#which are not going to fit here in the tags

[lila-kriegerin]

OMG, OP!

I was just about to suggest "Now & Then "

but I saw it in your tags.

I'm so sorry this may look like an unhinged rant no one asked for, but someone has to tell people younger than me what I know, so I spent 2 hours crafting a reply/follow-up/addendum to you post, OP. Please forgive any formatting errors. I tried to keep things simple and engaging but a few things may look a little bit odd depending on what sort of device you're viewing it on. I couldn't take the risk of making all the text too small

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQLVzTtt2Ws

The biggest problem trying to find similar films is that they often involve at least two of the girls having some kind of relationship to boys causing drama (I'm looking at you, "Sisterhood Of The Travelling Pants "... and others) whereas a film like "Dead Poets Society " is definitely in that pseudo-homoerotic and explicitly homoerotic range of storytelling.

Why do you think "Little Women" was popular for so long? It was the 1oth century literary equivalent with the requisite brush with death and loss so common to an era before even antibiotics existed... and loss and grief still happen today.

It's true that so few are like "Newsies " and "West Side Story ", but DON'T sleep on hits like "Annie" &

🥁 drumroll, please 🥁

Want to guess what was the first obviously gay song featured in a film from Hollywood (after the Hayes Code)?

The First Gay Anthem: Calamity Jane's 'Secret Love'

It's not "West Side Story " because it's a western frontier musical, and they skirted the lines as hard as they could to have a nice Christian young woman fancying a "tomboy": Calamity Jane (who by historical record seems to have favoured women and men).

Though based on American Western folklore, this premise clearly imitated the successful 1950 film version of Irving Berlin's Broadway musical Annie Get Your Gun, about Wild West sharpshooter Annie Oakley.

But instead of a make-over, Calamity Jane gives its tough-gal heroine a powerfully symbolic pistol; her masculine aggression plays with sexual identity through gestures enlarged to the point of farce. And then it goes deeper--into emotional confusion that grows from Jane taking on supposed male habits. Doris Day brings comic overstatement to Jane's complex repression of her own instincts. Like many a closet case, she exhibits a self-defeating willingness to fit into a male-dominated culture. Her tough mannerisms are also designed to protect her hidden, vulnerable emotions.

You have to dig.

Dig deep, and be willing to watch a film with a different spoken language and culture, but there are some parallels.

Consider the Britney Spears film, which I believe is called "Crossroad(s)" in English. [Sorry, I don't have time to look up the title.]

Now— what if there were a film that's something a bit like a lesbian equivalent?

Touch

A Chinese movie produced/sponsored by the sapphic dating app Rela. It follows three girls on a road trip. Chinese language with English subtitles.

I've never, EVER seen any website draw direct comparisons to other films that way, such as:

If you loved "She's The Man" but want it more sapphic (though ultimately thwarted by the producer), you can't miss "Bend It Like Beckham"!

The photo which was posted by OP DOES contain valid points!! (No one is going to treat you "like a man/boy" unless they truly think that's what you are, and society DOES socialise people differently, so: how would a group of teenage girls or very young adult women ever have experiences identical to those in a film like "Dead Poet's Society"?)

Nevertheless, there are some similar films that are comparable:

"Superbad" — "Booksmart".

I decided to hyperfocus trying to think up some equivalents to "Dead Poet's Society".

Here's a quick comparison I spent far too much time on:

If you’re looking for a Dead Poets Society equivalent with mostly female characters, a few films capture that same blend of deep emotional intimacy, artistic passion, and repressed desire. Here are the best contenders:

1. Mädchen in Uniform (1931 & 1958)

This is the OG queer boarding school drama. Set in a strict Prussian girls' school, it follows a young student, Manuela, who falls in love with her teacher, Fräulein von Bernburg. The film is explicitly homoerotic in a way that Dead Poets Society is only suggestive of—there’s longing glances, whispered affections, and a stifling environment that tries to crush individuality and desire. Like Neil, Manuela faces tragic consequences for daring to express herself.

Cracks (2009) — If Dead Poets Society were darker and more explicitly about queer desire, it would be Cracks. This film follows a group of girls at a remote British boarding school under the spell of their charismatic teacher, Miss G (Eva Green, in all her seductive, unhinged glory). When a new student arrives, power struggles and hidden obsessions unravel. It has all the repression, poetry, and tragic queerness you could want.

Heavenly Creatures (1994) — Peter Jackson (yes, Lord of the Rings Peter Jackson) directed this feverishly intense drama about two schoolgirls in 1950s New Zealand—Pauline and Juliet—whose bond becomes so consuming that it leads to murder. Like Dead Poets Society, it’s about breaking free from repression, but it takes a much darker turn. The homoerotic tension between the girls is undeniable, and the fantasy world they create as an escape mirrors the way the DPS boys use poetry to carve out their own space in a suffocating environment.

Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) — This one’s all about atmosphere—a haunting, dreamlike film about a group of girls at an Australian boarding school who mysteriously vanish during a picnic. While there’s no overt romance, the film is full of lingering touches, dreamy stares, and a pervading sense of longing and repression. The rigid Victorian setting and the contrast between the natural world and societal constraints make it feel spiritually connected to DPS.

The Falling (2014) — Starring Florence Pugh and Maisie Williams, this film is weird and hypnotic. It’s set in an all-girls school in the 1960s and follows a mysterious fainting epidemic that spreads through the students. It has the same themes of teenage rebellion, deep female friendships that tip into obsession, and an oppressive institution trying to crush individual expression.

Céline and Julie Go Boating (1974) — This is a more whimsical, surreal take on female friendship and creativity. It follows two women who fall into a bizarre, looping story in a haunted house, constantly re-experiencing and altering the narrative. It has a Dead Poets Society vibe in the sense that it’s about escaping rigid reality through art and imagination, but with a queer-coded, magical twist.

If you want the closest equivalent to "Dead Poets Society"...

..."Mädchen in Uniform" or "Cracks" are your best bets, and Cracks more than Mädchen in Uniform

because the latter is so old fashioned that to further scandalise viewers they paired a teacher with a student.

If you want something more poetic and atmospheric, "Picnic at Hanging Rock" or "The Falling" will scratch that itch.

If all of that is too gay for you (gofuckyourself, tee-hee)

You really, REALLY should try

"Mona Lisa Smile".

(...and if it's not too gay for you, then go watch CRACKS right now!)

"Mona Lisa Smile" [hereafter referred to as MLS] is often called the "Dead Poets Society" [hereafter, DPS] for women, and yeah, it certainly hits a lot of the same beats—

an outsider teacher inspiring students to challenge societal norms,

a prestigious school that values obedience over individuality, and

a group of young people grappling with expectations that threaten to suffocate them.

Where DPS is about breaking free through poetry and self-expression, MLS is about that sort of thing tosome degree, but more about feminism, gender roles, and the fight for intellectual freedom in a world that wants women to be just wives and mothers.

Similarities to Dead Poets Society

The Inspirational Teacher as a Catalyst for Change

In DPS, John Keating (Robin Williams) shakes up Welton Academy’s rigid, tradition-obsessed environment with poetry and passion.

In MLS, Katherine Watson (Julia Roberts) does the same at Wellesley College, using art history to challenge her students’ pre-ordained roles as perfect housewives.

Both teachers are NOT merely instructing— they’re awakening their students, making them see the world differently, and often doing so in ways that put them at odds with their school’s administration.

The Oppressive Institution and Its Ideals

Welton Academy is a suffocating prep school that values discipline over creativity, much like Wellesley College in the 1950s. They outwardly promote academic excellence but ultimately groom women to become ideal wives. (T_T)

Both films show how these institutions uphold deeply ingrained traditions that resist change, even when it's clearly needed.

Both films show some of the human cost of trying, and giving up.

A Group of Students at a Crossroads

Just like Todd, Neil, and the rest of the DPS boys who struggle between expectation and their own desires, the young women in MLS— Joan, Betty, Giselle, and Connie—each navigate their own battles between societal pressure and personal ambition.

Joan (Julia Stiles) mirrors Todd.

Betty (Kirsten Dunst) is like a mix of Cameron and Richard from DPS.

Giselle (Maggie Gyllenhaal) is the Charlie of the group.

The Tragedy of Repression

DPS’s tragedy is clear: someone's dreams are crushed & there is a heartbreaking su*c*de [all the trigger warnings apply]. MLS doesn’t have a singular moment that tragic, but its heartbreak is quieter—seeing some brilliant young women choose societal expectations over their own ambitions because it feels like the only option... that is definitely going to haunt some people more than it may haunt white cis-hetero male viewers.

In both films, someone (one you probably like most of all, in both films) will have something horrible happen to them by their own choice, and that is very haunting.

Additionally, I dont think it's too big a spoiler to say oth films end with the teacher leaving— but to say why would spoil the endings of the films.

The last scenes mirror each other emotionally: in DPS & MLS, a quiet, bittersweet goodbye with both endings suggesting that while the teacher is gone, the ideas they planted will live on.

Key Differences

The Central Conflict

DPS is about breaking free from repression through art and poetry. It’s about passion, self-expression, and the fight for creative freedom.

MLS is about that too, though with more of a (*cough*white*cough*cough*) feminist focus on gender roles, feminism, and intellectual independence to have intellectual and self growth as an individual— and it asks whether women can truly be free when they’re still expected to conform to outdated expectations.

Homoerotic "Sub"text

[be honest: if you miss it in either film you're in denial or unobservent and that is your own journey you need to take]

DPS is filled with homoerotic tension, especially between Todd and Neil. The intimacy between the boys—the longing glances, the whispered poetry, the emotional weight of their friendships—feels deeply charged.

If you DEMAND that level of queerness, MLS ain't it.

MLS has some queer subtext, particularly with [one character], who is coded as more fluid in her sexuality, but the film doesn’t lean into that as much as DPS does because it's focused more on the pseudo-historical narrative from the book upon which it was based.

Don't forget that DPS came out to cinemas...

THEN "The Craft" did,

THEN "Cruel Intentions" did,

THEN MLS.

DPS was intentionally pushing boundaries of censors for queer story-telling when the USA was still afraid for gay people to peck each other with a little kiss on the lips on television before 10 PM.

DPS ends in a tragedy that reinforces the cost of defying the system— [spoilers redacted], and the boys are [narratively] left in a state which leaves the viewers feeling a bittersweet limbo.

MLS is perhaps a bit more hopeful; and although the school seemingly remains unchanged, things in that world have definitely shifted for the characters.

Their worlds aren't fully transformed though for MLS, it’s beginning to open up, but MLS leaves viewers with their own bittersweet limbo like DPS[-lite] with a sliver of a dash of hope.

Final Verdict:

"Mona Lisa Smile" is "Dead Poets Society" through a differing feminist lens.

It swaps poetry for art,

an all-boys school for an all-girls college, and

queer-coded male friendships for female students fighting for their intellectual freedom.

It has the same spirit—

a teacher who inspires students to think for themselves, an oppressive institution trying to maintain order, and young people wrestling with societal expectations.

However, where DPS is a tale of tragic repression, MLS leans toward quiet rebellion— not a fiery "O Captain, My Captain" moment, but a slow, steady push toward change.

just saw this on pinterest and it hit me like a truck

[yourislandgirl]

*:ꔫ:*ₓₒ LET ME TREAT YOU ˚ ༘♡ੈ✩ || 박종성 x fem!reader || drabble

— KISS ME, DON’T SAY NO series

summary: jay was a giver, he always has been. so when your darling boyfriend decided to treat you with his new pay check, you were as grateful as always, but you soon decide that there were more important things than a new pair of jeans

genres: fluff, romance, non-idol!jay x non-idol!reader, est. relationship

warnings: attempts at humour, the smallest hint of angst, potential to feel guilt bcs jay is too good for this world

[archive]

“I might try this one on too.”

