#without demanding some sort of active response

[skadren]

so i realized i have a lot of short blurbs i've written to answer asks on here, and i never bothered to make them readable anywhere else since they're so short (probably a couple hundred words each?)

but given the recent proof of Impermanence of Social Media if there is any interest in reading them at all i'd copy them over to ao3

[changbunnies]

Angel of Music (18+)

♡ Pairing: Phantom!Minho x Opera Singer Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: phantom of the opera inspired au, horror themes, dark romance, age gap, smut, dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :'), the ending is also a lil dark, sorry!

♡ Word Count: 5.8k

♡ Summary: A phantom exists in the opera house– he controls every production from the shadows, lurks around every dark corner, always watching. In your dreams exists an angel– a guardian that sings to you, guides you, and comforts you. When The Phantom appears before you in your dressing room mirror, you begin to realize that he and your angel may be one in the same.

♡ General Warnings: slightly less extreme age gap than the source material that inspires this fic but it's still fairly large (reader is ~mid 20s and minho is ~40), briefly described attempted murder of minor characters, implications of stalking, hypnotism, hallucinations + doubts of reality, so much usage of the words "phantom" and "angel" it's not even funny, this fic is not an accurate representation of how hypnotism works irl but it's fiction so i'm taking liberties!

♡ Smut Warnings: dubcon (due to reader being hypnotized), additionally to not being in their proper state of mind, there are also moments in which reader does not feel to be in full control of their body, light dom/sub dynamics, soft pleasure dom!minho because i want more of him !!, mask kink (does it still count if the mask doesn't cover his whole face?? idk i hope so!), some biting, oral (f rec), overstim, multiple orgasms

♡ Notes: i've known for ages that i wanted to write a phantom!minho fic, and my kinktober series gave me the perfect reason to finally write it! also the fact that both my uploaded minho fics are age gap romances?? that was not intentional i swear lmao

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

All inhabitants of the opera house have been on edge these days– consequence of the new owners of the Opera Populaire, who decided to disregard all of The Phantom's demands.

The Phantom, as the name suggests, is a ghost story of sorts. According to your castmates, he has been here since long before you joined the Opera Populaire's trainees last year, but his activity has begun to increase since your arrival.

He controls all in the opera house, and his demands of the previous owner were always quite simple; perform what shows he instructs you to, follow his casting down to the letter, and keep the seats in Box Five free at all times. Evidentially, Box Five is his favorite place to watch the shows from– and sometimes, his dark silhouette can be spotted in the shadows of the booth, indiscernible but unmistakably there.

No one has ever truly seen The Phantom beyond a shadow, nor have they heard him speak. He communicates with notes, always left within feet of the recipient without anyone having seen him come or go. His notes will even appear in broad daylight, with not a single person having caught a glimpse of him despite all the eyes in the room.

Well, more accurately, no one has seen him apart from the Madame– an older woman who used to be a performer for the Opera Populaire herself, but has taken the role of choreographer since her retirement from the stage. In the 15 years it's been since The Phantom made his presence known to the opera house, she's the only one who's ever seen him, or heard his voice.

A brief encounter, she explained when asked about it– had barely seen him for more than a few passing moments. He spoke little, but the beauty of his voice was striking, completely unlike any other she’d ever heard. And all he asked of her, in that fleeting moment, was to remember that the Opera Populaire is his home– and as long as the inhabitants respect him, he'll respect them in turn.

The previous director, the Madame, and The Phantom all had a mutual understanding of what was to be done. As long as they listened to him, shows would go off without a hitch; but refuse, and there'd be dire consequences. As such, the Madame has been doing her best to express the importance of listening to The Phantom to the new owners.

The Monsieurs view it as no more than silly superstition– every opera house has their own beliefs and customs, things they consider good and bad luck before a show, things they view as omens of a show's future success. The Phantom is simply one of those things– and with a guiding hand, they can dispel such superstitions, show the cast and crew that there is no shadowy phantom to fear.

The first note left for the Monsieurs went disregarded– a barking laugh leaving the elder of the two before he tossed it in the bin. The instructions on the note were clear enough– you were to take the role of Eurydice in the opera house's production of Orpheus and Eurydice, and not Carlotta, as they originally casted.

You were just as baffled as everyone else to learn that The Phantom wanted you to take such an important role– you'd only been here a year, were still so new to your opera training. It's true enough that you have a good voice, and your dancing has improved with all your diligent practice, but you're still young, and the tragic role of Eurydice is not so easily performed.

Natural talent for bringing emotion to performance aside, you lack stage experience– experience that you can easily gain from background roles. To make you such a crucial stand-out role after only a year of training was simply unheard of– no opera house would do it!

This is to be your first production, your first time on stage in front of an audience; and so regardless of what The Phantom wants, Monsieur Reyer opted to keep you strictly in the supporting chorus roles, where you would go from shepherdess, to nymph, to spirit as the acts progressed. Not a glamorous, shining position in the cast by any means, but more than enough to help familiarize you with the reality of performing with hundreds of eyes watching.

It wouldn't take long for The Phantom to make his displeasure with the decision known. And what started off as just small accidents and stage mishaps quickly turned violent and dangerous as each week passed with you still not given the role that The Phantom felt you deserved to have.

The first violent turn came during rehearsals for Act 3, right in the middle of Eurydice's climactic aria, when the chandelier above the stage came crashing down. Carlotta was standing directly beneath it just before it fell, and it narrowly missed her– purely because she happened to take a few steps forward whilst singing.

“An unfortunate accident,” the Monsieurs said, “it had nothing to do with The Phantom!” But the veterans of the opera house knew better– and the conductor swore he saw a dark shadow on the scaffolds just before the chandelier fell; a shadow that could belong to none other than The Phantom.

