed a plan for each failed talking stage you had. since leaving him and most importantly the breakup due to your boyfriend cheating– from his actions of  intimidating them into leaving you alone with threats of physical attacks or the videos he sent them of him devouring your cunt, while you cried out his name, your fingers tugging at his brunette strands of hair. A video which had been recorded so long ago when the two of you were still together, but the idiot, who you had made the mistake of calling a boyfriend,  hadn't even bothered to verify that your nails hadn't been any color you had been since you'd meeting him. perhaps, he simply didn't care enough. it was of no big importance to eren either way, in his eyes the fool wasn't deserving of you. Just as eren believed to be the case since the beginning, he was the only one who’d love you the way you deserved and for this reason he was never going anywhere.  

here’s my masterlist

[toulousewayne]

Trinity Head canon

Clark is the tallest at 6’3, Bruce is not far behind at 6’2 and Diana is 6’1.5.

Clark has a southern drawl. He’s been in the city for years, but sometimes it comes out when he’s angry or certain words will bring it out. Diana and Lois find it adorable.

Speaking of which Bruce has a thick Jersey accent but does have some British vocabulary that he uses like lift or tap instead of elevator or faucet.

Diana can speak the most languages, with Bruce behind her. She secretly taught him many forgotten languages, he enjoyed this time they spent. It was mostly when the first met.

When the two come to the manor they each have a favorite tea that Alfred or really Bruce will make. Clark likes Chamomile tea and Diana likes Oolong. Bruce himself prefers green tea.

The amount of last minute saves Clark and Diana have had to do to get Bruce out of harms way is crazy. They have a tally system that Barbara keeps track of. Clark is ahead by five points.

Bruce has planned out his affairs in case he dies. Again. Damian would go into Clark and Lois’ care he figures Jon would help him a lot during this time. When he was younger if something happened to him or Alfred Dick was also supposed to go to Clark. And had Jason lived during his younger years he was originally going to Clark but he changed it to Diana a few weeks before he passed away.

Diana drops by every Sunday to feed and play with the animals. Damian has grown fond of his aunt Diana’s visits.

Aside from Bruce, Alfred and Barbara Clark is the only other person who knows how feral and intense Dick’s run as Robin was.

Diana is usually the one to lead the league or a mission. Bruce has always felt she was better at leading the charge, though she thinks the opposite and just feels she’s doing what’s needed in the moment.

We have established that Bruce is a terrible cook. Diana is far worse as when she first invited the two over to her apartment she was making a casserole she kept hearing about. Clark had to put out the fire and Bruce payed off the fire marshal. Clark can cook four dishes; Beef stew, a traditional country breakfast, apple pie and Chili. He’s trying to expend his recipes but the other two enjoy the options.

The trio get together twice a month for a night on the town. They’ve only had three successful nights out where they didn’t need to save the city.

Once a year Diana and Clark force Bruce to take a week long vacation. The Batkids watch over Gotham, and Kara watches Metropolis.

They usually go to an island off the coast of Greece that Diana discovered. She has to mother Bruce about sunscreen because he burns like paper.

Clark enjoys surfing and snorkeling. Bruce will broad for the first two days then he’ll loosen up.

Diana and Clark each have a favorite thing about the Batcave. Clark loves the giant penny and Diana is always found staring at the T-Rex.

Speaking of which, Diana is banned from driving the Batmobile nether Bruce or Diana will explain why, but Clark is chuckling about the situation.

Clark had filled in for Bruce five times. Three times as Batman and twice as Bruce Wayne using his voice.

Tim and Damian are the only Robins to work with Clark as Batman and they both enjoyed having rogues confused as to why their usual tricks didn’t affect Batman.

Clark sometimes had doubts about being a beacon of Hope when they first formed the League. It was Batman they gave him a word of advice, though Bruce still denies it till this day.

Diana once caught Bruce with her lasso, she questioned him about why he was so interested in it, he never told her why but she thinks it’s because it’s the only thing that has forced the truth out of him.

Clark can drive a stick shift, Diana can’t parallel park.

Diana is actually a good mechanic, she’s worked on a few of the aircraft at the Watchtower.

Each of the Trinity has a favorite duo to team up with. Clark likes to work with Martian Manhunter and Atom, Diana likes to work with Vixen and Black Canary, and Bruce once again won’t attempt it but he likes to work with Green Lantern (Hal) and the Flash (Barry).

Bruce doesn’t have perfect vision as he leads people to believe. He had glass since he was ten, and has had LASIK three times.

Diana will sometimes braid the Batkids hair. She loves Duke and Tim’s hair the most. She sometimes will scold Dick about his longer hair because she knows he’ll never tend to it properly.

[thepeacefulgarden]

Promises you must make to yourself (and keep) when it's time to detach with love

I will stop trying to control anyone but myself.

I will set boundaries with this person, and I will not rescind those boundaries.

I will make those boundaries clear.

I will not give in to temper tantrums, threats, tears, bargaining, guilt trips, or other manipulative tactics. Instead, I will walk away.

I will stop doing things for them that they are capable of doing for themselves, and should be doing for themselves.

I will stop "loaning" them money I know I'm never going to get back.

I will let them be responsible for their own lives, and their own choices, and I will take responsibility for mine.

If it's necessary, I will remove myself and any children and/or pets from the household, and I will get us to safety.

I will prioritize my safety and well-being, and the safety and well-being of any children or pets.

I will not cover and lie for this person anymore.

I will no longer defend or make excuses for their unacceptable behavior.

I will prioritize my needs over their wants.

I will know that I am doing this because I love them and care about them, and I will absolve myself of guilt.

I will cultivate a support system of my own.

I will absolve myself of responsibility for their happiness, their life choices, their behavior, their words, and their responsibilities.

I will regulate my emotions when they try to dysregulate me. I will not lose my cool, no matter how much they agitate me.

If I cannot deescalate them, I will walk away.

I will absolve myself of responsibility for their feelings. I will let them be mad. Or sad. Or whatever else.

I will not bail them out of legal trouble.

I will not bail them out of any other kind of trouble or crisis.

I will no longer give this person second, third, fourth, fifth, hundredth chances they don't deserve.

I will accept that the situation is what it is, and I will stop trying to minimize or deny how bad it is.

I will accept that I cannot change or control them, and I will stop trying to do so.

I will find a sense of meaning, identity, and purpose outside of my relationship with them, or feeling "needed" or "wanted" by them, or anyone else.

I will let them face the consequences of their behavior, and I will absolve myself of responsibility for those consequences.

I will know and understand that I have done my best, and I cannot help someone who won't help themselves.

I will know that, no matter how much they may protest otherwise, I am not being selfish.

[pillarsalt]

hi! i was wondering your opinions on how hrt affects the body? i hold a lot of radfem beliefs but i am trans (taking testosterone). would being a woman to you have to be completely about chromosomes? for example, trans men years on T do not have the same genetic makeup as cis women. same with trans women on E, their genetic makeup would be very different to cis men, and would more correlate to cis women. does this factor in who you consider female/male or having experience as women?

Hi there, thanks for reaching out.

Firstly, I think you may be a bit confused. Taking exogenous hormones does not affect your genetic makeup. Your dna will stay the same unless you're exposed to something extreme like radiation - this is a good thing because dna mutation is bad for you and causes cancer! Your genetic sex is immutable, a person with XY chromosomes cannot have their dna altered to have XX chromosomes instead.

Hormones will affect the expression of your genes, for example turning on facial hair production in women who are taking testosterone. This is why those patterns of facial hair, even in women, differ from person to person. The genes for it were already there, but hormone replacement therapy uses the endocrine system to change what signals get sent to your genes to tell them what features to express.

