#whistling non suspiciously*

[itsmakingyoucry]

house’s smooth stomach is something that can be so personal

[sereniv]

someone did argue with me on slave labor chocolate

they said that their hershey bar is what stops them from killing themselves or something.

which i have no way to prove they are lying,

but they still got mad when i said that that falls under "your individual necessity" and therefor is fine

so :/

Anti vegans are so weird like who else do you have beef with, people who don't buy slave labor chocolate? little kids who tell you it's bad to litter? cyclists? people who are passionate about recycling?

[bucks-babe]

Not Like This

Summary: A night at the bar doesn’t go the way Bucky or you ever thought

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: established relationship, Bucky trying to get Steve a date, angst, attempted drugging with the intention of SA (nothing happens though), mentions of a knife/stabbing (doesn’t happen), smut, but like angsty smut not the sexy smut, Bucky being a huge idiot, lack of communication, dub-con/bordering non-con at times, degradation, oral m!rec, subspace, manhandling, very mean Bucky, safeword being called, crying, spanking, self-hatred, insecurities, self-reflection, aftercare, scared Bucky and reader, overstepping boundaries, communication at the end, some fluff

A/N: This is my gift to @buckys-wintersoldier for her birthday! This fic contains topics that maybe sensitive to some people. This is your last warning. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Updates are posted to my side blog @bucks-babesideblog

“This is getting hard to watch, Buck.” You grimace and turn your head towards your boyfriend. Steve stands on the dancefloor in a futile attempt to talk to the girl he’s been eyeing up for the past hour and a half. Bucky takes another swig of his beer before meeting your eyes with the same grimace. “ You should go and help him.”

“And what am I supposed to do, doll?” Bucky leans back in the booth, left arm resting behind your head as he whispers in your ear. A shiver passes through your body and your thighs clench involuntarily. His scent mixes with the faint smell of his last beer and the crowded bar’s sweaty stench.

“Go play wingman, apparently you were great at it in the 40’s.” You playfully nudge him away, mostly because you can’t think straight when he’s pressed so close to you, your body craves his already and you don’t need to make it any harder for yourself. “While you’re at it, I’ll get myself another drink.”

Bucky grumbles as you stand up without giving him a kiss. “Make sure you put it on my tab, doll.”

You giggle as you spin around to face him, dress swaying as you do so. “You know I will, hotstuff.” You take your seat at the bar and signal for the bartender, turning around to watch Bucky try and get Steve a date. You thank him as he places your drink down, but before you can get up, another man seats himself in the stool right next to yours.

“Hello, gorgeous.” At first you don’t realize that he’s talking to you, too caught up in the way Bucky’s muscles flex as he gestures to Steve. “I say, you’ve caught my eye tonight. Mind if I ask your name? I’m Jake.” It dawns on you that he wasn’t talking to anyone else, only you.

As you go to turn around to decline his horrible attempt at flirting, you see him slip a pill into your open drink out of the corner of your eye, so fast that none of the other patrons nor the bartender saw, but you did. Ice shoots through your veins. He tried to drug you. What do you do now? Leave? That would look suspicious. Call the bartender and say that it wasn’t the right drink? No, he heard your specific order.

“Umm,” you trail off. At first you were gauging how far you would have to run to make it to Bucky, but then you saw the pocket knife bulging out from underneath the man’s shirt. “Sorry, I’m here with my boyfriend.” Good, let him know I’m not alone.

“Him? Well he seems quite friendly with the lady in blue over there.” You don’t turn to look, not trusting to take your eyes off of him. “If I were him, we wouldn’t even have made it to the bar when you’re wearing a number like that.” He lets out a low whistle, eyes hungrily raking up and down your body.

You want to yell out for anyone to come over, but you’re too scared when you know that he has a knife. Yes, Bucky is a super soldier, but Jake could stab you faster than Bucky could reach you. “We have an open relationship actually.” Open relationship, really? Why would I fucking say that?

“So you’re telling me that I have a chance.” His beatty eyes lock in on your cleavage and you shift around uncomfortably. “Why don’t you have a sip of your drink? You seem pretty tense over there.” You pick up your drink with shaky hands before bringing the straw to your lips. You pretend to take a small sip which makes Jake smile, showing off his smoke stained teeth. “There you go, good girl.” Where the hell is Bucky? Come on, please come back.

You’re practically shaking in fear as his sweaty palm lands on your knee, creeping up to your thigh. Behind you resides Bucky who has overheard most of the conversation. Anger doused his entire body. He didn’t see Jake drug your drink or how scared you were, too caught up in your words. Open relationship? Letting him call you good girl? Touching you?

You almost shriek when Bucky’s metal hand grabs your wrist, pulling you away, but you instantly relax when you notice that Bucky’s come to save you. The fear still lingers under the surface but it feels like you can breathe without a heavy weight on your chest. “Thank god, Bucky. I-” He cuts you off as he spins around, flesh hand wrapping around your neck.

“Thank what? I leave you for five minutes and you turn into a little slut, huh?” Your eyes widen. There’s no way that he thinks that you wanted to even talk to that man at the bar. Before you can answer he lets your neck go and continues to drag you along. “Keep your fucking mouth shut. You want to be a little slut,” he pushes you into the passenger seat of his car before slamming the door and getting in the driver seat. “Then you can keep your mouth stuffed with my cock.”

He doesn’t even look at you as he slides his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his semi hard cock. He doesn’t see the tears welling up, or how you’re silently begging for him to comfort you, hug you. To tell you that everything is going to be okay, you’re safe and he loves you, but no, Bucky is furious at you.

You feel yourself start to slip into subspace, the fear of your previous situation in addition to Bucky’s harsh words have you floating off into space. You want to please him, show him that he’s the only one you want, but you also don’t want to have sex right now. Either way, he grabs the back of your head and forces you down on his cock before slamming his foot on the gas, making you lurch in the car.

“Keep your fucking head right there. You’re gonna let me use you however the fuck I want since you seem to think that you’re not mine and I’m not yours. You really fucking think that I would want another pussy? Another mouth? Oh, shit. Choke on that fat cock. Think Jake can fill up your mouth like this?” For just one moment, you forgot about Jake, about what could have happened to you, but at the mention of his name you try to pull off, suddenly not wanting to have your boyfriend’s cock in your mouth.

“Don’t fucking run away from me. Never gonna share this perfect body. Shit, can feel you slobbering on my nuts. Bet you fucking like it too, being my little cocksucker.” No, you don’t like it, at least right now. I just want you to hold me.

“You’re so fucking good at this. Already gonna cum, ready? Fuck, gonna make me crash the fucking car just from some head. K-keep going, shit.” Tears stream down your face, partially from all your emotions bubbling over and partially from the brutal facefucking. His flesh hand grips the back of your neck and rails your head, spit and tears everywhere, makeup completely ruined, black streaks running down your face.

He cums with a shout, balls pulsing on your cheek where he holds you down. The breaks squeak as he pulls into your shared driveway, ripping you away from his dick. “You look fucking pathetic right now. Trying to get another man’s cock and then gobbling down mine it’s your only purpose.” You can’t find any love in his eyes, only rage and lust. More tears fall down your cheeks.

“B-b-buc-” You try to speak but your voice is hoarse from his cock ramming down your throat.

“Just get upstairs. On the bed, face down, ass up, naked.” If his jaw clenches anymore you’re sure he’ll break some teeth.

“Please, just let me-” He cuts you off again after you’re able to speak.

“Do what I said or else it’s gonna be much worse for you. I don’t take well to insolent whores.” Why can’t you see I need you?

Without another word, you head to the bedroom, trying to wipe away your makeup but only smearing it around even more. You don’t have any more fight left in you. All you want to do is forget the whole night, but you know that it’s nowhere near over. You do as you were told, grabbing the stuffie Bucky won for you at the carnival over a year ago and clutching it to your chest.

You gulp at the sound of Bucky’s clothes dropping to the floor. “Don’t make a sound.” It’s the only warning you get before his hand smacks against your ass, hard. You bite the stuffie, more and more tears falling from your eyes. He slaps your ass over and over again, no doubt leaving bruises. By the end, you’re so deep in subspace that all you want to do is please him.

It doesn’t matter that you don’t want to have sex, that what you want from him is his warmth and comfort. If you make him happy then he will take care of you after. You need to please him, make him proud of you. Just take the punishment. Don’t make him angrier.

Without warning, he slams into your cunt, driving in and out with no regard for your pleasure. He wasn’t trying to make you cum, and you could tell just based on his thrusts. He was using you to get himself off. This is what Jake planned on doing to me, isn’t it? You bite onto the stuffie harder. It hurts, but it feels so good. This is what I deserve.

He cums in your pussy but doesn’t stop moving. The added lubrication makes his thrusts easier and the pleasure starts to build in your stomach. Trying to hide your moans as you near the edge only for him to pull out and slap your ass again and again before railing you again. You try to reach a hand back, maybe to get him to slow down, maybe just because you needed to feel some sort of tenderness, but he only pushes your hand away.

Any thoughts of Jake leave your mind with every plunge of Bucky’s cock. You melt into the mattress, focusing on the pleasure Bucky’s bringing you. He loves me, that’s why he’s so mad. “Fuck, pussy’s so fucking good, never want to leave her. M’going to fuck this little cunt all night if I want to.” Do I want that? It feels so good, but I want him to cuddle me.

You can feel your orgasm build up in your stomach, threatening to burst at any moment. “Can I cum?” It’s the first words you’ve said since he started fucking you. For a fleeting second you think that he’ll pull out again and take your orgasm away, but he only fucks you harder, right hand coming down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. It hurts in the best way, throwing you over the edge as you cream all over his dick.

“Good girl, no one else can make you cum like me, can they?”

Those two words take you right back to the bar, where the threat of what Jake could have done is still fresh. “RED!” Mid orgasm, your mind reels in fear. Bucky pulls out immediately, all the rage coursing through his body leaving at once. You collapse on the bed, curling into the fetal position, still clutching the stuffed animal to your chest as sobs take over your body.

Bucky shakes as he watches you fall apart. He has no idea what really happened at the bar but he knows that he pushed you too far. He replays every word and act that occurred in the past hour. How he didn’t let you talk, how you looked so small, like you were trying to curl into yourself, how he didn’t even look at you as he shoved his cock down your throat. All the names he called you, the roughness, the lack of care.

He tries to reach out to you, but you jerk away, sobbing harder. Panic swells in his chest. What did he do? How could he hurt the love of his life? Bucky gets off the bed and heads to the bathroom, getting a damp washcloth and walking over to your side of the bed, crouching down so that he is at eye level with you. “Doll?” You whimper in response yet meet his eyes. “Can I clean you up?” You give a small jerk of your head, all you can muster.

Bucky’s heart drops to his stomach as he sees your swollen cunt. He caused that. As gently as he can, he wipes away his cum and your juices before tossing the rag across the room and settling next to you, leaving space so that you can decide if you want to cuddle with him. You crave his warmth so you curl yourself into his side, sighing at the comfort his skin brings.

Self hatred licks at his spine. He wants to run away, not giving himself the chance to do anymore harm, but you need him and he can’t let you down again, not after what he did. Eventually, your sobs ebb and your tense body relaxes. “He tried to drug me.” You say it so quietly that if Bucky didn’t have enhanced hearing he wouldn’t have caught it.

He jolts away, ignoring your whimper at the loss of contact. The morsel of responsibility that was keeping him next to you vanishes. He treated you like a whore, thinking that you were flirting with another man, when in reality you were just trying to keep yourself safe. Bucky stands and paces the room, darker and darker thoughts run through his mind.

“He what?” Bucky can’t breathe, he can’t fathom what he just put you through after one of the worst experiences of your life just happened. You needed him and he wasn’t there in the way you needed.

You try to keep the tears at bay, but you can’t help it. “He slipped something in my drink when he thought I wasn’t looking. I was so scared and you were so far away. I-I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I stalled him long enough I would be okay until you came back.” You shrink into yourself again, the stuffies head tilted at an odd angle at the force you were applying.

“And then I, I let myself, I should have-” He can’t think straight. Anger flairs inside of him. At himself, at the man at the bar. “I’m so sorry.” Tears stream freely down his face as he rounds to where you lay, dropping to his knees.

“Please hold me.” Bucky jumps back into bed, he was fully ready for you to kick him out, hit him, make him beg on his knees for your forgiveness, but not for you to want him to touch you again, not after the pain and fear he inflicted. “I just want to be held, want you to love me.”

“I do love you, sweet girl. I love you so goddamn much it hurts. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have listened to you, should have seen how uncomfortable you were, but I was so caught up in my own head, that you were looking for someone else because I wasn’t good enough.” He hastily wipes his tears away before wrapping his arms around your frame. “And that is no excuse for what I did. I let my own insecurities blind me and I hurt you as a result.”