Carlotta screamed as it crashed just mere inches away from her, right where she's just been standing, and cried as everyone rushed to her side to ensure that she was unharmed. Again, the Madame tried to persuade them to heed The Phantom before another such “accident” occurred.

"Good God in Heaven, you're all obsessed! These things just happen sometimes– there is no phantom!" Reyer cried in exasperation over everyone's insistence, still unwilling to give in to the idea that the opera house's ghost was real.

And tonight, just after rehearsals came to a close, another terrible stage accident occurred– this time happening to Monsieur Reyer himself. He was up on the scaffolding when it happened, making sure all the stagehands properly rigged the lights in preparation for tomorrow night's premiere of Orpheus and Eurydice.

He was bent down, inspecting the bulbs and wires, when a dark figure appeared behind him. The shadow wrapped a noose around his neck faster than anyone could even react, pushed him off the scaffolding before swiftly retreating back to the shadows.

Reyer almost didn't survive– he was lucky that the nearby stagehands were quick on their feet and in their wits, managing to grab his arms and pull him up while another cut the rope that served to hang the poor man. And as if the message from the accidents alone weren't clear enough, another note was left behind right in the middle of the stage.

It was astounding, really, that not a single person saw The Phantom leave the note behind– and while some could argue that it was because all eyes were on Reyer, or because the stage became chaos as they worked to save him, the Monsieurs realized that maybe they should start to believe that there really is a ghost inhabiting the Opera Populaire.

The moment the note was noticed, the Madame picked it up, and read it aloud for all to hear. "Again, I remind you that Y/N will play the role of Eurydice. As I instruct, Box Five shall remain open for my use. These seats will not be used by another. This is my final warning– disregard at your own risk."

Realizing they had no choice, lest they wish to continue putting themselves and other cast and crew in danger, the Monsieurs begrudgingly declared you the new Eurydice, right then and there.

Given that you're at every rehearsal, you know Eurydice's lines by heart, and are confident that you can sing them well– but still, you're nervous. It's your first production, the premiere is sold out, is set for tomorrow night, and suddenly you're in one of the most pivotal roles in the entire opera.

You don't even understand why The Phantom is so adamant about giving the role to you; what is it about you that he likes, what is it that he sees in you? You wish you could ask the Madame, but she met him so fleetingly, and so many years ago– she has no way of knowing The Phantom's heart beyond an educated guess.

Sitting before your dressing room mirror, you sigh, utterly exhausted– now that you're Eurydice, it was vital that you do a last minute costume fitting and makeup test. As such, you've been in the opera house hours past the time you'd normally be here. The moon hangs high in the sky now, you're sure; you wonder if you should just spend the night here, sleep in the dressing room instead of making a late trek home.

Regardless, you hope your angel comes to you tonight. You know no one would believe you if you told them, but you really do have a guardian angel; and in your dreams, he comes to you– always when you are most lost and in need of guidance. He's a gentle, calming presence; always comforts you, talks to you sweetly when you're filled with self doubt, sings to you in the most beautiful of voices.

You've never actually seen your angel clearly– only heard his voice calling your name and whispering, singing, in a way that could only be described as angelic in its serenity. In your dreams, he's nothing but a vague, blurry image– even at his most clear, you can't define any of his features.

Still, you think of him fondly– and you suspect that as an angel, you aren't meant to be able to fully perceive him. And your angel always, always, knows when you need him– you suspect that even now, he's waiting; waiting for the moment you fall asleep, so that he can come to your side.

You look at yourself, still dressed as Eurydice. A beautiful, off shoulder bateau gown in the prettiest, purest ivory. There's lace appliques throughout the gown, has a beautiful cinched bodice before the tulle skirt fluffs out. It's elegant, makes you feel like a bride waiting to walk down the aisle.

Your makeup shimmers– extra glitter applied on your eyelids to make sure the stage lights catch it. Your jewelry too, is extravagant– made to sparkle and shine every time a light shines on you, to twinkle with each subtle move you make. It's a shame you have to take it all off just to put it all back on tomorrow– but the effort to make sure everything fits you was necessary.

You reach your hands up to one of your ears, prepare to remove one of your dangling earrings when you hear a voice you know all too well call your name– your angel's voice.

You look around the room, bewildered, but see nothing and no one. And surely you were mistaken– you're still awake! Your angel only comes to you in dreams, and you haven't fallen asleep... right? You are still awake, aren't you?

Again, you hear his voice, another whisper of your name. You rise from your chair, look around the room once more– no one. You turn back to the dressing room mirror, and jump in surprise, realizing that the view reflected in it has changed. You no longer see yourself, or the reflection of the dressing room around you– instead, you see a man.

He looks just as the Madame described her memory of The Phantom– dark hair, and even darker eyes, with a white mask that covers the right half of his face. Not completely– just from his hairline, down to his pretty, plump lips. Every inch of his skin is covered, head to toe, all of his clothes pure black apart from the ornate red vest.

Sleek boots and dark trousers, a tall collar that obscures most of his neck, long sleeves that cover his arms, even gloves covering his hands. He wears a cape, long and as dark as the rest of his clothes, and it blows behind him as if there’s a breeze rolling through.

You’re confused, a little frightened, but you can’t tear your eyes away or will yourself to flee– and as the figure speaks your name, you gasp; he truly has the voice of your angel. But he’s The Phantom, isn’t he? 

The blurry, vague scenery behind him begins to sharpen, coming more distinctly visible to your uncertain eyes. A dark corridor full of candelabra, glowing in dull yellows and shades of orange, held by incorporeal hands with no discernable origin.