Beyond chemically induced genetic expression, there are particular physical features in males that do not occur in males, and vice versa. This is a feature of the /ancient/ evolution of sexual reproduction. Despite the variety of metaphysical beliefs about identity and personhood, the truth is that humans evolved to reproduce between two sexes, and human beings cannot change sex. Every cell of your body has your sex encoded within it. This affects us physically in many ways. I and most feminists believe that this fact should be irrelevant to any person's ability to pursue their passion, be themselves, and love who they love. Even so, recognition of biological sex is something important. This is really critical in a medical context. For example: men who receive a blood transfusion from a pregnant or recently pregnant woman have an increased risk of death by transfusion-related lung injury. Another example: tracheostomy tubes differ in size depending on sex due to dimorphism in average tracheal diameter. A women who is reported as a male risks considerable injury by having a male sized tracheostomy tube forced into her windpipe. A considerable amount of medications differ in dose effectiveness and side effects based on biological sex. Something as straightforward as a heart attack has different symptoms depending on if the patient is female or male. Denial of biological sex is dangerous, and as it stands, medical science has not advanced enough to change the biological sex of an individual. If you are born male, you will stay male for your entire life. You say that a transwoman who has taken estrogen is more genetically similar to a woman, I'm sorry but that simply isn't true. A male person will always be more genetically similar to other males than to a female person.

Determination of sex is very simple, it's about the easiest genetic test to do. They have kits for high school classrooms to try out ffs. We need to leave the "meaningful sex change is possible through medical intervention" thing in the past, all we accomplish with that is giving people false hope and an unattainable goal to fixate on. Sex is real and immutable, I wish it didn't matter, but it does.

And why it matters is, maleness and femaleness have become inseparable from certain stereotypes and assigned qualities by societies in human history. Overwhelmingly, the male people subjugate the female people. Since men, male humans, discovered womens' ability to give birth could be taken advantage of, it was capitalized upon. And this is the foundation of patriarchal society. Religions were founded to justify this as the will of god. To deny that women have historically been persecuted due to their sex is, well, misogynistic. There is no "woman feeling" that makes us targets for child marriages, FGM, trafficking/prostitution, and other horrors from the minute we're born and even before. No, it's the sex we were born with that makes the world think it can decide our fate. In fact, the way that people treat male children differently from female children is so different so early, that we are genuinely unable to study human behaviour unaffected by gendered expectations. This is what feminists are talking about when they discuss "socialization". There is not a single man on the planet who knows exactly what it's like to see the world from a woman's eyes, no matter how feminine that man is. Womanhood isn't something you can achieve or acquire through effort: you were either born a woman or you weren't, just like you were either born with detached earlobes or not. It's so simple.

All that to get to my final point: Yes, I believe the definition of womanhood comes down to biology, because anything beyond that is a meaningless stereotype. Women can do anything, be anyone, look any way they want, go through any experience they do. The one thing they have in common is that they are female adult human beings. There is not way to fail at being a woman or do it wrong, you just are. Womanhood is the experience of having been a female person in this world, and nothing else. There are certain things only female human beings need, like abortion and female contraceptive rights, access to spaces where we can be safe from our subjugators (male human beings), and the ability to define ourselves and fight for our collective rights.

(At this point you may object and point out that male people who identify as trans women are also subject to violence and scorn from men: unfortunately that is often the case, but this does not make male people who identify as women, well, female. We need solutions for them that do not involve requiring women to sacrifice our comfort and safety for the sake of a particular subset of men, because of the inherent risks involved and the fact that women do not owe men anything even when those men have it bad.)

One last thing: my opinion is that prescribing exogenous cross-sex hormones is unethical (so are all elective cosmetic medical procedures but that's a post for a different day). I understand the distress that gender dysphoria inflicts on people, however the ill effects of hrt are too numerous to condone. The huge increase in risk of stroke with estrogen, heart disease and uterine atrophy with testosterone, and the way that trans medicine studies are notorious for losing followup with patients after a year or less... it's short sighted and frankly, financially motivated. The amount of trans patients who are prescribed hormones without access to an endocrinologist, it's honestly infuriating. People deserve the best care possible, not lab rat bullshit where they cut you loose when it's not working out. I won't judge anyone for what they do to themselves to cope with distress, but I want everyone, especially girls, to be aware of the lifetime effects medical decisions may have, and that you also can find happiness within yourself without hurting your body.

Thanks again for your question, be well ✌️

[omnium-gatherums]

Hmm do u think there’s any like signs of a good did therapist? things that stick out so u know they’re good and credible. any ways to tell u think

I thought I remembered making a post about this ages ago, but I can't find it, so.

(CDD = complex dissociative disorders, which includes DID, some people with OSDD, Partial DID, and some people diagnosed with unspecified dissociative disorders who may just be people with one of the other three diagnoses instead)

🟢 Good:

Understands that DID is most often subtle and difficult to notice; that most people with DID do not present with obvious, drastic personality changes

Treats each alter equally, doesn't treat any one alter as "The" "actual/real/true/main" "person"; doesn't try to force one alter/"The Host" to be the only alter to present in therapy/etc.

Understands that functional multiplicity is a completely real and valid way to heal and recover with DID; that you do not need to fuse all alters into "one" in order to recover and heal along with having DID

Adapts/adjusts to the unique language that you use for yourself/your system/alters/etc.

Doesn't make treating you as a system (if that's how you want to be treated) contingent on having a CDD diagnosis. By this I mean that regardless of if you have a CDD or not, regardless of any kind of syscourse, is this the way you exist? Is this how you live your life - how you and other parts/alters/headmates/etc. in your system live your lives? A good therapist should treat y'all the ways you want to be treated and not deny you the rights to exist the ways you do on the basis of whether or not you have a CDD

Do you feel safe around them? Comfortable? Of course having a new therapist at first is difficult and it will take time to build trust and being comfortable around your therapist, but there is difference between the beginning stages of getting to know someone and not really trusting them yet versus feeling actively uncomfortable around them/unsafe. If you actively feel unsafe/uncomfortable with your therapist, this might be a sign that they might not be a good one.

Would you feel sad if you no longer had them as a therapist?

Is willing to admit when they're wrong/willing to admit when they've made mistakes

🔴 Bad:

Won't diagnose DID because they "didn't see you switch" (seeing somebody switch is not a requirement for a DID diagnosis)

Won't diagnose DID because "trauma wasn't bad/wasn't that bad/wasn't bad enough"

Won't diagnose DID because they expect extremely drastic personality changes

Doesn't "believe" in "repressed memories"/that you can have amnesia for trauma and later remember that trauma

Dismisses memories that you claim you had amnesia before; even if there is true reason to believe that your suspicions aren't correct, a good therapist would not immediately be dismissive and minimize your concerns. There are ways to navigate trying to tell someone if you truly feel their memories aren't adding up, and dismissing them and minimizing their concerns/suspicions is not one of them

Treats "the host" (if you have one) as "the actual/real/true/main person"

Tries to force final fusion; thinks that final fusion is the only way to heal/that it's the "real/true" way to heal

Tries to force certain language onto you/your system/etc. (such as forcing you to call your alters parts when you don't personally feel comfortable with that)

Are you afraid of them? Do you feel unsafe around them?

Do you dread going to therapy - not because therapy itself can be draining due to talking about heavy things, but because of seeing them/speaking to them/because you dread seeing your therapist/etc.?

If you had access to a different therapist, would you change therapists in a heartbeat? In this hypothetical, they won't cost any more or less money and nothing else will be a problem and nothing is preventing you from seeing the new therapist.

Tries to push medication

The most important rule is to trust yourself.

If a therapist doesn't feel like a good fit for you, if you have your doubts, if something feels off, DO NOT HESITATE to seek out a different therapist. You don't have to find a reason to "justify" finding a new therapist - you can seek out a different therapist for ANY reason. Any reason is a valid reason. Yes, any reason, even if it truly is a "stupid" and "unreasonable" reason.

For us personally, we know that our therapist is good because:

We feel safe and comfortable around her. Enough to have opened up about things we otherwise tell NO-ONE

We feel seen. We feel like she truly "sees" "us"

We feel safe and comfortable to open up to her and talk to her about when she's said something that upset us, and we do talk about it! We talk it out in a healthy and safe and productive way and we come to an understanding and we feel better when we do

We actively look forward to therapy and seeing her and talking about things with her

We truly have improved, our denial as truly gotten so much better and overall we really have been improving ever so slowly

Sometimes you're in a position where sometimes you have no choice but to "settle" for a therapist even if they aren't perfect. That's okay too. However, sometimes having no therapist is better than having a therapist that actively makes your mental health worse. Never, ever, ever settle for a therapist who makes your mental health worse. It's better to have no therapist than to have a therapist who is actively making your life/mental health/etc. worse.