He trails off before speaking the words that he has been too scared to ask before, but he knows the answer to. “You didn’t want to have sex, did you?” It’s framed as a question, but he says it like a statement, because he knows that you didn’t. Not at the time, mostly because of his own rage, but if he would have thought about more than himself he would have.

“I wanted to please you, though. Thought if I took my punishment that you wouldn’t be mad at me anymore.” Bucky feels his heart break in two. You didn’t have to answer his question. His stomach churns at the fact that the only reason you went through with anything was because you thought that you needed to, for him to treat you the way you deserve, with love and devotion.

You don’t blame him, maybe it’s because you still are so deep in subspace, but either way, he’s taking care of you now. “You never have to do something you don’t want to do just because of me. You know that right?” Clearly, he made you feel like you had to.

“Please, it’s not just your fault. I could have tapped your leg three times, I could have said our safeword long before you fucked me.”

“But I didn’t even let you fucking talk.” You see the hurt in his eyes, not at you, but at himself.

“My hands were free. I could have tapped you at any time. This isn’t just on you. We both fucked up.”

“The only reason you didn’t was because you felt like you had to please me though.” Why is he so desperate to put all the blame onto himself?

“Partially, but also because I wanted to forget about what happened. I thought that if we had sex that your touch could wash away his. But when I knew it couldn't, I should have stopped you.” Both of your eyes were red and full of tears. “Neither of us are exempt from the blame, okay?”

Bucky nods his head, not fully believing you, but not wanting to fight about it. “Can we take a bath and cuddle? We can talk about it tomorrow. I just want to be held right now.” With shuddering breath, Bucky nods his head and picks you up, taking you to the bathroom to get the tub ready.

You both have to work to get past this, to understand what you both could have done better to prevent it from happening again, but you still trust Bucky with your life. There is no love or trust lost between the two of you. It happened and you can’t change that. You doubt that you’ll be going to any bars soon, and there’s going to be a lot of trauma that you’ll both have to work through. Him with his insecurities and you with how easy it would have been for someone to take advantage of you, how you didn’t communicate your needs. But you have Bucky and he has you, and he is going to do everything in his power to make this up to you, that this never happens again.

[finxwrites]

strange & grimm, which btw sounds like an urban fantasy affectionately parodic hardboiled detective agency. probably queer.

It was a hot, muggy night in the Enchanted Forest. Everyone with a lick of sense was down in the fairy glens, hoping the Winter Court would put in an appearance and bring a breeze on with them. Lucky me, I’m the sucker who fingered the Snow Queen for the missing persons case last winter, so I’m persona non grata in the fairy glens these days.

Just as well. I couldn’t afford to leave the office, not when it’d been so long since my last case. Though on a night like this, I might as well not bother. It was too hot for crime. Even the leaves on the enchanted trees were drooping in the heat. 

I was just about to call it a night when a dame walked in my door. Tall, blonde, legs for days, with an air of tragedy that could put an unloved stepchild to shame. I looked her over suspiciously for any cheery woodland creatures hidden in her golden ringlets. If she was a princess, I’d turf her right back out of the office, case unheard. Princesses paid well, but they were more trouble than they were worth.

No mice poked their adorable little noses out of her pockets as the dame sank into a chair and fixed me with a hard look. “I hear you’re the best in the business,” she said without preamble. “And I need the best.”

I leaned back in my seat. “Baby, I’m the only one in the business. It’s not a good genre for private dicks.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, far too child-friendly for any sort of dicks.” Before I could recover from that little gem, she went on, “It’s a child I’m here about. My sister. She’s…she’s gone missing.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Please, Detective, you’re my last hope. The royal courts won’t hear me out, they think she’s gone on the lam!”

I nodded grimly. “One of those Bo Peep situations, huh?” I get a depressing number of those. All it takes is one wolf in sheep’s clothing—you’d think the kids would learn.

The dame glared. There was enough cold iron in her gaze to put a fairy off her ambrosia. “On the lam, Detective. On the run. My sister has…something of a record.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Your sister the child? She some kind of crime prodigy?”

The dame fidgeted, looking away. “She’s…” She sighed explosively. “My sister is Goldilocks.”

I whistled, low and long. Crime prodigy indeed—Goldilocks was wanted in five kingdoms for the most impressive string of burglaries the Enchanted Forest had ever seen. No one could ever prove she’d done it, but the circumstantial evidence had piled up higher than mattresses on a pea. No wonder no royal court would take this case.

The dame’s shoulders hunched defensively, but she bulled on without trying to defend her wayward sister. “She’s gone missing, and I know it’s not another one of her sprees. Something is wrong this time.” She turned back to meet my eyes, her lovely features harsh with poorly-suppressed fear. “It’s her first crime come back to haunt her, I just know it is. They’ve always wanted revenge—especially the baby of the family, and he’s all grown up now. What they’d do if they got hold of her—“ She cut herself off with a watery gasp; her eyes were wet with tears. “Oh, it doesn’t bear thinking about!”

I handed her a handkerchief and gave her a minute to compose herself. It gave me a minute, too, to decide if I was really going to be this stupid. You don’t tangle with the big predators, not if you know what’s good for you, and especially not a whole family of them. Families are a dangerous thing in any genre.

But I was her last hope, and I’m a sucker for lost causes. And if I didn’t get paid soon, this business would become a lost cause itself. I said a silent farewell to my good sense as it packed its bags and left for kinder climes. “Alright,” I told the dame, “Give me the facts. We’ll see what kind of a story they tell.”

[seiwas]

the blade bleeds longer than the wound takes to heal | simon riley

wc: 2.2k

summary: progress is non-linear. simon is learning just that. 

contains: any warnings that apply to cod, blood, mentions of serious injuries, recovery and healing, kind of non-linear, simon-centric with a splash of romance, hurt/comfort

a/n: first time writing simon and he's a tough one!! but i'm really happy with how this turned out! + a very belated birthday gift for @vierisqe! forgive the jumble of american + british english in this one (i've reread this so many times that it's mushed together in my head and i can't tell the difference anymore djhfbjas) i hope i wrote him well!!

Simon picks up a knife in the dead of the night. 

At 2:00 a.m., the wind whistles outside your window, a wayward branch being thrown aimlessly against glass. The branches drag roughly against the delicate surface, scratching and banging in the gust of a predicted storm. 

Simon wakes up, eyes shooting open as his fingers instinctively reach for the small blade slotted underneath your mattress, sandwiched between soft cushion and the wooden panels of your bedframe. He keeps it there—

“For monster hunting. Sneaky fuckers only appear when lights’re out.”

—in case anything happens, he doesn’t say. 

(But you know old habits die hard, and Simon sleeps better with a weapon only layers away from his skin.) 

You’re curled up on his chest, hanging tightly onto his bicep as your breaths lull in the steady beats of slumber. His eyes blend dark blue against the backdrop of the night, and the only light casting itself into your bedroom diffuses from the streetlamp a few flats down. 

“We should keep a night light,” you’ve told him a few times before—if only to avoid small accidents, like tripping over folded carpets or bumping into the sharp edges of your dresser. 

“No ghosts here but me, love.” is all Simon replies.

(You take his cheekiness and keep it close to your chest, sporadic as it is, snorting as you let go of the topic.) 

He sees better in the dark—better than most, he’d like to think. 

His gaze flits to the window, watching intently as the branches move haphazardly; the sound hits the glass like bullet cases clinking against marble flooring. The same white marble bloodied deep red—

An inhale tickles his side, a phantom sharpness despite his ribcage being fully healed. There is no puncture, no gaping wound like that day 8 months ago—only scar tissue formed thickly along the outline of the knife that pierced through him. 

He breathes out, slow and steady, taking one last look at the window, before moving over to the door, checking for shadows and any suspicious movement. Then, his gaze rests on you—your hair splayed across his shoulder as you sleep soundly.

It’s okay. You’re okay. 

Everything is okay. 

.

Some days, he can breathe just fine. 

Spring blossoms through the flowers in your garden, white chrysanthemums that give Simon the worst spring allergies but he insists you keep. Despite the morning sniffles, when pollen seems to dust his dawning breath, he finds breathing easier on these days than most. 

You do your best to snip away at the blossoming buds, preparing to bundle them far away from the burly man they weaken. 

But Simon stands beside you with a watering pot, tilting the spout to drizzle life onto the blooms he knows are your pride and joy. 

He owes it to them, he supposes, for keeping you company months at a time. 

. 

It’s at the fizzling end of summer when Simon returns to you. 

Captain Price had contacted you weeks prior to inform you of the incident—just three things Simon requested be divulged: 

One, that he had incurred a stab wound to be monitored for a few weeks, most likely in military facilities. 

Two, that he’ll be discharged soon after. 

And three, that you stay put and be calm; that you not worry. 

(Your hands shake throughout the entire call, your knees giving way as you fall to the bunched up carpet of your bedroom floor. 

To you, Simon is untouchable. 

To you, Simon is impenetrable. 

He never divulges any more than he has to, but you’ve always known he was good at his job. The silent yet commanding confidence he carries can only be born from years of expertise, his senses sharpened and tuned to the slightest sign of danger. 

Over the years, without fail, Simon has always come back to you in one piece. 

So when he walks into your flat with staggered breaths, smelling of antiseptic and sterile sheets, your heart aches.) 

You give him a look, eyes glassy with your hands clenched on your sides as if avoiding to touch, should he be fragile; he holds that stare for a few seconds too long until he decides to fuck it, pulling you closer to his chest. 

Fuck doctors’ orders that his stitches haven’t fully healed. Fuck doctors’ orders that he should ‘minimise thoracic pressure’. 

Fuck doctors’ orders that he should watch his breathing, keeping it slow and steady only. 

“Quit all ‘o that,” he clears his throat, hiding a wheeze from the impact, “Didn’t get me killed, ‘n it won’t. S’no grave to cry over.” 

You can’t help it though, he knows, your fingers clutching tighter onto the ends of his jacket as you rest your forehead on his collarbone. The pain muddles together in his chest, soaked by the tears seeping through the fabric of his t-shirt. 

There are many things Simon doesn’t tell you, many more that he won’t—

His body holds a litany of injuries, scars built upon scars; some lie on the surface of his skin, others residing deeper than any knife can sink into. 

—last month, he nearly died. 

A miscalculated raid had led him straight into a trap, isolating him from the rest of the 141. He was concussed and sedated, senses dulled by the chemicals injected into his bloodstream. It happened too fast—a blade, inconspicuously small but sharp, piercing through his ribcage; the hits that followed dealt greater damage. 

Price found Simon lying in a pool of his own blood, deep red against the white brinks of death. 

Three broken ribs—two that stabbed through his lungs along with the knife, and one that managed to puncture his heart. Doctors warned that breathing during recovery would be difficult, but he hardly finds it to be the most challenging part. 

The paranoia is worse. 

He’s been more fidgety since, constantly wary; uneasy. Worse compared to usual. 

Every professional he’s spoken to has told him that progress is non-linear—

“So, give yourself some time. Some days can be easy and difficult the next, but the day after that might be—” 

To that he says, fucking ‘ell. 

.

You cut yourself while trimming your chrysanthemums. 

It’s a small nick on your thumb, but that finger always bleeds more than the others do; blood red drips onto a few white petals—a striking contrast.

Simon finds you that way. 

He moves on autopilot, rushing in to grab the first-aid kit you keep in one of your kitchen cabinets. On the surface, he is calm, face set straight and hardly rattled by the accident. This is the only good he sees in the snail-pace of his recovery—his jagged breaths conceal the real reason his hands tremble slightly holding yours.

A small cut shouldn’t need bandaging. A small cut shouldn’t need gauze and waterproof plaster. Simon shouldn’t insist on taking over, especially when the pollen clogs his nose. 

But your white chrysanthemums should not be red. 

He tells himself he’ll get you a pair of those cut-resistant gardening gloves. 

Those petals should not be red. 

.

The knife isn’t the problem, it’s what surrounds it. 

Simon hasn’t been the same since his return, and you’ve begun to notice.

For a big and hefty man, he prefers keeping himself away from as much fuss as he can. Weekend markets with him have always been pleasant; he carries all the produce and you stop at food stalls to feed him bites of whatever catches your eye.

Not this time.

This time, Simon glues himself behind you, your back pressed against his chest as he navigates you both through crowds. He zeroes in on every single person brushing against you, searching for anything sharp. 

When you wait by a food stall, he scans the area; his focus shifts from a family of four settling their toddler on a stroller, then to a man older but not nearly as large as he, bringing in sacks of flour inside a bakery. Off in a corner is a teenager, swallowed by the thick fabric of a hoodie similar to his own; Simon observes him a little longer, drawing suspicions about the movement concealed inside the kid’s pocket. 

