#which is a well meaning but shitty and dangerous practice

[hungry-hobbits]

i'm saying this as an almost 30yr old person who has kinda come to terms w the fact that i'll probably never be properly gendered in public and am at peace with it: BUT i think a lot of trans people are too hyped up over the idea that you have to be gendered correctly by everyone you ever meet, no matter how briefly, or they automatically have bad intentions - which isn't always the case because unfortunately you're not the main character and people are gonna make mistakes (yes that includes people close to you because everyone slips-up)

people get so hung up over casual, unintentional, and well-meaning misgendering, and are so quick to categorize it with the purposeful, blatant, bigoted type of misgendering when its really like - the old lady scooting past you in the grocery store calling you ma'am/sir out of politeness towards a stranger while she says 'excuse me' is probably not doing a microaggression towards you believe it or not

if theyre doing it maliciously then yes obviously you can feel bad about it, i'm not saying that at all, but its like when sam smith talked about how they were gonna be misgendered til the day they died; it's a hard thing to accept but you gotta accept it if you literally wanna get through any interaction with strangers ever

[gay-jesus-probably]

Okay so I have a lot of thoughts about the whole thing of the Gerudo being a race of entirely women, with the only exception being one man born every hundred years, and that man automatically being their king. Now this worldbuilding comes from Ocarina of Time, and there's obviously a metric fuckton of unfortunate implications there, because it was 1998. And it seems that Tears of the Kingdom is sticking with the lore of Gerudo men being extremely rare and becoming the King of their people, which once again has a metric fuckton of unfortunate implications because it's 2023 and Nintendo has somehow gotten even worse about this shit.

But let's set aside the whole... everything, and look at this from just the in-universe perspective. How does it work? I mean, it's pretty clear that there is no overlap between the kings; the old ones are normally long gone by the time a new one is born, but the Gerudo manage to take care of themselves during the hangtime. So they must have an established system of government and leadership that doesn't involve a king, and somehow that system is set up in a way that does a smooth transfer of power once a new king is born and old enough to take the throne. But why bother always declaring a random guy to be your King when you already have a perfectly functional system in place?

I mean again, the whole thing has a lot of sexist implications, but we're not looking at this from a real world context, we're examining it in-universe. And we could just go the lazy route and say that their king is in charge just because he's the only man, but I don't like that. I mean come on, the Gerudo are a race of entirely women, and most of their outside problems come from Hylian men being creepy about it. They are entirely a matriarchy; there is literally no reason for their culture to have an inherent respect for men, even if the man in question is one of them. And they're desert people; they live in an extremely harsh and dangerous landscape, if they don't have their shit together, they will die. By sheer necessity, their culture needs to put a lot of value in being practical, because if they're stupid about things, people die. They really can't afford to have a shitty leader take over, and just letting some guy take the wheel doesn't really fit with the way their culture must otherwise work.

So again, why the fuck do they bother having a King?

I think it's mainly just a ceremonial position. Yes, if the guy is a good leader he'll be in charge, but if he isn't good at being a King or isn't interested in the job... fuck it, they've already got a functional government system that's been leading their people the whole time, why fix what isn't broken? The title of Gerudo King isn't about leadership or power. I think it's more about belonging. Because the Gerudo are a culture where every single one of them can be defined in the same way... and there is exactly one exception once a century. Men are considered to be inherently outsiders at the best of times, and more often they're enemies. A man born into this culture is a natural outsider; he is completely unique, and that means he doesn't really fit into his community. And well... when someone is fundamentally different from the rest of their community, they tend to be ostracized.

So I think that's why the position of Gerudo King exists. It isn't about them needing or even wanting a man to lead them. The title of King doesn't need to involve any leadership at all. It's about giving the man born every century a place in their society. It's a way of saying yes, you are one of us, you are a Gerudo, you belong here, you are wanted and you are loved.

The Gerudo know that every hundred years, one of their children will be fundamentally different from all of his peers. And so their society is built to ensure that a child who is completely different from them will still be loved and accepted. He will always have a place in their society. He doesn't need to earn their love, he has it just for existing. These are his people.

The title of Gerudo King isn't an inherent position of authority. It's a promise of acceptance.

[starlightomatic]

ngl feel really really weird about the direction we've gone wrt internet safety for teens. when i was a kid it was hammered into us that we should never reveal our real names, our faces, or our ages on the internet. in fact it was extremely important not to reveal your age bc if you did, predators could target you.

now we've decided that the locus of potential sexual harm from adults is not predators who set out to target teens, but rather well-meaning adults who might accidentally let a minor see smut on their blog. so we make everyone broadcast their ages to everyone. which puts a target on the backs of teens who are now advertising to everyone that they're underage.

we also situate sexual harm of minors in "a minor saw sexual content!!" which, listen, im sorry to tell you this but teenagers have sex drives and want to see sexual content. a 16yo is not being harmed by reading a smut fic.

now i do understand why nsfw blogs don't allow minors to interact, bc the interaction constitutes an issue since that's on some level a teen and adult interacting sexually. but the issue is not that a teen saw something sexual, it's that you should not be having that interaction with them. still i am not convinced that that is riskier than giving predators knowledge of who to target.

i also worry what happens when all the well meaning people with best practices turn teens out of their spaces -- who does that end up leaving them with? i'm not saying the solution is to invite them in but there has to be some other, third option. i also think we need to understand the difference between a 17yo liking a sex-related shitpost on tumblr vs an actual intentionally predatory sexual interaction from an adult.

i don't think it's necessarily bad to set a boundary and not allow them to like the shitpost, but i don't like the idea that it was harmful for them to have even seen it. i think it's actually positive for teens to have exposure to adults who are talking about sexuality in consent-based, sex-positive, queer-informed ways to balance out all the shitty, sexist bioessentialist perspectives they're getting elsewhere.

also again, we should remember that the issue is sex-based interactions between teens and adults, NOT that teens are bad or wrong for being interested in sex and sexuality. if a really young teen is too interested in that it could be concerning but age-appropriate levels of sexuality are fine and good and i don't want kids to think they're wrong, dirty, or bad for experiencing sexuality.

i think there's a balance here where we need to make sure interactions are safe without diving headfirst into a spring-awakening-style world where we assume teens are too innocent and pure to know anything about sex which results in risky behavior, not practicing safe sex, and not understanding consent. and i get worried sometimes that the current culture around this leads us there.

i especially worry about this in regards to kink and bdsm because i don't know if there are any educational resources out there geared to teens. i do think it's a good idea to wait until you're 18 before doing anything hardcore or too intense, or even kink at all, but if they're going to anyway (and some will) i'd rather teens have a solid safety backing and knowledge as opposed to just acting on instinct because that can really be dangerous. and something i really worry about is people who turn 18 and immediately show up to play parties and start hooking up with people without having that background knowledge because they were prevented from accessing it before then, since it's so easy for abusers to exploit them. young adult women are already extremely vulnerable in those spaces.

i don't know what my exact solution to these issues is but i feel really concerned about where we're heading. i've been wanting to say something for a while but have been afraid that people would interpret this the wrong way. i'm sure some still will, but i hope this can at least start a conversation about these issues.

[nthspecialll]

When it comes to Abigail Marston leaving John in 1907, a lot of people throw mean comments at her, say that she was unfair for doing so and a lot of other things, however I think that people fail to consider the time that this game is set. This is not our modern day woman, this is 1907, and it might sound like I am stating the obvious but by the hatred that she gets it I think it needs to be said again.

1907!

Do you know the rights that women had then? Or the lack of. Women were bound to their husbands, they weren't allowed to own close to anything and were only allowed to vote in about 4 different states, some women that is. Women were seen as a servant to her husband.

It was also hard for women to earn money, the average woman over 16 working in a factory (as the majority was) earned 5-6 or 6-7 dollars a week, a week! Eggs on average costed 29 cents by the doz, a pound of round steak cost 15 cents and half a gallon of milk costed 15 cents as well.

What about rent? New Austin, which Blackwater and the surrounding area is in, is based of Texas which in 1904 had a rent per room pr month of 28 dollars.

So why would Abigail ever go through all of that? Because of John, because of Jack. Abigail stuck around John for eight years, practically begging him to fix himself, to become better because she knew that she was pretty much dependant on him, because she needs his support to be able to live and she wants to give her boy a chance at a better life but she can't with John constantly picking fights and literally putting her and her son's lives at risk.

A lot of people make it seem like she just suddenly took that chocie, but she didn't, it was a choice that most likely took her years not just due to the financial burden but also the social burden that comes with being a single mom in a time where pre-material sex was seen as a death sin. She could very well be killed merely for being seen with Jack and without a husband.

And not just that, but it was probably also a hard choice because despite of everything she loves John, she really does, yes she screams at him for going out with Saide but who wouldn't. "She won't allow him freedom," no she is scared he is going to die, for us it is easy to say "he isn't going to" because he is a main character and we can just redo if we die taking on twenty skinner brothers or whatnot, but it isn't like that for her. I want you to imagine that your partner/friend/parent told you they were going to fight a gang of who knows how many, you are going to be scared no matter how skilled that friend is because you don't want to lose them. John himself admits it is dangerous work by saying "we always find a way to almost get killed, dont we?" Which Sadie agees to.

Abigail took the choice to leave, putting herself in a terrible situation, not for herself, but for her son. She gave up her one true love so that her son could have a chance at life, have a chance to be better than her and John. It was not easy and it is not something we should shame her for, if anything we should praise her for putting her son before herself.

I love John, I really do, but I think it shows just how shitty of a father he really was, and that Abigail leaving was exactly the push he needed to get himself together, it was the wake-up call he needed. He knew how shitty women had it, he would have to realize how terrible he must have been for her to prefer that over him.

Now am I saying Abigail did everything right? No, she did not. Although I understand her fustrations with him doing bounties she has to realize she is not in a place to be picky about jobs. She did ask John to take on a huge debt for the farm and John is right in one thing "it is legal work that I can handle," and while the farm is taking some time to get up and running it is the best form of income that they have access to.

Now to talk about her annoyance with John going after Micah, it is understandable as it could trigger a decline to their former life of crime or just lead to straight up death. It is unnecessary, revenge is unnecessary, meaning that John is risking their entire life for "nothing." He argues back with "I am doing it for Arthur" but again, yes Micah killed Arthur but killing Micah wont change that, killinh Micah will not bring Arthur back nor put him in a better situation, it is revenge, it is not nessesary, it doesn’t do any good.

If John had died she would not only have lost her husband but also the farm, as women could not own property. I am not that knowledgable on debt laws in 1907, but I would imagine that in some way or another the massive debt John got would end up with her or Jack either way, putting her in a terrible situation.

@heavenlymorals made a similar post back in may 11th where they also explore and explain Mary Linton and Abigail in 1899, it is really amazing and also puts some other light on it.

Sources:

Rent, page 369: https://fraser.stlouisfed.org/title/annual-report-commissioner-labor-6306/eighteenth-annual-report-commissioner-labor-608452?start_page=370

Food, page 233: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=umn.31951000014585x&seq=233

Wages, page 15: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=nnc1.cu56779232&seq=15

[itsghvstfvce]

WHAT'S IN A NAME | PART 2

pairing : tara carpenter x fem!reader

summary : you can keep running, but you can't run from who you are. | read part 1 here!

word count : 4.1k

warnings : scream vi spoilers but anika lives here bc she deserves better, violence stab stab stab, mentions of blood, swearing, reader is momentarily athletic, and as usual, shitty non-proofread writing lmao

Tara drags you back to her apartment with Sam and the rest of her friends that evening.