There are definitely way more red flags and green flags, but this is what I've got for now.

[delayedstrawberry]

Dracule Mihawks Unknown Visitor

Summary: Dracule Mihawk is a man of many secrets, so naturally, he greeted Zoro and Perona with silence when they asked about his unusual mood during their unannounced visit to his Castle on Kuraigana Island. However, it all starts to make sense once a stranger appears unexpectedly at the door. Fandom: One Piece Relationships: Mihawk x Reader, Mihawk x Female OC Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Female Reader Zoro and Perona Notes: Hello♡ This is just a silly and slightly romantic little idea I came up with, so I had to get it out of my system. I posted this Fanfic on my AO3 as well (DelayedStrawberry) I hope you enjoy reading!

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩Dracule Mihawks Unknown Visitor ˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

Mihawk sits on his usual throne chair in the tea room, holding the newspaper in his hands as he lazily reads through it. There’s a fresh cup of tea by his side, and a book to keep him occupied later on. He’s wearing his frilly white shirt today, alongside his long black pants, his black boots and a cross necklace. The air around the castle seems calm and undisturbed, except for the loud voices of Zoro and Perona talking in the living room down the hall. Thankfully Mihawk has the door shut, and told them to shut the living room door too. They’re visiting for around two weeks against Mihawk's will, so he’s got one week left of them making a mess of the place. The pair decided to come unannounced again. This is what, the third time this year? What a bother.

Mihawk sighs, the fluttering of the newspaper being heard throughout the room as he shifts in his seat. They’re still too loud. But no matter…they made him some rice and vegetable soup in the morning so he can’t get too angry. Granted, they did an awful job on it, but he can’t deny they still tried their best.

“Aw come on Zoro, hold still.” Perona whines in a frustrated tone as Zoro sits between her legs.

“I’m trying! But you keep tugging on my hair…I’m not some statue!” Zoro spits back, changing his seating position for the hundredth time.

Perona has somehow convinced Zoro to let her braid his hair. He’s grown it out pretty long over the summer and she’s been bugging him about it for weeks, so she’s got him trapped between her legs as she sits on the couch.

“Pfft not trying hard enough. I thought you were some strong swordsman, you can handle my hands in your hair, right?” Perona tugs another piece of his hair, giggling as she does so.

“That’s it! I’ve had enough!” Zoro suddenly stands up and knocks Perona over backwards on the couch, a breathless gasp escaping her. He promptly runs his fingers through his hair to get rid of the braids, but manages to tangle his hair instead.

“That was like an hour's work!” Perona whines, crossing her arms over her chest as she sinks into the couch with a pout.

“Dammit, what did you do to it…it’s getting tangled.” Zoro murmurs as he continues to try and get the braids out.

“Why do you ALWAYS have to be like this?? I was nearly done.” She whines, the pout on her face growing deeper.

“I don’t care. And I don’t want your grubby hands in my hair anyway!” Zoro retorts, his voice rising.

Perona gasps. “Grubby??? How DARE you insinuate-”

Zoro cuts her off. “I’m not insinuating, I’m stating a damn fact. You’re just an annoying grubby girl who can’t seem to begin to imagine what diseases live under HER fingernails!”. His hands are furiously running through his hair to get rid of the braids, but miserably failing.

“Oh yeah? Well, your mouth is a disease!” Perona’s voice gets slightly louder, and she sits up straighter on the couch as she looks up at him.

“Oh how original of you.” He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and looking off to the side.

“How about we ask Mihawk what he thinks?? I’m sure he’ll agree with me!” Perona says with conviction, a small smile on her face.

“He would agree with a bag of rocks before he would agree with you!” Zoro laughs loudly, stepping back closer to the couch to loom over Perona with a half grin.

“N-NO!” Perona stutters out, her smile dropping, knowing Zoro's right.

“Then we agree. You’re grubby.” Zoro says as he leans down and gets close to Peronas face.

“We do NOT agree! Ugh this isn’t fair!” She looks back into Zoro's eyes with a stubborn expression.

Zoro's voice rises as his frustration comes back with a crash. “Not fair??…Not FAIR?? You messed up my damn hair! It’s gonna take days for it to look good again!”

“It never looked good in the first place so I don’t know why you’re so worried!” Perona shouts, getting up in his face even more.

“Says the pink haired FREAK!” Zoro shouts back.

“Your hair is GREE-” Zoro cuts her off by quickly clamping a hand over her mouth.

“God, quiet down! Mihawks’ already been in a bad enough mood lately, don’t make it worse.” Zoro says in a hushed tone, saying it as if he wasn’t also shouting.

Perona grumbles under his hand, but then they hear something. It sounds like footsteps, but not the demanding ones of Mihawk…but the softer and lighter kind, and they’re coming from outside the castle. The two slowly turn their heads simultaneously towards the sound of them, their eyes growing wider.

Perona prys Zoros’ hand off of her mouth, both of them still trying to listen.

“Who’s that…?” Perona whispers, her ears straining to hear who’s footsteps they are.

“I don’t know.” Zoro whispers back. “It seems to be coming from outside.”

“An intruder??” Perona whispers, a bit of alarm in her voice.

Zoro shrugs as Perona gets off of the couch, quickly floating across the living room to the window. She peers through it and Zoro goes to stand behind her. However, due to the distance and the angle, they can’t see who it is. Perona huffs and floats out of the living room door to go towards the front entrance of the castle. Zoros’ eyebrows shoot up. There’s been a warning from Mihawk about how there’s been a gang of pirates in the nearby seas causing unusual trouble lately, and told them to be careful.

“Wait for me, you’ll get yourself killed!” Zoro shouts after her. He sighs and straightens up, walking after Perona who’s already halfway down the hallway.

Zoro stumbles a bit as he leaves the living room, his hand now occupied with his tangled hair as he tries to follow Perona as fast as he can.

The two walk through the castle halls and various rooms with gothic furniture and colours, although Zoro is more distracted by trying to fix his messy green strands.

“Dammit.” He curses under his breath, stumbling into a chair.

Perona rolls her eyes and grabs Zoros’ hand, yanking it out of his tangled locks. “You’re gonna get lost again if you keep thinking of your stupid hair.” She says in an annoyed tone. Zoro just protests under his breath, and the two of them walk to the main entrance of the castle.

The main entrance of Mihawks’ castle is quite the large area, with an even larger door. The floor is covered in dark green shiny diamond tiles, and the 3 metre door is dark brown with a vintage golden handle. The footsteps seem to be coming towards the entryway, so Zoro pulls his swords out just in case, and Peronas’ heart pounds a little faster.

“What if they’re here to kill Mihawk??” Perona whispers, looking up at Zoro.

“I could take them…” Zoro mutters.

Perona pauses for a second. “Yeah, that’s what you said about Mihawk.”

Zoro glares at her, clearly unamused.

The footsteps come even closer to the door, still sounding soft and light. Zoro and Perona tense up.

“It couldn’t be a guest, right? Mihawk never has guests. The old man barely has friends.” Zoro whispers.

“Mhmm. And we weren’t told of any guests, he would tell us!” Perona whispers in a whiny voice.

The footsteps are heard even closer, it sounds like they’re on the steps which lead up to the front door.

“Perona! Fix my hair, right now.” Zoro whispers, his voice laced with panic.

She quietly giggles and grabs his head so that she can properly take the braids out, the braids he so wonderfully tangled. Zoro keeps his eyes on the front door, the footsteps coming even closer.

“There bossy-I mean mossy. Your hair should be fine now.” Perona grins. Zoro gives her a half glare but decides to leave her comment until later. They both look at the entrance way, the footsteps even closer now and the air full of nerves. Zoro and Perona look at each other in anticipation before silently stepping towards the door.