Jay smiled, gesturing for you to let him hold the jeans.

His first pay check had just arrived and your boyfriend had surprised you with a trip to the mall and a nice lunch.

You felt like you’d already splurged enough on the delicious affogato at the cafe but Jay had insisted that you both treat yourselves to some new clothes. And you desperately wanted a new pair of jeans.

“Jay, I swear, it’s impossible to find one that fits exactly the way I want.” You had about four different styles of denim pants hung over one arm as you sifted through the hangers for more options.

Jay was designated with the task to keep track of which jeans seemed closest to your desired style.

You had your back turned to him but you could still hear your boyfriend sigh a little, leaning against the wall as you continued your hunt.

“Love,” he called out, “how about you start trying some of these and see if we can eliminate some options.”

You waved a hand as a gesture for him to wait a second. “I just need one more!”

Jay scoffed a laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sure. Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Mhm.”

more under cut !!

After staying silent for a few moments, Jay cleared his throat. “If these jeans fit anything like the ones you’re wearing right now, then I guess it’ll be worth it.”

You gasped, flicking your head to the side, “Park Jongseong!”

Heart racing at the sound of his laughter, you turned away hastily to grab the last pair of jeans in your size before rushing off to the trials rooms.

“Goddamn, slow down.” Jay followed behind you, his long strides helping him catch up in no time.

A smirk creeped onto your face and you shook your head involuntarily at the way Jay pulled you closer by your waist, walking in tandem as you reached the last stall.

“Here.” He handed you the pile you considered ‘Pile 1’ aka the jeans that you were hoping and praying would fit you because they looked perfect. He proceeded to take ‘Pile 2’ off your hands. “Gimme those, and I’ll be right here if you need me.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thanks baby,” you whispered, before sliding the curtain shut.

Out of the four jeans you’d brought into the trail room, three fit you quite nicely, but one in particular, was perfect. So much so that you couldn’t help but poke your head out (followed by a quick laugh at Jay’s startled expression) before asking him to come inside.

“So, what do you think?”

Jay dropped the jeans he was holding onto the trail room seat, his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated between you and your reflection in the mirror.

You turned a couple times to glance at yourself, extremely satisfied with the way they fit.

“You look great,” Jay smiled, his eyes closing slightly into half mooned crescents. “You definitely need to get these.”

You brushed your hair back, sighing from the relief of finally finding a new pair of jeans and not having to wear the same two pieces you had for years. “How much is it?” You asked aloud, turning back to let Jay check the tag.

You watched his face as the sound of cardboard brushing against his fingertips filled the small room. His expression was pretty unmoving, a simple jut of his lower lip followed by a nod.

“It’s good, totally fits the budget.”

You frowned, “Okay… What is it, though?”

“Uh…”

You twisted around to check the tag yourself before feeling your jaw drop. “What?”

Jay stepped forward, his hands enveloping yours, making you let go of the price tag as he turned you back around to face your guys’ reflection. “Don’t worry about it.”

You blinked at his nonchalance, “Jay, it’s not within our budget, it is our budget.”

“You know I can afford it,” he reasoned.

“That’s not the point!”

“Love-”

You look away from the mirror, facing your boyfriend and resting your hands against his chest. “Jay, this is your first proper pay check, this isn’t an internship anymore, you deserve this money.”

“I know that.” Jay leaned a little closer, “But I want to spend it on you.”

You pursed your lips. On the one hand, you really wanted these jeans, but agreeing to spend that much money on them — regardless of the fact that quality denim is an investment — it wasn’t fair to Jay and therefore, went against everything that you stood for.

“I’m not doing it,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I don’t need these. I want them, but I can — no, I will find a more affordable price.”

Jay opened his mouth to interject, only to be silence by your soft palm against his lips.

Your voice was just a whisper, “I don’t want you to convince me. You already give me so much, Jay. We can buy me some nice jeans another time, just enjoy the money you earned for yourself, please.”

Jay’s eyes darted back and forth between yours, you could feel the gentle smile of his lips against your palm before you removed it.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you closer and kissing you tenderly. “I’m not exactly happy with this,” his words came out muffled between your kisses, “But just know that I will be spoiling you soon.”

“How about you let me pick out some clothes for you and we’ll call it even?” You slid your arms around his neck.

Jay smirked. “That’s not even in any way.”

“You’ll get a hot new outfit.”

“Tempting.” He leaned forward, nudging your noses together.

a.n: second instalment of the ‘kiss me don’t say no’ drabble series !! trust cute bf jay to want to treat you when he should be the one getting special treatment :(

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf

2025 © yourislandgirl

[blubunz]

BREAK A RABBIT'S LEG

— leon s. kennedy x f! bunny hybrid! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: sweet tooth rotting smut, soft dom leon, praise kink, vanilla sex, p in v, starting this account with something light and simple.

A/N: First fic here! Actually, first xreader fic ever.

Leon doesn't believe in crazy superstitions, having worked in a completely opposite field from it. Though, he believes that the day he got you was the luckiest day of his life.

You were on edge at first, but Leon was patient enough to lure you out of your hiding spot, mainly with treats and toys. He doesn't hate it, he enjoys having you taking his mind off things for once, something completely detached from his work.

By now, you seem to be comfortable enough to walk around the house like it's your own, sometimes wearing the most provocative outfit too, Leon has to hold back from pouncing on you whenever he gets home.

To him, you're not only his lucky charm, but also his precious darling — which are all the same to him, you make him so, so happy no matter what you do. He likes how you're so energetic now, at least more than when he first got you home. And then, you begin to ask questions.

You say you've seen the outside world a few tines, through fleeting glances from your past, your kind aren't seen out there, mostly cause you're not exactly 100% humans.

Even if they think it's cosplay, Leon doesn't allow you to go out despite your argument — he doesn't want to lose you.

Can't you see? It's too dangerous out there in the open world, Leon has been providing you with every necessity and even the slightest of attention, yet you're asking for more? He's starting to think he may had spoiled you too much.

On one particular evening, he gets home, all bones aching and pain growing, he slumps on the couch, seeing you peek out from the hall. His eyes soften at the sight, no matter how upset or exhausted he is.

“Hey, princess.” He coos, and you take that as a welcoming sign and step closer, Leon has to hold back a groan when he sees you in only your underwear.

“Hi, Leon.” You hug him and nuzzle up to his neck, his face sitting firmly between your long, fluffy ears.

“Sweetie, why—” He paused, gulping a bit. “—why aren’t you wearing proper clothings?”

“It's hot today.”

“We have air conditioners.”

You grow silent, eyebrows furrowing. “So?”

“Do you want something, pretty?” He asks, as he pulls you up to his lap, marvelling at how soft your tits are and how they sit so snug and delectable in his palms.

You shake your head no, and he smiles.

“How was work, Leon?” You ask. “I can see you're tired, so I just...I thought maybe I can help you.”

“You're right, work was tiresome, bunny.” Leon sighs. “You don't mind me using my favorite lucky charm, right?”

Your ear twitches as you nod, shamefully look away when he calls you that. You aren't sure what sort of "luck" you're giving him, but as long as he is happy, it's all that matters.

And to be honest, Leon knows you're not actually a luck magnet, his days have their ups and downs. It's a different view for him, you don't bring luck, you are luck.

You're the light of his cruel life, reminds him of his starting years as a rookie — innocent and full of life. It was because of greed, of people, that he turned out like this — a mess, an unfitting puzzle piece, yet somehow you manage to fit with him just fine.

Leon dips his head down and kisses your chest, all over the skin before ending with a cute little nip on your sensitive bud. You gasp, and then he gets the whole thing in his mouth.

Leon sucks and kneeds your tits like crazy, drpols rumning down his chin and his eyes looking fuzzy. God, has he ever looked this pathetic?

He leaves marks and hickeys all over your chest, trailing down to your stomach then down to the band of your undies, he doesn't pull it down yet, savoring how your juices cling to the fabric when he kisses on your sweet clit.

“Tastes so sweet, pretty bunny.” He praises, and you can only whine needily in response, urging him to devour you by tugging his head more against your dripping cunt.

“Please—” You plea, grinding your slit against his lips and bumping his nose.

“Of course, princess, I'm getting to it.” He chuckles and pulls your panties down, quickly lubing his two fingers and spreading your hole open.

You mewl and squirm, his fingers are always so thick and longer than yours, so you hardly can satisfy yourself nowadays due to your body's constant need for Leon, for he's now the only one who can satisfy you.

You never have to beg, he already fishes out his cock and rubs pre-cum all over while maintaining eye contacts with you, hypnotizing you into his pretty baby blues.

“Ready, bunny?”

You nod at that, and he replaces his fingers with his thick, veiny cock. Both of you groan, and your arms find their ways around his neck, clawing his back.

Leon sucks in a breath, he's addicted to having your cunt wrapped around his aching shaft, and with the way your walls tighten up with each little movement he makes...fuck, he's trying hard not to cum so soon.

“So good, princess. Such a good girl for me, yeah? Come on, don't be shy.” He gently coos, his chest presses firmly against your own as he looks deep into your teary and lust-filled eyes. His hips begin to move, and you groan, your own hips bucking forward to get him to do it faster.

“That's it, take what you deserve, yeah, my good girl?”

“Ah-ah—! Mhm! Mhm!” You moan louder when he increases his pace, balls smacking against your ass as the tip kisses right into your womb. He was so thick, and you can feel his rlveins rippling and pulsing with each thrust he delivers into your needy pussy.

“Mngh. Good...girl—” He pants against your neck, arms wrap around your whole body, and lift your hips up so he can drive deeper into you.

“Good—”

Thrusts.

“Fucking—”

Thrusts.

“Girl—!”

Thrusts.

His toes curl, dipping into the mattress as he raises both your hips higher, his grunts turn into moans, and primal growls like an animal. His eyes roll up as his teeth sink down your shoulder, you would've laughed at the sight, teasing him a little, but Leon keeps distracting your mind with his brutal thrusts, pounding you like an animal. How can you focus on anything else when you and your pussy are so addicted to his cock?

His thrusts grow sloppy and uncoordinated, both of your moans bounce off the wall. He grunts out his climax, pulling you into a bruising kiss before releasing his load in you.

Your eyes roll up as you visibly shudder, jaw hanging open and hence making it easy for him to push his tongue in and wrap it around yours, sucking your tongue and the sounds you two make are so lewd.

You cum too, pussy clamping tight while juices flowing out, and your clit twitches at how hard you just cummed, like you never had sex ever.

Leon pants, kissing your neck gently as he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. “Bath time, bunny.” He smiles, kissing your cheek before letting you rest your head on his shoulder as he walks.

You whine when he settles you in the hot tub. The warm temperature soothes your pain somewhat.

“I know, I know, sweetie.” He kisses your forehead, then up to your long ears before whispering into them. “I'll take good care of you, just relax.”

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

Alright, BuckTommy Fluffebruary Day Three: Spider-Man Kiss is up on AO3, too! It's dumb as hell, someone needs to pay Eddie to deal with these two. Tagging @bucktommyfluffebruary.

The rock-climbing gym isn’t too busy, because it’s a Tuesday and the middle of the day. Buck, Tommy, and Eddie are probably the biggest group there, and they’re definitely the loudest. There was no way this was going to turn into anything but a race with increasingly ridiculous conditions so they might have a chance at beating Tommy.