As you expected, Sam was not on board with you staying with them since you were practically a stranger to everyone. But once she saw Tara beg with the cutest pout on her face, Sam knew there was nothing she could do. She did, however, stick to your side for the entirety of the trip home to ensure you don’t do anything funny which was pretty damn intimidating; after seeing what happened at the frat party, you knew better than to fuck with the older Carpenter. Tara, Mindy, and Chad all snickered at the obvious nervousness that was evident on your face despite your protests of not feeling nervous at all.

At the apartment, Chad and Mindy set the table for dinner while you and Tara prepare the food. The two of you steal quick glances at each other, smiling as you silently check each other out.

“So where’d you learn to cook?” Tara finishes chopping carrots then drops them in the pot and you start stirring, adding a variety of seasoning at the same time to enhance its flavour.

“Self-taught. Ever since I came to the city, I had to learn how to live on my own which meant learning how to cook.”

“Where’d you move from? Do you keep in touch with your parents?”

You halt your movements at the mention of your parents and Tara takes immediate notice of this.

“Sorry, I must have hit a nerve. You don’t need to answer, I get-”

“No, you’re good,” you place the ladle down to the side and face the younger Carpenter to give her your full attention.

“Most of my life I stayed in Cali. I decided to leave for college because I wanted to see what else the world had to offer.”

“And you thought New York was the best place to go?” Tara raises her eyebrow.

You chuckled at Tara’s remark, “well it did lead me to you so yeah, I think it was,” you didn’t mean to come off as flirtatious but it’s the truth. Running away and coming to New York allowed you to meet Tara, who is now all smiles and tries to fight the pink tint that was making its way onto her cheeks, causing you to smile too.

“And your parents?” Her smile fades slightly, knowing she may be treading in dangerous waters. You take a deep breath in before answering her.

“My parents are good people. I have nothing against them.”

“Then why do you get tense when I bring it up?”

“It’s just that we haven’t talked since I came here. I’m sure they didn’t want me to move out but I pushed for it anyway, so I’ve been hesitant to reach out; only because I don’t know if they’d want to talk to me after leaving them,” Tara takes notice in the way your breath hitches slightly, trying to hold back the tears from falling. You really missed your parents; you didn’t want to run away but you couldn’t handle the life you had at home.

Tara walks towards you and grabs your hand that was gripping the counter. You relax at her touch, and she leans her head into your chest.

“I’m sure they miss you as much as you miss them, Y/N. They’re your family and family is always going to be there when you need them to be, whether you like it or not,” Tara then takes a quick look at Sam who was placing extra pillows and blankets down for everyone and a small smile makes its way onto her face. “But just know that you don’t need to contact them right away. Do it when you feel ready.”

“I honestly don’t see that happening anytime soon, but I’m definitely thinking on it.”

She takes her head off your chest and looks at you, eyes darting between the both of yours and you find yourself getting lost in her dark brown orbs once again. But to your surprise, the shorter girl takes a step back, her gaze moving from your eyes to the ground and the hem of her shirt suddenly becomes more interesting.

“I think you should get out of the city, though. Like, the three of you I mean, I wouldn’t blame any of you if you wanted to go. We put you guys in a lot of danger and-”

“That’s very thoughtful of you Tara, but I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” she glances up from her shirt to meet your eyes again but the sudden sound of fake gagging catches the both of you off guard.

“Will you two just make out already?” Mindy complains while setting the cutlery on the table.

“Mindy that is so inappropriate, come on dude!” your face heats up at the embarrassment while Tara and Chad just laugh at the current scene in front of them. But the atmosphere immediately changes when Anika points out the news being reported - Sam was being accused for the killings that took place last year in Woodsboro and they claim she placed the blame on Richie and Amber. When Sam mutes the TV and marches to the dining table, you plant yourself beside Anika while Tara, Mindy, and Chad try to comfort the eldest, deciding that it wasn’t your business to meddle in right now.

“So you and Tara, huh?” Anika asks out of the blue, nudging your arm with her elbow.

“Nah, I think it’s way too early to be saying there’s anything between us.”

“But you like her, don’t you? I mean come on, you look at her the way Mindy and I look at each other.” You simply smile and shake your head. You knew what the truth was anyway and judging by the smile on your face, Anika probably knew the truth now too.

Then multiple phones start going off at once, including yours. Hesitant, you pull out the device from your sweater pocket, and once it’s unlocked, you’re greeted with a picture of Quinn being attacked by Ghostface in her room. First you whip your head towards her door, then turn to the four still sitting at the table before all of you get up and crowd in front of Quinn’s room, grabbing Tara by the arm and pulling her close to you to stop her from doing anything irrational.

The screaming and the banging suddenly stop. The silence is eerie. The six of you stand outside Quinn’s room waiting for any sound or sign of life.

You wait.

And wait.

And wait. Until Mindy finally breaks the silence.

“Run!”

The door opens and Ghostface shoves a butchered Quinn towards all of you. The corpse falls on top of Anika and she lets out a blood curdling scream, leaving you frozen in your spot. Chad grabs Tara and they sprint towards the exit, the younger Carpenter yelling for you to follow but the rest of you couldn’t. Ghostface was right in front of you, and if any of you tried running, he could tackle you immediately.

You’re still frozen. You want to move but your feet are stuck to the ground, and you feel helpless. But you finally gain control of your body when he comes forward and slashes Mindy in the arm. As Sam frantically looks for a knife and you apply pressure to Mindy’s arm, Anika tries to hold onto his legs to stop him from hurting Mindy any more, but it backfires when he wraps his hand around Anika’s neck. She visibly turns red and struggles to get him off of her, but it was no use; he's much stronger than she is. Ghostface effortlessly picks Anika up, hand still tight around her neck, and slams her right against the brick wall where he plunges and twists the knife right into her abdomen causing another scream to escape from her throat. He mercilessly sinks the knife even deeper into the girl, making her scream even louder than she already was.

You glance towards the kitchen to find Sam still trying to find any kind of weapon. Realizing she was taking too long, you release Mindy’s arm and rush towards Ghostface, grasping his shoulder and turning him to face you before swinging a right hook right to his face. With no other option, Sam grabs the knife block and knocks Ghostface in the head making him fall to the ground. You help Anika up while Sam assists Mindy, and the four of you run into Quinn’s bedroom. Meanwhile, Tara realizes none of you were behind her and yells at Chad to go back upstairs, but to her demise, the door was locked and she left her keys inside. She begins to panic, worried about what could happen to her sister, her friends, but most importantly, you. Chad wraps his arm around the girl and starts leading her down the stairs.

You plop Anika down beside Mindy and watch as Sam holds the door closed. The banging stops after a while, but Sam notices the bathroom door was open.

“Y/N, the bathroom door, hurry!” Sam whispers, and you rush to go close it.

“Oh fuck! That guy’s dead,” you cry out loud, frightened by the sight of a carved up man in a literal blood bath. Distracted, you nearly miss Ghostface at the door and you frantically try to shove him out of the bathroom, slamming the door onto him multiple times. He manages to plant his knife into your left shoulder, luckily missing your carotid artery due to the awkward angle. You scream out in pain but still push with all your might to get him out the door. Sam comes to your side to help you push, and when he’s finally outside, you lock the door and help Sam push the dresser to block it. Ghostface doesn’t stop banging and kicking the door so you lean against the dresser to add extra weight. In the corner of her eye, Sam catches sight of Danny in the neighbouring building and he brings out a ladder for the four of you to climb across. With no other choice, Sam reluctantly agrees with his plan.

“You guys go first, Y/N!”

“What? No! Somebody needs to hold the door, let Anika and Mindy go first, then I’ll be right behind you Sam. Go!”

Just as you instructed, you watch as the three of them slowly but safely make their way across the ladder. Once they were all in the safety of Danny’s apartment, they all cry out for you and you look at the door one last time before rushing to the window.

“Come on, Y/N! Slow and steady, you can do this!”

You were never really afraid of heights, but the thought of having to cross a very unstable ladder that was high up in the air just to escape a killer heightened your anxiety by tenfolds. You breathe in deeply before taking your first step, carefully shifting your body weight as needed to avoid making the ladder more than it needed to. The encouraging words that were once spilling from the audience standing at Danny’s window start to become less frequent and eventually stop all together, causing you to stop in your tracks. You look up at them for the first time and find all of them looking like deer caught in headlights.

“What?”

“Y/N, you have to move right now!” Mindy yells almost in desperation.

You turn your head and you find the familiar black and white mask managed to make it into Quinn’s bedroom. You’ve only made it just halfway across and with Ghostface now trying to throw you off the ladder, you tried to pick up your pace.

“Come on Y/N, you gotta move!” Sam yells as Mindy and Anika watch nervously, trying their best to help Danny weigh the ladder down and keep it stable. Despite their efforts, it becomes harder to keep yourself steady. Ghostface repeatedly tosses the ladder up and down and he eventually gets it to turn over on its side so it’s no longer parallel to the ground. Everyone who was watching scream and cry in horror, fearing you'd fall right off but you maintain a solid grip. You looked down and watched how your legs dangled in the air. Your hands were getting sweatier with each moment that passed by and Ghostface clearly wasn’t going to stop until he saw your body smothered on the ground beneath you.

“Y/N you can do this, we got you! Don’t look down!”

Their voices made you look up and you can see the desperation they had to keep you alive. Gathering all the energy you had left, you swing your body to give yourself momentum and cross the remainder of the ladder Tarzan style. You’re finally able to reach for Sam’s hand but you lose your grip on it when Ghostface gives the ladder one last toss, leaving you to hang on the ladder with one hand. The blood and sweat that was on your hand was making you slip more and more until you could no longer hold yourself up. As your hand releases the ladder, Sam, Mindy, and Anika scream at the sight of your body falling in the air. You curl yourself up in attempts to protect your head and break the fall using your left shoulder by making direct contact with the dumpster that was beneath you before rolling off of it and onto the ground. Your entire left shoulder, along with some of your ribs and God knows what other bones in your body, were definitely shattered from the impact and you also felt extremely light headed, but the important thing is you weren’t dead. You deliver that message to Ghostface when you catch him looking out the window, flipping him off with a smirk on your face as the three girls sob and breathe a sigh of relief.

You wake up on a stretcher just outside an ambulance to find Tara, Mindy, and Anika sitting in the back of the vehicle itself with its doors opened. You carefully try to move but pain shoots through your entire body like lightning. The younger Carpenter shoots her head in your direction when she sees you move and she’s quick to grab ahold of your hand.

“Y/N, you’re awake!”

“Hey there daredevil, how you holding up?” Mindy asks.

“I can’t lie, I'm pretty fucking high right now,” you smile and the three of them giggle.

“What you did back there was seriously insane. Like you wouldn’t believe her upper body strength, Tara! She deadass looked like Tarzan or something,” Anika explains excitedly, but it quickly dies down when Mindy starts to talk again.

“Okay but even though it was sort of impressive to watch, you’re still on my suspect list. That could’ve just been a little act to throw us off our tracks. We still don’t know a whole ton about you, other than the fact that you’re part monkey.”

“Hey, I’m no monkey, I'm a human being!” the amount of drugs in your system cause you to slightly slur your words. Mindy smirks and decides to use your woozy state against you all while Anika shoots her girlfriend a knowing smile.

“Hey Y/N, what do you think of Tara?”

“Mindy!” the girl in question protests.

“Tara? Oh golly, she’s an absolute gem!”

“Yeah? Think she’s pretty?”

“Pretty damn gorgeous if ya ask me!” Tara starts to blush at your honesty.

“Okay Mindy that’s enough, let Y/N re-”

“Chad..” Ethan emerges from the crowd and cautiously makes his way towards all of you, worried about the state of his friends at the moment. Chad, however, was unhappy to see his roommate and he slams Ethan against a car to question his whereabouts the previous night. Even after letting him go, Mindy doesn’t allow Ethan to step foot near you.

“Step the fuck back. You’re at the top of my list.”