The footsteps are heard right outside, and without a second thought Zoro flings the door open and raises his swords.

A loud scream is heard and papers fly everywhere as the person falls to the ground in fright. Zoros’ eyes widen…fuck. It’s just a postman.

“Oh g-god don’t kill me! P-please! I-I was sent here b-by the marines t-to give a letter to M-Mihawk! The birds aren’t in s-service at the moment! Mihawk k-knew I was coming I s-swear! I t-told them I wasn’t u-up for the job! This p-place is so-.” The poor postman rambles, frantically trying to pick up all the letters he dropped. Zoro rubs his temple and puts his swords away, he bends down to help the shaking man.

“Uhh sorry about that…we thought you were…” Zoro trails off.

“An intruder trying to kill Mihawk!” Perona exclaims loudly as she floats up behind Zoro, her hands on her hips and her lips pursed.

The young postman nervously smiles, stuffing a handful of letters into his bag. “Nope…h-hah…”

Zoro helps with putting the last papers in the mans’ bag, and gets handed a letter as they both stand up. “T-this is for Mihawk. It’s f-from the marines.” The postman says nervously, sweating and trembling slightly.

Zoro nods and clears his throat, waving the letter around slightly. “Yeah okay, we’ll give this to him. Thanks.”

The postman nods then starts to hurry off back down the stairs. Zoro grimaces slightly and sighs, then Perona speaks up.

“Pshh. Why would you do that, Zoro!? You pulled your swords out on an innocent man! How rude.” She puts her nose in the air and crosses her arms, floating away from him and back into the castle.

“WHA-!” Zoro stammers with a start, his head quickly turning towards her. He groans and shuts the door behind him and starts walking back into the castle too, muttering under his breath about how she’s the one who put the idea in his head that it was an intruder.

“You can’t just be swinging those swords around, you’ll take some innocent persons’ eyes out, you know.” Perona continues to talk as they cross the entrance way.

Zoro sighs heavily. “So much for an exciting day, guess we’ll go and…”

“Braid your hair again?” Perona turns around to look at him, a huge flashy grin on her face.

“No! I was gonna say we’ll go and get something to eat.” Zoro furrows his brow.

“Zoroooooooo!” She whines.

Zoro shakes his head in disbelief, and walks out of the castle's entrance down a hallway. Perona floats after him, a huge pout on her face.

As they enter the large kitchen, Zoro looks at the letter in his hand intended for Mihawk, and decides to put it on the kitchen counter for now.

The two settle down on the stools with food from this mornings’ breakfast, and they silently wonder why Mihawk didn’t eat it all…maybe he wasn’t hungry, he’s been in a pretty bad mood lately. At least, more than usual. They did try to pester him about it, but Mihawk likes to keep things to himself.

Stillness washes over the room as the two eat for about an hour, not bothering to talk to each other. Perona’s still pouty and Zoro wants some peace for once.

Just before they finish eating…they hear more footsteps coming from the outside of the castle. Lighter than what they heard the postman make.

Zoro furrows his brow, slamming his chopsticks onto the table as he looks up. “What the hell?”

Perona tilts her head, her mouth full of food. “Postman again?”

“No…these sound different…I don’t like it.” Zoro stands up and begins to walk back towards the front door, a bit of fire in his eyes. What’s the chances of this happening twice in one day? Perona starts feeling a bit uneasy, and quickly floats behind Zoro to keep close to him.

They get to the entrance way of the castle again, and begin to listen. These footsteps aren’t like the postmans’. These sounded more calculated, or like they had more of a purpose. Perona instinctively clutches Zoros’ arm tightly, wrapping her own arm around his.

“Okay, this one REALLY feels like an intruder.” Perona whispers, her hold tightening on Zoro.

“Yeah these sound a bit…strange.” Zoro whispers back, narrowing his eyes at the door.

The footsteps seem to be hurrying a bit, and they quickly hear them going up the steps to the front door. Zoro and Perona step back slightly, not wanting to redo their last encounter with a stranger, and going for a more hands off approach for this one.

Someone's unknown footsteps walk right up to the entrance. The door slowly opens, shit. They didn’t lock it after they encountered the postman. Zoros’ eyes widen, his breath catching in his throat and his heart pounding. Perona hides behind Zoro, continuing to keep her own arm securely and tightly around his, her heart going a million beats per second.

As the door slowly opens, someone on the other side mutters about how the damn thing shouldn’t be so heavy. They seem to struggle to get it open, the door actually shutting again before opening for the second time. The two look at each other with puzzled expressions, but still on guard.

The door finally opens, and a woman they don’t recognise steps inside. Her eyes land on the two but she doesn’t flinch, she gives off an air of confidence which is slightly intimidating. Zoro seems to relax at the sight of this woman but he keeps his guard up, while Perona tenses up even more as her intuition suggests this woman is bad news.

Zoro clears his throat, keeping his distance from her and speaking in a firm voice. “What’s your name?”

“y/n. Who are you two?” She says with a light smile as she looks over the two, noting their tense bodies and narrowed eyes.

Zoro looks the woman over, noting her put together demeanour. “I’m Zoro, and this is Perona.”

Perona doesn’t like this one bit, she knows that a pretty and innocent smile can hide all sorts of danger. So she speaks to y/n in a cold tone. “You’re here to harm Mihawk, aren’t you?”

y/n looks slightly puzzled but stays calm.”Who said I was here to hurt him?”

Zoro and Perona glance at each other for a moment, not liking her response in the slightest. It seems like she’s dancing around their question.

“Well…y/n, you’re clearly in the castle without Mihawks’ permission. Of course we would think that’s what you’re here to do.” Zoro says sternly, his eyes narrowing even more and his hand going to the hilt of his sword, feeling protective over Mihawk.

“Oh, well…I’m-”But before y/n can respond, Perona cuts her off.

“Don’t say another word! I know a liar when I see one, so whatever you have to say we don’t believe you!” Perona bristles, her tone challenging. Zoro gives Perona a look portraying that he wants her to calm down, but she doesn’t care. Her heart’s set on y/n being an intruder.

“I can assure-” y/n begins, but gets cut off by Perona again.

“We know Mihawk never has guests, and we’ve never heard of you before! And it would be too much of a coincidence if both strangers who’ve shown up are innocent! So get your small butt out of here and go back to where you came from, woman.” She says firmly, untangling her arms from Zoro and crossing them over her chest instead.

Zoro shakes his head in disbelief with how Perona is behaving, but he’s still very much on edge by this mystery woman, there’s definitely a better way to handle this. But despite Zoros’ concern, he knows Perona is just as protective of Mihawk as he is, it just comes across a little differently.

“You know what, I don’t have time for this.” y/n sighs, then begins walking past the two and heading across the entrance way, clearly intending to head deeper into the castle.

Zoro and Perona feel a wave of concern wash over them, so they follow after her. Perona floats pretty quickly behind y/n, while Zoro strides behind them with his hand still on the hilt of his sword.

“Hey, woman! Where do you think you’re going? We weren’t done talking to you!” Perona calls after her, catching up to y/n pretty quickly as they all go down the long hallway.

“You were the one doing most of the talking, and insulting.” y/n says aloofly as she continues to walk. Perona only gets more angry at her response.

“Who do you think you are?? You’re the one who’s here without anyone's permission.” Perona scowls.

“We can’t let you waltz in here unannounced to see Mihawk!” Zoro barks from behind them, his anger flaring up as y/n doesn’t seem to have any intent to stop walking.

y/n sighs to herself, clearly fed up with the two, the air around them tense. “I tried telling you why I’m here, but you kept cutting me off. So why should I even bother.” She says as she opens some doors to walk through one of the spare rooms.

“Because we don’t trust you. Whatever you say, it'll be a lie, so you're not allowed anywhere near him!” Perona says loudly, her voice full of frustration. y/n furrows her brow but doesn’t stop moving.

“I’m getting a headache.” y/n says as she pushes through some more doors, going through yet another big room.