(You notice it when you ask whether he prefers peaches or mangoes for the crepe’s filling, only to be met with no reply.) 

Then, a faint trail of smoke wafts out of the boy’s nose—it’s just a vape. 

Simon turns away. 

By brunch, which you always somehow seem to drag him into, you settle into your seat and ask the server for a butter knife. 

(Simon stays silent most times, with the occasional dry retort or witty quip directed at any silly thing he notices, but he’s been completely quiet this entire day. The slightest bit of tension pinches the skin between his brows as his eyes dart from one person to the next—like roaring waves rushing to catch the shore.) 

It happens all too quickly, how he pins the server’s wrist down onto your table when you’re handed the butter knife. 

Everybody in the restaurant pauses to look at you two.

The shock on your face mirrors the server’s. 

Simon lets go immediately, mumbling his apologies as his hands dig inside the pocket of his hoodie. You turn to the server sheepishly, standing up to follow him to the cashier. 

(You know Simon well enough that he hates all the attention, so you quickly settle everything with the manager, explaining as best as you can that it wasn’t intentional. The server is kind enough to let it go, his wrist red but otherwise uninjured from Simon’s grip; you still give him a tip, for the shock and trouble.) 

The whole trip home is tense. Simon can’t look you in the eyes, and even when you both walk into your flat, he heads straight for the kitchen, preparing to clean and wash the vegetables.

He rolls up his sleeves and opens the tap, rinsing carrots and potatoes, along with some of the lettuce you managed to pick up for half off. 

(Something stabs at your heart seeing him curl into himself even more, but Simon will talk when he wants to—never before or after. 

So, you walk towards him instead, wrapping your arms around his waist as you rest your cheek against his back.) 

He stops moving, and the water continues running. 

(You can hear his heartbeat, feel each slow breath he’s taking.)  

Simon doesn’t tell you of the sleepless nights, of the terrors that plague his waking mind more than nightmares do. He doesn’t tell you that he sees you in his spot that very same day, on that same marble floor—your own pool of red against the very same white that your chrysanthemums bloom into. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper against his back, landing kisses on each of his shoulder blades. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and thick, but he feels you through it. 

“You always do a good job of keeping me safe.” 

Your words layer on him like tactical gear, arms tightening around his abdomen akin to the belt that holds his ammo. 

“Let me take care of you now,” you close your eyes, voice a little shaky, pleading, “okay?” 

Simon holds his breath. 

.

Your chrysanthemums sit in a vase by your kitchen sink, water droplets catching onto the petals and leaves. 

Simon sneezes every time he washes his hands, but he’s the one who put it there—

“S’called exposure therapy, love.” 

(And who are you to argue with a man on a mission?) 

—along with the cut-resistant gloves he stores in a drawer near your kitchen tools. 

From the corner of his eye, he watches you drag your chef’s knife to fillet a chicken breast. He keeps his gaze locked on your every movement, fingers twitching as if they itch to reach for you. Pain tingles at the side of his chest, a faded remnant of how it felt when the wound was still fresh. 

You fillet the breast successfully, and he releases a breath.

Simon has keen sight and he uses it to his advantage—sniping, scoping, watching. He notices the sharp edge of the open cupboard door over your head and reflexively lays his palm over it, cushioning the impact when you hastily move to the side.

If you notice, you don’t show him any signs.

Tonight’s menu is honey glazed soy chicken, a recipe you’ve been wanting to test out. He’d offered to help but you insisted that he sit back and relax; and of course, in typical Simon- fashion, he only partially heeds your advice. 

He sits back and relaxes all right, but on the barstool by the kitchen island, ready to spring into action whenever you need him. 

And he sees it all—that near-mishap by the cupboard, how dangerously close your fingers are from your chef’s knife; your cut-resistant gloves are ready-to-use in the drawer next to your garden tools. He still keeps that small blade between your mattress and bedframe. 

Old habits die hard, the aftereffects of near-death moreso, but Simon is a man on a mission, and when he watches you hiss away from the brief ‘pop!’ of oil splattering from your pan, he stays right where he is, convincing himself he can leave you to handle it. 

You’re okay. 

This is progress. 

It’s a start.

a/n: this turned out a lot more serious than i intended, but i enjoyed picking simon to see how he would act in a period of adjustment back to regular life, especially after something potentially traumatic. i find simon an incredibly difficult character to write because he carries so much with him and i could go on about this, but the tldr is: i think he's become desensitised to a lot of things, which is why i don't think he's afraid of wounds or knives no matter how much he's been hurt by them. i don't imagine him being afraid of dying either, because it's what they do—it comes with the job. i do think though, that his close call with death here shifts his fear to the idea of loss, particularly, losing you. and as a protector, he finds himself responsible for that.

thank you notes: to @soumies my gawd!! for helping me with dialogue and proofreading, practically beta reading this entire thing!! you are the heart of this fic 🥺 simon would not be simon in this without you!! love u love u love u!!!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[e-r-i-15]

𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓻 𝓚𝓲𝓬𝓴 𝓛𝓾𝓬𝓴

🅂🄸🄼 🄹🄰🄴🅈🅄🄽 🅇 🄵🄴🄼!🅁🄴🄰🄳🄴🅁

Soccer Player!AU - Non Idol!AU

Author's Note: Ah, I'm so excited, this is my first ever piece of writing that I'm publishing on Tumblr. I'm listening to Romance: Untold while writing this, so I recommend you do too. Btw, I don't know anything about soccer, so bear with me.

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

If there's anything the boy's soccer team like doing, it was making up random games and code names.

Was it childish? Yes. Did they care? Absolutely not.

But perhaps their most favourite game was the corner kick game.

"It's easy, you get the girl you like to touch the ball before you kick it," Sunghoon says.

"But why? And wouldn't it be suspicious?" Riki asked while playing with the ball.

"It's good luck, Riki."

"Uh-huh, sure-"

"Riki, don't piss of Sunghoon, and Sunghoon, don't tell the kid weird things," Jay's voice rings inside the locker room.

Jake rolled his eyes, used to these small arguments, and continues to warm-up.

He runs around the field once before starting to stretch, when he notices a girl sitting next to the field with her friends, specifically next to the corner arc.

She was reading a book, her hair flying every where with the wind. She lifts her head up every now and then to look at her friends, who are running and dancing around, making silly actions.

Jake sees her laugh. Even though he can't hear it, he feels that it's a very pretty sound.

"Jake! Come on, we're starting." He hears Sunoo yell at him.

Jake runs to the centre of the field, and the game starts. The whistle blows, the guys start yelling, but all Jake can focus on is the ball and the girl.

The ball finally passes the goal line by the other team, indicating a corner kick for Jake's team.

"I got it!" Jake yells, running to get the ball. He sprints to the corner arc, specifically where the girls are at.

The girl he was watching has her head on another friend's lap, now watching the sky above her.

Jake goes up to them, his extroverted personality suddenly leaving him. He feels his heart race as he sees the girl, the sun perfectly lighting her up.

"Excuse me, could you move a little?" He says, his voice weak.

The girl raises her head, shoos all of her friends away from the spot, about to leave herself. "I'm so sorry. We'll go sit on the bleachers instead."

She turns around and proceeds to walk away, before Jake gathers his courage, "Wait! May I know your name?"

"Y/N." She answers simply and leaves, off to find her friends.

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

"You know, Y/N is so pretty." Jake suddenly says, his head laying down on the table.

"Hyung, respectfully, do you ever shut up?" Riki says, groaning.

"Look man, I love you just like everyone else, but can you please provide us some peace? If not us, than the other people in this library?" Sunghoon pleads, tired with Jake's simp behaviour.

Jake raises his hands, as if surrendering, "Sorry, not sorry!"

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

Jake gets the ball, skipping to the corner arc, where Y/N and her friends are.

"Hi, Jake! Sorry, we'll move away." Y/N says quickly, ushering the girls away, before Jake opens his mouth.

"Actually, Y/N, I was wondering if you could touch the soccer ball once."

Y/N tilts her head to a side, while her friends teased her in the background, "Yeah, Y/N, touch the ball for him."

Y/N glares at them playfully, before reaching forward and giving the ball a slight tap.

Jake hears his teammates yell and cheer. "SHE TOUCHED IT!" Heeseung yells in the distance.

Jake smiles at her, before kicking the ball to Jungwon.

Seconds later, his team makes a successful goal, winning the practice game.

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

Jake sits in the library, again, for the fifth time that week, trying to finish his biology homework that he'd been procrastinating on ever since it was given out (almost a month ago).

He was not even halfway done before his fingers started cramping up. He cracked his knuckles, when a soft voice stopped him.

"Hey, Jake, can I sit here?" Gesturing to the seat next to him, was Y/N.

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"What are you working on?" She whispered.

"Biology, but I'm having trouble with it though." He whispered back.

"I can help you!" She said excitedly, while he stifled back a laugh.

Y/N guided him through the homework, sitting close to him, while he helped her with her physics homework.

For once, there wasn't an awkward silence between them.

"Jake." Her voice interrupted.

He looked at her, smiling, "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry if I'm not supposed to know about this, but why do you make me touch the ball whenever you do a corner kick?"

Jake tenses, he starts looking around, avoiding her curious gaze.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a silly tradition."

�� ˚➶ ｡˚

The soccer finals.

Team Decelis made it to the finals, they were going against River Heights, and so far, it was tough.

The game was almost about to end, twenty minutes to be precise, and it was still 1-1. The boys were tired, and the applause were less enthusiastic now, the crowd slowly losing its energy.

Jake couldn't blame them, it almost seemed as though the goalies were kicking the ball to each other.

At last, River Heights' goalie kicked it past the goal, leading Decelis to get a corner kick.

Jake gets the ball and runs to do it, finally happy to break the cycle.

He sets to ball, but just before he kicks it, he takes a second to look next to the bleachers.

Y/N.

He sees Y/N, worried, standing so close to him.

The world seems to stop around him, and he can't really process anything that's happening. He suddenly can't seem to understand the point of this game, why was he playing?

Was it to win? No, that didn't seem right. No, he was playing for Y/N.

That's when it hit him, she was his lucky charm. This game is entirely pointless without her.

He extends his arms, gesturing to the ball, silently asking her to touch it.

"Please?" He whispers. Jake can barely hear himself, but he knows that she understood when she smiles at him, small, but ecouraging.

She races to him quickly, tapping the ball, before leaning forward to give him a kiss on his cheek.

His happiness knows no bounds as he kicks the ball to Jungwon, who is free, and then has the ball kicked back to him as he runs to the goal.

He dribbles the ball, passing an opponent, before kicking the ball into the net. The buzzer rings immediately after, signalling the end of the game.

The crowd cheers, and his teammates hug him. Jake is sweaty, tired, and just wants to go home, but instead he looks at the crowd that is now surround him, his eyes searching for the one person he want s to see now.

The one person that is now running toward him.

He hugs Y/N, almost squeezing her. He lets go of her, just for a second, before her lips crash into his.

Because, she is his home, his favourite lucky charm.

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

This is actually kind of based on true events with one of the boys in my school, but it doesn't end with us dating, we're actually, kind of, enemies? I don't know. -eri

[curawrites]

Wolf and Lamb

Graves x fem!Reader

Warnings: dub/non- con, serious power imbalance, gun sucking, gun fucking, unprotected sex, forced breeding, mentions of pregnancy, fuck or die situation, mentions of injury, gross Graves, Graves flirting

Note: This takes place during the Alone mission. C/S = call sign.

This is pure filth and I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THIS! Practice safe sex! 💚

“Well look what we have here…” the attractive southern twang of Graves voice was unmistakable as you herd approaching footsteps.

You took a deep shaky breath, pushing yourself further back into the wall while cradling your injured shoulder. You look up to find Graves towering over you, hand gun firmly held and aimed towards you.

“Fuck you Graves.” You spat, tone dripping in venom.

He looked at your with a quirked brow, “I expected more respect from you C/S..” he said as he took a few steps forward. “I thought you and I had a little thing going~. Thought you’d run away with me~“ he smiled handsomely.

You glared at him, “I’d rather you shoot me in the head.”

“Oh ho ho, spicy one you are, very well then. Guess I’ll just kill y’a.” He said before pulling out a knife, “I’ll make sure to take my time..” he took a step forward.

You coward further into the wall, you really wanted to hate Graves, but part of you still held on to all the longing gazes, the flirty banter, the subtle touches. But you valued you life a lot more that whatever kind of relationship you and Graves had.

Noticing your panic Graves smirked, “Not up for it now, sugar?”