Buck and Eddie are fit, they’ve had to climb up and down buildings, they're on ladders all the time, they’ve done their fair share of rappelling into dangerous situations, but they’re not doing medevac out of canyons, ravines, and mountains as often as Tommy does. He’s an absolute beast and only lost one race because he’d gotten a penalty for not skipping the right hold. Buck had laughed at his perturbed expression and given him a consolation butt grope while Eddie was busy doing a victory lap.

“We never stood a chance,” Eddie says, sighing.

“Nope,” Buck says, but he can’t sound glum because of how his boyfriend’s ass looks in the harness.

He gets gently shoved by Eddie, who clearly clocks the dreamy tone of his voice. “Nuh-uh, we’re getting burgers after this, I’m not getting ditched so you two can hook up somewhere. Eyes down, Buckley.”

Tommy smacks the top of the rock wall and looks over his shoulder with a cocky grin. “Time?”

“Shut up, you won by like five seconds,” Eddie calls back with a wave of disgust.

As Tommy rappels down, Buck hands off the rope to Eddie and steps closer with the intention of steadying him when he reaches the ground, but then Tommy stops about two-thirds of the way down and looks back at him. Buck steps back just in case he has to grab the rope with Eddie, but Tommy doesn't look like he's struggling.

“Can I fulfill a two decade old fantasy real quick?” he asks.

Buck squints suspiciously. “Here?”

Tommy grins. “Yes.”

"I'm not being charged as an accessory to public indecency," Eddie says, and Buck elbows him.

“Yeah, alright,” Buck says to his boyfriend, grinning as he steps closer to the wall again, ready for whatever Tommy proposes. “What’d you have in mind?”

Tommy comes down a little further and does a sort of lunge against the wall, tipping himself backward until his face is hanging in front of Buck’s and his toes are hooked under one of the holds.

“Oh, my god,” Eddie says faintly. "Really?"

“What are you doing?” Buck asks, laughing.

“I showed you this movie,” Tommy reminds him, and Buck feels a lightbulb go off. He'd actually seen this one as a kid, forgotten almost everything about it, and rewatched it with Tommy without alerting him to the fact that, yes, he was eleven when Spider-Man came out and he had actually seen it with Maddie.

When he steps forward and holds Tommy’s head in his hands, he scratched his fingers through Tommy's hair as he kisses him sweetly. There’s minimal, respectable tongue, because they're in public and there are underpaid gym employees around and also Eddie is like five feet away and has already dealt with a lot of their second honeymoon phase bullshit today. There’s also no rain, which is probably for the best, it looked uncomfortable in the movie for the actor.

It’s strange not having to tilt to avoid crashing their noses together, and Buck smiles when he feels Tommy sigh through his nose against his own chin. When he steps back, Tommy looks dazed. He hopes it’s from the kiss and not the blood rushing to his head.

“Aren’t you supposed to go save New York now?” Buck teases.

“Nah, just the greater Los Angeles area,” Tommy replies cheekily, smiling. Seeing the scrunchy expression upside-down is adorable. Buck comes in and kisses him again before stepping back once more.

Tommy moves himself back to a vertical position and drops down to his feet, and Buck is there to unhook him. He kisses him gently then, too, because Spider-Man also got kisses when he was right-side up.

When he turns to Eddie, his best friend looks thoroughly done with both of them but does hold his phone up. “I did get that on video. You’re welcome. Buy me a burger.”

“I will buy you so many burgers,” Tommy says, greedily reaching for Eddie’s phone. “And fries, a milkshake, whatever you want.”

“You’re such a fucking nerd, Kinard,” Eddie says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll take onion rings instead.”

Buck leans in and peers at the video, and yeah, okay, he does get a fluttery feeling in his stomach when he sees it. He’s definitely putting it on Instagram and backing it up on every cloud he can get his hands on.

“We’re so cute,” he sighs, leaning against Tommy.

“We’re adorable,” Tommy agrees. “Jesus, I am also never wearing grey shorts when we come here again.”

“Yeah, I’ll crop your bulge out of the Instagram post.”

“Oh, god, give me my phone,” Eddie groans.

–

Buck posts the video with the caption: Went to the gym and found a friendly neighborhood Pilot-Man. Might keep him forever.♥️

firepilotTK This implies I was bitten by a radioactive pilot and gained the abilities of a pilot through their venom. Which is exactly how I got my job, actually. firepilotTK ♥️♥️♥️♥️

[mooseontape]

There is no such thing as a small business car dealership. Anyone who literally owns something like that is actively for and benefiting from both the exploitation of the Earth and of labor world wide and in their community as well.

Why the fuck would I even begin to care for someone who hoards and creates harmful resources, who push for car centric living standards and who increase prices every year and view cars as simultaneously a luxury fit for only those deserving of mass chaces of money and also a requirement for social living. FUCK OFF. CAR DEALERSHIPS WILL NOT EXIST POST CAPITAL AND I HAVE NO SYMPATHY FOR ANYONE INVOLVED IN THEIR EXISTENCE OR ADMINISTRATION.

I say this as someone who's living situation is provided and paid for buy 2 small business owners. Get over the idea of the Petite bourgeoisie. Many people come to accept the idea that there is no ethical consumption under capitalism but they don't realize, THERE IS NO ETHICAL WAY TO PARTICIPATE IN CAPITALISM PERIOD.

There is no good small business owner that in no way exploits or demeans it workers in some way because the debasement of workers is INHERENTLY BAKED INTO CAPITALISM.

Sure there are ways you can be kinder, less exploitive and more democratic with your workplace, but those practices are actively punished by capitalism and the governments seeking to enforce its grasp on hegemony.

Listen I don't want to be a downer here but shit is about to get worse for workers in the U.S. and unfortunately probably world wide.

If you think the managers, administrators, corporations, or owners, of your workplace or local (even small) business aren't going to seek out harmful and exploitative practices as they become more normalized and actively legally encouraged, you are living in ignorance. Begin to hate those who hold power over you before they convince you your subjugation is a moral failing and the only way to reconcile is to toil harder to prove your worth to the system which consumes human life and spits out cash.

Your labor IS BEING EXPLOITED, EVEN THE ART YOU DO IN YOUR FREE TIME has become a way to train the models they intend to replace us with.

If you think your safe from being consumed by the economic system we live under, I hope you realize that things could very quickly get very bad for you.

I have personally been crushed and targeted by hateful, bigotted and capitalist brained managers multiple times. All it takes is someone you think is safe getting replaced or ousted or even just reprimanded by their higher up. Capitalism and it's administration is moral poison and will cloud your eyes of the human suffering you cause and encourage.

There is no small business, good person, doing the right thing car dealership owner.

And like hey maybe get rid of some of that anti graffiti mindset. IF A SMALL BUSINESS OWNER DID THE FUCKING NAZI SALUTE I SURE HOPE SOMEONE WOULD TAG THEIR BUSINESS LABELING THEM NAZI

THATS WHAT THEY ARE!!!

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ] [ pt.2. ]

Authors Note: Okay -- wow. The feedback was unexpectedly amazing! Thank you guys so very much for the reblogs, tags, likes, and comments. I do not know how many parts I have set for this -- it could end after P.3 or it could go on longer depending on how I go about it. I hope you enjoy this! As usual, please check the content warnings and keep yourselves safe.

More Trivia:

Women could be pharmacists in the fifties! However it was a newer job field. Other new job opportunities for women at the time included: engineering and real-estate.

TV dinners were the first of their kind created and released into the world in 1953 as a quick meal that could be heated up in an oven and reduced the dishes one had to do, and fit onto a "TV tray". Added free fact: The first actual type of dinner of this kind was a Thanksgiving style meal and it was a success!

Milk was ordered through, humorously, a "Milkman" that would come door to door like the newspaper and deliver fresh bottles of milk usually daily and, depending on the company / location, took the empty ones.

Phone lines did use to connect the way they did through an operator and had multiple people trying to connect sometimes. What a tedious job!

Reader grumbling about religious scripture being sent to her home is a reference to Jim Jones — who would start the People’s Temple one year later [ 1955 ] and end up committing one of the most notorious religious massacres in history while murdering a United States official. It was a terrible tragedy and it opened a gateway to other cults who preyed on people just like Jim Jones did.

PART ONE | PART TWO [ you are here ] | PART THREE

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Death has caught up with you but she has not come to retrieve your soul as the natural balance demands and has for the near seventy years you've evaded your fate. Rio appears to be seeking some form of stability and control through you, but you are going to make it decidedly very difficult.

Content Warnings: Dark -- use caution and keep yourselves safe, flashbacks that contain period-typical views on gender norms and sexuality, discussions of death and past abuse, Rio making R her housewife, kidnapping, misuse of magic [ Rio ], manipulation, obsessive behavior, really stupid murder attempts [ reader giving lmao ], Stockholm Syndrome beginning to take a tiny bit of effect, READER CRASHING OUT, non-con, face sitting, fingering, ruined orgasms [ all Rio!receiving ], magic strap [ r!receiving ], breeding and possible impregnation [ r!receiving ]

Word Count: TBA

2024

Rio was doing it again.

You did not have proof of it but you could just tell she was.

The stuffed duck at the foot of your bed was taunting you and you wanted to strangle the hell out of it if you weren't on strike right now, willing the fake witch to take her physical form and become visible to you.

After having been chained to her for a period of time you had come to know when she was close. It was the one part of the magic she worked that you had never revealed to her and she hadn't assumed to ask if you could sense her presence like she could yours depending on proximity.

The beady, blank eyes of your companion was the only way you knew she remembered your interests -- or ones you had at one point.

It was an old, much loved thing. Won at a fair back when you had first come to grow closer with her after the death of your husband. She insisted on getting you out of the house and event was only for a week and she bribed you with the promise of a Ferris wheel ride that you'd always dreamed of riding.

It was one of the items she had waiting for you upon setting you up in this bedroom and told you to. "stay put" while she went and did her Deathly duties which you assumed included brooding and prowling ally ways when she was bored.

The bedroom was designed to your tastes and it made your tongue curl into your throat. She had been watching you long enough to get to know you all over again -- how the years had reshaped you so she could adjust to them accordingly.

She had even taken the new cookbooks you'd purchased from your coffee table, price sticker partially picked and all, and placed them in a very noticable way on the stuffed bookshelf in the corner.

Your door creaked open. Your head moved from the stare-down with the duck to the direction but found only Rio's idea for a gift sitting in the doorway with sharp eyes.

She got you a fucking cat.

A large, fluffy thing with a long feathery tail and tufted ears. Dark brown with sharper stripes than most knives you used to cut your ingredients and so standoffish you wonder if she found him in a dumpster somewhere and took him screeching, spitting, and hissing.

Well, tough luck dude. She did that to you too.

She had deposited him onto your lap not even fifteen minutes after fucking you into a stupor and you threatening to kill her with a smug smile. "His name is Billy. I figured you'd need something to take care of while I'm out working."

Billy had hissed, affronted, at Rio and scrambled off of your lap to somehow squeeze under the sofa across from the one she had lead you upstairs to recover on.

"You got a cat," you said, eyes focusing briefly on the spot where the tabby had disappeared before returning to Rio's features.

"We got a cat," she corrected, flopping down onto the couch next to you. "I can't have you getting bored and destructive when I'm gone at work, can I?"

Rage coiled inside of you tighter than a bedspring. "I wouldn't be bored," you started with an attempt to keep your tone steady, "if you hadn't trapped me in a cage."

"Hardly a cage, angel," Rio rebutted, legs stretching and feet crossing across one another on the coffee table. "I gave you the entire house and backyard to work with -- pool and yard included. That's three floors and a basement. An upgrade since the last time we did this, no?"