What little of your dressing room you see in your peripheral shifts and warps as you stare at him, blur together into dark shadows as the table holding your hairbrush and makeup begin to fade and disappear, leaving the view through the mirror as the only thing you can see.

The figure– your angel, The Phantom?– holds his hand out to you through the mirror, as if the glass that should separate you no longer exists; perhaps it doesn't. Smoke– or maybe fog, mist? you can't be certain– pours into the room as you approach the mirror.

As if under a spell, you reach out to take his hand, thinking not of logic as you follow the beckoning call of your name. Your angel; you trust your angel. He smiles as you place your hand in his, and carefully, you step through the mirror, into the corridor.

Entranced, you stare at him; even with half a mask covering his face, he's utterly beautiful. He appears to be older than you, hints of fine lines beholden around his mouth and eyes, and even that adds to his mysterious charm. He holds your gaze as he takes a step back, a candelabra in his hand now, beckoning you to follow him down the corridor.

You squeeze his hand as you follow, and finally he turns around, walks with purpose as he guides you, glancing behind every so often to look at you in what you think to be adoration. You too, glance behind– and where the mirror once stood is now a desolate, barren wall.

You do not see any hint of your dressing room, or of the mirror you stepped through. And as you continue further down the corridor, the candelabra that were once behind you slowly begin to blink out and vanish from sight, leaving only pitch black darkness behind. A spiral staircase made of stone manifests, and you descend it, hand in hand with your angel.

You're so enchanted and bewildered, you can't seem to find your voice– all you can do is follow, let him guide you along to where it is he wants you to be. Even the staircase dissipates when you've finished descending, and for just a moment, you wonder– is any of this truly real?

Finally, you stand in the middle of a beautiful room, lit candles both resting in more candelabra and strewn about the floor, with dark, intricately woven tapestries hanging from the stone walls. There’s a grand piano, sleek black with gold accents, with even more candles resting atop it, as well as a sheet of music sitting pristine on the music desk, black ink seemingly freshly dried, just waiting to be played. 

There are several mirrors, though only one remains uncovered– the rest are obscured by cloth, for reasons you do not know. There is a bed, in what you suppose would be called a “corner” in this otherwise circular space, inviting and plush in its appearance, with blankets colored a rich red. Naturally, candles surround the bed as well, covering it in a beautifully soft, yellow-orange glow. 

“Where are we?” you finally find your voice to ask, and the man smiles as he beckons you to follow him towards his bed. “We are home,” he replies, and though it’s a strange answer, you feel you understand– yes, you are home. This is home. 

You gaze at him curiously after you sit on the bed, just as comfortable as you expected it to be, and he mimics the way you’ve tilted your head at him. “You’re.. My angel, aren’t you? Or are you The Phantom?” you ask, and the man laughs ever so softly, melodious and beautiful. 

“I am Minho,” he responds, as if that alone is a sufficient enough answer– in a way, you suppose it is. What else is there to know? He is Minho. That is enough.

“I have longed to touch you, to bring you here,” Minho whispers as he reaches one of his gloved hands to your face, strokes your cheek slowly, gently. The sensation, though simple, feels so tender– it sparks something inside you, fills you with a warmth you’ve never felt before. You close your eyes, bask in the comfort his touch provides you. 

You feel his hand move, travel down until his fingers are under your chin. He tilts your head up, and you open your eyes to see him gazing down at you warmly. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, speaking to you as gently as he always does. He’s said it before, in your dreams– that you are beautiful, talented, deserving of all you wish to have.

He never lets you linger on self-doubt, never allows you to think you are lesser than someone else, or undeserving of the opportunities you’ve been granted. Your angel knows you– you think he’s appearing to you now, like this, because he knows you are uncertain of playing Eurydice; he must think that he needs to remind you of just how special you are. 

All of your doubts about tomorrow’s premiere– he will dispel them from your mind, as he always does. He kneels before you, gazing at you carefully as he inches closer to you, his hands softly rubbing over your shoulders and down your arms. His attentive stare as he caresses you makes you breathing quicken, your heart starting to pick up speed.

“Do you trust me?” Minho asks suddenly, and with not an ounce of hesitation, you nod. You’ve no reason not to trust him– in the year it's been since your angel first appeared to you, you’ve always trusted him. There is no one else that makes you feel so secure, so at peace, so.. Loved, cared for. Yes, your angel, Minho, loves you, cares for you like no other. You trust him. 

“I wish to clear your mind of worry and doubt– to make you think only of me, and the music we can make together. I wish to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you," he says, and oh, he knows he shouldn’t be pouring his heart out like this, for it’s too soon, much too soon. But he’s been enamored with you since the first moment you stepped into the Opera Populaire, has been infatuated with you since first hearing the passion in your voice.

He can’t help it, it seems– now that he has you here, in his lair, his defenses falter, all of his desires pouring out of him. To have you here, and to touch you like this, even so simply– it’s everything he’s wanted. And instantly, unconsciously, you reach out to him. Your angel sees you, knows you– you wish to know him too, to understand him the way he does you.

Your mind is somehow as clear as it is hazy– clear, because you know what it is that you want. Regardless of who he is, what he is, you want Minho to have you. Anything he wants, you feel compelled to give, as if it’s all you know; and in this moment, perhaps it is. In the very back reaches of your addled mind, a reminder blares– The Phantom always gets what he wants. 

And what he wants now, most of all, is you; and despite what logic may tell you to feel, you trust him to have you. He sees all that you feel in your expression alone, knows all that you think as if he’s seen into the depths of your mind. Even now, perhaps more than ever before, he sees you. 

Sees all that you are, and all that you want– and a charming smile plays on his lips as you gaze at him with wanton desire to let him take you. To let him have, to give yourself over– you wish to offer yourself wholly to your angel’s desires.