“I had econ!”

“Ohhhh, econ!! What's econ?” you ask, clearly still in a drugged state.

-

You spend the day in the hospital trying to recover, immense pain still spreading through your body. But when Tara tells you about Gale getting attacked and their plan to try and catch Ghostface, you beg her to let you help out.

“Are you sure you want to be discharged now? You still have a long way to go before you’re anywhere near being fully healed,” the charge nurse asks as she hands you a few papers to sign.

“I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t important. There are lives on the line and I need to help out. Thanks for everything though.”

“Just be sure to take your meds and show up to those follow up appointments, young lady.”

You smile at the lady before making your way down to the hospital lobby where you meet Tara and everyone else.

“You look like absolute shit,” Chad teases.

“Yeah, well you try falling off a ladder then pretty boy” you retort, and he playfully lifts his arms up in surrender.

“Alright captain, where we headed?” you turn to Tara.

“I’ll explain everything along the way.”

“Wait, where’s Anika?”

“I told her it was best if she stayed out of it. She’s safe with her parents,” you nod your head in approval seeing as you definitely didn’t want to see more people getting hurt.

The seven of you travel through the streets of New York City until you’re met with the busy atmosphere of the subway stations. To what you were able to get from Tara’s explanation, there was a massive theatre that held Ghostface memorabilia from over the years, and you were going to try and lure him there so you could all attack him. Although some were protesting against the plan, you thought it was better than just standing around and waiting for his next attack.

The subways were particularly packed with commuters trying to make their way to the different Halloween parties being hosted all over the city. Almost everyone around you was wearing a costume so technically, you were the ones who stood out in the crowd. It was easy to get lost with the amount of people around, so you held onto Tara’s hand as tight as you could but you didn’t miss the glare burning into the back of your head from her sister.

Despite your efforts to stay with them, the number of people made it extremely difficult to keep up. Mindy trails behind you and calls out for Chad to wait up while you call out for Tara, but Danny and other civilians push their way onto the train to force you, Mindy, and Ethan to stay back on the platform and wait for the next one. You watch the train pass by before taking a look at Mindy who lets out a sigh of frustration. The two of you are startled by a hand that touches your shoulder which just turned out to be Ethan.

“Get your Ghostface ass away from us, Ghostface.”

“Wait, so you trust her but not me?”

“I saw Y/N fall off a ladder last night so I know where she was. I can't say the same for you, though.”

“I keep telling you guys I had econ!”

“Just keep your distance, Ghostface,” Mindy pulls you away from Ethan and you two walk further down the platform as you wait for the next train.

“Hey, did you notice his eye?” you ask Mindy while she tried to make him look away from the two of you.

“No, why? Did you see something?” she turns to you.

“It looked like it was starting to bruise. And if I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure I landed a right hook onto Ghostface last night. You think it’s a coincidence?”

“That’d be one hell of a coincidence. He definitely has to be Ghostface, I’m calling it right now. But you’re still not completely off the hook, got it buddy?” you give Mindy a tight lip smile and nod almost immediately, causing her to giggle at your nervous reaction.

-

The train ride was anything but pleasant. With the success of the Stab films, there were a number of Ghostface costumes on the train, causing you and Mindy to be on edge the entire time. Unfortunately, you and Mindy couldn’t stick close together due to the number of people separating you two, but you made sure to keep a close eye on her and to your surroundings.

But thanks to the flickering lights, it was hard to pay attention to your environment when you couldn’t see anything. You frantically turn your head in every direction to ensure you had every space covered and checking on Mindy if she was okay. When you turn your head to the left, you find a Ghostface mask who happened to be staring right at you. You want to think it’s just another random in a costume but the way he keeps his gaze fixed on you gives you the feeling it’s not just a random person.

Anxious, you try and make your way closer to Mindy so you could stay together but as soon as you started to move, he did too. There were a bunch of people in your way, leaving you no choice but to push through them and not even bothering to say sorry. At one point, the lights shut off and it takes a while for them to come back on. You continue your trek to Mindy but it’s no use because people were being bitches stubborn and wouldn’t move out of the way. You look back to see if Ghostface caught up to you, but you can’t make out anything in the dark. The lights finally come back on and Ghostface is nowhere to be seen, confirming your suspicions that it was most likely a stranger.

But when you turn back around to push your way through to Mindy, Ghostface is right in front of you. You attempt to scream but his hand is faster and immediately covers your mouth before pushing his knife right into your stomach. A muffled scream can’t be heard with how loud the train was and the people around you were, so you were left there to struggle and Mindy didn’t even know. He shoves the knife deeper into you and the two of you slowly fall to the ground, yet no one around you seemed to notice what was going on. Ghostface finally pulls the knife out and starts walking towards Mindy but you can’t get up to stop him. The announcer on the train comes on to indicate that the train will be arriving at the platform soon which catches him off guard, and you think he won’t have enough time to attack Mindy, but you were wrong. Ghostface quickly stabs Mindy approximately in the same area as he did with you before he makes a swift exit off the train. The two of you are clutching your stomachs, putting pressure to try and minimize some of the bleeding. Ethan notices both of you and immediately calls for help while he tries to drag both of you out of the train at the same time. He drops you by a nearby post where security guards gather and call for medical services.

“Are you guys okay?!”

“Yeah, we’re so good” Mindy’s sarcasm doesn’t fail to make an appearance despite being in pain.

“Goddammit. I got it wrong again! What the fuck?” she grunts in pain. You, on the other hand, start struggling to keep yourself awake. Your eyelids feel heavy and it’s becoming harder to breathe, the rest of your body feeling limp until your head crashes onto Mindy’s shoulder.

“Y/N, stay with me, come on!”

“I’m just gonna take a nap Min, don’t worry, I’ll be up in no time.” Mindy can feel her heart break hearing the nickname come from you for the first time. Her voice is the last thing you hear before finally letting your eyelids close themselves.

“Fuck this franchise.”

a/n: hello again, reader >:) i'm giving y/n some of chad's armor plot bc let's bffr, anyone would die falling off a ladder like that lmfaooo anyway, thank you guys for all your patience! the next part will be the last one and you will finally get to know who y/n is :) hope u enjoyed!

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Being Team Japan’s Manager:

Miss Manager gets her Period

Team Japan x female reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: period talk, swearing, blood mentioned, period symptoms (cramps, vomiting, bloating, etc)

A/N: I need comfort right now, feel free to ignore

Honestly you should have seen the warning signs YN

But somehow you missed the notification from your period tracking app

You missed the sighs of being extremely tired, moody and just down right agitated

You cried for no reason the other day and it still didn’t register

I mean, it’s not like you are busy or anything

You are the team manager for Team Japan after all

Probably the one of the worlds most dangerous jobs

But also super rewarding 😌

You’ve been the teams manager for a few months now

And you’ve definitely had your period before during practice

But this, this was completely different

You see, never has your period fully started right in the middle of practice

And certainly not with this much vigor 😬

Let’s just say, you aren’t on birth control at all

But you also never really needed it

Because as shitty as birth control can be sometimes, it can be very helpful

Anyways, it was a normal Friday morning and you woke up feeling… off

Like just blah

Honestly you didn’t think much of it because the Olympics were a month away

Which meant that the boys were on edge

Practices were lasting hours and downtime was limited

Not to mention you were dealing with more Bokuto Emo modes than normal and more tantrums from Atsumu and Kageyama

Basically the fatigue and blah feeling wasn’t unwarranted

You checked the mirror, noticing you had a small acne flare up on your jaw

You sighed, putting some coverup on it before heading out

On your way to the gym, you stopped to grab you and the coaches coffee

A typically Friday routine you had developed

Walking into the gym, the sound of volleyballs hit your ears

As well as the agitating, grating voices of those hitting said volleyballs 😒

You barely hit the door when it starts

“YNS HERE!!” Hinata screams

“YN please tell me you finished the laundry yesterday, we ran out of fresh towels and I only have 5 stashed away!”Sakusa chimes in

“YN please help tape my fingers,” Hakuba adds

“YN you promised you’d measure our jump heights today too! I have to show Hinata that I can get higher!” Hoshiumi shouts

“YN do you have that extra nail files? I left my kit at home,” Kageyama says

“YN I need you to toss for me because these other idiots can’t do it like you do!” Atsumu whines

Literally it’s like walking into a daycare but with giant volleyball players 😅

“Guys give me like 5 minutes please!” You shout, walking over to the coaches and handing them their coffee before stomping to your office

“Is Yn ok?” Coach asks as the assistant coach shrugs

You just need a minute to breathe, that’s all you need

Too bad you work with people who don’t understand the idea of “needing a minute to breathe”

*knock knock*

You groan as your door open and Iwaizumi appears

Please, you don’t even want to see Iwa today

Damn YN you ok 👀

“Iwa what?” You say a little annoyed

“Damn, did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something? I just came to give you the training schedules,” Iwa said as you sighed and took them

“Sorry Iwa, I’m just feeling off I didn’t meant it,” you said as Iwa nodded

“It’s cool Yn but maybe drink that coffee or something to help?” He says as you sigh and sit down

You manage to drink approximately 1 sip before Aran is at your door

“YN hey! I was hoping we could go over some plays?” He said as you resigned yourself to the fact that today just isn’t your day

A few hours in, you get ready for the team meeting

Your walking through the gym when the first cramps hit

“Ohh ouch!” You whince as you grab your side

“YN, you good?” Komori asks, noticing immediately

“Yeah I think I’m fine,” you say

“You know Yn, when my tummy’s upset, I go to the brathroom and it helps a lot!” Hinata says as Kageyama rolls his eyes

“Hinata nobody knows more about the bathroom than you do!” He says as Hinata glares at him

“I’m sure I’m fine, it’s almost lunch anyways. I think I just need to eat,” you say

You grab your lunch, sitting with the few mature memebers of the team

The VERY FEW

Aran, Hyakuzawa, Iwaizumi, Komori, Yaku and occasionally Sakusa, if he’s not on one 🙄

Anyways, as your finishing lunch, you stand up and it happens

You rn 👉🏻🧍‍♀️😐😳

The fear in your eyes 😅 trust me YN, we’ve all been there

“Yn you good?” Aran asks as Iwa and Hyakuzawa look at you

“Umm I think my period just started,” you say

Now the fear in your eyes has transferred to their eyes 👁️👄👁️

Please Yn, nothing is off limits with these guys

They talk about bodily functions daily and some of them have sisters, so like they aren’t clueless to what a period is

Before they can even say anything you RUN to the bathroom, and sure enough

“Dammit!” You scream as everyone in a 20 mile radius hears you

“Uhhh Yn, you good?” Yaku asks, knocking on the door to the bathroom

“Yeah but uhh I don’t have a tampon, can you grab me one form my desk?” You asks as Bokuto runs to your office

At this point, they’ve all come to the bathroom hallway and it’s like a team effort to help you 😂

Team bonding if you will

“Crap there isn’t any in here!” Bokuto shouts as Atsumu runs to tell you

“Yn Bo said there isn’t any in your desk!”