Her eyes stared holes into the side of your head and you refused to meet her gaze. You knew what you'd find, anyway. You'd find that prodding and incessant glint that she always had when she spoke to you in that fucking tone.

Your rage could only be filtered into one thing at a time and you decided that fighting a battle you couldn't win right now would only succeed in humiliating you further. So you decided to focus your melting attitude onto something you could absolutely control.

"Get your feet," you replied, teeth gritting, "off the fucking table."

That grin became feral in the corner of your eyes but she did as you bid and uncrossed her feet and spread her legs lazily across the floor instead. "Yes, ma'am."

"We do not have things to care for a cat."

She tilted her head at you. "Don't we?"

You blinked and opened your mouth to argue with her, but in an instant you were quickly set quiet. A large cat tree with multiple tiers sat in the floor to ceiling windows of the entry way not far off, cat toys and beds seemed to appear in the house later, too.

Not to mention the random cat food you found in the cabinet when you went to fix something later that night to get away from her.

But now Rio had bid you adieu with a peck to your cheek and a shit-eating grin.

You nearly smacked her and had your fingers flexing as if debating the outcome and if the repercussions would be worth it. Rio laughed and puffed away in an air of smoke before you could so much as lift your hand.

You and Billy now had an alliance of sorts. He had allowed you to put a collar with a cute bowtie and a bell on it so you could hear him prattling about -- only after you fed him a numerous amount of treats.

He also despised Rio and swatted at her if she came near if he was cuddled up to you. It was fun watching Rio ride out the consequences to her actions and she often threatened to make a new hood from his coat or use his teeth in a potion, or went the most mature route and hissed back at him.

But still -- you appreciated his company even if he often times only graced you with it fifty percent of the time.

"What do you want?" you finally asked the feline, who had taken your silence as an invitation to skulk into the room and rub himself across the furniture.

Letting him do whatever it is cats do, you return your attention to the duck and curl your fingers into the bedspread beneath you as the memories start to take over.

1954

Rio had been your rock for the last six months in which she took you in. For the first two you were in a numbed state of shock that barely had you moving about out of bed if Rio hadn't encouraged it.

Perhaps she was right in how she had confronted you so boldly that night you appeared on her doorstep. There was no grief in your heart for your husband as you planned his funeral with the help of your mother and father, sister in tow.

No grief for what "could have been" should he have not been in the accident that took his life when you bleakly watched from a distance as funeral goers left and four men began to lower the cheap casket into the grave.

There was not a drop of regret in you as you approached and dropped a green rose from Rio's gardens into the grave instead of dirt as your past and marriage was buried all in one.

You sold the house like Rio suggested. It was empty without his complaining and too clean when there was no bloody noses to clean up. No beer to restock or work clothes for the next day to be pressed and set out early for him.

Instead you handled well-kept skirts and fine women's wear without being asked.

Rio had found you one day after returning home from her work -- a pharmacy technician, according to her.

"I handle medications that doctors prescribe for people," she told you when asked. "Make sure they get the right dose and that the paperwork is handled. Call doctor's offices if needed and consult with the patient."

You had given her a look that she had memorized for the rest of her life. One of shock, awe, and absolute wonder. "You're able to do that? Isn't that a man's job?"

Rio smiled at you, leaning into the doorway. "This world is starting to become less theirs and more ours, angel. Society cannot run on the basis of the male gender alone and many areas of the workforce are recognizing that."

You had accepted her answer as truth.

She had three white medical jackets in which her name was stitched onto them provided by the drug store in town for her that you made sure to wash by themselves and iron before she went to work each morning.

She would often watch you do laundry -- hers or yours, after you moved in -- even if you were simply ironing in front of the television in the living room while she sipped on a bear in her suspenders and untucked white button-up, eyes focused on you rather than what the current state of the country was.

You had also changed the state of her eating habits in the time you'd been there, as well. You were horrified with what you found in her refrigerator and pantry.

Which was nothing pretty much.

The first night you had stayed over at her home you had also tried to cook. Mostly to have an excuse not to return to that dark, empty house just some stretches away, but also to thank Rio for creating a plan to ensure your comfort would remain.

Only to find she had little in terms of food. She had five TV Dinners stacked haphazardly and you cringed backward. Those were perhaps only good for Saturdays when one could sit in front of the television and enjoy their shows. The thought of Rio eating one every night left you nauseous.

You spotted an empty milk glass and snatched it out to set on the porch to be grabbed and replaced in the morning with fresh milk.

You stomped to the phone dangling on the wall and waited to be connected to the operator on the other line.

"Hello, number please?" the bored drawl asked.

You gave the older woman the number Rio provided and the answering clearing of a throat filled your ears. You heard a few flicks. "Thank you, please wait while we connect you."

"Sure." You held the phone to your ear and waited until the ringing started again.

"Westview Pharmacy."

"Rio," you greeted, wrapping a finger around the curly cord. Your heart paced in your chest at the sound of her voice.

"Hello, angel," she responded back, sounding pleasantly surprised. "What can I do for you on this fine day?"

"You have a sad excuse for a kitchen," you told her plainly, "and had you not taken the car I surely would have myself to go to the supermarket."

"I left some food for you to heat up, angel," she told you, confusion filtering through the line.

You huffed. "That is not -- I wish to cook, Rio. I may be a terrible baker but I am quite good at cooking otherwise and your lackluster pantry is ensuring I cannot do so."

There was a brief silence on the other end and for a moment you worried you'd overstepped, but then Rio let out a breathy chuckle. "Okay, okay. I apologize for any offense my kitchen and I caused."

You flushed. "I should hope so," you grumbled back, "I simply cannot understand how you lived this long. Did you not cook for your husband ever?"

"We weren't homebodies before he was drafted, no," Rio told you. You heard a rattle and assumed she was filling a prescription as she spoke with you. "He had a heart for eating out in diners and picnicking at the park. Every day was a new surprise."

"I see." You bit your lip and tapped the tiled floor with your flats. You regret bringing it up at all. "Well -- I only called to ask if you could run by the store on your way home and grab some essentials. Just enough for me to cook with until I can take the car."

"Of course I can," the brunette agreed instantly without thought. "And on that topic just start making a list of things you think we need so that way the next time we do go out we can grab it."

"I can do that."

"Good girl," the woman said. "Now, thank you for calling and asking me for something you needed. I do have to get back to work though. I will see you tonight?"

"Of course," you agreed, heart fluttering in your chest at the image of her walking into the doorway with that soft grin, "Sorry for keeping you."

"Never apologize, angel." With that, the line disconnected and left a low buzzing tone to tell you the line was dead. You hung up the phone and smiled wistfully to yourself.

It had been the first of many nights wherein you cooked for her and did her laundry and cleaned her house. She never missed a minute of telling you that she was grateful, or pointing out how well the dynamic seemed to be working out damn the gossip you feared would crop up.

Things changed drastically six months in as autumn began taking over Westview in a chokehold with no release.

The leaves were a falling and leaving the ground covered in the dark orange and yellow hues that you loved so and a chill began to sweep and take over the summer heat.

You eyed the calendar up on the wall in the kitchen and noted that Rio seemed to be gone more often in October, November, and December.

You had wanted to ask why but your engrained sense of minding your business and leaving it be kept your tongue stabled to the roof of your mouth for the most part.

"You're burning holes into the wall, sweetheart," Rio called from the kitchen table. She was sitting neatly in the chair reading the morning paper, coffee in front of her as she waited patiently for breakfast.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, returning to the stove and slipping the skillet before the bacon could blacken the bacon completely. The two strips fell onto the plate next to the eggs and you carefully set the skillet back down.

Your plate was empty on the counter next to the stove. Rio had few rules but one of them was that you made yourself a meal first unless you had time to share one together, and then make hers while you ate.

It was odd and very unusual for what was normally expected from most "housewives" in this case, but she was insistent and you were hardly one to deny Rio after she's taken you in and practically cared for you in place of you having to work.

You didn’t protest to her few rules — you obeyed them willingly and dutifully. In turn she ensured you had her company and you were comfortable.

Rio was at work one afternoon before a fair you had agreed to attend together and your mother had come to take you to lunch at a hot new diner.

She was updating you on your sister and her children, and the new car the family had obtained. Though eventually she asked when you’d find yourself a way out of Rio’s home— an opportunity to do something new and get out of the town where it all occurred.

You had simply looked at her questioningly, and asked, “Why would I ever want to leave? Miss Vidal has become my best friend and a dear comfort to me. She knows what I go through.”

Your mother’s lips pursed and her eyes crinkled around the edges in a way that was all too familiar. Like she knew something you didn’t. “Sweetheart, that’s why I wanted to sit you down really. See your father and I have been communicating with the sheriff. You remember Richard Howards right? You were in the same class in grade school.”

A town as small as Westview hardly awarded privacy and the idea of being strangers to others. So you simply said, “Of course.”

Your mother nodded and fiddled with her pearl necklace as she spoke, “After the funeral we went down to settle the business of your husband’s work details. We wanted it done through the sheriff’s office just in case they tried to cause problems for you.”

“Why would they do that?” you wondered as you sipped your coffee and looked out the window toward the drug store Rio was contained in.

Your mother frowned deeply. “Have you not been looking through your mail? I suppose most of it must be trash — a lot of it is advertisements and magazine samples these days — but Eastview Grain Milling wanted to deny wrongdoing. They were going to try and drag his widow — you — through the mud in the process.”

Your eyes flashed back to her, eyebrows shot up high. “Under what grounds? I’ve no money and he certainly didn’t have much after his paychecks. He died in their factory.”

Your mother nodded slowly. “Precisely the issue, isn’t it?”

“Is it taken care of?” you asked hesitantly.

“We handled it. Mostly your father — he’s, well, you know how he is.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Your mother eyed you. “When did you become so uninterested in what happens to you, darling? You used to call your father if you got religious scripture —“

“Shouldn’t it be wrong to send that to someone’s home instead of finding other creative ways to advertise? Who wants to join an indescribable society without merit and has no name?”

“My point,” she interrupted before you could get riled up, “is that you haven’t been . . . You. Not for a while.���

“Well, my husband died.”

Your mother gasped your name out, slamming her cup on the table in shock. You stared back at her with a weak shrug. “It’s true. I’m trying to . . . I don’t know, Mother. Rekindle my desire to live?”

“Then go to the doctor!” she cried, and you paused to note the look of desperation in her gaze, “Come home to your father and I while you recover — you know we’d take care of you. But please, sweetheart, something isn’t right about this woman.”

“You don’t even know her,” you snapped. Then you breathed out, startled at your own tone. You gathered yourself, your thoughts, and said, “She’s my only friend. My neighbors aren’t kindly women, Mother.”

“Have you asked her anything of value?” she demands. “How she came to be widowed? What year she got married? How they met?”

“Why are you so suspicious of her? Do you think she’s a commie? I assure you, Mother,” you bit out, “after the death of her husband she’s never been more drawn to this countries’ ideals.”

“No.” Exasperated, the woman who looked so much like yourself leaned back into the shiny leather booths and rubbed her temple. “Mister Howards did a check on Miss Vidal’s records.”

“Mother, you didn’t.”

“She was never married,” she blurted once again, cutting you off from whatever it is you began to say.

You sat in frozen silence, shock more than anything coating you like a wet blanket. “W-what?”

“Rio Vidal has a completely blank canvas, sweetheart,” your mother told you, eyes softening when she took in your expression, “and I’m afraid that means that no records indicate she was ever married, much less to a man in the service.”

2024

You flipped the page of the current cookbook and steadied it on the stand, dropping a few chives into the soup you were prepping.

You almost destroyed the kitchen in a fury when you saw perfectly tailored apron that you always eyed in the store hanging on the hook near the back door.