Your eyes flutter closed as he kisses you, a soft press that you could almost call chaste, his hands slowly moving over your body, each soft touch lingering. You don’t feel his gloves anymore, you realize– did he take them off without you noticing? You suppose it doesn’t matter– his hands are warm, a bit rough and calloused against the soft skin of your arms, and you like it.

Even as his kisses become less chaste, deepen as his hands travel to your hips, they remain slow and purposeful. His hands eventually find the bottom of your dress, begin to lift it ever so slowly up your thighs– not to expose you, but so that he can slot himself between your legs. Somehow, innately, you understand this– and easily, you spread your legs for him, allowing him to find his place between them.

His arms wrap around you after, pulling you closer, pressing your body to his. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly by the time he pulls away, breathless as you look to him with eager, impassioned eyes– a gaze that heats his otherwise cold heart. You reach up, bring your hands to his face; he nearly flinches when you touch his mask, though he knows you mean no harm. 

Minho feels himself ugly under his mask– too scarred and disfigured to be appealing to you in any regard; at least like this, with only the good parts of his face on display, you may find him handsome. Your touch is as soft as your gaze, and though perhaps you should, you make no move to remove his mask; you simply rub your thumb over the cold porcelain.

It’s a vulnerable thing, really– how softly you touch his ugliest spots. It doesn’t matter that you can’t see them from beneath his mask– the tender regard you seem to feel for him, even without having seen the scars that mar him, is more than enough. It’s ironic, in a way, that you seem to think he’s an angel; in reality, the only angel in this room is you. 

“I want to please you, if you'll let me,” he breathes as his fingertips ghost over your thighs. It makes your breath hitch, blinking at him slowly as you process his intent. There is much your angel wants– but chasing the pleasure of his own flesh isn’t one of those things. He doesn’t need it to feel satisfied; your pleasure will more than suffice him.

His dark eyes bore into yours as he awaits your answer, can tell from his wanting gaze how serious he is about pleasing you, and it makes your cheeks slowly bloom with heat. And it’s not just what he wants– it’s what he needs, really; when you surrender yourself to him, he wants it to be for your pleasure, not his own. 

“Oh, please– touch me,” you answer, plead– because something from deep inside you screams for it, wanting it beyond all comprehension. Your darkest, most innate desires manifest for him; desires that you didn’t even fully realize you had. They possess you, drive you to kiss him again, urgent and passionate. 

Minho returns your kiss with equal fervor, lets his tongue slip past his lips to meet yours. They share a dance, swirl around each other until you’re breathless again; and then he’s guiding you back, urging you to lay down as he hovers over you. He pulls the skirt of your dress further up your body, until your thighs are entirely exposed and he can see your dampening panties. 

He lowers himself to you, but doesn’t go immediately where you expect him too– he takes his time trailing wet, lingering kisses over your thighs instead. Your inner thighs are sensitive, ticklish, and you can’t help but squirm from each kiss he grants you.

You also can’t help but jolt each time the cool porcelain of his mask presses against the hot skin of your thigh, and again when he carefully sinks his teeth into your pliant flesh. He doesn't do it hard enough to hurt, or even fully leave indents of his teeth behind– just enough to leave you panting and squirmy; and he lets out a soft, airy laugh every time he succeeds in the endeavor. 

Your bunched up skirt is so full that you can hardly even watch him work you up; but there are times, while kissing and biting over your trembling thighs, that he lifts his head just enough to let you catch his gaze. It makes your heart skip a beat, butterflies dancing in your stomach every time he locks eyes with you while kissing around where you need him most.

You reach a point where you’re no longer squirming because his attention tickles, but because you’re becoming desperate, impatient; and the way he stares at you as he does it all doesn't help in the slightest. “Minho, please,” you whine, shameless; and you can feel him smile against your skin before he lifts himself up from his place between your legs. 

“Needy are we, angel?” he asks, grinning as you pout and nod. “Need you,” you mumble, but he hears you loud and clear; he’s attuned to you, your angel is. He lowers himself between your thighs once more, kisses your pussy over your panties– and it’s not quite what you need, but it’s enough to have you gasping and quivering. 

Again, he takes his time, as if not a single ounce of urgency resides within him. And make no mistake, it does– but Minho knows how to restrain himself. He’s a stubborn man, that is certainly true, but he’s also perfectly in control of himself; for now, anyways. 

And he likes the way you whine for him when you feel his tongue lick you up over the fabric of your panties. It’s not a full enough feeling for you, or a full enough taste of your pussy for him, but the desperate, whiny sounds it draws out of you are delicious enough to satisfy him.  

Still, while he’s enjoying the way his soft kisses and kitten licks over your panties is making you writhe and cry for him, he also can’t deny how badly he wants to finally taste you directly on his tongue. He’s been patient enough, he thinks, and so have you– why not indulge just a little sooner than planned?

In contrast to how sweetly he’s treated you up to this point, he’s quick to tear your panties away from your body. The sound of the fabric ripping makes you gasp, and maybe later he’ll apologize– but for now, lapping his tongue between your folds is of more importance. You moan when his tongue finally meets your bare pussy, as does Minho– and despite the hunger that he feels, he continues to lick you over slowly. 

The languid pace makes you crazy– you want more, so much more, but your angel has been waiting for this; he needs to take his time with you, needs to embed the taste of your dripping sex on his tongue, needs to make sure it’s something he’ll never be able to forget. And he isn’t trying to tease you by keeping the slow pace– well, maybe he is a little; he does enjoy it, after all– but he’s sincerely craved this for too long to let the moment quickly pass him by. 