“Shit, check my bag!” You scream

“Check her bag bo!” Hakuba shouts

“Nothing!” Bokuto shouts back

“Fuck!” You say, resigning yourself to the fact that you’ll definitely need to make a makeshift toilet paper pad

“YN do you want me to run to the corner store?” Hinata asks

“Would you please? I’m not really looking to make a toilet paper pad,” you said as Hinata nodded

“Wait what’s a ‘toilet paper pad’?” Atsumu asks

“YN send Hoshiumi a picture of the tampons you use and we will go!” Hinata shouts as Hoshiumi and him race out

“Is anyone gonna answer my question?” Atsumu says, annoyed

“Idiot she would have to shove toilet paper in her underwear to stop the bleeding until she got a tampon or pad!” Yaku says

“Omg this toilet paper is so course and had like zero absorbency!” Atsumu shouts

“I know Sumu!! That’s why that’s not ideal!” You say

“YN do you need pain relievers?” Iwa asks

“If you have some, the cramps are getting bad,” you say as Iwa runs to his office

He grabs a heating pack and some pain relievers

He comes back just as Hinata and Hoshiumi return

“Damn that was like 7 minutes impressive!” Komori says

Hinata and Hoshiumi 👉🏻💅💅

“Here Yn, we got them!” Hinata says passing the pads into the bathroom

You manage to get yourself sorted, leaving some pads in the bathroom as you exit

You come out of the bathroom and are greeted with a forest 🌳

“Uhh hey guys?” You say as Iwa hands you the heating pack and some pain relievers

“Are you ok YN?” Bokuto asks 🥺

You just laugh

“I’ll be fine guys, I deal with this every month but I’ll admit, I was a little surprised this time!” You said

“Ok well I think it’s time we get back to work,” Aran says

“I’m super hyped up right now!” Hinata says as him and Hoshiumi race back to the gym

“Is anyone surprised?” Iwa says

“I’m actually surprised they managed to handle the task of getting tampons for Yn,” Yaku interjects

“This isn’t Hinata’s first time dealing with this, he does have a little sister,” Kageyama added

“And Hoshi?” Hakuba says

“He probably just wanted to race Hinata,” you laugh

“Ok guys, let’s go! Yn go sit down and out that heating pad on!” Iwa orders

“Iwa I’m fine-” you argue

“YN I wouldn’t argue with Iwa if I were you,” Sakusa interjects

“Yeah he’s super scary when he gets mad!” Kageyama shivers

“WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!?” Iwa yells as you all stiffin

Aye aye captain 🫡

[privateanxieties]

for all you give (give it back to you)

Summary: The story of how you worm your way into Frank's heart and mind, making him believe he might be worth a second chance.

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader (she/her, no y/n)

Words: 3,300 (hurt/comfort, fluff, some canon-typical descriptions of violence, allusions to sexual intimacy, romance, trauma healing)

--------------------------

It starts slowly, which Frank can attest is uncharacteristic of all events unfolding in his life. Even more puzzling, there's no grand design — it's soft and simple, the way she carves out a spot inside his heart. He runs into her every day on his evening run, and every day he gets more unsettled by the thought of danger lurking in the shadows of alleys and bridges, just waiting to swallow her up. It's not because of any budding affection that he feels, at least not at this point. He doesn't even know her name. What he knows is how he was raised, and if anyone condemns him for being old-fashioned in his views, then so be it. He can't bear knowing she's out there past ten at night, wandering the streets of a shitty New York neighborhood in the name of cardio.

It's a progression of these thoughts that leads him to do the unthinkable and introduce himself one day, and the way he goes about it would make for good nightmare fuel, were he not already stocked up on that.

He pretends to trip and falls on his face. He's tried a version of this before with Sarah Lieberman, and back then just as well as now, he knew there was no other way. You don't just approach a woman who's outside at this time of night, especially if she wants to triple the danger for herself and wear those stupid noise-cancelling headphones. He'd expect someone his own age to have more sense than that, and sometimes he wonders if she's not just looking for trouble on purpose.

His assumption is rather quickly disproven, because nobody who speaks in the manner she does could ever be brazen enough to start a fight. No — she's all softness and kind eyes, and the gravel in his palms stops stinging the moment she pins him down with a concerned look and a soft hand around his wrist. It's a minute or two before she's got him following her to her private practice just a block away, because apparently he's a little too good at faking accidents. The nasty cut she stitches up for him with quiet precision and a rambling mouth doesn't even hurt, not when he's so focused on whatever's in her voice that he finds so familiar. She speaks in a way he can't seem to shake, like there's something there that his own mind knows intimately yet remains secretive about.

He should've said no to grabbing coffee the next day. He really should've refused, because now that he knows what her laugh sounds like, he's in real trouble. And he fights it, at first. He gives it his goddamn best. But a man like him knows when he's done for, despite all the bravado and all the willpower. He knew it the moment she looked away from him and stared into her black coffee, quietly telling him she was glad he let her help him, that he was going to say yes to the next coffee they'd grab together. And the next. And the next.

And eventually, his own rambling mouth — a novelty exclusive to her presence — reveals things it really shouldn't, like a first and last name he's supposed to have buried and forgotten, along with an identity he's sure will ruin dinner. The information falls on deaf ears. Not because she isn't paying attention; she seems to look at and see only him as he moves between the stove and the counter inside her kitchen, prepping his mother's old pasta recipe. No, Frank has a feeling she isn't just listening. Her gaze is as soft as always, yet this time there's a spark that finds him trapped, frozen in place in the middle of the kitchen while she raises one delicate eyebrow and says two baffling words: I know. Then, even more perplexing: I was waiting for you to be comfortable.

Comfortable. What does it mean for him to be comfortable? Is that what he was when he opened his mouth and revealed the truth? Or was he just compelled by attentive eyes and an openness that hurt to be in the presence of while he was still hiding his true self? He doesn't deserve her acceptance. He's not even sure he wants it. He's been past wanting things for years, just waiting for life to happen as he crawls along, fragments of what could've been fighting to quell his breath on each new day bestowed upon him. He's got nothing to want. Nothing to hope for.

So why doesn't he move when she approaches him, slowly, fearlessly, in the way one might a startled creature? Why does his chest tighten and expand all at once when she greets him tenderly, a whisper of his real name falling from her lips? Most importantly of all, why does she keep worming her way further inside his gut, and why doesn't it burn like he knows it should?

Maybe it's because she does it at a glacial pace, which a famously impatient man can't help but respect her for, at the same time that he fears the place from which that tenacity springs forth. A restoration project of his magnitude isn't just daunting — it's straight up dreadful, rotten floorboards and black mold eating away at every inch of a once proudly robust construction. It's not smooth sailing as the months dissolve away, but she perseveres. He has bad days and worse nights, and every time they bid each other farewell once the clock strikes eleven and their run ends, Frank's mind is left to stew in words and gestures that make no goddamn sense — his and hers both.

For one, he's smiling what feels like all the fucking time. What he's so happy about when his life is what it is, only God may know. What he knows is that there's no possible way to keep his lips flat and his chest empty when she tells him stories of long nights in the emergency room spent removing dubious objects from places they really shouldn't be. One too many phallic contraptions was what it took for her to finally quit hospital work and open a private practice. Frank tries and fails to keep a straight face while asking her to describe the experience. She, on the other hand, meets his challenge head-on, attempting to draw a diagram of the witty invention on the napkin resting by her coffee — thus, a weird game of pictionary unfolds between them, and they have to stuff their pockets with no less than eight scandalous napkins each before leaving a generous tip for giggling like lunatics the entire time.

Next, and maybe this one's all in his head, but she's on a frequency his stubbornness can't find fault with. She gives him space when he needs it. Sometimes they don't see each other for days, despite living less than five blocks apart, and never does she push for contact. She doesn't ask him what he does during that time away, maybe because she knows or maybe for the same reason she didn't tell him she knew who he was. Maybe she's waiting for him to confess how he still spends a good deal of his nights, despite not needing the confirmation. She lets him come to her and he does it without fail each time, though his little I'm sorry for my radio silence apology tokens don't hold a lot of variety. She likes flowers, coffee and whatever baked goods he can get his hands on, so now Frank is a regular at the neighborhood florist and a fancy bakery on 51st knows his order.

Most of all, he's baffled by how little needs to be said between them for a world of knowledge to be exchanged. She gently coaxes one or two sentences from him that leave a lot to be desired in the way of details, but then she meets his eyes as they sit next to each other on her couch. And finally, he tells her — not with words, but with his own eyes, blinking rapidly or not at all, dry as the desert one moment and the next suddenly flooding. He tells her about a little girl he had, one whose body would have only been identified by prints or dentals. He weeps over his baby boy without so much as a cry, because he too left the world a worse place for his departure. And where he used to mutter it to himself repeatedly, Frank says his wife's name only once— he says it with the same reverence as always, and he hopes she won't begrudge him the comfort he receives from another woman.

He knows Maria wouldn't blame him, but he's not so sure he isn't blaming himself. Whatever he's doing here, it needs to stop. Whatever he tells himself her soft touches mean, or those looks, or that smile — he can't be right. This isn't meant for him. He shouldn't have this. There should be no one he looks forward to seeing, no one he thinks about before the thundering fall of hammer on concrete and after the laying of his body down to rest. There shouldn't be anyone to stay his hand and extinguish his anger. Only rage should exist, because rage is the only thing he really has. He doesn't know what he is if not this, and he makes the mistake of telling her as much while she stitches up the first real wound he's gotten in a long time. Neither of them pretends not to know what the result of a knife fight looks like, and he doesn't tell her how it went down because she doesn't ask. It's a good thing, because every time he closes his eyes and sees that woman's face as she was held at knifepoint, his mind superimposes different features onto it and his blood boils over. All he saw in that moment was her. All the cops are going to see at the scene will be scattered fingers and a leaking skull.

Frank himself doesn't feel very put together as he fights sleep under her caress, a hug he didn't ask for suddenly enveloping him whole and quieting the one-track mind winding him up repeatedly. He was late for their run tonight. That could've been her. His fault, his fault, his fault. The words disappear when she finds the nape of his neck with a gentle touch, drawing him into her chest and resting her cheek atop his head when he finally relaxes. His own hands grasp at the plush edges of her exam table, mimicking her gestures almost subconsciously but not daring to reciprocate on actual flesh. Seconds pass, and then minutes.

My sister died because of me.

The words startle him like a shot went off right by his ear, when in fact they were barely whispered. Frank, however, doesn't move when frightened. He's learned this about himself: he can never twitch a muscle in any of his nightmares, can never stop what he knows is coming. He can't stall the tragedy any more than he can avoid feeling its effects.

I used to run with her. That was our thing. I got mad about something… something petty, I'm sure. And I didn't go one night. Just one time. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was dangerous. Should've told her not to go, but I didn't. Cops were at my door the next morning. She was stabbed four times. The thing is, she would've survived, if she'd had someone to help her. Someone who knows their way around first aid.

He can feel her shaking from their closeness, can infer what she's thinking by the slight change in her voice. She's all blame, that's what it is. That's what it was when she first spoke to him all those months ago, and he latched onto it without even knowing, pulled in by soft eyes that glimmered in understanding. He thought it was unending kindness that he glimpsed in there, and in part, that was still true. But there was something else that lingered, something that seemed to inform her approach with him over the better part of a year. That frequency he stupidly thought she was on didn't happen by magic, or by fate. They didn't click because of some grand plan. It was simply life in all of its unfairness, dealing out blows to whoever it found with their guard down, deserving or not.

She doesn't deserve this. Frank knows it, and his chest puffs up in defiance of the pain in her voice as she tells him about the night they met from her perspective. It was a few short weeks after her sister's death. That evening run had become a ritual of a different nature, and he realizes with some horror what it was she'd been trying to do. The headphones made sense now, not as a tool of the careless, but of a person who cared too much. Cared enough to try to invite danger inside, scope it out and lure it back from the shadows in the hopes that she might look upon it herself. Confront it herself.

She confirms as much when she tells him they still haven't found the killer.

She made herself an easy target so she could look a murderer in the eye, and with that thought, he does finally recoil. He wants to argue. Wants to refute the notion. He can't. He can't, because to take that truth away from her would be to take it away from himself. She did what she thought she had to do. The difference is, she still has all her humanity left, yet the blame can't seem to leave. It eats away at the light inside her eyes, and despite that she's not bitter. She doesn't recoil from company or people in general, and she doesn't abandon everything she knows in favor of oblivion and a corner to waste away in. It's unfair. It's not right to live with it and still have to function. It's not right to have to get up and be a good person in a world of shit. It's not right… and she does it anyway. For a man who sees only one kind of injustice, the realization is almost enough to demolish him. That's life — you can be riddled with guilt and still unflinchingly gracious.