You settled for dumping out Rio’s beers instead and getting to work. She allotted you as much time in the kitchen as you requested — but the knives you used were somehow spelled to never turn against her no matter how hard you tried. They would be come heavy in your hands and eventually disappear when you grew defeated.

You had an entirely different plan for her instead of stabbing her to death. Less messy and a lot more manageable in terms of sneaking it into dinner.

You didn’t know if you could kill Death — but you sure as shit would try. She’s kept you cooped up for no less than three weeks so far and any and all attempts were met with mockery and depending on her mood, you facedown and fucked into oblivion.

You hated it.

Fuck.

You emptied your brain for now to keep your attention focused on making this dinner as heavily flavored as possible. You tipped in a little wine for extra flavor, even, and took a giant gulp from the bottle yourself.

You set the table and poured wine for both of you. Your hands shook despite yourself and your body was stiff. You folded napkins just as perfectly as your mother had taught you and set the silverware in order.

You served each bowl a helping of the soup.

At the last second before you knew she would be walking through the door, you opened the box of rat poison and dumped all of the contents in and stirred carefully and hoped there was one thing that could defeat Death.

Your desperation — it was making you sloppy. Perhaps if you had waited it out longer and thought about it you would have decided that fucking rat poison wouldn’t work on her.

But it didn’t cross you — not when you could feel the subtle shift of the invisible chain around your throat that dug in anytime you inched too close to the property line. Not when you tried to make a new design for the rooms and ended up in bed for hours for thinking you could try to enjoy this life again.

Never. Again.

She came in through the garage door with a flourish. For whatever reason you couldn’t grasp, she wore suits when she left and came home as though she were going to a normal nine to five job instead of reaping souls for her jars of whatever the fuck she did with them.

She strides through the house, calling your name and finding you waiting at the table with a fake smile plastered to your face and your chin resting on your palm as you greeted her.

“What a sight,” she drew out as she took her jacket off and slung it over her chair before rounding the table, “and what a beautiful dinner, too,” she added, finger lifting your chin. You let her guide you into a soft kiss, playing your role until you could unleash yourself entirely.

“Mm,” you said, then spread a hand out. “I made something new. It may not be up to my normal standards, considering.”

Rio eyed you curiously as she undid her sleeve cuffs and sat down across from you. Steam was still rising from the bowl and she stretched her arms out to allow her sleeves to ride up.

“I am sure that whatever you’ve made will be as delicious as the things you’ve made ten times before.” She went for the glass of wine first, so you followed in suit.

For once you started to feel like the lioness stalking her prey rather than the prey itself. You knew for sure that Rio could sense your observant gaze — how you kept attention to her over the rim of your wine glass and as you twirled and sipped at your soup.

It sparked curiosity and perhaps even a little suspicion from her end of the enchantment she had on you. Good. It was your turn to play a game with rules she couldn’t possibly follow.

“What did you do today?” she asked, setting the glass down and going to grab the spoon laid pointedly out instead. Dipped into soup, lifted to a mouth.

You smiled as she sipped it, and said casually, “Oh I didn’t get up to much. The house is quiet even with Billy around to keep company. Too big. I pulled some weeds from the garden and harvested some vegetables.”

“Did you now.” Dark swirls of magic in her eyes — an illusion to keep you from reading her. You hated that she used it so often.

“Mm.” You ran your finger around and around the rim of your wine glass. “I think a dog would be nice too. More company and would be enough to keep me busy.”

“A dog,” Rio echoed as she ingested a second sip of soup. “I thought you hated dogs.”

“Until I learned they hated you. Now I think one would be rather nice.”

Eyes locked across the table, and a small smile formed. “My angel wants a dog. As if it would protect you from me.”

Silence filled the room as you prepared for a standoff. Something about her demeanor had grown darker and more pronounced than when she stepped through the door — and if Rio knew you a hundred ways you knew her at least ninety-nine.

She knew.

She finished the entire bowl and let the spoon fall with a clang into it, leaning back into her chair to finish her wine. “Angel, what a delicious meal. I was worried I would never get to taste your cooking again. It’s one of the ways I can understand how you’re feeling without invading you with my. . . Abilities. Your cooking is your tell.”

You held your glass loosely in hand, allowing your features to come across as lazy and uninterested despite feeling as though a bloody battle were about to ensue. You lay your chin on the top of the back of your hand holding the glass.

“Oh?” you say, pretending curious reactions to keep her talking. She would be gone by now if the poison had worked, so you could only hope she couldn’t have tasted it. “What did this meal tell you about me tonight, then?”

Rio takes one of her index fingers and runs it along the inside of the bowl until it comes back with remains. She sticks it onto her tongue and leans forward as if to tell you a secret.

“It means, angel, that tonight you gambled with Death and you were feeling bold and tried something new and out of your usual style. So fucking bold that you thought a mortal poison — a weak one at that — would destroy me.” Something deadly and calm crossed her face, but the smile was something you’ve only seen a few times on her, “I am no rat, angel. All you’ve done tonight is play a little game I indulged in.”

Blood filled your ears. You could hear your heartbeat so fucking loud and you were drowning in the thickness of it.

Then pain pulled you out of it as quickly as it forced you in. You jumped, turning and realizing you’d broken your glass. Wine mixed with blood as shards of glass struck deep into your skin.

The pain didn’t do much to douse the fire that was your rage, your upset, your years of distress.

It lit them all up like gasoline on a volatile fire. You slammed your bloody fist onto the table and shoved it into Rio, who grunted in surprise as her hands flew up to catch it before it rammed into her abdomen.

“I am not your plaything for you to amuse yourself with when you’re bored and can’t find Agatha to annoy,” you spat, shoving the chair with your foot and causing the table to inch deeper into her palms. “I will find a way to destroy you — collar or not.”

Something you said was wrong, or perhaps the way you said it. One moment she was shocked and even bemused at your explosion and next she shoved the table back into your direction. You had to leap out of the way with the speed in which she had kicked it.

Glass and silverware went flying as the table slammed into the entryway and wall, shattering into broken pieces. A piece from one of the bowls snagged your cheek but the pain was minuscule and you grabbed the empty pot from the sink and threw it at her.

“You’re fucking pathetic, sweetheart.” Rio whipped her hand out and caught the pot with a swirl of dark green. She twisted her fingers and you watched in despair as the object was crumbled like a ball of paper and tossed out the window behind you.

You ducked for cover and cursed viciously as she crunched through broken plate ware and kicked aside table-legs for good measure in case you got any ideas.

She knelt down before you and wrapped her hand around the back of your neck tenderly, caressing the spot where her sigil hummed the loudest when she was near.

"You are my only focus now," she told you calmly, then grinned as though sharing a joke, "As long as we don't count the soul-reaping I do. But that's not really something I can simply give up, I'm afraid. I will admit I was impressed by your sad attempt at freeing yourself from me that I rewarded you with . . . enclosed freedom. I decided to decrease the size of your enclosure, really, is all I did. You never left me."

You bared your teeth at her in a meek attempt at having some sort of shield from her mocking. Blood dribbled into your mouth, between your teeth, and soaked into your tongue.

"I will never be complicit to this again," you spat at her. You hoped the droplets wouldn't wash out of her pants. She ignored the staining as though it were a common occurrence. "You can't make me happy, Rio. All of this -- from the day we met -- has been built on a lie that has crumbled around you. You aren't lovable."

The pressure suddenly eased as Rio seemed to process what you said to her. You had hoped to hit a weak spot and get her angry enough to back off, but her next response was the exact opposite.

"If I cannot make you love me," she whispered, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your ear, then your jaw, "then I will give you a part of me that you have absolutely no choice but to love. Much better than a dog."

Dread slapped you across the face as Rio pulled back and snapped her fingers.

You were out before you could process her statement entirely.

You awoke in the bedroom under the cool sheets. You had a distinct throbbing in your head that reminded you of drinking too much or pulling an all-nighter during the nineties when you went to college for the first time.

You sat up slowly to prevent the increase of pain and crossed your arms when the sheets fell. You were naked -- entirely fucking naked -- and there was no evidence of any indication of Rio being around while you were out.

You trembled when you went over the events of the night. The alarm clock said it was five in the morning -- dinner had been at six. you slept for eleven hours straight . . . or were kept in a controlled state of unconsciousness by Rio until she could decide what to do with you.

As if summoned by your loud thinking, the door opened and in came Death herself. She looked rather stern as if you had started a stupid, petty fight and were at fault for it.

You wanted to wring her neck.

She took your silence in, the hostile expression, and swaggered on over to the bed like it was an invitation rather than a warning. She was wearing a silk robe and on closer inspection you noted her wet hair was in a bun.

"Did you get the tantrum out of you?" she asked casually, leaning over to turn on the bedside table lamp.

You curled your lip at her like a tethered animal that's been cornered and whipped.

"Because, you see," she continued, undoing the belt of her robe and letting it slide off her shoulders to reveal nothing but her prone form underneath, "I've decided that despite your outburst to give you a gift."

"I do not want," you breathed, finding leverage and support in the sheets keeping you covered, rage now leaking into your every word, "any gift you think to offer me. I don't want it. Fuck off."

Rio sat down next to you with a pout as she revealed a green rose in perfect beauty to you. "From my own personal gardens. It grew and died for you, my love."

The phantom sting from your thumb where one of her roses had cut you when you first saw one of those damned things in years made you fist the mattress underneath the comforter and sheets covering you.

"I am tired of things dying for me."

And suddenly a palm was on your forehead, shoving it down onto the soft, feather-stuffed pillows as Rio flung a leg over your waist and leaned over you. "Well, isn't that just too bad?" she murmured. "I don't get your love, and you don't get to stop those that lose their lives in your place. A pity all around."

You tried to ignore her, dragging your eyes upward to the ceiling instead as tears threatened to rise. You were so fucking tired -- of her, of living like this, of fighting.

"You're going to make me feel good in return for that stunt you pulled during dinner," Rio told you in a matter-of-fact tone, not minding you not keeping focus on her as she ripped the protection off your body and allowed the cold to sweep over your skin. "And after, I'm going to give you something I've only ever given to one other person."

You did not follow the line of discussion, the branching topic she wiggled in front of you like meat on a string. You told her you did not want it because her gifts always came with unspoken implications.

She moved suddenly and quickly, her body moving upward until she was hovering over your upturned face and she reached a hand down to run fingers through your hair. "Remember to breath, angel," she purred and then lowered herself onto you. Then she tugged when she got no initial reaction, “You’re gonna touch me, sweetheart. Go on. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

Even as your tongue began to lick upward on instinct, you debated with yourself on biting her. Hard.

She’d probably only be mildly irritated at most and take it as a challenge rather than an attempt to get her off of you.

Your hands shakily reached up instead and with one hand you dug fingers mercilessly into the meat of her hip while a second hand scrunched between you two so you could thrust two fingers upward at the same time as your tongue entered her.

Rio released a moan that was breathy and sweet in essence as her thighs took form around either side of your head. You felt the headboard move and figured she was grabbing onto it with her other hand.

“Fuck — you still remember what I need, don’t you, angel? Good girls always remember even if they don’t want to,” she whispered in unsteady gasps as you found a rhythm. She kept herself from moving at first, instead using built up energy to dig nails into your scalp as your fingers thrusted upward while your tongue created tight friction.

Everything about her made you ache — down to the familiar smell of her and the way she twitched when you thrust slowly in the circular motion that she liked.

She was going back and forth from offering praise to you to being unable to form coherent words for some seconds when you let your teeth graze her clit every so often. Never enough for her to come.