He brings his hands to your thighs, squeezing them in his hands and preventing you from closing them around his head. You’re sure it’s partly so he can keep you spread out for him, to keep enjoying the easy access to your pussy, but it’s also so that your trembling thighs don’t cause his mask to shift, and fall from his face. 

You gasp when the cool, smooth and rigid porcelain covering the right side of his nose bumps your clit as he shoves his tongue into your hole. And while he isn’t purposely trying to get you to cum just yet, his slow but diligent ministrations are getting you there regardless– with his tongue dipping in and out of your heat, always pushing in as deep as he can make it go, and his mask-covered nose nudging your clit. 

You let your head fall back against the bed, your every high pitched whimper and moan echoing off the stone walls surrounding you. You try to tell him you’re going to cum, but you fail miserably– all that leaves you is a quick succession of whines before your eyes are rolling, back bowing off the bed as release on his tongue. Minho moans with you, hums happily as he licks the mess from your pussy like the cat that got the cream. 

He laves over your clit when he’s done licking up your cum– and it's sensitive, swollen from your orgasm; but that doesn’t stop him from swirling his tongue around it, and positively knocking the air from your lungs. The sensation is overwhelming, he knows it is even without you telling him, but it’s still so good that you don’t want to squirm away, or ask him to stop– or perhaps you can’t. 

You get the distinct feeling that even if you tried, your limbs would resist, would fight to keep you in place– despite your best efforts, you would remain just as you are now. Spread open and trembling, exactly how Minho wants you. “You make the prettiest music, angel,” he separates from you long enough to speak, “want you to keep singing for me.”

And sing for him you do when he dives back in, flicks your clit with his tongue a few times before wrapping his lips around it, sucking it like a piece of hard candy. Your moans, the smacking sounds of his lips, the way he hums when he returns to your hole to collect the cream– it’s an orchestra, just for the two of you.

You cum again in record time, of course you do. Minho finds it cute, the way you incoherently babble away as you let go for him again. And he isn’t done just because you came again– no, he’s far from finished with your pussy. He doesn’t tire in the slightest, ceaseless in the way he lavishes with you his tongue and suckles with his pretty, perfect lips. 

When you cum for the third time, you don’t even know if you truly ever stop cumming at all– the pleasure just keeps coming in waves, never fully receding before it builds again, washing over you like a tsunami before it all repeats. You writhe and twist, back repeatedly bowing off his bed before falling back, but your thighs stay spread for him, even when his hands stop holding them down. 

His hands have found their way beneath you, cupping and squeezing your ass as he eats away. Your hips wriggle, and he helps grind you up against his face, moaning and humming all the while. It’s too much and not enough all at once; your body screams that it can’t take it, and yet your mind screams that it needs more, and God, you can’t think straight– but is there any point in this night that you were?

You’re hot and heaving, sweat dripping from your brow as you tremble and bend. Minho is hot too, of course– his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his face red from his cheeks to his ears, and even down his neck. And were you not so far gone, you’d have noticed that his mask has shifted and fallen from his face. 

It was because of you, too– when another high took you and tugged on his hair hard, crying as your hips jolted and bucked against his face. He should’ve swiftly put it back on, lest you see his scars, but he didn’t– he just shoved it aside, against his better judgment, so he could keep licking you up without interruption. 

You feel positively delirious by the time he’s finished, eyes heavy and bleary, body utterly limp and boneless. He crawls his way up to you, and your gaze is unfocused, blurry; you can hardly distinguish his features anymore– similar to the way he always appeared in your dreams before now.

Regardless, you smile at him before you close your eyes; a weak, but content one that Minho finds oh so endearing. You’re beyond fatigued, but also feel an unmatched sense of elation as your angel strokes your head and whispers sweet nothings for you to fall asleep to. “You belong to me now,” you hear him say, just before you drift off– and you know it’s true. 

You think, perhaps, you’ve always belonged to him. From the very first moment Minho saw you, he knew he was never going to let you go. And just as Orpheus had done for Eurydice, he’d gladly walk into the depths of Hades itself if that’s what it took to keep you by his side. 

He gently caresses your cheek as you fall into a deeper sleep, presses a soft kiss to your lips and whispers a final soft utterance of love before he covers you with a blanket, and your mind goes completely dark for the night. 

You wake the next day with a struggle– at least, you think it’s the next day; it’s too dark in the room you’re in to tell for certain. You reach out for Minho, but don’t feel him anywhere– and as you sit up, and your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize that you are alone. Your brows furrow as you look around; you’re still in his room, but it doesn’t look quite the same. 

There are no candles, not on the floor or in the candelabra that now lie empty. The tapestries adorning the walls are torn and dulled in color, the piano dusty and the gold decorating it chipped. The sheet of music that sits on the piano’s music desk, that last night looked so fresh and pristine, now appears weathered and yellowed.

As you grab the blanket to pull it off you, you realize it isn't a blanket at all that is covering you, but a cape– Minho’s cape. And on the bed, just an arm’s reach away from you lies a note– the same kind that The Phantom always leaves behind inside the Opera Populaire.

Your hand trembles as you pick it up, eyes straining to read it in the darkness. The message he leaves behind, when your eyes focus on the words well enough to read them, is quite simple. “To my beloved and beautiful Eurydice; welcome home.”

[anakinstwinklebunny]

FATHERHOOD pt.1

TW: anakin being a dad; this part is shorter, prepare for sec part that is wayy longer, also I purposely haven't named the child, basing on the assumption that it could be easier to read (just feel free to name him however you want)

Being a dad was one of Anakin's favorite jobs, but also the most exhausting one. Yet, he wouldn't change it for anything in the world. He loved taking care of his little buddy, watching time slip through his fingers and witnessing his growth each day.