It's just never that simple, Frank muses quietly, until it is. It's never this quiet in his mind, unless she's somewhere near.

For the first time ever, he wishes she wouldn't wait for him to move or speak. He can see it in her face, what she needs, but much like him, she won't ask for it. He wishes she knew that there's nothing she can't ask of him, but since she doesn't, he's gonna have to make that clear. And if he has to move at a glacial pace too, then so be it. He'll worm his way in just like she did, and he hopes she won't begrudge him the same tenacity she showed. By the way she leans her cheek into his palm, he doesn't think she will.

It's a little easier after that, as more months melt away, to stop questioning everything they do together and its meaning. When they laugh together, it doesn't feel foreign or undeserved. When he has bad days, he doesn't hide any place beyond her apartment, doesn't stray much farther than her sheets and doesn't utter many words besides praise for how she moves and feels around him. When she has bad days, which he's come to learn the look of, he unearths the meaning of devotion to something other than rage. He's not known desperation like this for longer than he can remember, because it takes a while to figure out what she needs and how to help. He thought he could see it clearly, but all he'd really been looking at was another one of those injustices. Frank turned his grief into anger. She's unfairly burying hers inside and watching it lay waste with a careful eye, never cowardly enough to admit to what she really wants. She's so brave, this woman. His.

He almost can't believe he's thinking it. Frank's role as protector ended with the last breath his family took. He didn't think it could ever be born again, but with the first tears to fall from her eyes, a brief moment sees him meeting a different type of rage. It scalds, but doesn't leave him empty. That's how it used to feel when he was all consumed with it just a few years ago. Instead, it's just a means to an end now. So he starts going out again, looking for the shadows that haunt her, because the only thing that will help her is the thing only he can provide. Kisses help. Hushed promises soothe. True healing, and he knows this in his bones, can only come after an end, and that's what she never got. She graciously gifted him a fledgling second life, but he won't start living it until she meets him halfway.

You did it for me. Let me do it for you.

He doesn't try to lie to her — it doesn't even occur to him. He tells her the truth and his plan in full as she sits on the couch and he paces her living room restlessly, now and then chancing a look at her. At first, there's silence. It stretches unbearably, and when she speaks, the tide breaks.

I don't know what hurts more. The fact that she's gone, or that it's my fault.

Hey—

No matter what, that won't change. I've thought about it. Killing the man who did it won't make it any less my fault or her any less dead. Frank, I—

Sweetheart—

It's you. You're… the only part of this equation I didn't see coming. You're the only thing that makes a difference. When I have bad days, I don't think about the man I want to see dead. I think about the one that makes me feel alive.

She says things like this sometimes — things that yank his heart straight from his chest and stomp on it until it comes apart at the seams. He's practically vibrating with it, this need to say something in return, but nothing rises to the magnitude of her confession. At least, nothing that he thinks he's earned the right to say to another person again. But his girl… She knows. He can see it in her eyes that she knows, because he's on her knees in front of her, holding her face in both his hands. Frank has done so much with them throughout his life. He's taken more than he's given. He's hurt more than he's comforted, ripped apart more than he's put together. What he now uses them for is as sacred as a thing can be, because if he won't speak it with his lips, he'll press it into her skin with his fingers. If the words won't form in his mouth, he'll use it to adorn her body with the reverence of a man who has found and lost and found again.

In the end, as his hands rewire themselves for holding and forget all else, he stops questioning it entirely. Whether by accident or by design, what's been given to them both is not something to make sense of. It's something to cherish, a devotion to each other that consumes not, but instead nurtures. He knows now the answer to that most important question: if she wormed his way inside his heart and the path she trailed doesn't burn, it's because she belonged there all along.

.

.

.

-fin-

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this piece as much as I fell in love with it in just one afternoon. Please let me know what you thought of it, and if you liked it, kindly allow others to reach it through a reblog or comment. Thank you for reading.

[mslanna]

What about Raphael realizing that Tav thinks she means nothing to him? Maybe another fiend is getting wrecked by Raphael, so the other fiend grabs Tav to use as a living shield & hostage and is all "Unless you want this mortal to die, you'd best stay back!" only for Tav to give a sad laugh and tell the enemy fiend "You're an idiot if you think I mean that much to him." I just really want to see Raphael having an 'Oh 💩' moment regarding his feelings for his little mouse and how he had been handling (or failing to handle) it... 😅

enby Tav without body configuration Angst and anger happy end Read on AO3

Nobody's Fool

One good thing that came from the tadfools company to his little mouse was that by now, Tav did not suffer shitty father figures. Or mothers. Any kind of sub-par parent. They set Ulder Ravengard straight and got up in the face of any god trying to control their followers through bad parenting practices. Vlaakith was fighting her unruly daughter now and Mystra lost Gale to the plight of mortals. Even Shar was having troubles.

Lucky for him, that Raphael had a truly spectacularly bad father to show for. An irresistible cause for Tav. So instead of hobnobbing it out with the gentry of Baldur's Gate or kicking back at the wizards tower in Waterdeep, they were back. At his side this time, where they belonged. And they kicked ass.

A beautiful sight to watch his paladin – their oath might as well be to him at this point – throw themself into battle. Their armour – hand-picked by Raphael himself to reinforce their strengths and highlight their ferocious beauty – shone with reflecting light on the golden pattern and splatters of enemy blood.

It was almost enough to distract Raphael from his own role in the fight. He rained hellfire over the attaching devils. Some were not smart enough to realise the difference to normal fire which couldn't hurt them. They paid for their stupidity with their lives.

Ksula didn't like that but the devil also didn't care about the deaths of his underlings. While the devil had expected the parlay to be a trap, he did not anticipate how few people Raphael needed to take him down. Yurgir with a squad of cambions. Korrilla. And of course, Tav.

Tav did the work of a squad all by themself. The few opponents getting past them, close enough to be a danger to him, were easily picked off by Korrilla. And Yurigr wiped the floor with what was left of Ksula's forces. If the other devil was smart, which Raphael doubted, he would make a desperate dash for a last second deal any moment now.

Ksula did, but not in the way Raphael expected. Black smoke shot from his hands and materialised into sticky tentacles around Tav's armour. With a jerk, Ksula pulled the paladin towards him. Tav stumbled, not fast enough on their feet for the lighting speed. They crashed into the devil who immediately put his blade to their throat.

The helldusk armour only left a tiny weakness because the wearer needed to be able to turn their head. But Ksula knew about it and exactly where to apply to blade to pry the plates apart.

"If you want your mortal to live, you better surrender," Ksula grinned.

Raphael's blood turned to ice, churning through his veins and extinguishing all fire. His first instinct was to launch himself at Ksula and rip his throat out. An appropriate reaction, though endangering Tav's life. His eyes narrowed in on the blade sitting between the armour plates, teasing Tav's skin.

He shouldn't hesitate. His devil nature demanded action regardless of cost. Raphael looked at Tav and the cold in his veins froze solid. Tav was not a cost he was willing to pay. Tav was – not expendable. He growled under his breath.

Of course he was protective of his little mouse. They were an asset, a treasured former client. Loyal to a fault without contract or binding agreements. Of course he kept them close. Kept them safe. Still, If Ksula had Korrilla in his grasp, Raphael doubted he had hesitated.

The maelstrom of his thoughts came up with no feasible solution. Anything he could do endangered Tav. But if he yielded now, Ksula would retreat with the perfect shield. He'd never let Tav go again, the perfect – and only – safeguard against the cambion. Raphael glanced to Yurgir and Korrilla, both waiting for instructions.

He had none. The thought that harm befell Tav – irreversible, deadly – was unbearable. Raphael's body froze up in a panic unknown. He simply could not endanger his little mouse. At least Tav would live if he surrendered now. There would be a time to save them. Hopefully.

A drop of sweat mixed with enemy blood ran down the side of Tav's face. He would make everybody who dared touch them suffer for eternity. He'd scour the word, all realms and the nine hells for any who laid hand on his little mouse.

The force of the possessive rage surprised Raphael. At the same time, it conveniently covered the deeper roots of it. His blood ignited again, ready to strike. His little mouse would be safe. They were his and after this battle, they

It was Tav who broke the silence. An unexpected fit of laughter shook their body so hard, a thin line of blood seeped down the blade. "You're as stupid as you look," they got out between bouts of laughter. "You think that will stop him? Raphael? He doesn't care."

The words cut the cambion to the bone. But they also relaxed Ksula's grip on his mouse a little. A smart ploy. If Tav could convince the Ksula he did not care…

"Oh my, you really believe he cares!" Tav wheezed. "I'm a tool, Ksula. Well-kept, honed and treasured, but just a tool still." They looked at Raphael, their eyes dark with a sadness glowing deep in them. "I'm not even the one most difficult one to replace."

Their face fell into a wistful resignation and Tav went limp in the devil's grip. "It's alright. I always knew it'd end like this."

What was that supposed to mean? Anger flared up in Raphael. How dare they resign in the face of – well, in the face of what exactly?

… tell me, oh apple of my eye…

Words spoken to serenade Tav into a deal with him. Words used and put at the forefront. A perfect façade. When did it slip? At what point was it not a sweet lure any longer? Raphael frowned. This feeling was not new. He avoided putting a finger, or a name, on it. But the hot surge of anger, hate and desperation made it impossible to ignore.

His eyes softened as he looked at his little mouse. His little mouse. On a crusade against shitty parents for him. A flimsy disguise if he had ever seen one. But he had accepted it. If Tav needed an excuse, they should have it.

Their eyes showed that the excuse was now discarded on the floor. Only soft truth shone in their gaaze. A truth he would have to confirm as soon as they were alone. His lips tightened into a thin line. However he would get his mouse of this predicament, their reward would be truly infernal.

"Do I get last words?" Tav asked softly. They glanced at Ksula.

"Make it short." The devil forced Tav's head up with his blade.

Raphael wanted to cut his tongue out. For a start. There were many forms of torture and so far he had never applied all of them to the same individual. Ksula would be the first. His fingers trembled with the need to make a fist. But his best chance was to seem unaffected, just as Tav claimed he was.

How could they even claim that? Why would Tav believe such drivel? He had been generous with his gift, time and attention. They had a place in his House of Hope, at his side in all of his plans. A subject he'd have to breach vigorously.

Tav smiled at him. It wasn't really sad and they slowly raised their empty hand as if reaching for him. The hand changed course in the last moment and Tav cast their words with a soft sigh: "Temperari Monstrum."