“You’re being a tease,” she told you obviously, grip tightening with warning. However the grip faltered ever so slightly when you found the spongy tissue inside of her and added pressure. She fell into a low gasp and a knock against the headboard made you guess she had dropped her head on it.

“Fuck — right there. Yes, angel, keep going.”

You obeyed for a brief period in order to draw her closer to the edge. She was fiercely grinding her pussy down against your face now as she kept herself balanced.

Her thighs were beginning to twitch around your head and she was getting slicker by the moment. She was entirely vulnerable above you but you now knew not to make the mistake and think she didn’t have some sort of defense ready if you did something really stupid.

Just when you knew she would tip over is when you pull away, allowing your fingers to brush her g-spot one last time and sending her careening over that sharp edge. She let out a choked moan, surprised, as you abruptly removed all stimulation minus the forceful grinding she was giving you.

She panted above you but she didn’t sound satisfied like she usually does when she has an orgasm. She sounded wrung out, like reaching something with no payout.

“You have some goddamn balls,” Rio snarled, slipping away from your face and snatching it in her palm despite the wetness covering it. “You ruin my orgasm and think it’ll go any good for you?”

You stare her down with unwavering contempt. “You still came, didn’t you?”

“Oh, I’m loving this new part of you. The vile rage that seeps from your pores every second you’re around me,” she sneers as she wipes a trail of her slick from around your chin and shoves the appendage in your mouth.

You bite her finger but she does not flinch, does not blink. She only grins at you. “Oh yes, you wild little thing of mine. I am going to enjoy what I am going to do next. It will dampen that fire in your belly — or perhaps it will enrage you further. I cannot wait to see.”

You were grabbed so roughly you hardly at time to fight back. Arms and legs were rearranged and your face was shoved facedown into the pillows this time as fingers drifted gingerly down your spine.

“So pretty,” your captor mused, as if considering a piece of art in a museum. They trailed down even further until they brushed against the backs of your legs and angled them up so your knees and ass rose into the air. “Yes, angel, I’m going to want you to stay like this. Be my muse.”

“I will destroy your entire being,” you vowed as the magical directive took effect and your muscles relaxed without your consent. The weight of the bed lifted as Rio removed herself and murmured something under her breath.

“While you work on that, I think I’ll work on something else more productive,” she mused as she rejoined you a few moments later with her pelvis resting against the very bottom of your ass.

“You say a lot of words but speak such bullshit,” you snarled back, unable to move your hips an inch despite your attempts.

Rio laughed. “Fuck, I love you so much. Which is going to make this all the more fun.” And then you felt it sliding between the crevice where your cunt was.

“Absolutely not,” you jerked your upper body forward in desperation with no prevail, you were unable to get away. To make it worse she placed what she believed to be soothing hand on your now clammy back. “Rio — Rio, stop.”

She ignored you and tested you for wetness, and you were embarrassed at what she found when she sought it out. She leaned her body over your upturned hips and whispered, “So wet and yet you claim you want me to stop?”

“That’s how consent works, Rio,” you panted, jerking your shoulder but gaining no traction as she moved just out of reach in time. “I say stop and you stop.”

“I’m afraid that’s not in our contract, my love,” she sighed as she fingered the area around your neck and somehow managed to pull tight. Your airflow was restricted and you gasped out for air. “I own you entirely and have for a very long time. I decided you were mine the second I was called to take you away. I’m gladly taking others instead — and you’re granted a lifelong advantage on top of that. It’s time we add to it — don’t you think? Keep that destructive, wandering, little brain of yours busy will do wonders so I don’t have to dumb you down with my magic.”

She released you and your head fell back down as you gasped and inhaled for breath, fingers flexing into the sheets as dizziness swirled around you.

The tears started then. Rio crooned as she kissed gently down your back and entered you with an ease of a lover who actually cared would.

“Oh, angel, there is no need for those,” she murmured as she sucked bruises where each kiss was left. “Tears are a waste of your energy when considering why you’re crying.”

“Fuck you,” you sniffled, the emotions overwhelming you too much and your brain filled with an overload of pleasure chemicals to say much else.

“I’m so trying,” she promises followed by a very deep thrust. “Do you know what I’m doing, love? Why I chose to wear the cock?”

You didn’t answer her, too wrapped up in your own feelings to play her game and amuse her as she fucked you like her life depended on it.

“It’s because,” she continues like she was discussing the weather with you, “I’m going to breed you. I’ve put some thought into it — you’d be impressed how much time I spent thinking instead of acting on innate desires.”

Your body shuddered when the ridges of her specially designed cock rubbed your walls, followed by one of her arms reaching around so she could cup your breasts. “You never liked being bored, did you?” she grunted as she found a better angle and upped her speed.

You let out a sob-filled moan and suddenly you could move your hips again — and the first thing you found yourself doing was thrusting them back in time to meet her.

“Good girl,” she whispered, kisses lining your jaw, down your neck as she squeezed your breast and kept you in a constant state of physical overstimulation and unable to clearly think. “You’re doing so fucking good despite how fucking difficult you’ve been lately. That’s okay — we’re going to fix that aren’t we?”

Suddenly you were drawn upwards until you sat on her thighs, with her chest pressed against your back as she rolled her hips as deep as they would go and held you up with the arm holding your tits.

“I’m going to make sure you stay, angel. I’ve lost — I’ve lost too much already.” Through the fucked out haze you thought you detected despair and need within the tone she used — but she didn’t allow you long to process it as her other hand reached down and started rubbing your clit with harsh beats that met her thrusts.

“I’m going to — I’m going to give us a better life, okay?” she whispered just as the build up continued to grow with no possible escape in sight.

You gave in — at least for this — and closed your eyes and leaned your head back against her shoulder as she kept her pace violent and unyielding, seeming to have a goal to achieve.

It didn’t take much longer — not for you or Rio. Both of you were thrown into orgasms that had you rocking forward back down into the bed, your groan and gasps eroding away at any belief she would ever let you go.

A tingle that you came to associate with her use of magic started rippling across your skin like electricity until Rio stopped moving inside of you, growing briefly still.

You were shaking and trembling, biting your tongue so hard that blood filled your mouth as you contained your devastated cries and curled your legs into you.

Rio brushed some hair away from your neck and rubbed at your back in an effort to comfort you. Perhaps she thought you were overwhelmed in the way she was — you weren’t entirely sure ever what Rio thought most days.

“It’s going to be okay,” she tried to soothe, her touch like burning oil as you tried to flinch away from her. “Angel? I promise. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be a family. I am Death. Nothing will take us away.”

But who was Death really when she was able to create life? The very thing Rio had once claimed was against her rules.

Rio and Reader will return in Part Three.

Taglist [ holy shit I remembered ]: @girlsgotissues ( it won’t let me tag u im so sorry )

PART THREE

[stellaronhvnters]

⸻ LOOKS LIKE YOU’VE GOT MAIL… !

⸻ STELLARONHVNTERS PRESENTS: LOVE LETTERS !

The season of love is upon us—happy Valentine’s Day ! Love Letters is a themed prompt/request event. Send participating hunters a prompt & your selection of 1-3 inspiring words from our list, and they’ll write something short for you ! DURATION : feb 1st - feb 13th. On the 14th, all completed letters will be compiled in a single envelope and posted to the network blog !

HOW TO PARTICIPATE?

Reblog this post with the characters you’re willing to write for, send some requests to fellow rebloggers, and wait for the same—that’s it ! Please do NOT reblog if you aren’t going to participate. Reblogging this post is confirmation you’re open to requests for this event! Only members of STELLARONHVNTERS are allowed to send/write letters. We encourage you to use this opportunity to reach out to members you haven’t before! There’s no limit to how many requests you can send, but please be courteous, and remember they are not obligated to complete yours! Letters should be a minimum of 200 words and a maximum of 2000—keep it short and (maybe bitter…) sweet!

Remember to tag your letters with #hvntersloveletters !

PROMPTS:

( 💌 ) — YELLOW ROSE: though valentine’s day is usually centered around romance, there are many types of relationships that deserve to be highlighted and celebrated. ( ❤️ ) — IRIS: promises are just words unless they can actually keep them. ( 🧺 ) — DAFFODIL: you’re not sure if they love you back or not, but either way, some part of you will always be theirs. ( 🦢 ) — PURPLE LILAC: they’re falling first, and falling hard. ( 🌹 ) — RED TULIP: they’ve been waiting to confess for a long time—now’s their chance. ( 💌 ) — BLUE HYACINTH: you may just be idealistic, but you’ll always hold out hope for a future with them, no matter how long it’s been. ( 💔 ) — BOUQUET: what could the bouquet in your hands possibly symbolize? ( 🧺 ) — DAHLIA: both of you are dressed to the nines, going out to celebrate valentine’s day and one another however you see fit. ( 🦢 ) — VOLKAMERIA: watching from the pews as they marry their soulmate, you wonder if fate has a cruel sense of humor. ( 🌹 ) — PINK HYACINTH: who can kiss the other the most today? ( 💌 ) — CHRYSANTHEMUM: saying your final goodbyes on the undisputed day of love is ironic. ironic… but fitting. ( ❤️ ) — CHICORY: who needs money to have a good time? ( 🧺 ) — PURPLE HYACINTH: seems that you accidentally ruined their romantic grand gesture! quick, make up for it! ( 🦢 ) — RUE: misunderstandings, misunderstandings… ( 🌹 ) — FORGET-ME-NOT: it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. ( 💌 ) — OLEANDER: you know your baking is mediocre at best, but they still endeavor to taste your creation, despite how their eyes may water or how ugly their face may scrunch up. ( 💔 ) — YELLOW HYACINTH: do you actually want them, or do you want to be them? ( 🧺 ) — WALLFLOWER: they planned on taking you on a picnic, but the rain started pouring as soon as you placed down the blanket. ( 🦢 ) — VENUS’ LOOKING GLASS: they don’t usually flirt with you quite this much… ( 🌹 ) — HONEYSUCKLE: they’re making it a point to show you just how much you mean to them.

WORDS:

(These are mostly here for vibe purposes! It’s more about the association of the words’ meanings together than the words themselves—have fun with it!)

accismus —  an ironic rhetorical device, in which one feigns indifference, or makes a pretense of refusing something one desires. aeipathy  —  an enduring and consuming passion. amaranthine  —  undying. anagapesis  —  loss of feelings for someone. apricity  —  the warmth of the sun in winter. cafune  —  running fingers through a loved one’s hair. catharsis  —  emotional release. charmolypi  —  the joy that emerges out of sadness, and (conversely) the sadness that merges out of joy: an integrated feeling that cannot exist without both sorrow and joy, dwelling together and giving rise to each other. cicatrize  —  heal by forming scar tissue. clement  —  mild, gentle, or merciful nature. clinquant  —  shiny and glittery; showy. cordiform  —  heart-shaped. coruscate  —  to give off light; to reflect in flashes; to sparkle.  druxy —  (of wood) having decayed spots or streaks of a whitish color; rotten, decayed. ebullience  —  a boiling or bubbling up; (figuratively) the quality of enthusiastic or lively expression of feelings and thoughts. eunoia  —  goodwill towards an audience, either perceived or real; the perception that the speaker has the audience's interest at heart. evanesce  —  disappear gradually; vanish; fade away. feuillemort  —  of the color of dead or dying leaves; dull yellowish or orangish brown. indelible  —  incapable of being lost or forgotten. iridescence  —  exhibition of colors like those of the rainbow; a prismatic play of color. kalon  —  the ideal of physical and moral beauty. kalopsia  —  the delusion of things being more beautiful than they are. laconic  —  using as few words as possible; pithy and concise. lacuna  —  a gap or absence in understanding.  litost  —  a state of torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery. lucent  —  emitting light; shining; luminous. mellifluous  —  flowing like honey; sweet, smooth and musical; pleasant to hear (generally used of a person's voice, tone or writing style). metanoia  —  a fundamental change of mind. niveous  —  snowy; resembling snow. paracosm  —  a detailed imaginary world. petrichor  —  the smell of earth after rain. redamancy  —  the act of loving in return. reverie  —  a state of dreaming while awake; a loose or irregular train of thought; musing or meditation; daydream. sanguine —  confident and helpful; a blood-red color. saudade —  an emotional state of melancholic or profoundly nostalgic longing for a beloved yet absent something or someone. selcouth —  strange, unusual, rare; unfamiliar; marvellous, wondrous. serein —  light rainfall from a cloudless sky after sunset. serendipity —  a combination of events which have come together by chance to make a surprisingly good or wonderful outcome. sonder —  the profound feeling of realizing that everyone, including strangers passing in the street, has a life as complex as one's own, which they are constantly living despite one's personal lack of awareness of it. taciturn —  silent; temperamentally untalkative; disinclined to speak.