“Yeah right. Try having 2 unannounced people turn up today.” Zoro huffs, his glare on the back of y/n’s head.

Perona nods, her grumpiness growing as she agrees with Zoro. “You say you’re getting a headache, but we’ve stressed out twice already in the past hour!”

As y/n pushes through another set of doors, they get into the long dimly lit hallway that leads to Mihawks’ throne room. Zoro and Perona get even more on edge, what the hell does she want with him?

“You can’t just walk around the house like you own the place!” Perona says angrily with a hint of redness growing on her cheeks, following y/n at her heels. Zoros’ frustration builds as well, noting that y/n isn’t even replying to them anymore and clearly going towards Mihawk.

“y/n! You can’t just go into Mihawks’ throne room uninvited!” Zoro calls out, bringing out one of his swords in case things get ugly.

“Watch me.” y/n says calmly, looking straight ahead as they begin to approach the door.

“Goddammit y/n! Do you have a death wish or something?” Zoros’ voice gets a little frantic, and Peronas’ heart beats quicker than it was already.

“Mihawks gonna kill us if we’re the reason he gets killed.” Perona whispers to Zoro, getting a nod out of him as he takes a deep breath to brace himself for the inevitable.

The 3 reach the door leading into Mihawks’ throne room. Zoro and Perona exchange a glance, then without any hesitation y/n opens it and walks inside.

Inside the throne room Mihawk sits there with a book in hand and the newspaper off to the side, his teacup is empty and he’s got his usual stoic expression. When the 3 walk in he looks up, a hint of curiosity on his face. His gaze immediately falls onto y/n, and his eyes grow wide alongside his pupils dilating. His hands lose grip of the book he was reading and it falls onto the ground with a soft thud.

Perona points at y/n. “We told-” Before she could speak she yelps in pain, Zoro nudging her ribs with his elbow to shut her up, knowing Mihawk can surely handle the situation from here.

“Y-y/n?” Mihawk says breathlessly, his heart beating wildly in his chest and his eyes still wide.

She swallows, her breathing becoming a little shallow as her heart races just the same. “They let me leave early.”

Mihawk keeps looking at her, and says in a breathless voice as he absorbs her words. “You’re back…early…” He can’t believe his eyes.

Zoro and Peronas’ anger makes way for the overwhelming confusion they feel as they look over the interaction, Zoro puts his sword away but keeps his guard up.

“Mihawk…you know her?” Zoro asks quietly, his voice full of confusion and slight concern.

Mihawk doesn’t take his eyes off of y/n, and struggles to speak as he replies in a horse whisper. “Yes…I know her.”

y/n walks closer to Mihawk as he stands up from his throne. His eyes set on her, not even seeming to register Zoro and Perona anymore. Mihawk stands still as he watches her approach, not able to move a muscle from the shock and disbelief.

As they’re only centermeres apart, Mihawk brings up his hand to cup y/ns’ face and gently runs his thumb over her cheek. y/n puts her hand around his wrist as he touches her, gently caressing his arm with her own thumb. He looks down at her and his face visibly softens, and so does hers as she looks up at him.

“They let you come home early…” Mihawk murmurs, swimming in a wave of emotions as he looks at her, it’s almost overwhelming.

y/n nods her head slowly, closing her eyes for a moment as she takes in the feel of his hand on her face. Mihawk then grabs her waist and pulls her against him, moving his other hand from her face to her waist as well and holding her tightly in his arms. y/n puts her arms around his neck firmly, leaning her face against his chest as Mihawk buries his face into the crook of her neck and taking a deep breath as he breathes her in.

Zoro and Perona look stunned, they’re completely speechless and wide eyed as they look on, their mouths open from shock.

“Is it just me…or is Mihawk acting really weird right now? And what did he mean by home? Do you think they’re-” Perona whispers to Zoro.

“I…I don’t know…but he’s acting weird alright.” Zoro whispers, mulling over the scene before them.

Mihawk holds y/n close to him, closing his eyes as he feels her body against his and the smell of her in his nostrils. They stay like this for about a minute or two in silence, just being in each other's arms and breathing the other in. In this moment, they’re just two people who have been apart for far too long.

“They should know, darling.” Mihawk murmurs hazily to y/n after a few minutes of silence, smiling lightly as he glances over at the two who look gobsmacked. He feels quite amused by how shocked they look, but refrains from laughing.

“Yeah they should, my love.” y/n murmurs back just as hazily, looking at them as well.

Mihawk kisses her neck lightly and then turns his gaze to Zoro and Perona, shifting his body so that only one arm is around her waist. Zoro and Perona wait nervously, and straighten up when Mihawk looks at them.

Mihawk lightly smiles, his haziness still prominent. “Zoro, Perona…this is y/n. She’s-” He takes a short breath, looking at y/n for a moment before looking back at the pair. “...my wife.”

Zoros’ eyes widen even further, if that’s even possible, and he opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Perona on the other hand, her face goes pale. She told this woman some awful things, even telling her she can’t walk around the house like she owned the place…when she did in fact, own the place.

“Oh my god y/n, I’m so SO sorry! I spoke to you so harshly…I thought you were an intruder and some liar!” Perona says frantically, floating up to y/n with a panicked expression. Mihawk narrows his eyes on Perona, ingesting this new information.

y/n smiles faintly and gently puts a hand on Peronas shoulder. “I understand you were just trying to protect Mihawk.” She speaks softly, knowing that Perona seems genuinely apologetic.

“Don’t speak to her like that again.” Mihawk sternly warns as y/n squeezes her shoulder, sending a shiver down Peronas spine causing her to frantically nod her head.

Perona heavily breathes out and floats back to Zoro, her cheeks red with embarrassment as she hides her face in her hands. Zoro stands still looking between the two, his brow furrowed and you can practically see the cogs turning in his head.

“You’ve been MARRIED this whole time? Why the hell haven’t we heard of her?” Zoro says in a defeated tone, scratching his head from nerves as the information sinks into him further.

“Because I’m a big name in this world, so when we got together many years ago I decided I don’t want y/n to potentially suffer the consequences that come with it. If everyone found out she’s my partner, there’s no telling what sort of people could go after her.” Mihawk says with a tough expression, his hand tightening around her waist instinctively. Perona just nods her head slowly, while Zoro still looks confused. “She’s precious to me, and I don’t want anything happening to her.”

Zoro feels respect washing over his heart, and also a lot of understanding. But he’s still finding it hard to process all of this, and can’t help but ask a little further.

“How is that even possible…” Zoro breathes out.

“We just don’t go flaunting it about, we’ve found it ensures our peace and her safety.” Mihawk replies softly, a hint of vulnerability within his words. “However, we didn’t say NO ONE knows about our marriage.” Mihawk says as he smirks lightly and feels a rush of pride run through his veins, him and y/n sharing a knowing look.

Zoros’ eyes widen again, looking between them once more. “Who else knows?”

“The other warlords, Shanks, some of the top marines, my family, Luffy…” y/n explains calmly, leaning against Mihawk a bit more.

Zoro looks flabbergasted. “LUFFY??” Perona also whips her head between the two as the information that Luffy, out of all people, know about them.

“Yeah he saw us at a restaurant a while back, and we told him to keep it a secret.” y/n says with a light smirk, squeezing Mihawks’ side lightly.

Zoro tuts and looks away, crossing his arms. This is all too weird for him.

Perona then speaks up, breaking her own silence. “How long have you two been married then?”

Mihawk smiles, feeling another rush of pride going through his veins. “Almost 7 years now.”

“Mhmm, almost.” y/n smiles, her head resting on his arm.

Zoro and Perona look gobsmacked again. They can’t help but gawk at the couple, and still have a hard time coming to terms that THE Dracule Mihawk has a wife, and for 7 years? Mihawk sighs as he looks at their faces, deciding to clear things up a bit more.

“She’s the best thing that ever happened to me and I want her to be safe, so I don’t feel the need to announce my personal life to everyone, unless it’s necessary. So I expect you two won’t go off and talk about this. Am I clear?” Mihawk looks between the two with his piercing hawkeye gaze, speaking in his scarily stern voice.