[loving-n0t-heyting]

When I went to the hospital after my botched hanging in college, my stay actually extended across two psych wards within the same institution: the third floor (where I was admitted first), and the second (where they transferred me for a while before eventually releasing me). The former was for the really severe cases (the homicidals, the suicidals, the dangerously psychotic), while the latter was divided into the half for “chemical dependence” and the half for extremely sad college students. In my case, they sort of graduated me from the third to the second as an intermediary step before release once they thought I was no longer an imminent threat to myself

As you can probably infer, the limitations on yr personal freedom on the third floor were a lot more severe: it was the one with the strap down bed in the isolation chamber, no access to yr own clothes, everything locked down, no razors or worthwhile pens/pencils. On the second, the atmosphere was friendlier, they let you visit the cafeteria for meals and take supervised walks on the grounds, and there were a few more little indulgences in what you could keep and use. And ofc you saw less use of physical restraints etc

But the more I reflected on my time there, the clearer it became how much more tolerable the third floor was. One difference was pretty straightforward: while you had to attend a certain amount of group therapy there in order to graduate down a floor, they didn’t force you to attend any particular sessions, and didn’t bug you if you wanted to spend yr time in yr room reading instead. On the second, you were obliged to attend every single ludicrous session every day, on pain of being stripped on yr right to eat in the cafeteria downstairs.* (Ofc you might say, Well that’s still an improvement bc upstairs you could not eat ANY meals in the cafeteria; this response totally fails to understand how stigma and isolation practically function)

But this merely points the way to the real difference between the two. The third floor had a sort of manifest, monomaniacal teleology, and every deprivation of yr personal freedoms served to optimise for this variable: the function of the floor was to keep you from injuring yourself or others. Everything else followed, in bloodlessly paperclip maximising fashion, from this basic goal. And while I could not and cannot agree to this optimising heteronomy of the ward’s institutional will, I could at least understand it, to an extent even respect it

The aims of the second floor, by contrast, were very nebulous. This went along with the staff clearly enjoying a higher opinion of themselves, and all the condescension to go along with that. The pretence of individual respect and affirmation suffused all the minor privileges with a vague sense of indebtedness, though ofc the staff would never put it that way. They would say, instead, that respect is mutual and trust is built interpersonally, meaning that their letting me eat shitty fake eggs straight from the basement dining hall once a day entitled them to my simpering perpetual deference. Where one storey above they sensibly anticipated fear in accord with conditional threats, here they expected gratitude in response to tenuous privileges

When I explained this to my gf, she replied that a lot of my stranger political impulses could probably be described metonymically as attempts at moving from the second floor back to the third. Which is pretty perceptive tbh

[katsukota]

Mean x Meaner

(part two)

I'm writing some of this the same day as part one but i wanted to be mysterious and make it have multiple parts.. 🤫

Same warnings as last time probably ! Spoiler references to the anime and chapters, Part one : 💗

Eventually, and reluctantly, you learned more about each other.

To you, "Bakugou Katsuki" You learned to be his name, was egotistical, over his head, and bound to die in a petty battle after making a stupid mistake. Not one you'd ever make, of course.

You also knew, his birthday was April 20th. A taurus, but on the cusp of aries which made sense. He had a childhood friend who "Pisses me off even more than you do", and had a singular dimple.

The main thing you learned, and what you were most excited about, was finding out he liked spicy food. Just like you.

After being the leagues captive for a good minute, you'd grown unfortunately comfortable and accepting of your situation. Of course, your content mindset didn't change your bossy, and demanding personality. The league had to grow accustomed to you as well, so when you screamed at god knows what hour, shocking only Bakugou, they weren't surprised at your request (more of a requirement) of any spicy food, and now.

Bakugou wasn't new to bossing around and bullying villains, honestly everyone really. But he couldn't help but be left in astonishment seeing how you practically walked part of the league like a dog. You were dominating, and it was clear to him and the LOV, that some demands were to be met if they wanted not even your cooperation, but basic behavior. If they didn't want a shit show, and possibly an escaped witness, your asks were top priority. For a captive, you asserted a role above those who you saw as inferior, even if they had the upper hand. You strung them along, giving them crumbs of hope that you'd help, taking their gifts and turning your head when they asked for anything in return. And that was at best, if push came to shove, he heard of the stories of you and the villains getting into fights that you'd sometimes share during late nights. But nevertheless, you never left, even though you clearly could. You never seemed to even be curious about what could lie outside of this shitty underground bar. You were content with the mutual Stockholm Syndrome you and the league had been trapped in.

Thats how you two ended up there, two bowls of spicy udon. Whilst Bakugou was suspicious, you were relaxed, eating it while complimenting a "Kurogiri" for his cooking.

When you noticed him still being tied up, you got closer, and held the large, bowlish spoon up to his lips.

"Eat."

He wondered what this place was doing to him. If anyone else had even dared to think of this, the whole building would have been sent flying into the air. He would've created a coffin for you in the sky.

But, here he was, opening his mouth carefully to let you press the utensil against his tongue.

A scary thought bubbled in him, that perhaps it wasnt what this place was doing to him, but what you were doing to him.

As he went to swallow, he felt the end of the spoon get jabbed against his uvula and hit against his throat.

Fuck that. You werent doing anything to him. Besides making him feel this burning feeling. It must be hate.

"Hey ! What the fuck ?" He scowled, his face looking like one of a pitbull, bread to fight and be dangerous, but when his fangs were beared, you couldn't help but coo at him.

You laughed again, the one he hated so much. The one he hated falling asleep too, and waking up too. He hated you, and all your pranks, he hated villains, and he hated that they had brought you here. Of course, he hated that because it meant he had to deal with you. He couldn't give less of a shit about you outside of his tolerance. Right ?

To Bakugou, You were like Pandora's Box. But he hadn't opened you, he was thrown into a cage, where a tiger pounced out of the box and injected all the wonders and horror into his brain like a lobotomy.

They were obnoxious, annoying, bossy, rude, loud, brash. The type of person if you were walking in the hallways, hes sure he wouldn't even have the chance to move out of your way before you'd knock him over on purpose. Hes sure that during movie nights, you wouldn't choose a movie you liked, but calculate which one could scare or piss off the others the most. You were a fucking demon.

And worst of all, you were like one of the demons on his shoulder. He was stuck tied up, and even though you absolutely could get him out, absolutely run off together, (hed ditch you soon after, obviously), but instead you stayed behind him, resting your head on his shoulder to piss him off.

"Stop touching me, freak." He snapped, counting down the seconds until the heroes would save him. He wondered, what would happen to you ? Would you even want to leave ? Would you decide to finally join the league ? Would he fight you someday in the future ? Not that it mattered. He could obviously beat you.

You lifted your head up slightly, still in his space, but not touching him. "Hm ? I'm not touching you ? Is your brain fried from all that stupid hero shit ?"

He butted his head against yours, knocking you away slightly. "You're so hypocritical. What about you and your villain shit ?"

"Pfft." You wrapped your arms around his chest. At first, he almost became flustered. Confused at the escalation in touch. "I'm not a villain. I think all of you roleplayers are stupid." Your arms lifted, locking the boy into a chokehold. Not enough to harm him seriously, but enough to rough him up.

He let out an amusing strand of chokes and curses, "I'm gonna blow you to bits !" or "Youre so fucking done when I get out of this crap !" The usual bickering.

Your sadistic tendencies and the laughter you didnt even try to hide ran down his spine. "You sound like a fish out of water, cat got your tongue ? Cmon. Spit it out." You loosened your arms as tears of excitement threatened to spill past your lash line. You'd never admit it, but having someone around did make things more entertaining.

Though, you and Toga had a few hangouts, and Mr Compress was no stranger. You've kept Kurogiri company while hes cooked, you and Twice have had hilarious conversations. You aren't a fan of villains or heroes, but you understand and listened to Spinner whilst he talked about Stain. You wouldnt say you were friends with any of your captors, but youd be lying if you said you didnt have your fair share of human interaction. So why was suddenly having someone like Bakugou around making things more lively ? You attributed it to how easily you could tick him off, and how you two naturally clashed. Nothing else.

Tomorrow would be the official indoctrination. You knew this, as on the first of every month they'd bring you out to the main 'living room' space and gather around you, having an attempt at converting you. You were excited to see how Bakugou would react.

You thought more, unable to sleep. Your ideals were clear, and set in stone. Everyone playing pretend, thinking their some big shot hero or villain was stupid to you. It was a fancy way to make cops and robbers seem like fun.

But if they did convince Bakugou into joining, what would you do ? Its not that you want to be a villain, but the thought of him having that power over you, turning on to the side of your captors made you sick.

No it didnt.

You didn't care about the fact they were your kidnappers, you knew that had little to no control over you. So why does the thought of him leaving make you feel so sour ? Maybe you just don't want to be alone. It can't be anything more.

"What's got your face looking all confused and uglier than usual ?" A gruff voice spoke out.

"Fuckin creep, looking at me while I'm trying to sleep ?" You spat back. Usually you were just rude without any anger, but right now you weren't in your best mood. "Last I checked there isnt any mirrors, so go to sleep before I bash your fatass head in."

"Well fuck me for making sure you weren't dying over there."

"Tomorrow they're going to officially try and bring you into the League of Villains." You looked at him, ignoring the previous scuffle. Usually you wouldn't have told him, curious to see his blind reaction. But you wanted answers, and you were going to get them. "Only god knows why they want your weak ass, youd contribute nothing."

"Shut up, will you ?! I crush the weak, don't categorize me as that, ill fuckin kill you." A nerve was clearly hit, but when is it not ?

"So, you crush the weak ? Yea that sounds strong." You said sarcastically, if he was strong then he'd pick on strong people. But you knew you couldn't get on his ass for that. "Think you'll join the league then ? They don't just crush the weak. They crush everyone and everything. Seems like your idea of fun."

"You're out of your mind." He groaned. Hed had this conversation with you about every twenty minutes. "The heroes are coming, every minute I know they're getting closer and closer. They're gonna get us out of here." His heart sped up. Us ? Why the fuck would he say that. "That's why I'm gonna be a hero. Theyre way fuckin cooler, and always win." Maybe if he was already a hero, he could have saved you from this place sooner.

You rolled over, unable to look him in the eyes. Why was it ? Your heart felt weird, and you felt oddly warm at the usage of 'Us'. "You're delusional," you sighed, "Even if they do save "us", it's not like I'm gonna be some hero."

"Well why not ? It's not like.." He paused. He'd never said anything like this before, 'complimenting' someone wasn't his thing. Fuck he hated you, he hated you for making him say such things. "It's not like your quirk is all that shitty. Like you said, people like us get kidnapped by these losers for a reason."

You wanted to kill him. He wasn't being an asshole, you couldn't even justify just slapping his brain out of his ear. But implying you'd ever be one. It was just silly. You didn't trust yourself to speak, surely it'd shake. Out of rage, of course.

When he saw you respond with a middle finger and lay further away, he changed his approach. "Fine, then what are y'gonna do ? You're my age, you have to be in school. Theres a general study where I go, im sure you could get accepted."

"Pfft, are you gonna miss me or something ?" You snickered. It's starting to sound like he wants you to come with him. Deep down, the thought of coming with him is sweet. It feels happy. But happiness doesn't last, and you doubt that that's what he means. You're just twisting it to tease him.

"What, like you won't ?" You sucked your breath in. What the fuck is he about to go on about ? "Why did you tell me about the League's plan tomorrow ? I know you would've loved to see my face when it randomly came up. Don't tell me you were trying to figure out what I was gonna do so you could gauge your next action ?" You could hear the smirk on his face.

"You're so stupid." You said, sounding unbothered. "Just tryna make sure you don't turn into one of my captors. Sure you'd love to flaunt that power imbalance in my face." You already knew this was not the case.

"Do you think im stupid ?" He groaned, annoyed at your excuse.

"Obviously, the fact you even asked when I made that clear is proof enough." You yawned, pretending to be bored of everything that was Katsuki Bakugou.

"The League is like your fuckin lap dog, if anything you'd just get control over me."

"You already are a dumb dog, I can control you as much as I want from inside this cell. Now shut up before I put you down."

"I'm really going to kill you someday."

[thongmingi]

straight down the gun. hongjoong/seonghwa.

rating: E content: hongjoong is jealous. gunplay, gunsucking, obsession & jealousy, implied/referenced murder/suicide. dead dove do not eat. words: 1,613

originally for kinktober and then i decided i don't care to commit. happy birthday @seonghwalazia i hope u love it <3

ao3

Seonghwa is beautiful and he knows it well.  Uses it to his advantage, batting pretty lashes and smiling that million-won smile while he speaks in a low chest voice that he knows drives men insane.  Hongjoong can see the fluorescent lights of the gas station flash off the metal of his gun as Seonghwa flashes it to the station attendant; a threat.  A threat that does its job but that highlights the slip of skin where his pants have ridden down and his shirt ridden up just enough to expose that honey-glazed abdomen while the cashier stands there ogling with his hands up in self-surrender.