EXAMPLE:

could i request (prompt) + (word), (word), (word) for (character)? thank you!!

[animentality]

I've always harboured a mild dislike for x reader stuff. I never really held it against people because I don't have the time to antagonise them, but it was so upsetting when every time I opened the fandom tag and all I saw were posts and posts and posts of bland x reader stuff that clearly is ooc with no real substance to them at all. So many of the RP blogs seem the same way.

As someone who tries to make analysis posts and art for the same fandom, it is disheartening when I spend hours and hours on an analysis post about a character and it maybe hits 120 notes while an OOC x reader of the same character soars to the thousands. Maybe it's selfish of me to say but I say it anyway.

The fandom is full of youngsters and I never felt comfortable voicing my opinion for the same because it just felt wrong to tell kids to stop existing in communities. But the amount of times I've been put down for shipping characters with each other rather than myself is an honestly surprising number.

Um. I don't really know where I was going with this.

But your post definitely opened my eyes a little bit on even why I dislike x reader so much. It's sinking in a little bit. My hatred for OOC stuff seeps into this, I suppose. So I wanted to say that. Yeah. I agree with you.

Thank you for saying it.

Signed,

A fellow analyser / artist / fanfic writer lmao

— @lunarcloak

I get you, man.

I know self shippers have always existed.

I don't mind them. If that's how you enjoy the media, then fine.

However.

I just don't think that the sudden rise of self shippers over fan analysis and shipping is a good sign.

I think it comes from a lack of media literacy and willingness to actually engage with a piece of fiction. At least shippers and fan analysts actually talk about the world and plot itself.

self shippers imagine themselves dating a character in an au that is completely disconnected from the story, and acting in a way that's not even close to how they are in canon.

which to me is like... you have a creative writing prompt but it's not a story you're actually engaging with. someone showed you a picture of a handsome man and said write a story about how he'd kiss you.

and it's like... ok. there's no crime in just being horny, but... when that's all a fandom is... I don't consider it a fandom, it's just a masturbation fantasy.

I thought the whole point of fiction was to dive into the human experience and try and understand ourselves better. See the perspectives of others. Live vicariously in another person's shoes.

Fan analysis about themes? Perfect. You're thinking. You're feeling. You're articulating. You're growing as a person as you decide what you like or don't like, or try to put together puzzle pieces so that the whole picture makes sense. Shipping? You're imagining scenarios. You're bending canon to fit your interests. You are developing your own ability to write characters, and growing as an artist and a writer.

But self shipping...?

Eh.

You're writing, I guess, but when you reduce yourself to just... idk, some generic girl that Gojo decides is the Bella to his Edward... I mean I'm glad you're happy and all.

But how happy are you

Are you happy at all, or are you frustrated by this aching loneliness deep in your gut that you just don't understand, and it never quite feels whole bc you keep cramming nothing into it.

And it's not the loneliness or the social awkwardness that I'm criticizing here ok, shippers and fan analysts can be just as lonely. I just think that the human relationship to art should be confusion and appreciation.

you should be trying to understand others or yourself.

you can insist well what's so wrong with escapism? why does everything have to be an intellectual exercise?

it doesn't have to be ... but there's a reason people feel so hollow watching marvel movies.

art without substance is consumption. it's a distraction from your own humanity, it is not anything more.

not to you, anyway.

and I don't know.

that's really sad.

I've made so many friends through ships and babbling about canon and gushing about narrative beats.

I feel like I got something out of fandom, if other people force me to see the world in another light. I feel like a story has done its job if it's made me feel something. and it's really done a great job if I feel invested enough to hope two characters smooch.

but self insert?

eh. so you just like the character and think they're hot. that's fine.

not that interesting to talk about either. requires very little analysis on your part.

they just provoke sexual feelings or romantic feelings , which are easiest for you to process, and then you can move on to the next pretty boy you can turn into a Dom.

it irks me, man.

just a tad bit.

[crowley-winter-boots]

I would like to add my own take to some of these/further expand on what you have written.

Start stealing things from supermarkets and malls:

I've literally walked out of stores in the mall with unpayed items. Check for the chunky plastic white tags on it, or a silver sticker with a black dot: these will set off alarms when you leave the door and they are very difficult, if not impossible to take off without getting caught by employees. Supermarkets are more iffy, I've never stolen anything from one, but they have more cameras there. Small stores in malls typically don't, at least not any I can see, which I'm fairly certain it is illegal for stores to have hidden cameras. Wear baggy hoodies, you can slip something in your sleeve quickly. Basketball shorts, parachute pants, other bottoms with large pockets are great for slipping something in unnoticed. Also, DO NOT dwell on something too hard. It will make it more likely to get caught- act natural. A lot of people go into the mall just to browse, so it's perfectly normal to walk out without having bought a single thing.

Put stickers everywhere:

It is incredibly easy to make your own stickers. It is better if you have some artistic ability so you're able to format the sticker sheets properly, but it's fine if you don't have those skills. It's like a jigsaw puzzle, you'll have to rotate the images in weird angles and look for patterns of where one nook fits into one cranny. Repeating patterns are good, too. You just need sticker paper, a printer, and an app that you can import photos into and create the sticker sheets: I personally use Procreate, but that's because I use it for artwork and it was the easiest option on hand for me, personally. Ibis Paint X is free, a bit difficult to import photos in my opinion, but it works. I'm sure Word could work as well, though not as well. The less white space, the better, but make sure to leave enough room between each sticker as to have even borders all around. A common mistake I made when I first started making stickers was that I would accidentally overlap some stickers or make them touching.

Learn how to sew:

Here is a punk fashion tip: USE DENTAL FLOSS. I know, it sounds weird, but it's a great option. Cheaper than thread, you can buy it in bigger quantities, it lasts longer, it's sturdier, and overall just a really good option.

Furthermore, since I mentioned a punk fashion tip, I want to add my own way to protest here, as well as other DIY things you can do.

Battle vests/jackets are excellent. I'm making one, as well as my own patches to add to it. DO NOT put political statements or LGBT-oriented things on the back: this can, and will, put you in danger. Not only will you not see someone coming at you, but if someone sees it from the front, they are less likely to actually harm you since you can see them coming. There are some other punk DIY clothing you can make, including crust pants and just homemade patches to add onto something else. You also don't have to fit the "punk aesthetic" to be a punk: it's an ideology.

Some more punk fashion tips: You CAN paint on clothes and fabrics. Just add equal parts fabric softener to equal parts acrylic paints. This will prevent the paint from getting crunchy, make it last longer, prevent it from chipping, allow it to stretch with the fabric, and make it machine washable. You can also make homemade pins: acrylic paint, bottle caps, soda tabs, safety pins, modge podge, and a lot of hot glue. Put the safety pin through the soda tab, and glue the soda tab down with hot glue. Drown that shit in it- may seem unnecessary, but hot glue is stubborn with metal and does not want to stick. Do this BEFORE YOU PAINT, I made the mistake and everything peeled off because it warmed up and stuck to my table. When you're done painting, seal it with Modge Podge: it's a type of glue-like substance that seals paint, makes it shiny, prevents it from chipping and peeling, and makes it last longer.

Engage in art

Art does NOT have to be good. Art is about having fun and expressing yourself. It takes YEARS to become good at it, but even then there is always room to improve. Don't downplay your own efforts because someone else has skills you don't yet have. Get creative. Bring out those cheap art supplies extended family bought you on a whim when you were in grade school. Cut things up and glue them where they don't belong. Spill coffee on it, crumple the paper, and destroy it before using it as your canvas.

Be loud and obnoxious

This is one I'm adding in here myself. The right wants to claim queer people are shoving their agenda down their throats, but then wave MAGA flags and ask for heterosexual pride month? Wave those flags of yours, wear way too many (stolen, or DIY ofc) pins of pride flags and pronouns. Wear pride flags like capes. Dye your hair crazy colours, put on crazy makeup just to go out to the store. Being visible not only pisses off people that don't want to see us, but it also helps other people feel seen and safer. THIS CAN BE DANGEROUS. Like I said with the battle vests, YOU CAN GET ATTACKED.

I've been wearing my transgender pride flag to school. Pride flags are banned from being hung up, but nothing in the dress code prohibits it. This weekend, I will paint "WE THE PEOPLE" on the back of it. Teachers have pulled me aside only on the second day of wearing it, asking why. I've been called an "it" (doesn't misgender me anyway, I use it/its so jokes on them), someone (pitifully) attempted to throw food at me, people have been shouting "what the fuck" and "is that a trans flag?" in the halls, people have been sideyeing and staring at me. There have been good reactions too, of course, but I'm sharing my bad reactions to further imply doing this can be dangerous. I live in central Texas, for reference.

The negative reactions, since they have not directly harmed me, I choose to find funny. I laugh it off. I want people to see that being trans isn't something that can't be erased from existence. I want them to see people like me are not going anywhere.

Survive and be safe

Another personal addition- but DO NOT give up. I know that things are bad, and that things will get worse. But living is one of the things you can do to stick it to them. Listen to "Famous Last Words - My Chemical Romance", that song can probably explain this as well. Do not stop fighting, and do not stop living. Be safe, don't put yourself in unnecessary danger in this fight, because it's going to be a big one. Make sure your mental health is good, and if it's not do what you can to improve on it. Don't let the government tell you that you don't have a place here; because you do. Fuck the government. Queer people have existed since before the Ancient Greeks, it's visible in nature all around. Lions and hens have been known for transitioning to male without actually having the male reproductive systems. Penguins and walruses have been known for homosexual relationships. America is built upon immigrants- the original Americans ARE immigrants because they came from Europe to colonize these lands. America wouldn't exist without immigrants.

I hope the expansion on what Kurohe had written is alright/helps out! Be safe out there and be yourself. Don't water yourselves down for the sake of people who don't want to see you thrive.

Things you can do to actively participate in the revolution

Here's the list !

I know some of those will look really silly, i promise they are not. And obviously, this is not a checklist, you don't have to do everything. But they're steps that you can absolutely take if you wish to, and they WILL help.

(i am continually correcting things when people point out mistakes. Thanks everyone for your help)

(under the cut !)

1) Let's start off with a very easy one you can do right now: stop using Chrome. It's a google owned browser, and it sents all of your data towards it. Mozilla is a very good replacement, but almost anything will do, really. We revolting against capitalism as a whole, and this is a good first step

Also, resign your amazon prime subscription.

2) Start stealing things from supermarkets and malls. I am not kidding. Little things, that aren't really monitored: a can of food, a lighter, a pair of socks. Condiments are particularly easy to hide in bags or pockets. Steal hygiene products, steal food.