“Yeah…of course.” Zoro manages to say, tensing up at the sternness of Mihawks’ voice.

“I won’t tell a soul, living or dead.” Perona says as she nods her head quickly, her hands scrunching up her dress from the stress of being under Mihawks’ gaze.

“Good, now…you two, out. We need some alone time. We’ll answer more of your questions you’re sure to have, later.” Mihawk says in a firm voice, carrying a hint of impatience.

“Okay okay we’ll go…” Perona breathes, floating out of the throne room. Zoro just nods and follows after her, shutting the door behind them. Once they’re out of the room they can hear Zoro speak to Perona in a hushed voice. “By the way, I haven’t forgotten about how you called me bossy earlier!”

Mihawk sighs in relief and takes y/ns’ hand, sitting back down on his throne and bringing her down with him. He brings her into his lap and she sits sideways so that she’s cradled by Mihawks’ strong arms. He looks over her features, taking her in silently for a moment. Before he leans down and gently connects their lips in a soft and tender kiss, y/ns’ hand going to the side of his neck as she closes her eyes.

After a few moments, they pull back.

“I missed you…” Mihawk murmurs against her lips, pressing their foreheads together, their eyes still closed.

“I missed you too…” y/n murmurs back, breathing in his scent again.

Mihawk opens his warm honey eyes, and talks in a slightly concerned tone. “So, darling. Why did you come back early? You weren’t due to come back for another 2 months, not that I’m complaining, but did something happen?”

y/n shakes her head. “Nothing happened, I just missed you…3 months away from you took a toll on me, again. So they said it was alright for me to leave.”

He hums in acknowledgement, closing his eyes again. “I don’t like when you’re gone, I don’t like when your side of the bed is cold every night.”

It’s y/ns’ turn to sigh, tears sting her eyes slightly. “I know, darling. I don’t think I can do it anymore, I can’t keep leaving for months when I’d rather be here, with you.”

Mihawk holds her a little tighter as she says that, his face full of pain and longing. “I don’t think I can handle it either, y/n, I struggle when you’re gone. I want you to be here with me, where I can keep you safe.”

“I think…I’m gonna quit the job.” y/n says abruptly as she opens her eyes, her face portraying her longing and slight nervousness.

His eyes open in shock, widening as he takes in the information. “Really? Darling-” He says breathlessly, his arms tightening around her even more than before.

“Really. I’ll call them in the morning to tell them I’m done.” She says softly as she brings her hand up to caress his cheek.

“I thought…you were going to hold out a little longer.” Mihawk murmurs, his eyes searching hers. This feels like a lot of information she’s suddenly dumping on him.

“I know, I know…but I just…can’t. It’s unbearable. I know my job will get upset with me, but as long as I’m with you, I don’t care.” y/n murmurs back, nuzzling his nose with her own.

“Okay…good.” Mihawk says as he takes a shaky breath and smiling lightly, his eyes never leaving her face.

“You know…you dropped your book on the ground earlier, Dracule.” She mutters a little teasingly, a grin growing on her face.

“Oh be quiet, I was distracted…” Mihawk mutters as a slight blush of pink spreads over his cheeks, but he can’t help smiling down at her and running his fingers through her hair.

y/n giggles warmly, and brings Mihawk into another gentle kiss. His hand going under her shirt to her back, so he can feel her soft skin for the first time in months, and her thumb caresses the growing warmth on his face.

For the rest of the day, evening and night. The two spend their time in each other's arms and talking about y/ns’ journey out at sea. Zoro and Perona have decided to be quiet for once, and keep their distance so as to not disturb them. Mihawk and y/n go to bed that night curled up as close as they can get, feeling content and happy as they doze off to sleep.

Notes: This is my first Fanfic, so I kept it relatively short! This is also the first time I'm posting it to Tumblr, and I'm new here so I'll see how it goes <3 i hope everyone has a good day/night♡

[vampireimiko]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🎃

warnings, alcohol mentions

note, this was something i came up with yesterday and just had to write it so 😋 also i did try to make this gender neutral but if i added any gendered terms lmk 😭

pairings: johnny, bi-han, and syzoth

Johnny Cage ⭐

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Since Johnny is one of the biggest celebrities in the world, you already know he has to throw a Halloween party. He goes ALL out and invites everybody who's anybody. His costume was a sexy devil, y'know the one. It was either that or he was gonna go as himself 😭.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° I actually feel like Johnny would be the type to change costumes during the night so, he kicks off the night in the sexy devil costume and ends it in a vampire one.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° As his s/o you were automatically considered his Halloween date. You arrived at the party in your own fabulous costume, a perfect complement to Johnny's devilish charm.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° The party was a wild mix of celebrities, music, and flashy costumes. With the music pumping, Johnny took your hand, and you both hit the dance floor. Dancing with him was an experience like no other! He moved with the confidence and charm that had made him a star.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° His by-far favorite part of the dancing was when you threw it back on him and he caught it 😭‼️.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° As the night continued, Johnny showed you off and introduced you to many of his guests. The party became a whirlwind of laughter, and unforgettable memories, with Johnny as the mastermind of it all.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° I feel like after he drinks he gets hella clingy with you, kissing all up on you, whispering in your ear, and ready to kick everyone out so the both of you can go upstairs and have some alone time.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° The morning after, he had such a headache. But he didn't regret anything he did at all that night. The party was huge and definitely one to go down in superstar history.

Bi-Han ❄️

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He was 100% dragged here by you. If you didn't make him dance with you, he would've totally spent the whole night in a random corner. He thinks the party is stupid, he could be training new recruits but instead his loving partner just HAD to drag him to a party.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Immediately after the dance, he heads straight back to the corner. This time he's once again interrupted by a drunk party-go-er.

"Yeah man! How are you liking the party?!" Some random guy yelled over the loud music. Bi-Han rolled his eyes and grunted, still remaining silent.

"Ah, don't be like that big guy, live a little! Hey, how about we get you a drink, yeah?" Bi-Han let's the guy drag him through the house full of people and into the kitchen for drinks.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° "Here ninja dude, this will definitely hit the spot." Finally the guy pats his back and heads back to partying. Bi-Han takes a sip of the drink and from there it was UP. The idea of someone like him being a lightweight is so funny to me 😭

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He completely did a 180 and went straight to looking for you. Once he found you, you thought he wanted to leave but oh were you in for a surprise. Bi-Han grabbed you by the waist, dipped you, and kissed you. This surprised you since he's not one for public affection, but you were never gonna deny anything that came from him.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° After that drink got in his system, he became the absolute LIFE of the party okay! Doing stunts and all of the above. He almost took it too far when he decided he wanted to use his powers in front of everybody, that's when you decided it was time for you two to leave 😭.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° "But I really liked the party Y/N :( Can we please go back inside?"

"Okay fine, how many fingers am I holding up?" You challenged.

"...Let's just go home." He slumped in defeat.

Syzoth 🦎

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He's actually never been to a party where he could actually be himself so, all of this was VERY new to him. I feel like he would definitely let his original form out quite a bit that night since it's literally a Halloween party. Now, I imagine you guys party hop, cause there's no way he could switch in between form at the same parties 💀.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Either way, he ends up LOVING every party you hop too. He loves that he can spend time and party with you and others while being himself and not having to hide. I feel like when he gets some alcohol in his system, he gets very friendly and excited. He gets many compliments on his 'lizard costume', which makes him beam with pride.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He got a little too excited when he went to a snackbar and thought the eyes and spiders weren't real 💀. You shared a hearty laugh together as he realized they were just part of the Halloween decorations.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Overall for Syzoth, the Halloween party-hopping extravaganza turned out to be an unforgettable night where he could be himself and celebrate with you, a stark contrast to his usual hidden existence.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Surprisingly in the morning, he didn't have a hangover. But you sure did, (that is if you chose to drink) and he took care of you afterwards :]

additional note ! HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO PEOPLE THAT CELEBRATED 🫶🏾

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

[strewwwberry]

About to do a Rant on shen Jiu coz yeah, so ⚠️trigger warnings⚠️for, you know, him lol

(Additional tw please read beforehand even if its just a skim)

I personalize a lot of my writing to the viewer/reader, if you are someone who tends to input yourself into writing, whether purposely or not, please be aware that it may get uncomfortable or too personal to you, be aware of what you can read through and what is uncomfortable or you simply don’t like, stay safe ♡

Also apologies in advance if I project at all through this.