That he can see it from the getaway is telling enough that it’s on purpose.

It’s not lost on Hongjoong, the way Seonghwa gets under his skin and does it so clearly on purpose.  It’s that fucking tanktop, the one that hangs just a little bit loose over his slender frame and exposes a bit too much of his chest, bunches and rides up enough to expose slips of skin that should be saved for Hongjoong alone.

Rage blossoms under his ribcage, creeping up the column of his throat the same way it always does.  It’s smothering, what Hongjoong feels; his chest feels tight and hot and his hands leave damp spots on the leather steering wheel cover when he shoves an anxious hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead.

The cashier is lucky he’s getting out of this alive.

It’s a familiar song and dance, this; Seonghwa does it on purpose, and it’s not ignored.  They finish their business, knock out the security cameras, and drive away in their unplated car to the shitty, rundown motel on the other side of town where Hongjoong makes Seonghwa understand where he’s done wrong.

Practiced, efficient.  The same routine they’ve had since they started running, which is how Seonghwa finds himself on his knees with the barrel of a gun pressed to his cheek with tears threatening to spill.

And he’s so beautiful like this, Hongjoong thinks; he snaps a picture with the polaroid camera from two birthdays ago, a memento to go with the rest.  The undeveloped film is tossed aside on a table, the camera on the bed.  

Seonghwa doesn’t look when normally his eyes would follow the path of the camera to be sure it doesn’t fall.  Instead he stares up through thick lashes, eyes wide, watching, waiting.  Hands balled into fists on bent knees, his patience endures through Hongjoong’s rants, his threats, all but screamed from the rooftops.  If the hotel were any nicer, they’d probably care.

The cool metal of Hongjoong’s gun brushes against a high cheekbone while he brushes dark hair from Seonghwa’s face, pretty as a picture.  He’s fallen to silence, panting lightly with flames behind his darkdark eyes; it’s like playing with Seonghwa’s hair calms him, stamps down the blaze inside him.  But it’s not enough, never enough; there is nothing that can extinguish the light inside of Kim Hongjoong and Seonghwa has long since stopped trying.

There is no sense when dealing with a madman.

Maybe that’s why Seonghwa stays; the danger is a turn-on, the mood swings keep it interesting.  Maybe his mother was right when she’d kicked him out and reminded him he was fucked up beyond repair.

But Hongjoong, Hongjoong makes him feel wanted, desired, cared for.  Gives him a place to stay and makes him feel hothothot inside.  He’d lifted Seonghwa when no one else would, when the world was against him and he was two shots away from jailtime or worse.  It’s only natural that Seonghwa continues to revere Hongjoong in kind, give him the same energy that he’d sworn his life away with.

Their lifestyle isn’t lavish by any means but the run keeps them from trouble, keeps the cops from staying on their ass for too long, keeps things interesting; and that’s all he can really ask for.

It’s the most fun he’s had his whole life.

His mouth parts as the muzzle eases its way between his lips.  Hongjoong grins that grin, the one that sends a flutter to his core - and the hand playing gently with Seonghwa’s hair turns gentle no longer, fingers twisting to grip tight the hair at the back of his head.  Seonghwa’s face turns heavenward as he tastes metal on his tongue.  It’s sharp, makes him think of blood – the thought vanishes quickly as Hongjoong chases it away with words of praise, of flattery and undying devotion.

“Beautiful,” he says, his voice hoarse.  Seonghwa sticks his tongue out and takes the pistol deeper, a hand on Hongjoong’s thigh to steady himself.  Hongjoong swallows thickly.  “Taking it so well.  Gorgeous like this, y’know?”

It’s enough to get a reaction, which is all he can really ask for.  A moan, a smattering of red across high cheekbones; Hongjoong shifts, foot kicking out just enough for his toes to rest against the straining bulge in Seonghwa’s joggers, heel on the floor to keep steady.  He hums, gives a tug to his hair in the same beat his foot presses harder, and he thinks he sees Seonghwa’s eyes roll back.

“Ohh, my angel; you want it to be me so bad, don’t you?  Want my dick down your throat?”

There’s a noise that Seonghwa makes from deep in his belly, strained past the metal.  His eyes shine and tears threaten to spill as his head bobs but he never takes his attention away, doesn’t even seem to notice the steady stream of spit running down his chin and along his neck.  He doesn’t realize his hips are jutting forward until his cock aches, too hard and not hard enough and Hongjoong’s weight coming down on him despite it all.  A sob spasms his body and he gags around the barrel and Hongjoong thinks it’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever seen.

“Dumb little cockslut, only good for one thing.”

Hongjoong wishes he still had his camera on hand.  

Instead he jerks Seonghwa’s head back, causing his mouth to drop open and the gun to fall from his lips.  A scoff from Hongjoong, a flash of fear from his pretty toy; it’s fucking obscene how ravishing he is, from swollen lips to the dusty blush across his cheeks and the way his jaw drops and his tongue lolls out of his too, too empty mouth.

(Seonghwa feels – dirty.  He can feel the muzzle pressed up against his soft palate as Hongjoong fills his mouth once more, the metallic taste on his tongue and the heat surging through his core enough to bring any greater man to the brink.  The brink of orgasm, of obsession, of death; it’s a disorganized mess, he knows, but in the low light and through the fog of his brain, Hongjoong has never looked more beautiful, and maybe that’s all that matters.

Maybe Seonghwa is broken after all.)

The noise that comes out of his mouth when Hongjoong rubs the growing wet spot with the ball of his foot is something he wishes he could replay over and over.  Something needy and wanting, grotesque the way he craves more, more, more.  Another tug of his hair has Seonghwa seeing stars, and Hongjoong can feel his cock jumping under his sole as he comes.

Seonghwa’s knees ache when he’s allowed up again, desperate to be stretched straight.  Hongjoong urges him up with a yank to the fistful of hair in his grasp, the muzzle of his pistol digging into the hollow below his jaw when he stands.  The wince doesn’t go unnoticed, smothered instead with a kiss full of teeth and heated ecstasy and pure unfettered hunger.  The gun cocks with a practiced flick of Hongjoong’s thumb.

“Tell me you love me.”  Hongjoong’s voice is hoarse, barely audible between soft breaths.  He’s panting; Seonghwa can feel his erection through his pants and the heavy thrum of his pulse as he cups the side of Hongjoong’s neck.  He’s panting too, he realizes; head tilted up with the press of the gun but eyes trained on Hongjoong nevertheless.  

“I love you,” he answers easily as breathing.  His voice is gone too, and he thinks this may be the first time he’s confessed to Hongjoong’s conscious form.  “Anything for you.  You know that.”

“Till death.”

Seonghwa nods.  “Till death,” he agrees; free hand finding Hongjoong’s where his clammy finger rests gently on the trigger, ready and eager.  Something shines in Hongjoong’s eyes, ready to spill, and Seonghwa picks it up, greedy and craving.  He shifts slightly and feels Hongjoong’s hand slack on the gun underneath his own. 

“Prove it,” Hongjoong whispers.  He sounds almost - somber, wistful, wanting.  Seonghwa feels a laugh deep in his own chest and a heady bubble of exhilaration in his throat.

“I’d kill for you, y’know that?”  There’s a fire on Seonghwa’s eyes, flickering along the sparks in Hongjoong’s.  “Die for you.  Say the word.”

Hongjoong feels pressure against the column of his throat and nearly moans, mouth falling open in a silent gasp.  The tempest is calmed, even if briefly; music to his ears 

“Yeah?” Hongjoong is breathless.  “Just for me?”

“You go, I go.”

Hongjoong’s grin is audible, the static from his eyes palpable, sparking on Seonghwa’s skin where his gaze burns into Hongjoong’s skin. His pupils dilate and they’re both drunk on the thrill, the anticipation.  

Hongjoong’s grip on Seonghwa’s hair tightens, pulling his face down enough that their foreheads and noses press together and their breaths mix and neither is sure where one begins and the other ends and decide that maybe, maybe they’re okay with that.

“Do it.”

Hongjoong falls first.

[mahoumagicc]

Just heard the news...

I'm really worried about this. Yes, Glitter force is flawed, but it doesn't deserve to be wiped from(legal) existence. I've talked about my feelings on Glitter Force here, but yes, I know it's a deeply flawed show. I still don't think that it should be removed from netflix. I've seen people talk about this like it's a "win" for precure fans, but it's really not. Netflix is one of, if not, the streaming service in the west, and is how a lot of western fans got introduced to precure, particularly kids. How else have most people in the west found out about precure, genuinely. From being fans of the original show? I hate to say it, and I'm about to age myself here, but that show's almost as old as me. It will be able to legally drink in the United States soon.

It hasn't been airing for decades at this point, and is only available to stream on Crunchyroll, which, unless you're an anime fan, you don't have. Glitter Force was and is that introduction to the series to a modern audience, flawed as it was. It inspired people to look deeper into a show they enjoyed and oh? What's that? Glitter Force isn't the original name? It was called Smile Precure? There's episodes they cut? Well I want to watch those! I know that's how I got into precure.

That's not even bringing up how dangerous of a precedent this sets, in the growing trend of streaming services deleting shows that were "originals" because these companies don't want to pay what is essentially pocket change in their eyes, in residuals to the actors(or this case VAs) involved. I know that the show is flawed, and I don't blame people for celebrating that it'll be gone, but I'm worried by this trend, because after it's gone, Glitter Force will be gone legally, I know the dub itself is racist and homophobic, but it's still an important transitional step to many people. Just know I'm not defending this show because I genuinely think it's the shit. It's not. I'm as devestated that they're removing Voltron(another Netflix original that is also incredibly flawed yet gave me so many middle school memories, for better or for worse) as the removal of glitter force, and if Webtoons(God forbid) ever got in the practice of removing their original comics, I would raising the biggest hell if they got rid of shit I actively despise like Lore Olympus(pretending that they never physically printed copies of it).

Just know that it's never just about the surface level. This isn't just Netflix removing a shitty dub. It's the continued viewing of animation as something inferior, that's led to Netflix suddenly cancelling animated shows like Inside Job and Dead End Paranormal Park despite their success. It's about Max pulling primarily animated shows that could only be legally watched off their platform. I'm not defending Glitter Force because I defend the contents of it, I defend it due to what it means as a whole.

[moghedien]

obsessed with the saga of Selûnite drow mommy vs Shadowheart’s deeply rooted Mother Superior issues & goodest girl complex. her selûnite closet is made of GLASS. what does your character think about everything that’s happening between the two of them?

So usually I think of characters for a while before I play them but this one I was just like “I wanna make a drow Selunite” and made one the same day without much thought so I’m like developing a backstory and how she acts in the moment more so I’ll probably be in a different spot as the pt goes on

I’ve played a very dogmatic lolth cleric before (literally would not let myself kill spiders even though the game wouldn't really punish me for) and so I’m being much more chill this time for playstyle diversity which does help when you have a Sharran yelling at you about how your goddess sucks. I gave her an urchin background and the game still tagged me as being from the underdark, and I imagine being an urchin child in the underdark to be a bad time, so I’m like “there’s no way this girl grew up as a selunite because there’s no moon underground so she to have been converted once she came to the surface.”

All this to say, that in order to go from an underdark urchin from some drow city to a relatively chill cleric of Selune, she’s got to have dealt with most of her baggage and hang ups already. So she meets the most obvious Sharran in the world (who is probably also the first Sharran she’s met) who very very clearly has not dealt with literally anything in her personal life ever, and it’s just like “well let’s explore this.”