Remember that you should have access to those for free, and you don't because a few rich guys don't want you to.

Additional tip: train station stores are very easy to steal from, because they're so busy. But don't put yourself in danger. Check beforehand if they check bags at checkout, look out for employees that might notice what you're doing. Don't be reckless.

(edit: this used to also say airports, but i've been told it's way too high risk as it's considered a federal crime. Thanks for letting me know)

3) In the same line, if you see someone stealing anything from a big store, no you didn't.

4) I know a lot of people are scared of disrespecting rules. By fear of being caught, or by guilt. My advice is: start disrespecting stupid, meaningless rules. I don't have specific exemples, but you'll encounter them and wonder why you're doing that. Stop doing it. This will train you to be able to disobey autority way easier.

5) Put stickers everywhere. If you already have them, go ham. Especially on public property (lamposts are amazing). If you don't, buy them from artists or independant stores, not big brands. If you cannot afford them, remember that you can simply write stuff on an A4 paper and plaster it to walls. Or even post its !

6) Carry a sharpie with you at all time, the big black ones. If you see propaganda, scribble it out. Keep a look out for terfs stickers, maga posters, etc. Also good for getting rid of transphobic and sexist stuff written on public restroom stalls !

8) Learn how to sew. I know, that sounds dumb ! But i promise you, not only will it be amazing to trade with other people ("i'll sew back ur shirt and in exchange, you give me a can of peaches !"), corporations also haaaate when you know how to fix your clothes. Because they want you to buy more. You'll spend a lot less money if you know how to fix em

7) Buy locally. This means going to the market or small stores, and thrifting your clothes. If you can't for money or accessibility reasons, try trading with your friends, family and neighbours. Get communication going in your circles, and you'll realise there are a lot of things that you can simply trade with or buy from people around you. Like a jar of jam against some eggs, or a pair of socks for a t-shirt you don't wear anymore !

9) If you have the space and the money, grow your own food, and share it or sell it around you. Be careful, some assholes will call the FDA on you. Do that with people you trust.

Additional tip: growing vegetables and fruits can be a real nightmare. You can absolutely start by just growing some basil or mint :)

10) Organise. Join leftist groups online, even if it's just to see what's being said, you don't even need to interact. Follow creators, repost and share their content. By doing that, you'll stay informed on group movements like strikes, protests and boycotts, which you can then participate in. It's very important you're connected to other ppl and the movements that are started !

11) Unionize. I'm very sorry I don't know the exact way unions work in the US, but if you can, join one. They will help you in times of needs, especially if you're a student or a worker. If you're not sure how to do that, absolutely ask around to people you know are very active politically, around you or online. People will help.

12) Stay. Informed. Follow independant papers and news outlet. If you can afford it, give them a dollar or two. They are fighting everyday for access to unbiased information for all, and sadly, their independance means that they rely almost entirely on donations and people simply engaging with what they put out.

If you can't access those: do not get your news from TV. Ever. Or anywhere else that has been bought by the far right. Sadly, the majority of TV channels are just the worst.

13) Share that information. Talk to those you trust and who are ready to listen to you, and tell them about what's happening. Get angry with them. Revolution stems from people coming together and realising that they're being used and profited off of. Share videos and posts relating to politics, especially informative videos.

And, most importantly: fact check. All of the time.

14) Go to protests ! If you've never been, i know it can be scary. But you can stay in the middle (don't go all the way to the front, that's where stuff can get heated) and scream and walk with everyone else. You'll meet people who, like you, want things to change. Capitalism wants you to stay as unconnected to others as possible, and that's a great way to fight that.

Sometimes, there are sites that have a planning for all protests happening in a city. Look up if one exists for yours

15) Create and strenghten community. I know i really struggled with this one, because it's so vague. But here's a few places you can start:

-Go and introduce yourself to your neighbours, if you deem it safe. Give them a little gift if you can afford it, like a pack of pasta.

-Make new friends, even if they aren't deep friendships. You need connections. Online or irl, both are fine- don't stay isolated.

-If you already have community, go check on them right now. Ask your friends how they're doing, and if they need anything- ask how they're being impacted by what's happening right now politically.

16) Look for ways to fuck over the institutions in easy ways. One example that went around tumblr a lot is letting dandelions grow in your backyard, because landlords fucking hate it. If you work in retail or fast food, cheat. Accidentally forget to scan the diapers. Put in 7 nuggets instead of 6.

17) Engage in art. MAKE art. Music, shitty paint drawings, craft, anything as long as you're being creative. Share it. If you feel like you can't do that, then support artists. Make a point to look up cool illustrations, and new music. Go to the cinema.

(edit: been told that it's very risky for walmart workers to not scan things, so beware.)

If you're an artist currently in an underpaid office job, please, by the love of god, be creative during office hours. You're underpaid, they do not deserve your full time and attention. Take 30 minutes to write that snippet you've been thinking about.

(and actually, if you're underpaid at all: do the minimum required. So that you can't be fired, but that's it. Any more effort is not worth it. Companies will never be thankful for what you do.)

18) Look up books that your state banned, and go read them. You can get them secondhand, or as pdfs online. (if anyone needs ressources, i will glady look for and share them.)

19) Seek education. There's a lot of youtube channels out there talking about educational subjects in a fun way. Some things the rich assholes who run the country specifically don't want you to learn more about are: biology, history and archeology, social and economic sciences. GO LEARN ABOUT THOSE.

And, actually, read books in general if you can. Yes, fanfics count !

The people in power don't want you to be educated. It's why they eviscerated the education system.

20) PIRATE. I cannot stress this enough, anything you can pirate (that isn't from small, indie creators, except if you absolutely can't afford it) do it. Download music illegally, torrent movies and games. If you want access to academical studies and papers, some writers will give them to you for free if you email them about it. There are also ways to go around paywalls.

21) Don't fall for the traps of "progressive brands". Lately, i've seen a lot of praise for Ben and Jerry's for openly supporting lgbtq rights and being globally anti-trump. They are still a brand. Avoid buying from any big names when you can. That being said, if you have to, check beforehand which ones and what their history is. Some are more evil than others.

Additional tip: a lot of brands you see in stores are actually owned by bigger brands. One prime example of this is Nestle, who are fucking evil, but they own a shitload of other big names. Be careful what you buy.

22) I hate to say this, but be prepared to defend yourself. Revolutions are never peaceful. You will get in danger. If you can, get in ok physical shape. If you can't, buy a gun. (Remember Alabama has a 99% acceptation rate, you can get one in 10 minutes.) I hate firearms, but the enemy will have them too. Arm yourself.

If none of those are available options to you, please, make sure you have someone around you that will be able to protect you, or a place where you can be safe. Whether you are disabled, a minor, or anything else. Don't put yourself in more danger than is necessary.

23) Last but not least, be kind. When someone cuts off a woman speaking, interrupt and give her the floor back. Shame those who think it's right to say bigoted shit in public. Listen to those around you. If you can't act, then remember to always have empathy for the homeless, for drug users, for immigrants. Understand they are people just like you. You are not immune to propaganda and prejudice, no matter who you are. Always question yourself and your biases.

(if you've read this far, please repost. We need this to reach as many people as possible)

I want to remind you that you're not alone. I know things seem hopeless, but the simple fact that you're reading this is proof it's not. I don't live in the US, but i'm supporting you as best i can from where i am, and sending you strenght.

If you have any questions, do ask away. I'll end on this image that's very dear to me:

[runawaymun]

Heads Up Seven Up

I was tagged by @that-angry-noldo to share the last seven lines I wrote in my WIP! Thank you for the summons!

From To Partake:

He had let his anger get the better of him. He realizes that now, like a cold shock to his spine, here in the dark alone. He had overreacted. That is why he is so angry. He is not angry at Elrond, not really. Ereinion is angry with himself.  He does not know how he will be able to stand facing Elrond tomorrow.

And from Beneath a Boundless Sky

He meant to broach the idea to Istiel, so she could put the question to her people. To our people, Elrond fiercely reminded himself.  My people.  Sometimes he wondered if it had been a mistake to refuse to take on any mantle of formal leadership for the remnants of Doriath. He only had not wished to tempt them to name him king — a title Elrond neither wanted nor felt that he deserved — with his Ñoldorin braids and his Fëanorian accent and his ignorance to his own childhood customs. He knew that it was hardly his fault, but there had been plenty of others who were better qualified than he was to lead the Doriathrim. Istiel had been their second choice, and Elrond’s first. 

I think most people have already played by now, but just in case I am tagging @raointean @thesolarangel and @greyjedijaneite and whomever else has not played yet but would like to!

[aurieeeeeenyx]

oh yeah also jayvik are extremely orpheus and eurydice coded i don't make the rules

[ghost-of-morrowbright]

Thank you for the tags, @myblacksailstales, @small-carbon-lifeform and @daughterofthesunlands!

Oh this is hard! I've definitely had some villain crushes in my time but they wouldn't necessarily be considered psychotic. So I will do my best. Also, may I express appreciation for the previous inclusions of Tom Hardy (in general), Alan Rickman's Sherriff of Nottingham (I'm dying because he was also so funny in that) and Gary Oldman as Agent Stansfield?

I have no explanation for this but Anton Chigurh's killing spree across Texas unlocked my Javier Bardem obsession.

For my next choice, the first gif I chose keeps failing to load intermittently for some reason, so here's another just in case:

Ok technically not psychopathic, but Michael Corleone's transition from (relatively happy go lucky) college boy war hero to the calculating and ruthless Don was so chilling I think it fits. Plus 1979s Al Pacino is probably the most beautiful man to grace the big screen.

For my last choice the Obvious Psychopath would be Obvious, but to be honest, I find Ben Walker as Patrick Bateman so unsettling I can't even see him as attractive, which I credit entirely to his acting range and ability. So I'm gonna go with my old vintage crush, Bob Mitchum, who was so terrifyingly good when playing psychos. Here he is as the Rev. Harry Powell in the iconic Night of the Hunter.

I almost chose Max Cady in the OG Cape Fear, but honestly that performance was probably a little too twisted for a fun game. Let's just say that this man could inflict more terror with a crack of an egg than most actors could with several pints of blood at their disposal.

Absolutely 100% no pressure tags to @xximmortalkissxx, @iwanderbecauseiamlost, @partfae, @thrillofhope, @generalkenobitrash and whoever wishes to play.

They put the hot in psychotic

I’m back from my birthday celebrations and now I’m bored 😅 so here’s a silly/fun/hot tag game.

List three psychopathic characters that you think are hot af. Note: they don’t have to be properly diagnosed, but if they’ve got the traits and/or display the behaviour, then they count.

No pressure tags: @varda-starqueen, @valar-did-me-wrong, @iwanderbecauseimlost, @itwillbeourswansong, @daughterofthesunlands, @gingeragenda, @greenleaf4stuff, @wowstrawberrycow, @small-carbon-lifeform and anyone else who would like to play!

[daeyumi]

Hero 💠💎🗡️

[Linktober 2022 Day 17: Link]

[tagarilaghost]

This is exactly how I remember Darkrai's fight at Dark Crater in PMD: Explorers.

(Bless the Snapcube fan-dub)

[misscammiedawn]

Megatron, Soundwave and Shockwave are a stable polycule centered around Megatron's cruelty and ego. It balances. It works.

Then this god damn nerd called Starscream manages to join the polycule and everything goes to hell.

What I'm saying is that this is the plot of Mean Girls and Megatron is Regina George.

[imerian]

My (very old) loscar brooch (?) that i just now made doodles for

More pictures under cut