Shen Jiu's story has got to be one of the most tragic I've read, and not just for his slavery, abandonmet, sexual and physical abuse and then extortion after "freedom", and on top of that the old tale of the abused become the abuser. No, not just that, but because he was willing, he was 110% willing to ignore his feelings, brush aside his abuse an torture, everything, if Yue Qinguen just told him why he wasn't there, just gave him a reason, hell not even a reason, a goddam excuse to why he wasn't there.

He would've, he may not have been a good person even after the fact, actually I'd bet that he wouldn't be a "good person" at all. But, I belive that at the very least, it would've calmed his heart ENOUGH to not repeat the cycle of abuse, even If not for any reason but yue qingyuan.

Even as an adult he was still a child inside wanting the comfort of someone he trusted more than anything, and to be reassured that he wasn't abandoned, that his qi-ge was just late.

And to make it worse, he was, yue qingyuan was simply late. He pushed to hard to quickly, refused to ask for help, refused to explain, got himself in a deadly situation, was late and continued to not explain himself but instead give a look of pity and a stupid sorry every single time as if that changes anything.

Now to go into that, that look of pity. I can literally feel in my soul how fucking cruel that was to have done to Shen qingqiu. Imagine you make it out alive through being sold into slavery, abused in all ways possible, had to fight your way out because your one and only wasnt able to, got basically kidnapped and then further used, escaped THAT, and finally made it to a sect where you see your one and only, hoping that no he couldn't have left me... Did he? No he didnt abandon you, there must be a reason. But nothing, just pathetic apologies constantly. He must've thought himself above me, I'll prove him wrong. You make it to be a head disciple on your way to be a Peak Lord, an impeccable position and a near impossible accomplishment for an ex slave, and still nothing, just pity.

Then you finally get to the top, your on your way to Ascension, already immortal despite being too old to even cultivate when you started and your qi-system (whatever it's called) is absolutely wrecked (miracle you can even cultivate, an insane improbability to have made at to a golden core and immortality). But still, even after all you've been through and persevered through, pity, pity for a man who made it. Pity for a man who went through hell and still fucking made it.

I'm just saying, I'd be mad too.

But no, it doesn't end, of course it doesn't.

Your anger reaches a point unmanageable, you refuse to explain, no one explained anything to you and they won't listen anyway! refuse to try because what good could it do? No one will believe me anyway what's the point? Only friends are brothel ladies, who you pay to be with you, you get called a pervert and a lecher for caring for these woman and that girl disciple of yours who you take pride and comfort in. Are you a pervert and a lecher? Is that true? Only you really know.

And then this bastard kid she just had to point out.

Shen Jiu, refused to acknowledge his REAL flaws and blamed everyone else for everything even when it truly does end up his fault. What. Is he just supposed to deny or admit anything? Of course not! Let them belive whatever the hell they want, I've always acted this way making me seem untrustworthy and because they're hypocrites they wont try to find out why anyway, and I'm always the victim.

Which he was for a long time.

But then he wasn't, not really no, still a victim or course, but right now, with his standing and power?

and then even though they were in the wrong, his refusal to try (understandable but still) was his own choice, his refusal to at least get along with them, not start fights, not ostracize and critisize in the form of snide commentary. No one made him did that, he was traumatized and a child, yes, so was it understandable? Of course! Was it still his own actions that even as an adult he refused to stop, let alone apologize for, even if not literally apologizing? Yes, yes it was.

And then a child. Whose had it rough. Maybe not (yet) as rough as you, but rough. And then to abuse that kid, torture and isolate that child become he was so lucky to have had a mother? A mother who, although still his mother, wasn't even blood? And because his eyes reflected that of a monster, his name reminding you of your abuser just like how your own now does to. hes too much like me, that look just can't be humane, he must be a monster. And you know what you were right he was a half demon child. But not even a demon deserved to be pushed into the abyss to die, no child not even a demon child deserved what you but him through.

That is not how that works. You hand him over to the water prison and figure it out, because the laws are fucked but at least that's something then just acting how you think is right even when you know its not. But no you had to, because what would they say, harboring a monster, you must be one to.

Then on top of all that, you swore to yourself that once you got your peak Lord name, you'd bury your past like you literally just spawned in the moment it's given. And then failed to bury it. Because life isn't that easy. But for once you just wish it was. You wanted to kill that child, so for the one that reminds you to much of yourself? You'll kill that one instead.

Shen jiu doesn't deserve excuses, hell he doesn't even want people to make excuses for him, not for himself and not from anyone else (except if that excuse Is qi-ge giving him so much as "I got caught up drinking my hella fancy tea, I dint mean to leave you there") .

But he was tragic.

He was human, so very human. A human playing the part of a trancendial being. A human boy in the appearance of someone untouchable and inconceivable.

Playing this act means no one can use nor abuse you.

Now, no one can hurt you,

Not anymore.

...

But they still did

[enmstorytime]

Policy Change

My first mistake was believing that I had the power to take down our university's Title IX Coordinator, Cory Corvallis. In case you don't know, it's the Title IX Coordinator's job to investigate and decide punishment in cases of sexual misconduct on campus. Cory Corvallis has been under investigation from the federal government due to his mishandling of cases, and due to his creative and retaliatory punishments. Last year, the President of the Sigma Tau Delta fraternity had been caught streaking across the quad by Cory Corvallis. The fraternity president was told he had to live in one of the Sorority Houses in nothing but his boxers and a cock cage for the rest of the school year or face expulsion. The fraternity president lasted a week before he chose to take expulsion.

The federal agency in charge of our campus investigation gave Cory Corvallis a warning.

A month later, a personal friend in my department, another creative writing professor was reported to Cory Corvallis for using new and creative methods to motivate his students. While I could never imagine going to the lengths he went to, not even our Dean could deny that his methods had been effective. I've never seen more vulnerable writing from the students on this campus. When Cory received the report that my friend had spent half of last semester teaching his classes in the buff, my friend was called into Corvallis's office to explain himself. In the name of equity, Corvallis altered my friend's contract. He is now required to offer what was supposed to be a one time deal to every class he teaches while employed at this institution. The top post on his Rate My Professor reads, "If you write some sad story about your grandma's death, he'll show you peen." His classes filled up faster than any other class on campus this semester, and he's been teaching naked since the first week of classes.

I decided this could not stand. Last Friday I sent an email to the lead federal investigator overseeing the Cory Corvallis case. I asked to set up a time to meet to discuss my concerns about Corvallis. I never heard back from the investigator.

Instead, when I returned to the office Monday morning, I found an email from Cory Corvallis in my inbox:

Dear Professor Watson,

It has come to my attention that you have something you'd like to discuss with me. I recommend in the future that you avoid trying to circumvent the system we've established on this campus. All concerns about misconduct should be reported directly to the Title IX Coordinator: Me.

You are a mandatory reporter on this campus, Professor Watson. If it comes to my attention that you have chosen to neglect reporting your concerns to the Title IX Coordinator, I promise you that there will be consequences.

Please consider this warning, and thank you in advance for your future compliance,

Cory Corvallis

My stomach plummeted as I read Cory's email. I didn't like the idea of discovering what any of Cory Corvallis's punishments might be. I would have left it alone, if I hadn't walked out of my office to bump into my friend whose office was right across the hall from mine.

I still hadn't gotten used to seeing him in all his glory, even though a stipulation of his contract was that he wear the exact amount of clothing to and from his classroom that his students had earned. My eyes swept up and down his body quickly absorbing the slight hair on his toes, the tight calves, the defined abs, the veiny forearms, and of course, his glorious, cut cock with a neatly trimmed bush.