Admittedly her interest in Shadowheart was probably just “what the fuck is this Sharran doing” and wanting to see where this went. Like she’d want to keep an eye on a potentially dangerous person while also being somewhat practical about taking help where help is offered.

But then Shadowheart is being cagey as fuck while also begging for them to stick together, and seeing her be very clearly wanting to help people and be nice and struggling against that (and sometimes feeling literal pain when she does) and it’s less a vague interest in what the suspicious Sharran is doing more a specific interest in what the fuck is going on while Shadowheart and getting more and more confused the more she learns until she can finally get the girl to admit that she’s a Sharran.

And then when she does admit that she’s a Sharran, she just starts yellling about how shitty Selune is which is admittedly hilarious. I made the choice in the moment to basically never shit talk Shar or Sharrans to Shadowheart. Partially because that tends to end conversations early but mostly to counter how aggressive and clearly upset Shadowheart is every time she has to think of Selune.

At the point I’m at now, I just got her to admit to being Sharran and then she talked to me about wanting to be a DJ so we’re really just at the beginning of the Selunite vs Sharran tension between them and I don’t think my Selunite girly is gonna realize there’s like actual like attraction/romance until the first romance scene. Right now she’s just constantly going over to Shadowheart like “I wanna study her like a bug” because she wants to know how Sharrans think of Shar and Selune and how their religion actually works and whatnot. She is someone who was drawn to Selune so she wants to see what it takes for someone to be drawn to Shar and what that life looks like compared to hers.

And I mean she also has like an incurable disease where she has to help every shitty little kid she finds because of her upbringing as a shitty little kid with no one to help her, so it’ll probably trigger something in her once she gets the scene where Shadowheart shows her what happened to her as a kid. Also because of some things im thinking about with my Selunite’s own conversion involving that rite

Once the romance kicks off tho I imagine she’ll be thinking a whole lot of complicated things about what’s going on between them and she’s gonna be like clawing at her thigh resisting the urge (lol) to just be like “please leave Shar” but I also never wanna like specifically ask/tell her to deconvert from Shar/convert to Selune. It’s all gonna be a big fucking mess with Shadowheart never wanting to discuss their religious tensions because it’ll ruin the mood while that’s literally all my girl wants to talk about because thats what’s getting her into the mood

[solarpunkpresentspodcast]

Links Roundup

Here are some recent links from the interwebs that Ariel has been chewing over.

Rethinking Masculinity: Teaching Men How to Love and Be Loved

I have the softest soft spot for this sort of content, I’m not going to lie. As a girl who was taught to fear men (not just from being raised in Toronto during the height of the Stranger-Danger zeitgeist, or having my primary bullies throughout my life being boys, or having to be a teenager in the grossly regressive early 2000s, or attending youth group during the rise of Evangelical-style purity culture in my denomination), I kind of love the idea of not having to run through an internal safety checklist each time I meet or interact with a man and decide whether or not it’s worth the risk to engage. This is warped thinking! But it’s what I was taught to do to survive, and old habits are hard to shake, but knowing that there are men out there who are actively rethinking masculinity in an inherently feminist, decolonial way gives me hope that can change, and that future generations of little girls won’t have to dodge quite so much structural shittiness, and that future generations of little boys will feel much more comfortable with who they are.

Degrowth as a Concept and Practice: Introduction

I admit I’m actually not really knowledgeable about degrowth - like, sure, I know it’s a philosophy/proposed economic policy/theoretical concept / thing, and I like to think it’s pretty obvious in its aims from its very moniker, but I’ve never actually sat down and read up on the details of degrowth and what it would entail. Or talked to anyone knowledgeable about it, for that matter. So this article series is very nice as a primer.

Degrowth advocates argue that we need to transform our everyday practices to respect and work with the fragile, limited, yet bountiful Earth on which we rely to exist.

Sounds pretty solarpunk to me. But just because something sounds good doesn’t mean it’s actually good, so this series really helps dig into the details, especially if you’re not a policy wonk (and are more of a yes-okay-there-is-a-forest-but-let’s-pay-attention-to-the-tree-species person) like me. I think, however, that a lot of smaller projects that solarpunks are working on (such as makerspaces, community resiliency, and local production of goods/food) fits pretty well under the umbrella concept of “degrowth” even if that label hasn’t been applied to them.

The Animal Feed Industry’s Impact on the Planet

This is a fascinating article on the ramifications of the land-use needed for “making animals the caloric middlemen” in the human food chain. This is an aspect of meat-eating that I’m a little embarrassed to admit didn’t actually occur to me until university (when I learned about it from fellow students). City girl, what can I say? We all have blind spots.

Which is why I like that this article exists, because while I think it’s easy, knowing what I do now, to roll my eyes and go “pfft, coulda told you that for a nickel,” there are people out there, many of them I’m very sure, who probably haven’t encountered this as a concept before. CW, though, for the middle bit of the article. This isn’t a happy topic.

Population can’t be ignored. It has to be part of the policy solution to our world’s problems

I was ready to tear this article apart just on principle, as I am so used to encountering this type of thinking in the green movement as a signal for eco-fascism. “There are too many people” translates, in most cases, to “there are too many poor brown people”. This is repugnant ideology as it lays the groundwork for racism at least, if not outright violent massacres. However, this article is written by an Australian professor who makes it very clear that in so-called developed (aka white settler) nations, there is simply an amount of people that puts undue pressure on the natural environment, and our ability to feed ourselves. I wish there was more discussion of this in general, to combat the insidious eco-fascist narrative that overpopulation is an issue because of “those people over there”. That’s really not it at all.

Paradigm Shift: Part 4 - What Might a Sustainable Lifestyle Look Like?

This is part four of a series talking about living sustainably - and this particular article uses the author’s life as an example. I sort of love this kind of media - even though since she lives in the Pacific NorthWest in America, a lot of what she talks about is really not applicable to me - because it helps me to develop my imaginative tools. When faced with an issue in my life where a necessity clashes with a solarpunk value of mine (eg, getting around on my own vs not buying into automobility), I’m better able to think of alternatives (carsharing, transiting, using an electric or non- bike, etc) because I have a “rolodex” of examples in my imagination that I can shuffle through.

Plus it’s very hopeful and inspiring to read these sorts of stories. Yes, “carbon footprint” is a problematic concept and etc but there’s something to be said for carefully considering your lifestyle and deciding to do the difficult things in order to be a better neighbour to the flora and fauna around you. Which is nice.

[gffa]

Hey what are your thoughts wrt grogus return to din and how it ties into the whole attachment thing. Like does it work with the theme or undermine it or some secret third thing?

For me, it's sort of a mixed bag, which basically comes down to, "As it stands, I think it works pretty well with the whole attachment thing, but also I recognize that I'm disregarding Felony's contradictory-to-Lucas'-meaning takes, and that ultimately it'll head in a direction that I'll find less and less thematically coherent." I actually really loved The Book of Boba Fett's take on Luke, Grogu, and attachment, that attachment is the fear of living without someone that eats at you so much you'd fall to the dark side or let a thousand people die because you can't live without the person. While Grogu isn't that far down that path, he's distracted, he's unfocused, he's undisciplined in his heart and mind, because he doesn't really want to be here, he wants to put Din first over saving other people's lives. When Luke lays out the choice before him, it's a necessary one, because a Jedi must have a disciplined, focused mind, a Jedi must be willing to be selfless, because that's how the Force works, being selfish leads to the dark side. Grogu's heart wasn't in it, and if he had the responsibilities and role of a Jedi, but was willing to let those people die if Din was in danger, then that's a pretty shitty situation and shouldn't have happened. The thing is, I don't think Felony cares that much about how the Force works in those finer details, because he likes the father & son dynamic and I don't think he wants to portray any downsides to it, even tepid ones such as "Maybe using your psychic wizard powers based on your emotions when you're willing to put one person's life over a hundred others, is a bad idea." because he's more interested in writing the baby saving Din and cool moments of Force use and keeping up with the practice of lifting rocks, but not the mental discipline that comes with it, because that gets in the way of father & son would Do Anything For Each Other that he writes. So we'll see how it goes, as it stands, I'm mostly fine with it, I'm not taking The Mandalorian super seriously after seeing the absolutely atrocious worldbuilding/timeline stuff Favroni have going on, like that is hilariously bad, I'm not taking this seriously at all right now, I'm just here for Mean Wife and cute baby antics!

[antheraea]

Flash Was Killed Because It Was Objectively Dangerous

I get it, I get the Flash nostalgia and the fondness for old Flash games. I was big on Neopets before they decided to ruin the art and make all the pets samey paper dolls to play dressup with (completely ruining the point of the far more expensive "redraw" colors like Mutant and Faerie and Desert). I have fond memories of Newgrounds games and I even managed to take a class for a semester in high school where I could learn flash.

But I also remember how terrible it was. And you should too.

Leaving aside all of the issues involving performance and inaccessibility (such as being easily broken by bog-standard browser actions like the back button, and its ability to modify web code AND OS code in real time likely broke a lot of accessibility tech too), Flash was legitimately one of the most dangerous web technologies for the end user. An end-user is you, or more specifically back then, child-you.

According to Wikipedia and its sources, Flash Player has over a thousand vulnerabilities known and listed and over 800 of these lead to arbitrary code execution.

What is arbitrary code execution? That's when someone can just run any commands they want on a machine or program that didn't intend it. A fun way to see this is in this infamous Pokemon tool-assisted speedrun where they manage to get an SNES to show the host's twitch chat in real time. It's not so fun though when it's someone stealing all the files on your computer, grabbing your credentials so they could clean out your Neopets account (yes, really, it was a pretty common concern at the time), and other nefarious works. Also, there was a time where it allowed people to spy on you with your webcam and microphone.

Oh and on top of all of this, Flash had its own "flash cookies", which could not be cleared by ordinary means and thus could be used to track users indefinitely, at least until Adobe slapped a bandaid over it by introducing yet another screen an ordinary person wouldn't know to use. (I assume this is how the infamous neopets "cookie grabbers" worked, so they could get into your account. This is mainly what I remember about using Flash back in the early 2000s lol) So it not only was a "stranger taking over your machine" concern, but a bog-standard privacy concern too, arguably a precursor to our current panopticon internet landscape, where greedy websites would track you because they could and maybe get some money out of it, facilitated by this technology.

When Apple decided to block it, it wasn't out of greed; Steve Jobs cited its abysmal performance and security record, among other issues such as an inherent lack of touchscreen support, and Apple cited specific vulnerability use-cases when blocking specific versions before they nuked it entirely. When Mozilla, who makes Firefox, decided to block it, it's not like they would've gotten money out of doing so, or by offering an alternative; they did so because it is fucking dangerous.

Your ire and nostalgia is misplaced. Flash was not killed by our current shitty web practices that ruin unique spaces and fun games. Flash was killed because both Macromedia (its original developers) and Adobe were incapable of making it safe, if that was even possible, and it was killed after third-parties, in an unprecedented gesture, collectively threw their hands up and said enough.

Well, that and HTML5 being developed and becoming more widespread, being able to do everything Flash can do without being a pox on technology. One could argue that you should bemoan the lack of Flash-to-HTML5 conversion efforts, but that requires asking a lot of effort of people who would have to do that shit for free...and if they have to run Flash to do so, opening themselves up to some of the nastiest exploits on the internet.

Nostalgia is a fucking liar. The games themselves I think are worth having nostalgia over (look, I still find myself pining for that one bullet hell Neopets made and Hannah and the Pirate Caves), but Flash itself deserves none of that, and absolutely deserved to be put in the fucking ground. You're blaming the wrong causes. It was terrible.

(specifics and sources found via its wikipedia page, which has a lot more than is mentioned here. and also my own opinions and experiences back then. lol)