You shot him a glare, he only chuckled before kneeling in front of you.

“I could never dream of killing such a sweet lookin thing like you~” he smirked at you, looking you over pervertedly, “You want to live don’t you C/S?”

You nodded silently at his question.

“Then your going to be a good girl and let me take off all of what’s covering up that pretty body of yours~” he slid the knife back into its rightful place.

You nodded slightly, the guilt and shame already washing over you but mixed with the slight arousal flickering to life inside the pit of your tummy.

He started by taking off your reflective goggles and mask, he took a moment to stroke your cheek, “Knew you were pretty under all this~” he licked his lips before tossing the items to the side.

He continued to take off all your gear and clothes. At long last he took your striped boxers the last piece of clothes off your body, carelessly throwing it to the side before looking over your now naked body.

He wolf whistled, “Look at you..~ such gorgeous body~” he forced your legs open with his own.

Still clutching your poorly bandaged shoulder, you had no strength nor wanted to put up a fight against him. Your legs graciously fell open.

“Fuck.. look at that pretty cunt..~” Graves licked his lips.

You glared daggers into his soul but blushed non the less.

“Don’t look at me like that, sugar~” he smirked before pulling out his gun again.

You watched, glancing up at him suspiciously.

“Now Sargent.. I want you to be a good girl and open you pretty mouth~” he put the gun right at your lips, “and I’m not afraid to shoot.” He warned.

With a glare you opened your mouth and let Graves push his gun into your mouth.

“Atta girl~” he praised making your Pusey flutter at the praise.

You sucked on the gun obediently, gagging softly when Graves thrusts it a bit to far down your throat.

After a few minutes he pulled the gun out of your mouth, the weapon was dripping with your saliva. The after taste of metal lingered in your mouth as you watched him trail the slick gun down your bare torso, all the way down to your wet cunt.

“Graves.” You said as your squirmed to get away.

“Ah, ah, ah..” He warned, “Stay fucking still.” He spat.

He pressed the gun to your clit, moving it in gentle circles sending sparks of pleasure up you spine before trailing it farther down to your opening. He shoved the gun inside you with ease thanks to your spit and slight wetness. You gasped in horror and in shock at the intrusion. He started rubbing your clit while thrusting his gun in and out of your pussy making you moan softly.

The sensation of his gun rubbing against your inner walls was strange and uncomfortable but it was overshadowed by the pleasure building up inside of you thanks to the stimulation on your clit. Graves kissed you sloppily, sucking and nibbling at you bottom lip. You could only mewl and whimper into his mouth.

You came with a loud sob of pleasure, glaring at Graves with tear filled eyes while tears cascaded down you cheeks. You were utterly ashamed that you enjoyed your orgasm.

“There you go, Sugar~ didn’t that feel fucking amazing~” Graves purred stroking away your tears while pulling out the gun from your pussy and shoving it into your mouth again.

He made you clean all your juices from the gun before putting it away in its holster on his belt which he was now unbuckling.

He crawled over you, sucking and kissing your neck and face while rubbing his hard cock in between your slick folds. Your cunt fluttered still recovering from your orgasm.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me C/S~” Graves purred as he played with your tits.

He slid his cock inside you, eliciting a sharp gasp which he silenced by kissing your lips. He was much bigger than you expected, and stretched your cunt deliciously.

“Fuck sugar~ you feel so fucking amazing~” Graves said as he started to thrust inside you.

You blushed completely and utterly embarrassed and flustered by his comment and the obscene noises your slick cunt was making.

His slow thrusts quickly morphed into fast and hard thrust that repeatedly bruised your cervix. Tears continued to run down your cheeks from both pleasure and shame.

“Fuck baby~” he groaned, “M’gonna fucking breed y’a~ gonna give you a sweet baby boy~” his cock twitched inside of you, “no.. I’m gonna give you fucking twins~ two sweet little baby boys~ fuck yeah~” he said as he sighed in pleasure.

Grave’s comments made you pussy tighten around his cock. He let out a soft hiss before pressing your legs to your chest to continue pounding into you.

He rubbed quick circles of your clit, not bothered to be gentle, only wanting you to cream his cock.

When you climaxed you moaned loudly, gripping his shoulders tightly as you pussy squeezed around his cock.

“Fuuuck!~ m’cumming~” he groaned thrusting into you deeply before he flooded your insides with his seed.

The warmth that spread inside you made you let out a soft noise of pleasure.

You and Graves went for two more rounds before he left you in the crumbling home, naked, leaking cum and feeling utterly ashamed and filthy.

You weakly and slowly put on you clothes, you hissed in pain as you moved your shoulder.

Suddenly your radio buzzed, “Ghost to C/S how copy?” Ghost’s gravely voice echoed in the silence.

You grabbed the device with a shaky hand.

“C/S to Ghost… I-“ You tried to speak but something inside you wouldn’t allow you, to ashamed to admit what you had just done.

“C/S are you alright?” Ghost asked.

“No..” you sobbed, “Graves- he.. fuck.. he.” You couldn’t get any words out but it seemed Ghost had picked up on what you were trying to communicate.

“Can you still get to the church C/S?” He asked

“Negative lieutenant.. my shoulder is injured and I can’t.. walk..” You respond wiping your tears frantically.

“I’m leaving the church right now C/S sit tight. Where are you?” He said before informing soap to stop heading for the church.

“I’m in the house beside the coffee shop..” you muttered as you put your mask and goggles back on.

“Copy that. Sit tight.” He said before your radio went silent.

You stuff the radio back in its pocket on your vest and sit on the floor. Letting your thoughts consume you…

[mikodrawnnarratives]

Long post!

I have been thinking

a little

not at all little

Actually I've thought a lot about

(more art ltr)

An Idea I've had for a while for a cryptid Y/n au

@naffeclipse

Came up with most of it when I saw some other ideas for cryptid y/n au

INGREDIENTS:

- Little kid 

- cryptid that craves warmth (not hearts or organs, just any living being warmth gives energy)  (don't know how they'd look)

(why they can't get a pet or smthn idk)

(WAIT) 

Cryptid y/n at some point: pspspsps *whistles* 

The werewolves: ... 

(But fr they'd probably end up killing living beings and humans only so they could get the warmth of the blood. Imagine a cat with catnip and you got cryptid y/n) 

when blood cools and dries:  

cryptid y/n:   :(    

DIRECTIONS: 

1) Bad meeting 

2) Mix (Possession gone wrong) 

BOOM 

Results: Y/n. Much to their confusion 

(old art I made when I first thought of the au)

PREPARATION TIME: ?????? 

They still have a heartbeat 

Somehow 

The demonic cryptid with a beating heart. A pretty weak heartbeat but a heartbeat.

And at least partial mind of a human. Their bodies are fused together but mostly look human enough on the outside. But their heart can't keep them going alone, this applies to either party. So they both have to continue cryptid life necessities. Since y/n fused at a young age, their body grew to adapt with the cryptid traits and years after they are stronger and more accustomed to it.

don't question it

Roommates in the same body and become similar to Cryptid Eclipse in terms of how they think and work together. They pretty much become the same person.

I imagine any injury would be very very frightening. I mean the heart's pretty weak from this unnatural fusion so generally they go after anything that can't deal too much damage to them

Many MANY years after becoming cryptid, y/n meets Sun and Moon who offer to help them out. I think they wouldn't suspect them too much since they originally believe they were covered in blood since they were hurt by a cryptid. Moon is more suspicious than Sun tho.

I think it'd be interesting if Sun and moon weren't separate animatronics (yet at least). Y/n grows to trust in them and really does care about them deeply. Especially since they are the best relationship they've had in a while. They aren't warm enough to sustain y/n, but it's closer than any other non living thing has gotten.

Cuddles are vry important here.

Y/n feels safe around them in a way they hadn't in a long time. And Sun and Moon would also care deeply about them just like Cryptid Eclipse and Cryptid hunter y/n. They have plenty of reasons to be concerned over y/n too! Like... why aren't they eating like a human should.

So when someone hurts their sweetie, no matter how scared y/n normally would be, they are def protective over their hunters. Their light. Their warmth.

Lore connection? Idk I came up with the idea b4 series finale and I think an episode prior to it 

It'd be interesting if they were a follower of glitchtrap at some point 

Most of this idea was baked before some lore clarifications, even then it's only half baked 

...

Crossover?  

agdxhxgdfdydg for FUNNYS!! (tho only naff can confirm or deny)

I think Hunter y/n, ngl, kinda would want to put Cyptid Y/n under a microscope and study them, and Eclipse is confusion (and bombastic side eye). Actually, both of them are confusion 

Cryptid y/n is scared of both. Mostly of Eclipse, even falls over in fear the moment they detect them.

Run Y/n Run! And leave Eclipse VERY CONFUSED!! 

Cryptid y/n @ seeing eclipse: WOAH! DAMN. I don't know what the hell you feeding him but he is TOO DAMN BIG

Vanessa: y'know what's worse than a cryptid?

Vanessa *takes away paper*: BOOM. 

The whiteboard: "cryptid child" 

Glitchtrap: a CHILD 

Vanessa: NO

Anyway, just wanted to toss in what I've thought of for cryptid y/n

[nejiverse]

Hey :) may I request hc of tecchou having a short s/o? ^^

SHORTIE

Tecchou Suehiro

Its a bit short but hope you like it either way <33

cw: none

468 words

It’s confusing but he’s annoying and cute about your height at the same time.

For example, if there’s something you can’t reach on top of a shelf, he’d gladly get it for you.

Once he does and you thank him for it, he’s waiting there, blinking his eyes as if to say ‘you’re welcome..what else’.

You then get the memo and place a chaste kiss on his lips.

Other times include when he’s crouching down to watch a colony of ants, he’ll gesture you to crouch in front of him and he’ll wrap his arms around you and place his chin comfortably on your head.

When you two are in a crowd or something, he’ll notice you standing on your tip toes to try and see over everyone’s heads and without any form of warning, would lift you up onto his shoulders. It’s a bit embarrassing to you but he’s doing you a favour honestly.

He loves giving you piggy back rides. Ask him for one and he’ll never say no.

Tecchou’s got long legs and so when you two are walking together, you literally have to jog to keep up with him.

“Can you walk a bit slower?! I’m out of breath!”

“Oops, sorry”

He doesn’t even notice sometimes.

There was one time you were hiding from Jouno, you pissed him off real bad that day for whatever reason.

And so when you heard him approaching, you quickly grabbed Tecchou’s arms and hid behind him.

“Quick! Cover for me!”.

Tecchou nodded with a thumbs up.

“Leave it to me”, you shouldn’t have left it to him.…like at all.

When Jouno arrived, Tecchou began to whistle randomly and in a non-suspicious way (Jouno was highly suspicious of him).

“Have you seen Y/n?”, he asked.

“Y/n? Who’s that? Haven’t seen her”, he rubbed the back of his head.

Jouno scoffed and folded his arms. Of course he already knew she was there due to his heightened senses but what did Tecchou take him for? A fool?

“That’s a pity…I was thinking of letting her off the hook this time”, he sighed coyly.

Tecchou perked up and moved to the side, resting his arm on her head.

“If that’s the case, then she’s right here”, this was great. Jouno would forgive her and Y/n wouldn’t have to hide anymore. It sounded like a win-win to Tecchou, but it was clearly a trap. Jouno was just toying with him.

“He dug a hole and you fell right into it”, you removed his hand from your head and looked up at him, shaking your head at his hopelessness.

“Huh?”, he tilted his head.

Clueless as ever..

Masterlist :)

[safflowerseason]

old dan x amy fanfiction

I'm trying to flex my rusty fanfiction writing muscles, and going through old files I found this old Dan x Amy story that I never finished. It was a fill-in-the-gaps fic set between S2 and S3 and the tentative summary was : "The two months between seasons two and three, or, the story of how Amy and Dan went to Mike’s wedding together." I always thought this was a kind of interesting period in the relationship...by the end of S2 Dan and Amy have clearly settled into their banter-y "work spouses" relationship and they start S3 literally attending a wedding together. But at the same time, they are also in open competition for the role of campaign manager...I was always intrigued by in the dynamics of that transition. Anyway, I never finished it--it got very long and unwieldy, surprise surprise--but if there are any old Dan/Amy fic readers still out there I thought I'd post the first few pages here. There's quite a bit of general ensemble banter as well, related to Mike's wedding. Enjoy!

The morning after they learn that POTUS (officially, cross his precious heart, no turning back now) will not be running for a second term, Dan comes into the office with a giant stack of paper and starts piling it ostentatiously all around his desk. 

“What is this? Some sort of political mating ritual? Are you building a nest egg?”

“Well now you wouldn’t know enough to say, would you, Amy?”