"It's fucking humiliating," he said, covering his cock quickly with his large, lean hands. "I know half of campus has seen my cock by now, and the half who hasn't hasn't done a simple Google search."

"There are pictures online?" I asked, horrified.

"My dad found them," my friend said, shaking his head. "Sent me a text this morning with a picture of me standing at the whiteboard, marker in my hand, cock fully erect."

I shuddered at the thought of my own father seeing a picture of my erect penis and then letting me know he'd seen it.

"It gets worse, Watson," my friend said, shaking his head, his hands still glued to his privates. "With the picture, my dad wrote, 'Helen,' that's my stepmother, 'thinks we should include this with our Christmas cards this year. What do you think?"

"He's gotta be joking," I said.

"Joke or not, before long, everyone who's ever known me is going to have seen every last inch of my body."

He sighed, looked me in the eye, and then moved his hands away from his cock again.

"Look all you want, Watson," he said, sadly. "It's not like I have any control over any of this anymore."

I watched my friend walk away, somehow disgusted and erect, as his ass jiggled with each step.

I stepped back into my office and drafted another email to the lead investigatory on the Cory Corvallis case. I used my personal email this time. I rationalized that the only reason Cory had discovered that I'd reached out to the feds was because I'd made a rookie mistake and used my work email, which I should have known he would have access to. Hell, he probably had a ping anytime anyone on campus tried to email the feds. But this time, he wouldn't know.

Of course, I was wrong.

The following morning, I found this email in my inbox:

Professor Watson,

I was certain I had informed you that there would be consequences if I discovered that you'd reached out to the Feds again with your concerns about misconduct, without reporting to me first. Did you expect that you could reach out to the feds without them contacting me?

I remind you once more that I oversee all cases of misconduct on this campus. I remind you once more that you are a mandatory reporter. Now it is my duty to inform you that as the Title IX Coordinator I am responsible for defining the punishments for misconduct on our campus. I have the authority to alter contracts and policies as I see fit in order to ensure that misconduct is not repeated.

In my investigations, Professor Watson, in your latest email to the federal investigators, you wrote the sentence: "I hope to lay bare to you the cruel, unusual, and inappropriate methods Corvallis uses to punish members of our campus community."

Since I have found you guilty of not reporting to the Title IX Coordinator, allow me to "lay bare" your "cruel, unusual, and inappropriate punishment." Please report to the Title IX Office at your soonest convenience. Failure to do so within the business day will result in your immediate termination.

See you soon,

Cory Corvallis

My heart pounded and my stomach churned as I walked to Corvallis's office. I couldn't imagine what punishment he would give me, but I didn't like him emphasizing the words "lay bare." Maybe he'd make me give my students the same motivational tools my friend had.

I shuddered at the thought. I don't have my friends lean body or trimmed body hair. I have a gut. I have back hair, and chest hair, and a bushy happy trail down to some wild pubes. I didn't want to show off my body and be compared to my friend. On the other hand, a part of me hoped that if I had to face those consequences, the students wouldn't want to see me naked. Maybe I would be okay, and I'd keep on teaching classrooms full of young adults who had so many other things going on in their lives that my classes barely landed on their personal radar.

Do your worst, Corvallis, I thought as I pushed the door open to his office.

Cory Corvallis sat behind his desk, a smug grin on his face as he looked me up and down. I couldn't deny that he was handsome. He looked like a modern day Jesus: flowy hair down to his shoulders, a full beard, dark skin, and a perfectly fit suit. We'd never met before, but I'd seen his picture in a couple newspaper articles.

"Professor Watson, I assume," his voice was cool and husky.

"That's me," I said, glaring, trying to sound careless.

"Your department is so interesting to me," Corvallis said, steepling his long fingers under his chin. "I think only a few weeks ago I had a colleague of yours in here. Is that right?"

"You know it is," I said. "I wanted to talk to the Feds about how you've ruined his life."

"He ruined his own life," Corvallis said. "Besides, he could always find a job elsewhere."

"It's almost impossible to land a tenure track position in our field," I said. "And with his pictures online, with his Rate my Professor. What other institution would hire him?"

"What a shame," Cory said with an evil grin. "But we aren't here to talk about him. We're here to talk about you, my good man, and the punishment for not reporting to the Title IX Coordinator.

"Things have gotten lax around here. Too many mandated reporters think they can try and get around me. They think I won't catch them. I need to make an example."

My heart sank. I couldn't imagine a stronger example than my friend, spending each class period with his entire body on display. But something inside me warned me that I was about to have the rug ripped from under my feet, my presumably very bare and very naked feet.

He pushed a sheet of paper across the desk.

"I oversee every policy on this campus, Professor Watson," he said as I crossed the room to grab the paper. "Unlike with your friend, I do not have to have you sign a contract to change this policy. You've already signed a policy agreeing to our Professional Code of Conduct, which includes an article stating that at any time this Code of Conduct can be altered without an adjusted contract."

I looked down at the paper and my heart dropped.

"Each department has their own Dress Code written into the Code of Conduct."

I swallowed at the lump in my throat.

"If I had known how difficult it is for Creative Writing faculty to find jobs on other campuses, I would have targeted just you, of course," he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "But of course, I can't change it now. Then you wouldn't learn your lesson."

My eyes scanned the paper while he stared at me in silence. It read:

CREATIVE WRITING DEPARTMENT DRESS CODE:

In order to better inspire students, and to encourage transparency, vulnerability, and trust, all male Creative Writing faculty (i.e. professors, assistant professors, lecturers, adjuncts, and graduate instructors in the department) are prohibited from wearing clothing on campus. Clothing is defined as any material used to cover any section of skin, regardless of size. Any clothing brought on campus by a male Creative Writing faculty member will be confiscated by the Title IX Coordinator.

I looked back up at Cory, who shrugged and grinned.

"You can't be serious," I said. "You'll never get away with this."

"Watch me," he said, grinning. "The feds actually like what I'm doing with this campus. The investigation is all a front to squash any complaints, but they've given me total free reign."

I stared at him stupidly.

"Well," Cory said, his eyes sweeping up and down my body with glee. "I think you're in violation of policy."

I stared, my head spinning a mile a minute. It wouldn't just be me. The thought provided relief, and then terror. It wouldn't just be me, but they would know it was my fault.

"I won't ask again," Cory said coolly. "Strip immediately, or go find one of those impossible to find positions."

I slid off my blazer and began unbuttoning my shirt.

"That's more like it," he said, as my hairy, pudgy torso was freed from my shirt.

I undid my belt as I kicked off my shoes, trying to maintain eye contact with Cory so he wouldn't know that he had won.

"The walk back to your office will be chilly," Cory said, his eyes glittering with sadistic joy.

I slid my pants down my legs and stepped out of them, standing in nothing but an old pair of tighty-whities. I hadn't expected anyone to see me in my underwear today.

"I'll email the policy to your department once you leave my office," he said, breaking eye contact and watching as I moved my hands to the waistband of my underwear.

"I'll let them know who's responsible for this policy," his grin grew, as the root of my cock felt the first rush of office air. "And I'll let them know that if they have any doubts, they should stop by your office. To thank you."

In a quick motion, I pushed my briefs past my cock, and let them go. They fell to my feet, and I stepped out of them, standing before Cory Corvallis with every stitch of clothing pooled at my feet.

"I believe those are mine," Cory said.

He stepped quickly around his desk, bent down directly in front of me so that his glorious hair gently brushed my cock, and collected every article of my clothing for the day.

As he stood, he grabbed my cock with both his hands and squeezed.

"There's nothing to stop me from calling you in here, whenever I want," he said, my cock firming up in his hands. "Enjoy your walk across campus, Professor Watson. You might want to do something about this."

I was now fully erect in his hands.

"I expect I'll see you soon," he said, leading me by my erect penis to the door, opening it, and pushing me out of his office with my dick standing at full attention and my clothes bundled up on top of Cory Corvallis's desk.