Despite this, there was an odd ache in his chest. It was a mix of pride and a sharp feeling of acknowledgment that his son was growing. Each new chapter brought different responsibilities, but also required letting go of those he once had, which he shockingly found missing

However, Anakin tried not to overthink it too much. Growing was a natural part of a human life, and it was something that happened all the time. He had no power to change it, and honestly, he preferred it that way. A little..just a tiny bit

His parenting methods were.. unusual to say the least. He often acted silly with his little boy, engaging in all sorts of playful activities together. In addition, Anakin pretended to understand the toddler's gibberish language, often having one-sided conversations that left others baffled. He claimed he understood his son perfectly and jokingly suggested that you should take some serious baby-talk classes.

Anakin, being a Force-sensitive individual, also didn't shy away from using his powers to entertain his son. For example, when the child would demand his attention while Anakin was relaxing on the couch, longing for the toddler's nap time to arrive so he could catch a break or spend some quality time with you, he would lift him off the ground with the use of the Force, eliciting giggles and shrieks from the child.

As time went on, you began to notice how Anakin and your son had become a dynamic duo. They shared similar facial expressions, curly locks, and identical blue eyes. Their father-son bond was truly a heartwarming sight.

Anakin had a charming habit of buying clothes that matched not just his and the boy's outfits, but also yours. This was particularly noticeable during Halloween;

You couldn't help but giggle as Anakin stepped into the kitchen. A smile spread across your face as you set your eyes on him, carrying the little boy on his hip.

Anakin was dressed as Linguini from Ratatouille, while the toddler adorably donned a Remy costume. His chubby cheeks puffed up as he clung to his father, making the sight irresistibly charming. It was, without a doubt, the cutest thing you had ever seen today

"What do you think? Pretty adorable, right?" Anakin asked, a proud smile lighting up his face.

You pointed to the little one, a playful tone in your voice. "Him? Absolutely."

Anakin feigned offense, narrowing his brows. "Hey, hey, hey... what about me? I put some serious effort into this costume, you know," he protested.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his expression. "You're both cute," you reassured him with a grin.

Anakin smiled, his eyes showing a hint of satisfaction at your confession. His hand gently gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him. He paused for a moment, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Just cute? Not unbelievably charming and irresistible?" he asked, feigning mock offense.

A huge smile spread across your face as you replied, "Whatever you want to hear."

Anakin chuckled, his sly smirk growing wider as his gaze moved to your lips. "Oh, I know exactly what I want to hear," he stated, a hint of arrogance in his tone. "I want to hear you say that I look insanely handsome, irresistible, and devastatingly attractive in my Linguini costume."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful retort slipping past your lips. "Someone's a bit too full of themselves," you commented, unable to hide a smile. Meanwhile, your little son wriggled in Anakin's arms, reaching out to playfully pull on his curly locks.

"Ow, Remy," Anakin winced as the small boy's tiny hand tugged at his hair. He gently pried the little limb away. "Now, c'mon," he continued, a smirk still lingering. "If you're too shy to admit the truth, then at least wear this." With that, he produced a neatly folded costume, holding it up for you to see.

"No, Ani, I have to—" you began to protest, but he swiftly cut you off, his expression firm and unrelenting.

"No buts," he asserted. "You're coming with us, sweetheart. That's final. I'm not taking no for an answer. We're going out as a family, and that includes you." He held up the costume "We need you, Colette."

You sighed in defeat, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "Fine..."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @ysrjune @divineani @erosmutt @emmaloo21 @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[roadkill-punk]

siblings :3

Misc. headcanons below the cut

This is all post black egg and fall of Hallownest, I'm just bad at remembering to draw Hollie's scars.

The stack! Hollie does that when they're bored and want to bother Hornet, like how some dogs will rest their head on you when they want attention.

The ideal outcome to being a pest is chin scratches, riight where their mask ends and their void-body begins. That's the best spot.

Hollie is absolutely purring anytime they get affection, Hornet does too sometimes, but she's a little self conscious about it.

That vessel is a fucking menace. Their favorite activities include making Hornet's day just slightly more irritating. This ranges from moving her things just a few inches to the side of where she left them to demanding attention while she's busy to 'accidentally' knocking her into various bodies of water.

These two have been through a lot together at this point, and given how starved for security and affection the both of them were as children among other things like being born into a death and chaos and given immense responsibility that neither of them had any control over that eventually led to the downfall of everything they knew and loved- they both were quick to open up to each other and seek out comforts that they previously were denied.

That's not to say it didn't take them a damn long time to approach each other and directly ask for things, both of them have their own reasons for being unsure about that sort of thing.

Their recovery was a process but they got there in the end, and now they have each other without the constant fear of not living up to the egregious standards of royal parents or being an impure, vile, worthless stain on the world :3

Their relationship is so sweet honestly they deserve to be happy and healthy and with family that loves them

Even if sometimes Hornet wants to rip Hollie's head off.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

The wildest thing about the whole Moo Deng situation to me is (and of course I make this about cetaceans) the insistence that everything here is fine, there’s no mishandling, Moo Deng is a spoiled princess, how dare you accuse her knowledgeable zookeepers of being anything less than perfect… by the same people who decry any and all cetacean captivity as horrific abuse.

Moo Deng getting her bum smacked is cute but an actually cute video of a dolphin playing in an aquarium is abusive. A random zoo guest is to be trusted when they say Moo Deng’s zoo is great (and to be clear I don’t know enough about this zoo to make a judgement call, all zoos have issues), but someone who’s actually worked at SeaWorld is either a liar or delusional (actual comment I received) when they say that no actually, their animals are not abused.

Yep all of this!

Honestly there seems to be a whole range of people on the defensive- from people who just like the zoo to people who made Moo Deng meme their whole personality.