Unfortunately, Amy doesn’t have a good response immediately—she was up until 2am brainstorming campaign strategies, and she knows Dan was up until at least 1:45 because they were texting ideas back and forth until then—so she just returns to her coffee and Post headlines and ignores him while he bustles around trying to make as much noise as possible. 

Selina comes in late, trilling with brittle laughter and smiling manically—Gary trails her, looking mildly repulsed and mutters “Andrew” in Amy and Dan’s general direction. Amy grimaces and adds “figure out a way to get rid of Andrew permanently” to her list of things to do before the campaign starts. She wonders if it would be considered a misuse of government forces to have Special Ops just take him out.

Andrew notwithstanding, the mood in the office is better than it has been all year. Mike whistles when he gets back from the press gaggle and Dan doesn’t immediately tell him to shut up. People actually use the world “please.” Amy’s fully cognizant something is going to blow it all up soon, but for now, she’ll let them enjoy the first morning in a long time where they don’t have to feel bad about the trajectory of their careers. 

At the morning strategy meeting, they talk about the best way to move forward until POTUS announces he won’t be running, discuss events to add to or remove from the public schedule in light of the upcoming campaign, and at the end of the meeting Dan brandishes his giant stack of paper and announces: “Ma’am, it’s time for you to publish your book.”

“Oooh!” Gary exclaims. “A book! Can I be in it?”

“You’re definitely not in it, Gary.”

“Yeah, Gary, what would you be doing in my book?” Selina demands, and Gary slinks back into the corner. “Dan, is it really the right time for this kind of political kabuki?”

“We need to lay the foundation for your presidential run in a non-threatening manner by reintroducing you to the public in a way that subtly separates you from POTUS. A book tour is the best way to do that, and unfortunately, ma’am, we need a book for a book tour.” 

Amy regards him suspiciously: he’s doing that thing where he appears to sincerely care about his job. This is always cause for deep concern. 

“Ma’am, do I have to write a whole book now?” Mike asks, looking forlorn. Dan glares and unceremoniously dumps the stack of paper in his lap. Mike grunts. “What the fuck do you think this is, Mike? Your obituary?”

“Wait, you’ve already written it?” Amy exclaims, completely non-plussed. “Since yesterday?”

“Please Amy.” says Dan, looking superior.

“Well Dan, I’ve got to hand it to you…it looks like I won’t have to write a single word myself, which is, obviously, the ideal.” Selina’s already flipping through the chapters, looking interested in spite of herself (then again, it is a book about her). 

“It’s basically written, ma’am, we’ll just need to do a few informational sessions about your political career and personal life, to add in some expository information.”

“That sounds excruciating.” Selina sighs. “But if you think it’s absolutely necessary…”

“I promise you that I will make the experience as pleasant as possible.” Dan smiles the smile he gives rich political widows and young women with babies. Amy gets a very bad feeling in her stomach. 

“This is a trap but I can’t figure out how.” she mutters to Mike, and he just nods bleakly.

~*~

Everyone’s about to disperse when Mike calls out casually “Oh yeah, if everyone could finalize their RSVPs to the wedding by Tuesday, that’d be great.” 

The silence he is met with is deafening. 

“…what wedding?” Amy finally ventures.

Mike looks at her. “My wedding.”

“To who?”

“Whom.” Gary corrects, and then flinches as Dan glares at him. 

“My fiancée.” When they all look blank, Mike says, in a more annoyed tone of voice “You guys, we got engaged three months ago! We sent the invitations right after!”

“Mike, I have matters of global significance to attend to that are infinitely more important than your personal life. Infinitely more important.” 

“And who checks their mailbox in the twenty first century?” Dan muses. 

“Hey, I do!” Gary pipes up. “I knew you were getting married, Mike.”

“Sue!” Amy yells out. “When’s Mike’s wedding?”

“June 17th.” Sue reports promptly from her desk. “It’s tentatively on the veep’s schedule.”

“Jesus Christ,” exclaims Selina. “You scheduled your dumbass wedding right as prep for the primaries take off. Really, Mike?”

“Yeah, Mike.” Dan echoes sycophantically.

“It’s not like we knew you were going to run, ma’am.”

“Okay.” Amy clears her throat. Everyone falls silent. “Congratulations. Who is the…who is the woman?”

“Wendy Collins. She’s a fashion reporter for the Post.”

“A journalist?!” Selina explodes. The morning goes downhill from there.

~*~

Amy sends an intern home to sort through three months of unopened mail and retrieve Mike’s wedding invitation. The intern comes back with a lavender invitation printed with navy sail boats. 

“I can’t tell if you’re having a boy or getting married.” Dan snarks. 

“Oh my god, Mike, don’t you fucking dare have a kid.” God, a kid, can you fucking imagine, Amy would sooner slit her wrists. “I’m not getting stuck with just Dan on the campaign trail, he was the worst press secretary since whoever’s job it was to manage Hoover’s image.” Dan gives her the finger behind Selina’s back.

“I suppose it wouldn’t play well with the public if I didn’t attend my own press secretary’s wedding.” Selina sounds like she would rather do literally anything else. 

“Cheer up, ma’am. It’s entirely possible there could be a nuclear stand-off or a global health crisis that will require your attention.” Sue replies stoically.

“God, here’s hoping.” Selina stalks back into her office.

“I don’t know why you’re all so cranky, I love weddings. Sue, put it in big, bold letters so we make sure to schedule around the day.” 

“I think I can do my job without your input, Gary. ” 

“Gary!” Selina shouts from her desk. “I need some caffeine before my meeting with the Speaker, and if I could get it, you know, before I die…”

“Coming, ma’am.” 

~*~

“So when did you actually write this?” Amy asks Dan, later that afternoon. He’s commandeered the white board and is writing words like inspiration and reflection all over it in big letters. “Seriously. Even you cannot bullshit this fast.” 

“Oh, Amy.” Dan smirks. “Sweet, innocent Amy. You think this book is original? I’ve got ten different versions of it. You just change the background information depending on the politician, and boom—instant book.”

“So you’re just mindlessly reproducing soft bullshit narratives that appeal to the lowest common denominator of the American electorate.”

“Yep.” replies Dan, gleefully. “And it’s going to get her elected.”

~*~

A week after they learn about Mike’s wedding, Gary mopes into the office looking like a drowned possum. Selina’s in an endless meeting with the HUD secretary, and he spends the entire morning sighing dramatically over his desk until Sue finally snaps and asks him what’s wrong. 

“Dana and I had another fight….” he lowers his voice, “…about Selina.” 

“Dana who?” asks Dan. 

“I really feel like we all need to get better at remembering information about each other’s personal lives.” Mike complains. 

“We absolutely do not.” Amy contradicts. 

“It’s all right for you, everyone knows you’re dating Ed because he already works for Selina.”

“Yes, and I really regret that fact.” Also she’s not entirely sure they’re still dating, but she’s sure as hell not going to mention that in front of Dan. 

(It has become a-moment-to-which-they-do-not-ever-refer, when Dan had asked her to “grab a bite” after Catherine’s party, whatever that had meant and she couldn’t, because she had a date with Ed, and then Dan got inexplicably wasted with Jonah at Catherine’s make-up birthday dinner and they bonded over acting like jealous Neanderthals. But then the next day Dan called Jonah a malformed super-alien who emerged from leftover godzilla jizz, didn’t mention Ed, and everything went back to normal.)

“So what happened with you and Dan?” Ed asked, the next time they went out. “Did you, like, break his heart or something?”

“He…really hates Boston.” Amy mumbled into her whiskey, and then wondered what the fuck she was doing making excuses for Dan Egan. 

So anyway, they don’t talk about it.)

“Can we focus on me, please?” Gary’s demanding loudly. “Dana’s so mad that I’m still working here. She won’t even let me touch the cheese anymore.”

“So quit.” Dan suggests, sweetly.

“Dan,” Amy says warningly. Selina would have a fucking meltdown.

“Nice try, Dan.” Gary spits. “Selina already told me I can’t.” 

“So break up with Dana. She stole Selina’s lipstick and leaked your precious code to the press. She’s obviously trying to destroy your career.” 

“You have to be a man about it, Gary.” Sue tells him. “I know it’s an unfamiliar concept.”  

Gary agonizes all day. Mike ends up taking him out for a drink after Selina’s left for the evening. They come up back absolutely shit-faced around nine in the evening with the news that Gary is now officially Mike’s unofficial wedding planner. 

“How much did you have to drink?” Amy asks, disgusted. 

“Two margaritas.” Gary giggles. “And we decided on yellow as an accent color for the wedding.” 

“Wow.” says Dan. “I didn’t even know it was possible for you to be even less than a man than I thought.”

“Dan, how is Gary’s bag any different than what you carry around?” Mike slurs.

“Uh, mine isn’t filled with lipstick and tampons, for starters, Mike.” 

“No, just hair gel and skincare products.” Amy deadpans, and is rewarded when Dan gives her a dirty look over Gary’s head.

“You guys, this is extremely unprofessional behavior.” Jonah announces sanctimoniously, from where he’s lurking in the corner. “POTUS would not be pleased if he knew this is how the veep manages her office.”

“Jonah, you literally announce it when a female press aide gives you her business card to give to Kent.”

“They give me more than their business cards and you know it, Dan.”

In the end she and Dan have to put Gary to bed on the couch and pour Mike into a cab, and it doesn’t even make the top thirty list of humiliating things Amy’s done in the course of her tenure as VP chief of staff. 

“Why do I feel like Selina’s entire campaign is going to be us babysitting these idiots?” Dan mutters as they watch the cab disappear into traffic.

“Feel free to jump ship at any time, I won’t stop you.” 

Dan bares his teeth at her, that fake-innocent smile that’s definitely going to land him in prison one day. “Sorry, Ames, you’re not going to the moon without me.” 

“Pity that.”

 ~*~

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Dan is an obnoxious dickhead about Selina’s book. 

Due to the need to get the manuscript to print as quickly as possible, he demands an hour of one-on-one time with Selina every morning so he can mine anecdotes about her personal life and political career. Selina overrules both Amy and Sue and actually gives it to him. Something about how Andrew thinks the book is a good idea too. Fucking Andrew.

Well, that’s perfectly fine. Amy has plenty to do to prepare for the upcoming campaign, and it’s all much more important than Selina’s book. It absolutely does not matter that Dan always emerges from these private sessions looking even more smug than he usually does (if such a thing were possible). As though he knows all kinds of new secrets about Selina. Which he doesn’t. Amy already knows everything that needs to be known, and Gary knows what nobody needs to know.

Mike’s too preoccupied with his upcoming wedding to really make a pretense of caring about the book—or about work in general, so Dan’s writing and handling more of Mike’s duties (whatever they are, if he’s ever handled them, which is debatable). Theoretically, as chief of staff Amy should step in and make some noise about equitable handling of the VP’s communication strategy blah blah blah. But she figures Mike’s in love and Dan, as much as it pains her to admit it, has never shied away from more work.

*

Summer sets in over D.C., and the days get long and humid. The interns dig out the floor fans from storage, and Gary starts keeping scented silk handkerchiefs for Selina to dab on her neck and forehead whenever they have to cross the street. Dan bans Mike from coming anywhere his desk or personal items—“in case you contaminate anything with your flop sweat”—and Amy starts getting multiple invitations for Brookheimer summer family reunions that she, mercifully, has no time to attend. 

The House dithers over a pharmaceutical bill that’s dead on arrival in the Senate. Ben and Kent pop in from time to time with presidential updates. POTUS is reportedly planning a bunch of foreign policy spectacles in order to show off how relevant he is: state dinners, a tour of some East African refugee camps, a summit with Japan and South Korea…

“That’s just fine.” Selina tells Ben, her eyes glinting opportunistically. “Tell him he can spend the entire summer on his impotency tour. I’ve got everything under control here, in the actual United States of America.”  

“Yeah yeah yeah.” Ben replies, his mouth twisting into a smirk in spite of himself. “Try and contain your glee, ma’am.” 

They go to Baltimore to talk about violence in schools, then to Pennsylvania to talk to some steel workers. On the way back, Gary makes Mike a pros and cons chart about different kinds of wedding cake. 

Andrew lurks, popping up occasionally to take Selina to dinner or try and convince Sue to put some sketchy fundraiser on the schedule. She, Dan, and Sue develop a strategy to get him out of the office. Whenever he lingers, Amy gets a convenient call from the director of the Office of Investigations over at Treasury, and Andrew disappears within three seconds flat. It’s remarkably effective.

In between his information sessions with Selina, downplaying the inevitability of Selina’s campaign to the press, meetings with Amy on the Hill to try and derail a trade war with Mexico, and thinking of even more creative nicknames for Jonah, Dan writes the book.

~*~

It is, as Amy suspected, saccharine garbage. 

“Dan, you know this…this is fucking terrible, right?”

She’s perched on the arm of the loveseat; Dan’s sprawled over it, taking up a truly excessive amount of space with his long legs and arms. There are balls of paper scattered all around. Writing, based on the way Dan goes about it, looks a lot like dramatically crumpling up pieces of paper and lounging around on various pieces of furniture like he’s Jack fucking Kerouac.

“I mean, thank God you’ve already negotiated the publishing deal, because this is some serious—“

Dan throws a ball of paper at her. “You want your own book, get in line, Brookheimer.”

“Written by you? Pass.”

“Someone had to write it, Amy.”

“Like there aren’t fifty ghostwriters in this town more qualified than you.”

“I dare you to find even one.”

“Guys,” Sue intervenes, without even looking up from her computer. “Take it outside, please.” 

[mod-kyoko]

mahiru, celeste and toko with the "reader feels safe around them" prompt? Perhaps uwu 👉👈

mahiru, celeste and toko with girlfriend that feels safe around them

info: female!reader, established relationship, tw!light bullying, creeps

type: hc format, non-despair au

a/n: this was actually sent it whilst requests were closed but it was so juicy I just had to do it also I did the same as the last post with this prompt and had a female reader, if this is not what you wanted then don't be afraid to tell me and I'll edit it completely

⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡

mahiru koizumi

mahiru understands your anxieties completely

she certainly does not judge you if you need someone to go to the bathroom with or walk you to your dorm

just giving her a look lets her know what you need and she'll immediately put her hand up during class

"teacher! me and y/n will be going to the restroom!"

she had no shame in it, and will absolutely insist to go with you if the teacher refuses. it's a little embarrassing to do that in front of the whole class but... you appreciate her all the same

she doesn't mind at all if you want to huddle up close to her whilst out and about

seriously she'll squeeze your hand so tight you're sure that it would just break...

in true mahiru fashion she's highly suspicious of men who approach you, even if it was a poor innocent guy asking for directions she'll put herself between you and them, no matter if you're the taller one or not

"uhm, back up, buddy! I don't like how you're getting close to me and my girlfriend here."

she'll put her hands on her hips and give the guy a lecture on proper manners to approach a lady

safe to say that he was gone quickly

"uhm... babe, I think he was just asking for directions..."

"I'm not taking chances, sweetie... I just want to keep you safe, you can't trust anyone these days..."

to take your mind off the unwanted interactions she'll take pretty pictures of you, all the while praising how amazing you look

even if she's a little too much sometimes, you really appreciate how she's always there for you, you truly felt safe with her

celestia ludenberg

when you first told her about your worries walking around alone, she listened intently

she suggested in hiring you a bodyguard to keep you safe when you're out

but... you said you only felt safe around her

she was honestly a little shocked and... flattered? she had to hide her smile behind her hand when she heard that

very well, she would accompany you wherever you need; whether you need escorting to your dorm, the dining hall or even to the locker rooms she'll be by your side

she enjoys your company anyway, so constantly going outside with you wasn't an issue at all

she isn't really 'all about' if you like to lean into her when you're walking

she just really doesn't like getting her perfectly made clothes crumpled...

although it pains her at times, to combat this she will wear more... simple and common-folk clothes. at least then she wouldn't care so much if they were wrinkled

holding your hand was perfectly welcome though, her fingers were so dainty and soft in your own, it always relaxed you

if anyone even thinks about bothering you... well...

one day you and celeste were out window-shopping, she was currently staring at a lovely dress when you heard a whistle behind you

turning, you saw a group of delinquents leering at you and quite obviously checking you out which made you felt very uncomfortable

celeste turned her head to you, noticing your expression and she furrowed her brows, she turned to the delinquents and she smiled softly

"I'm sorry... what did you just say? I think you should all leave.."

of course, they didn't really take her seriously because of her appearance... which made celeste very angry

"did you dumbasses heard what I said?! GET THE HELL OUT NOW!"

they very quickly went running and you stood there absolutely dumbfounded but... painfully attracted

celeste turns back to you with a happy smile and dragged you into a hug, stroking the back of your head gently

"that won't ever happen again, my love..."

toko fukawa

HUH?!

you... felt safe... with her?

her? not even with Jill?

she couldn't really believe it when you told her for the first time and she thought you were just joking to make fun of her

but when you told her again with a serious expression, she realised that you were completely serious...

she was... honestly touched, even though she tried to play it off that you were 'stupid' for thinking that. you could see right through her, you knew your girlfriend well

you are one of the few people who actually tolerate her presence, so she was very keen on walking with you and spending time with you that way

she's a very paranoid girl, so expect her to try and get you away from certain dark areas

whether or not you ask her she will absolutely accompany you in the shower room after gym class, even though she doesn't really bathe all that much, she would absolutely bite down her fear to make sure you were safe and okay

although she doesn't have much physical strength to defend you or the confidence like Jill, she will hold her ground if it meant you were okay

whilst out with her, she doesn't really like hugs or hand-holding that much, especially not in public, it's more of a private time for her

however, she stands close enough to you that's comfortable for her

and her scent drives people away from you so you didn't need to worry about handsy creeps

you were in a little store just buying a snack when you saw a bunch of mean girls giggling as they looked at you and you felt very insecure all of a sudden

"w-what's wrong...?" toko asked you

you said to her in a whisper about the girls and her eyes practically had a murderous glint in them

she whipped herself around, nearly smacking you in the face with her braids

"w-what's your problem you.. you trashy bimbos! j-jealous that my girlfriend h-has a better body than yours?! I've seen better c-curves on a bowling ball!"

absolutely disgusted by being insulted, the girls leave and toko takes your hand with a shy expression on her face

you smile and lean forward to kiss her temple which makes her blush bright much to your amusement

toko may not be the biggest, strongest or most confident person in the world.. but she was your girlfriend and you felt like nothing could hurt you when she was around

⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡⟡♡

-Mod Kirumi

[mellow-mewow]

Imagine Gojo gets to travel to another universe, and he sees him from that universe in the distance. He is probably whistling some random happy tune while swinging happily the paper bag in his hand that obviously has his beloved kikufuku. Out of curiosity, og Gojo follows his other self secretly.

After following for a while, they arrive at Jujutsu Tech and tadaa, he sees Geto Suguru, 27 years old, laughing with Yuuji and Nobara about something ridiculous. There's also Mimiko and Nanako, wearing Jujutsu Tech uniform.

"Satoru!", Geto suddenly calls out. So softly, so lovingly. Just like how he usually would do. And with that same beautiful smile that captured Gojo's heart. It catches Gojo offguard. He can't believe he gets to hear Geto's voice again and to see him smiling again, alive and well. He opens his mouth to answer the call and to even run out of his hiding spot to go to Geto. But before he could even do so, his actions are halted. Because the Gojo in that universe is the one that answers the call first, and is the one that runs towards Geto to pull him into a tight hug. And gives a kiss on the cheek.

Let's just say og Gojo somehow manages to make his other self be away for a bit at some point. Like distract him somehow, with something-What for? Well, coz og Gojo wants a moment alone with Geto from that universe. Even if it's just for a minute. Og Gojo just straight up hug Geto of that universe so suddenly. Geto kinda just chuckle and hugs back, not knowing this is not "his Gojo." But he could tell something is definitely off because the Gojo that's hugging him suddenly cries and is hugging as if there's no tomorrow.

When Geto starts panicking and asks what's wrong, Gojo just wants to spill out everything so badly. To tell him sorry for the time he didn't notice Geto's depression. To tell him how much he misses him. And how terribly painful it was for him to end Geto's life. But of course, he can't say all that. So instead, he pulls away slightly to look at Geto with a smile and simply says, "I just love you so much, that's all."Geto blushes, and that makes Gojo's heart beats wildly.

But before Gojo from that universe sees them, og Gojo breaks the hug and makes an excuse, saying he gotta go to the toilet. It's the most easiest, and non-suspicious reason to give. Obviously, og Gojo is super heartbroken to break the hug. But he forces himself to do so.

And before he leaves for "toilet," he kisses Geto's forehead. "I love you, Suguru. A lot. I loved you yesterday, I love you today, tomorrow, and forever." Geto finds it funny that Gojo is being so affectionate, even though he's just going to "toilet. " But he's used to Gojo's antiques and simply replies back, "I love you a lot too, Satoru. Always."

(I'm mot a writer, so sorry if my wording sucks-)

Thank you for reading! ♡

[silviakundera]

Lust Love in the Desert, ep 9 liveblogging

Yunpei Lord, on his lil podium in the lantern show & mumbling to himself & captive Rong Huo: "When one is powerful enough, everything in this world will surrender at his feet."

me & Rong Huo:

ML has infiltrated the festival as... a performing dance trope. Ok?

To distract us all from the twirling, FL brings out a full ass tea set to the stage

lmaoooooooo both ML and SML have teams on the ground cued to an 'action whistle' and they're canceling each other out 😂😭

Now random concubine is trying to show up the FL with her own tea and actually doing her a favor by causing more distraction

ML drawing a bit of not silvia recommended attention by asking for tea served by the princess as a reward.

"The tea is cold." "But my heart is hot." ok, SMOOTH. and he passed her a lil note thing.

still dumb, sorry

General Wu proposes a tea(?) battle between FL and the other concubine, to get her tribe some oasis. I'm guessing this was already planned by the Lord.

Ah the note has "I miss you", damn ML has romancing skills

Yunpei Lord made a big deal at the festival about exempting his residents from taxes but now he's underlining to the general that this money better be re-couped from the weaker tribes. I'm making like the nanny in Are You The One, 'what a sin, what a sin..'

This Lord is just so in love with himself. Like he's clever but so up his own ass that eventually that'll be his downfall.

Ruo Ren and the Desert CIA have now both figured out they're both in the city and plotting shit.

Ruo Wen also finally notices he misplaced his non-girlfriend last night but whatever, moving on lol

His first priority right now is meeting with Team ML to stir up some shit together

ML is supportive of Ruo Wen's Yunpei conquering plan and is gonna hook him up w a weapons connection.

Oh did 2ML not actually forget her and is asking for help from Desert CIA? tbh it's a bit confusing because he flashes a piece of paper and it's the same portrait paper he had with FL's picture before. But it wouldn't make sense that he doesn't know where FL is. He just saw her last night on stage. So it must be a new pic of Princess 2.

Princess 2 was kidnapped by a brothel and her rich girl temper tantrums are not gonna cut it. She needs to pick up some of her non-boyfriend's famed martial arts.

ML just walking into the Lord's home to seduce his woman some more. This time it's some mutual lute playing.

This man has the worst security I stg.

EVeryThiNG in tHis WOrld wiLL sUrrENder aT HiS feET. 🤡

Faux-enunch at the door to be impotently suspicious and also inform us it will be a needlework competition among ladies. ok.

Where's Wei Yingluo when you need her

Our ML still creeping around the house, watching his crush embroider, sneaking a baked good she left out for him. This relationship is so weird, I kinda love it.

Yunpei Lord comes back to try to intimidate a reclining Rong Huo yet again, then very poorly lies that he just wants to find his brother to share the city with him

Rong Huo: didn't u kill him as a kid 😏

Lord: I'm not gonna give up 😤

Rong Ruo: k have fun with that 😝

The missing kid of the former lord is very obviously our birthmarked 2ML

oh noooo someone stole the needlework threads from FL's competition (obviously the rival concubine)(or just the Lord fucking with her)

But why do we care?

[operation-cursed-sweet-tooth]

Okay, okay, I can do this… Gary, would you like to go to the coffee shop with m—

*Trips and falls*

OW

*non suspicious whistling*

…what is with you trying to hit on me?? I’m not oblivious, agent….

I’m flattered and all but….politely, no-

[petitelepus]

TFA Jazz x non binary bot reader fluff please and thank you

I know you are sick my friend so I wrote this to cheer you up! Remember guys, I'm currently taking only Demon Slayer Requests!

You were humming happily this human song that played on your inner radio. You were a small little car that was brought to life with this piece of thing called AllSpark. You were cute as a button and had a sweet personality to match it. When you were found by Autobots they had offered you a place amongst them and it honestly sounded like a deal too good to pass.

So you were just minding your business and enjoying the breeze of wind against your windshield when your radio suddenly buzzed, signaling that someone from the base tried to reach you.

"Hello?" Came Optimus' voice and you smiled, "Hi there Boss!"

"Where are you at?"

"Just enjoying some fresh air. Why?" You asked and you could almost hear Optimus frowning on the other side of the line, "I need you to come back to base. We have visitors."