I have to say it’s been really really weird actively criticising a zoo when I’m usually defending them.

But at this point my thesis of the original post is on full display. That groupthink plays a role in perception of animal welfare and people will pick the side that makes them feel the most comfortable.

For whatever reason people want to believe that a baby Pygmy hippo needs to get regularly grabbed, poked, chased and harassed because that’s what this one guy does and he has experience doing it so it’s fine?

But some of those same people saw a documentary once and decided that they know more than people with hundreds of years of combined experience with orca husbandry and care.

The people that are accepting of a challenge to that perception are willing to accept some discomfort because they’re more concerned about welfare.

When that reddit post came out (with experience including: goes to the zoo, maybe knows some history of the keeper?) it was immediately snatched up and ran with.

Since then I’ve seen the same comment of “net zero information” multiple times, the same accusations of racism and the same lines of “he’s so experienced he knows what he’s doing”, “the mum’s fine with it” and “it’s desensitisation” (that one hurts to read every time ngl

It’s like they just are copy and pasting someone else’s thoughts. Just parroting it verbatim without any sort of thought.

Not a single question asked about how this person knows this information, no demanding of qualifications or where they work… just happy acceptance of information that allows them to continue to enjoy their meme.

it’s wild to see the notes popping up in my notifications of “but he’s so experienced! He has so much training!” About this one zoo keeper that has multiple videos of him deliberately sneaking up on his animals, hitting them and blasting them with a hose.

Like damn I wish people would go to bat so hard for zookeepers all the time. Except maybe the ones that don’t harass their animals for clout?

Of course it’s kind of hilarious watching this unfold as a former dolphin trainer that regularly was called an abuser for… let’s see… training dolphins with positive reinforcement in the ocean.

Is it the intelligence thing? Do people think Pygmy hippos are too dumb to need enrichment and decent habitats? Or that because this guy raised hippos before he is completely incapable of making a mistake or using outdated practises?

I had someone genuinely saying that Pygmy hippos “just behave differently” to other animals. As if a fight or flight response behaviour looks totally different in this specific species of animal.

As if they are not ungulates who are herbivores and do absolutely get predated upon and are not immune to the stress response or somehow is incapable of feeling a smack that they very clearly startle from.

Idk the mental gymnastics people are doing to justify shitty animal husbandry must be exhausting.

[cypionate60mg]

I’m honestly so thankful you and others are blogging like this. First group of people to take trans masculinity a step further than “but I swear I’m not scary.” Delight in masculinity makes observers so uncomfortable, even other trans people. The new soundbite going around is “choosing to be a man is not apolitical,” which lays bare pretty much all the ways masculinity is feared and reviled by the queer community except in pockets of people living as they please. It makes me sad that others can’t see what a joy it is to expose and pursue truth and joy.

Hmm. There's about a dozen of these sorts of asks in my inbox, so consider this an answer to all of them.

I'm picking up some underlying implications here ("even other trans people" and "feared and reviled by the queer community") that I want to address, whether or not you meant for them to come through.

It's perfectly understandable for people to be nervous around hypermasculinity. The network of oppression that gatekeeps masculinity and manhood (different things that it wants to preserve as a single unit) is the same one that abjectifies and objectifies anything deemed 'insufficiently masculine.' Make no mistake. This is a machine that suppresses all trans people, but it thrives on the subjugation of trans women, singling them out as moral lessons for the failures of society.

I'll go ahead and respond to the quiet part out loud: I think it's ludicrous to imagine that the transphobia trans men/transmascs experience is both separate and parallel to transmisogyny. The subordination of all women of various intersecting experiences is the oppressive power that hurts us. Indirectly or directly. That doesn't mean what we experience is transmisogyny, either. And I don't think the appropriate response to the intracommunity fear is to wield masculinity like a weapon unused. I don't want to move through the world like a knife.

In my life, personally, the people who have been most supportive and excited to see me experiment with masculinity have been trans women and transfems. I'm extremely skeptical of how our sisters are scapegoated for the transphobia we as trans men and transmascs face. There are, obviously, always going to be arguments within the community. People who hate the other. But I refuse to let that define my relationship with people who I have so much to gain from loving and working with.

There are absolutely ways to talk about how trans men and transmascs struggle. It is important to our survival that we discuss this. And if anybody is ready to have that conversation without placing the brunt of the blame on trans women, I'm ready.

Of course I get scared of cis men, of other trans men, of myself, of what people think of me. But that fear won't be resolved by demanding others give up their own fear. It's resolved by demonstrating that we can make something worthwhile out of a grotesque, absurd concept. One that is used to subjugate so many people. We do, unfortunately, have to prove ourselves. We have to make community and make good on our promises. We have to push each other to be better, while still taking care of the ones who can't. There have always been people who have taken trans masculinity further than 'I'm not scary', and we would do well to continue on the paths they've paved for us.

Masculinity is a bit of a ravaged landscape. A gender Superfund site. It is a place where many things do not grow, and there is an active effort to prevent things from blossoming there. I'm making these stupid captions because I am hopelessly optimistic that we can change something. It doesn't mean we will be free of criticism or won't face transphobia from other people. But fuck, man. I'm not fighting for this because I want to jack off to being an incel without being chided for it. I'm doing this because we need to have a serious conversation about what it means to take on masculinity. How to enter into a space that we weren't necessarily invited into and not fall for its bullshit. It's high fucking difficulty, that's for sure.

I'm sorry for being intense, but this shit gets me heated.

Side note: this soundbite hasn't crossed my path, so I don't have any opinion on it.

That's all I have to say for now. I don't really want to talk about this any further, unless we can hinge the conversation on a non-transmisogynistic talking point. I'm happy to turn off asks if people can't handle that.