"I'll be there in 5 or 10 minutes!" You replied as you took a turn and made your way to the Autobot headquarters. Once there, you transformed and walked in, only to find that your team leader Optimus was almost face to face with this dark blue bot who you didn't know.

If you had to describe what was happening you would say that it looked like Optimus and this other bot were about to trade kisses with their fists, but the only reason stopping them was standing between them. A white Autobot with a blue visor, this one was also a new one to you.

"Whoa, what's happening in here?" You asked as you walked over to your teammates and the dark blue bot scowled at you, "This is the new member of your crew? Taking in a bot created by these organics…!" The bot looked disgusted for some reason, "That is so your style Optimus."

"Sentinel, you should know that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It matters what they do with their life." Optimus defended you and you almost saw hearts. Someone had been watching your movies!

"Hi there, so you are Sentinel?" You greeted the rude bot and he nodded but decided to not waste his words on you. Okay then, it was his lost. You turned to look at the white mech and you introduced yourself.

"That's a sweet name." He smiled as he offered his hand to you, "My name is Jazz."

"That's a groovy name you got!" You smiled as you shook hands with him. Once you were all introduced to each other, Optimus explained that Sentinel and Jazz had come to Earth to take reports about Decepticon activity and would leave in a couple of days.

You nodded, "Okay! How can I help?"

"Just keep an eye out for any suspicious activity and report back to us if you see or hear anything." Optimus said and you nodded as you saluted him, "Yes sir!"

So you kept your eyes open for any suspicious behavior, all the way to early nighttime. You were enjoying some oil in the abandoned factory's yard that served as the base for Autobots when suddenly someone whistled. You looked over your shoulder and saw Jazz approaching you with a can of oil of his own.

"Hi there! Hopefully, I'm not intruding or anything?" He asked and you shook your helm.

"None at all!" You smiled as you patted the spot next to you, "Have a seat!"

"Thank you." He smiled as he took a seat next to you and sipped his oil.

"You must be tired after tonight." The white bot suddenly said, but you only smiled and shook your helm, "Nope! I'm full of energy!"

"Are you sure you’re not tired? Because you’ve been driving through my mind all day." Jazz suddenly said with a smile of his own and you blinked as the flirt sank to your mind and your optics widened as you smiled, "Aww, that was really smooth! You're living up to your name!"

"Thank you, you are too nice." Jazz nodded, "I also wanted to apologize on behalf of Sentinel. He can be a gearstick in the aft."

"Now who is being too nice?" You chuckled and he laughed, "Hey, I know I'm leaving in a couple of days… But would you like to take me out? Sentinel may not like organics but I am curious about everything."

"That sounds like a ton of fun!" You smiled excitedly as you finished your oil and got up on your pedes, "I have to show you the music your name is referred to!"

"Jazz is music here?" He asked and you nodded eagerly, "Yeah, and it's very good! Just like you are!"

"Now who is flirting?" Jazz chuckled as he put his oil down and got up, "Show me the way?"

"Follow my example!" You laughed as you transformed and Jazz copied you before the two of you took off, driving in to enjoy Detroit's nightlife.

[caparrucia]

Dog whistles and you: why the words you use matter.

You've probably heard of them, but you have definitely heard them. Dog whistles are a problem in the modern internet, with our hyper focus on respectability politics and social media's aggressive push to simplify all concepts and erode all sort of nuance.

When people use them and when people point it out, people get really fucking angry, both ways, and it can be a little hard to understand why and what people are actually angry about. So let's try and untangle that a bit.

Content warnings! We're gonna be talking about Nazis and other genocidal groups, so that's always fun. We're also gonna tangentially discuss misogyny, antiblackness, antisemitism and sexual assault, sexual abuse, pedophilia and zoophilia. The tangential warnings are only applicable to non-explicit discussions of dog whistles in section 3. Sections 1 and 2 do not go into detail about specific dog whistles. I will reiterate the content warnings in section 3.

1. What are dog whistles?

Dog whistles are not actual, literal dog whistles, but it does help to know what an actual, literal dog whistle is, to understand the metaphor. A dog whistle is a whistle designed to be heard by a dog, but crucially and most importantly, not by a person. When you toot on the thing, it makes a quiet, almost imperceptible sound, but if you've trained a dog with it, the dog will go fucking bonkers. The science of it is actually really cool and has to do with the range of intensity of stimuli that different animals can perceive. You know how dogs have an infinitely better smelling sense than you or me? Their hearing is different. That whistle you and I can't really hear, they hear loud and clear.

So what are the metaphorical dog whistles about then? They follow the same principle. Metaphorical dog whistles (I'm gonna call them just dog whistles for the rest of this thing, because I'm lazy, but you're smart and we already defined the terms, so I trust you to keep up) are words with different meanings depending on the audience. That's not inherently malicious, or unique to dog whistles. 99% of the crude humor of humanity comes from that sort of thing: cock is a male bird of a domestic fowl species, and also a bad word that will get you demonetized from Corporate controlled internet if you say/type it anywhere a payment processor can see. So there has to be more to them, than having multiple meanings.

Specifically, dog whistles have "Jekill and Hyde" style meanings. One of them is pretty harmless, benign even. Completely innocent and not at all suspicious. The meaning equivalent of that scene in Snow White with the forest animals being all cute and soft and nice. But then there's the other meaning, and that meaning is not so nice. It can be a shorthand for a slur, or one of the highlights of a conspiracy theory, or represent a shorthand for something genocidal in nature. I'll go in more detail in the next section.

This is where most people stop talking about dog whistles, but I'm not gonna do that, because I think the next two things, that are also required for a dog whistle to be a dog whistle, are actually the most important. And the fact most people never stop to think about them is why dog whistles are so effective. So let's say the quiet part out loud now.

The third characteristic of dog whistles is that their nefarious meaning is in fact a nefarious secret meaning. That means this meaning is part of a closed system of belief. It's like the secret wizard password to enter the forbidden tree house club, except the wizards are Nazis, members of the KKK and other assorted genocidal fucktwits. It's not a nice club to be in, is what I'm trying to say, and the people in that club are generally acknowledged to be not very nice themselves. You might think I'm being glib here, but this is the important bit. Socially speaking, these clubs for genocidal dickheads are considered bad to some degree. There's at least a modicum of societal pressure to discourage people from belonging to these groups. If you're a Nazi and your boss finds out, they will fire you. If you're a Nazi and you walk into a bar, you're likely to get beaten up and told to never come back. Blatant, open membership to these groups is discouraged*, and therefore they need to come up with language and symbols that they understand to be supporting their ideology, but which might not get immediately recognized by outsiders, thus prompting that social retribution they're trying to avoid.

*This is why people are really freaked out by the rise of extremist social and political movements in today's world, because every time an alt-right dudebro feels comfortable just spouting the N word or beating a random trans person in the subway, and they're not immediately and swiftly punished by anyone from bystanders to the actual legal system, those social pressures start letting up and the scum starts to float up into the surface. This is why the punching Nazis rhetoric works. It's a 0 tolerance policy that keeps genocidal ideologies marginalized and out of public consideration.

And let me just say this on its own, yes, genocidal ideologies should be marginalized and kept out of public consideration. Because they're genocidal. There is nothing of value to be found in genocidal ideologies, and extending them any kind of consideration makes you complicit in the very real, actual genocide they're working towards. Yes, really.

The last characteristic of a dog whistle is also the most important and the one people get tripped by the most: It refers to a dog whistle's ability to launder the philosophy of the group that created it, planting the seeds of it in the public sphere and priming people to be radicalized. One of the most common, and frankly distressing, reactions I see whenever someone gets called out for using dog whistles is "it's okay, I'm not a [insert relevant genocidal group here], it's okay if I use it, because the idea behind the word is actually useful!" Intent does not change the nature of a dog whistle. Dog whistles are in fact designed to trick you into doing their work for them. Dog whistles are bad, because when you use them, you lend your credibility to them. So the next time your friends/family/followers see an actual Nazi use them, they will use you as a frame of reference, and give the Nazi a pass. "My friend/relative/fave uses this word all the time, and THEY aren't a Nazi, so what are the chances that this guy is? Besides, all Nazis wear swastikas and like, shaved heads or something. Nah." Congratulations, you have become complicit in the breakdown of the system that's supposed to keep those Nazis out and allowed one of them to walk in and make themselves at home in your community.

Hearing people constantly use dog whistles desensitizes people and erodes their ability to see them for what they are. It makes it normal to use loaded language - and all dog whistles are loaded language - and makes it hard to police and expel those who use that loaded language for its actual nefarious intent.

It's also important to know a lot of dog whistles are "ship of Theseus"'d into sounding reasonable, for the purpose of making people more receptive to extremist ideas and concepts. By that I mean, they start from their very obviously genocidal talking point, and then slowly replace bits and pieces, laundering it until it sounds... you know, reasonable. Understandable. Most of the time they achieve this by targeting strong emotional responses and priming people to accept concepts that are fundamentally against their best interests, but presented in a way that appeals to emotionality and discourages thinking through the implications.

2. "If you hear the whistle, you're the dog" and other bad takes that need to go die in a fire.

So now that we're all on the same page about what dog whistles are and what purpose they serve, we need to talk about what to do about them. Yes, I'm gonna go into that before going into a not extensive and definitely not exhaustive list of dog whistles, because I love you and also because this is tumblr and you guys have a habit of trying to turn everything into a fucking standard rule to then beat up people with. No-nuance, all-outrage mentality in social media is the thing dog whistles are designed to exploit. So let's do our part to not... you know. Do that.

My least favorite rule that people have come up with to try and deal with dog whistles while doing the least amount of critical thinking ever is the infamous witticism "if you hear the whistle, you're the dog." This means that if you understand the dog whistle, you must be its target audience (you know, the Nazi one) and therefore you're a bad person. This is extremely stupid if you spend two seconds thinking about it, so let's do that: if the ideal is for people to "not be the dog", ie, "not hear the whistle" and therefore not understand the second, hidden meaning of the dog whistle, that would mean the ideal is for the dog whistle to work just as intended. Which is a bad thing, need I remind you, since the thing dog whistles are working towards is normalizing and encouraging the acceptance of explicitly genocidal ideologies. Which are bad! And you know they're bad! Because they're explicitly aiming for genocide! But this stupid nugget of stupidity goes one step further and also penalizes those who are being targeted by the dog whistle's users. Remember, genocides target people. Groups of people, to be precise, that the genocide promoters have built an entire ideology to justify why they get to commit genocide against this specific group of people. The justifications and reasons don't have to be very good - they can't, in fact, be good at all, because genocide is never okay, and if you find yourself trying to argue, you might want to take a few steps back and figure out when you got poisoned by genocide ideologies - in the sense that they don't need to be logical or reasonable. They just fill in a gap in the thought process. Whenever people do something, someone will ask them why, and genocide is surprisingly no different in that regard. So the justifications and reasonings are all salad dressing. They're all bad and meaningless and stupid, because they're being used to justify genocide, and genocide is unjustifiable by definition. The point is don't try to argue about the reasons, the reasons are fake and don't matter and they're there only to trap people into perpetual argumentative sinkholes which often only create more net harm by virtue of putting all that genocidal rhetoric in your public space. Incidentally, this is why deplatforming and denying the space to defend/argue/discuss genocidal ideologies is the preferred method to deal with them, exposure to them is in itself inherently harmful and there's nothing productive to come with allowing them the chance to explain why they think genocide is actually a good idea.

ANYWAY, the point is: if you're a group that has been targeted by these genocidal ideologies, you need to be able to decode and understand the secret, hidden meaning behind those dog whistles. You have to. Otherwise you're gonna end up a gruesome statistic some dipshit politician will try to use to two-side the issue on Fox News. You can then see how it's incredibly stupid, not to mention unspeakably offensive, to tell people who are being targeted by genocidal dipshits, that if they understand what the genocidal dipshits are really trying to say (remember, that THEY specifically should be genocided), they might in fact be the genocidal dipshits themselves.

Yes, "if you hear the whistle, you're the dog" is a very witty, very snappy, very catchy phrase. It's also incredibly fucking stupid and also goddamn insulting. Stop using it. Stop rewarding people who use it. Be fucking better.

Okay, so. What now? What to do if you catch someone using a dog whistle? Well, the most important thing to do is to not immediately accuse them of being a Nazi or belonging to the assorted genocidal dipshit group of choice. Super not do that in public. I know, it sounds counterintuitive, specially since we just affirmed that "punch the Nazi" is a perfectly valid and effective rhetorical device to get rid of Nazis. But the thing with dog whistles is that they're also bait. They're juicy, tender bait almost lab designed to get normal people - you know, people who don't hold genocidal beliefs and in fact think genocide is super bad and forever unjustifiable - frothing mad. Remember that dog whistles have two meanings, and that allows the genocidal dipshits to go "see? These people are mad! They're insane! They are the real reactionaries, they see malicious evil in every little thing!" and they will use every single dogpile to punctuate their statement and justify themselves. That's what dog whistles are designed to do, remember? They condition people to find genocidal ideology acceptable even when they rationally would not.

Ideally, if you know this person and you have the emotional and psychological bandwidth to do some education, you should reach out in private and offer to explain why the seemingly innocent thing the person posted is actually super bad. And I do mean explain. You need to explain on the history of the dog whistle, the purpose of the dog whistle, and emphasize that it's not an indictment of their character or an attempt to imply they're nefarious or malicious themselves, but rather that they've fallen prey to a scam by literal genocidal dipshits. This is... a lot. It's hard. People are very defensive at the smallest insinuation that they might be spewing Nazi talking points. It's often demeaning and exasperating work, and while it does work, it's just a sinkhole of resources that could be better spent in other, more pressing causes that also need attention because we have a bit of an epidemic and these genocidal dipshits keep popping up everywhere. It's also very exhausting for actual targets of the genocidal dipshits to have to argue with people that "that thing you said is used to call for the genocide of people like me, no really, please stop" and have to spend time pampering and reassuring people who go into literal hysterics trying to prove THEY are not the bad ones, how DARE you.

So what DO you do? Realistically? No one knows for sure. There isn't a wide-spread, peer-reviewed, fits-all-sizes solution. This is exactly the kind of thing dog whistles are designed to get around: there's no dogmatic, stringent rule that will make it so you can always tell if something is a dog whistle and how to make people stop using them. But that doesn't mean there's nothing you can do. You can be critical and thoughtful about the content you consume and platform in your spaces*. You can prioritize the voices of those being targeted by the openly genocidal dipshits and listen and pay attention when they tell you "hey, this thing? this thing is BAD." Encourage self-reflection in yourself and your social circle. When you foster a culture that welcomes people making mistakes and being corrected/nudged into being better about things, the emotional tax of finding out you've been platforming hate speech in disguise is significantly less.

*Being critical and thoughtful about the content you consume doesn't mean falling into purity culture rabbit holes where you must only consume and platform THE PUREST AND MOST UNPROBLEMATIC OF THINGS, but rather understand that the framing of content is important and you can do your part to minimize harm by extending simple courtesies like adding trigger or content warnings, and being critical about the sort of thing you platform and put in your followers' feed. Sometimes the Nazis are being obtuse on purpose, hoping you will get angry enough to dunk on them in public and therefore grant them and their toxic rhetoric access to your entire platform. Their bait is very tempting, but you're better than that.

And when private/polite/off-screen attempts to get someone to stop using a dog whistle inevitably fail, stop engaging with that person entirely, and instead platform the fact the dog whistle is a dog whistle and why. I don't mean "cut that person off your life entirely", though you might have to, if you eventually realize that not only did they knew they were using a dog whistle, they were doing so purposefully all this time. And that's heartbreaking and awful, because no one likes to find out someone in their social circle is a literal genocidal dipshit. But that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about larger scale education that robs the dog whistle of its most valuable asset: plausible deniability. When you make a post explaining that a certain word or a certain phrase is a dog whistle, and explain the history and weight of it, you break the dog whistle. The more people know to recognize it, the less it works for its intended purpose. And the most effective way of doing this is by focusing on the dog whistle itself, and not the people who use them. Don't single out individuals, because then your informative post has become a call out and be dismissed as drama or grudge wank. Focus on the fact that it's not the people who say these words that are the problem, it's the people who keep insisting they should use those words.

See, the thing about fighting genocidal ideologies is that you're not targeting individual people. Or even groups of people. This is not about starting a morality crusade against X or Y. It's about dismantling the tools of genocide. It's about reinforcing those societal pressures that keep them hidden in the corners and denies them power and influence to actually enact their genocidal goals.

They are a fucking fringe minority at the very edges of society, is the point, and they should never be allowed to forget it.

3. What are some dog whistles you should keep an eye out for?

So there's a lot of them and there's not enough time in the actual universe to cover all of them. That's the shitty thing about genocidal dipshits and their dog whistles. As soon as you demystify one, they've come up with another one. Any list will by necessity be incomplete. Resist the urge to turn this urge to categorize things into your personal white whale, and remember a dogmatic, rigid approach of "acceptable vs unacceptable words" is precisely the kind of system dog whistles are designed to get around.

I will not be covering anti-black or antisemitic dog whistles. Because I'm neither black nor Jewish, and as we just discussed, you should be listening and platforming THOSE voices whenever attacks at them come up. I'm going to focus on the dog whistles in this post, which is what sent me down this rabbit hole in the first place. I replied to that post to comment on an unrelated situation but I made a point to mention the dog whistles and several people came back and asked me about it.

I'm linking to my own reblog chain of it, because OP has deleted the original post. I wanna make clear this is not an accusation or an attack on OP. I don't know OP from Adam and I don't feel qualified to say if they're using these dog whistles in any harmful way, beyond the inherent harm that comes with giving credibility to dog whistles at all. I can't believe I have to say this explicitly in this year of our lord 2022, but please do not harass, abuse or otherwise inconvenience OP. We literally just went over how that doesn't work when it comes to deplatforming dog whistles. I'm just giving context and full disclosure, okay?

Okay.

Let's go.

Content warnings! Again! We're gonna be talking about Nazis and other genocidal groups, so that's always fun. We're also gonna tangentially discuss misogyny, antiblackness, antisemitism and sexual assault, sexual abuse, pedophilia and zoophilia.

"Cancel Culture." Cancel culture began - and this is extremely common - as a term within the black community to refer to the tactic of using social pressure to force racist bigots to face consequences for their racist bigotry. It was also in use within the #MeToo movement, to sort of crowdfund consequences for people with too much social, political or financial capital, which allowed them to just... not face consequences for their behavior. And yeah, ostracizing bigots is an excellent way to get rid of bigots or at least minimize the effects of their bigotry. It's so effective that's what dog whistles are for. The thing is, Cancel Culture has now been appropriated by the very people it was meant to be used again. Racist white people decry Cancel Culture when they are faced with the consequences of their actions, labeling them instead as abusive or unwarranted. The term has been thoroughly poisoned and the only people you hear talking about it seriously, phrasing it as this big, evil thing that must be stopped, are the right wing pundits who make their money out of making people feel threatened by changing social mores. Most people think that "less net bigotry in the world" is a good thing. But if your entire grift is based on bigotry, then this is a personal attack on you. Cancel culture is being used now as a short hand to express how very obvious consequences to one's actions are in fact malicious targeted abuse. This prioritizes the bigots over their victims, makes it nearly impossible to have conversations about actual reparations and presents the notion of "hey, if you're a bigot people won't like you" as if it were an outlandish, unnatural position to take. You can tell OP is actually using the dog whistle version of this in their post, because they're not talking about consequences to someone's actions, but explicitly framing a disproportionate, malicious and unwarranted harassment campaign as "Cancel Culture." OP themselves defines "Cancel Culture" in their post, and this is actually a huge problem when it comes to the proliferation of dog whistles. When you assume you know the root of an idiom and you define it in the context of your own usage, you may be inadvertently mainstreaming something that you shouldn't. Maybe you heard this from a trusted youtuber or a friend, and you understand the way THEY use it, and you use it THAT way, you don't mean it in the weirdo way. But you should make a habit to track down the history of idioms before you use them. For one, because everyone could stand to use their words more precisely and make sure that the words they're using actually mean what they want them to mean. But for another, because understanding the history of idioms is a very good way of avoiding boot in mouth syndrome.

"Purity Culture." This is also a dog whistle! And I used it in the text of this post! Except not really. In this post I'm using the original sense of the phrase, OP is using the dog whistle version. (Are you starting to see why if you look too hard at dog whistles you're gonna end up going a little bit insane?) Purity culture originally refers to misguided, reactionary rejection of the slippery slope fallacy that "nothing is pure, therefore, there's no point." Purity culture refers to this idea of treating every single slight, infraction or "taint" equally across the board, without any space for nuance or context. There's two dog whistles around this term, actually! One of them is from the pro-censorship camp, who treats purity culture as an ideal and dresses it up in "responsible media consumption" and "child-appropriate spaces" to try and gloss over the fact they're pro-fascist censorship tools and restrictions, they just think the problem is they're not targeting the right people and concepts. You can identify this lot very quickly because they love to use the word "freak" in a derogatory fashion. They're also real bad at nuance and super fond of historical revisionism. The other dog whistle is, hilariously, the exact opposite of this. This is coming from the actual, no joke, pro-sexual abuse corner of the internet (think, pedophilia, zoophilia, incest, etc, anything that it's reasonably considered indefensible because it's predicated on forcing sexual concepts and acts upon people and living creatures who do not and cannot consent to it). Their version of purity culture is framing any negative criticism of their actions and interests as an attempt to censor and unjustly ostracize them. I need to be very clear here that I'm definitely not talking about fiction here. We're not talking about people who like to read stories about this sort of content. We're talking about people who are actually committing these acts in real life, to real people, children and animals. We need to make that distinction, because that's what the dog whistle is arguing. They infiltrate groups that are staunchly anti-censorship and frame themselves as victims of prosecution but the things they're being prosecuted for are not art, text or other materials rooted in trasgressive fiction. They're really annoying and really detrimental to the fight against censorship, because every time one of these idiots is outed for the miserable fucking monster they are, pro-censorship folk immediately rush in to reframe the conversation as if anti-censorship groups are unquestionably supporting and defending the indefensible.

"Virtue Signaling." I unironically love this dog whistle, personally, because it betrays the massive chasm within the worldview of the people who use it. Virtue signaling is the concept of doing good things, for the sake of other people thinking you're good. It's the cry of alt-right pseudointellectuals who posit that people don't actually care about racism and sexism and transphobia and homophobia and xenophobia and religious intolerance and any of the other social evils they've decided they want to champion instead. No! People secretly support these things, it's just that it's socially unacceptable to do so, so they must pretend. They must play their part in the social farce, and make sure everybody knows they have done so, waving a flag that signals all who see it that they are one of them. I genuinely love this one because they always use "virtue signaling" as a derogatory term, it is always framed in a negative way, like this is evidence of the social contract falling to pieces. The thing is, this is a feature, not a bug. Yeah, you have to publicly decry bigotry and fall in step with the social mores of your community, and yeah, we want communities that see bigotry as some sort of social suicide. Society should actually ostracize and push out bigoted, disruptive individuals, because bigotry itself is a betrayal of the social contract. If you refuse to participate in society by abiding its rules, yeah, you don't get to be part of society. And yeah, we don't care about thought crime. Be a bigot in your head all you want, I want a society that punishes you severely if you ever decide to ACT on those thoughts, tho. That's a functional society. That's a good thing. The people who use "virtue signaling" unironically are trying to grapple with their own hypocrisy, with the fact they spew out hateful, genocidal nonsense but they know damn well they would be utterly destroyed if they tried to act out on it, so instead they've come up with a way to say "society decries and rejects everything I stand for, and I refuse to be a martyr to my ideals so I'm just going to be a cowardly, hateful idiot and pretend that makes me better than everyone else."

The post itself is pushing a fairly reasonable message: harassment = bad. The problem is that in utilizing dog whistles the message is muddled, and a pretty straightforward message becomes twisted enough to allow spaces for the beneficiaries of those dog whistles to misappropriate and excuse their actions. That's literally what @jabberwockypie and myself were doing in that post, in response to Flamethrower's reply.

Notice how Flamethrower conveniently used the definition of "cancel culture" that matches the dog whistle, in an attempt to shield herself from criticism and then frame the consequences of her actions as abuse and harassment. THAT is why dog whistles matter and why it's important not to engage with them. Because they open the door for bad actors to justify themselves and skirt responsibility for their actions.

Don't let them.

4. Yeah, okay, Rie, but that's like 5K worth of words, do you have any sources for all that?

I'm so fucking glad you asked!

What’s wrong with dogwhistles

https://www.washingtonpost.com/outlook/2020/08/21/racist-roots-dog-whistle/

https://www.jstor.org/stable/26529439

@innuendostudios's The Alt-Right Playbook is an excellent resource in identifying the tools of radicalization, but most importantly his sources are an excellent way to familiarize yourself with all this nonsense.

5. Now what?

IDK, do your best. Keep trying. Forgive yourself for fucking up and commit to learning from it.

Mostly, be kind. To yourself and to others, but specially those who are being targeted by genocidal dipshits.

And remember, if someone tells you the solution to your problems is the complete extermination of a group of people... that person is not your friend, that's an asshole looking for an alibi. You deserve better than that.