Much love, CYP60MG

[hillbillyoracle]

How to Have Better Conversations

I’m writing this at the request of my partner. She shared she’s really been struggling with making conversation more than usual lately. I shared some thoughts on how I navigate conversations she found useful and asked if I’d be willing to make a resource or write more about it. This is not meant to be a definitive expert guide, it’s built from my observations and experiences as someone who is autistic and has to navigate a lot of social situations completely manually. This is how I break down the individual components of conversation.

When I spelled this all out, one of her takeaways was that conversations actually involve a lot of microdecisions and that’s why they can be so tiring. And I think that’s totally correct. But I think it’s also why some people can thrive with them because it’s actually a lot of difficult decisions that are tricky to pull off well so when you can and do, there’s a real sense of accomplishment that can make talking more appealing.

I have a feeling this post will be overcomplicated and convoluted to a lot of folks but maybe there’s a handful of folks for whom it is helpful. Take what works, leave the rest. Summary at the end.

Types of Conversation

Topics of conversation are decently important in my experience. They ultimately let you know where the conversation will go - whether it’s likely to end in a dead end, what sorts of things it will allow you to learn about the person you’re discussing with. In my experience, just about all conversation topics fall into one of four camps.

While I talk about Best Use and Don’t Use here - most conversation in the following topics will fall somewhere in-between. They’re just sign posts, not rules.

Me

The focus is on you. Me topics are ultimately about telling a story about yourself with some amount of conscious intent.

Best Use

The best use of this is setting expectations and conveying preferences. This allows your talking about yourself to serve a purpose that ultimately assists the other person in knowing how to understand and interact with you best without necessarily demanding certain treatment front. They might change or not change how they interact with you and this can show how responsive you might expect them to be.

Examples:

“I’m a writer so I don’t work 9-5. If I reply at odd times, that’s probably what’s going on.”

“One of my favorite ways to get to know someone is to grab a hot drink and go for a walk with them.”

Don’t Use

The worst use of this is look a certain way - knowledgeable, impressive, interesting. Basically any use rooted in getting another person to like you. Genuine connection doesn’t start from a place of elevating one person over another. Plus honestly 90% of people just do not care about why you think you’re interesting, important, etc and hate feeling pressured to validate you.

Examples:

“My boss was even stumped by the issue but I figured it out on my own.”

“All my friends say I’m the best at baking.”

“I keep a bunch of tools in my car, I’m ready to fix anything anywhere.”

You

The focus is on the other person. You topics are ultimately about letting the other person share the story of themselves.

Best Use

The best use of You topics is to better understand how a person understands themselves. Open ended questions that invite them to show their thinking as well and shows you how they reason. The common acronym FORD (family, occupation/occupy time, recreation, dreams) is a decent

Example:

“So how did you find yourself in this city? What was that journey like?”

“Why did you take up [your hobby]? What drew you to it?”

Don’t Use

Don’t use you topics to actively try to find fault with someone else. It’s great to have standards and hard no’s for your friendships and relationships. But poking around for them upfront can alienate people who you’d otherwise like - suspicion is not a desirable quality in a friend or potential partner. Ultimately you have to let a person show you who they are and make a personal call. There’s no short cut.

Example:

“So why did you and your ex break up?”

“So you get angry easily then?”

Both

The focus is on a shared expertise/language, not on the story of either of you.

Best Use

The best use of both topics is to notice things about them they wouldn’t think to explicitly share necessarily and to connect in a way that only people with your shared interest or expertise allows.

Example:

My partner and I both have a background in academic medical research. However when we talk about it, it becomes apparent that my focus is on the practical and researcher side and hers is on the data and compliance side. It’s interesting to note where our similar interests compliment and diverge.

Don’t Use

Don’t use both topics to try one up or show you know more than the other person. The minute you do that the shared aspect - and therefore connection - is gone.

Example:

I once went on a date with a man who spent a half hour explaining how GIS systems work in a very “look at me” way after I mentioned I had used them when I was studying forestry in college. It was boring as hell.

Neither

The focus is on a topic without a shared expertise/language, not on the story of either of you.

Best Use

The best use of neither topics is a shared exploration/experience. One person will usually know a little more about a topic than the other person. The person who knows less benefits by learning about a topic they’re curious about. Their questions and observations invite the other to think about this topic in a new light so the experience winds up being somewhat shared.

Examples:

A woman in line at Lowes let me know I could overwinter mums in this area. I proceeded to ask her about how she’d taken such good care of hers and whether the effortwas worth it. She thoughtfully answered my questions and I learned a lot.

I mentioned to my partner a personal project I’m considering undertaking. She asks about my motivations for it and in doing so I have to further clarify them. She learned a little about what my project was about and I learned what I was really after, seeing it fresh.

Don’t Use

Don’t use neither topics to soapbox about things that are of solely personal interest. If someone makes it clear they’re not interested pivot to something more interesting. Even neither topics require at least a little bit of common ground.

Examples:

I regularly talk about group hypocrisies I’m trying to make sense of before realizing that people outside of that group don’t really care.

Ideal Ratio

In general, in reflecting on my own conversations, I think a ratio where more than half the conversation is on either both or neither topics are the most rewarding. It’s where neither party walks away feeling like they talked too much about themselves and when meaningful and interesting topics still have been discussed.

I think it’s a common mistake to try to get the conversation to be 50% you, 50% me. That’s where conversations feel like a job interview and get exhausting real quick. They also have an appearance of depth as people disclose more to keep the conversation going but with out a feeling of connection after because little time is spent on exploration and shared experience.

How to Respond

So knowing what topic you’re currently or want to talk about is one part of this, but the other is choosing a response. I generally let the other person’s response dictate some measure of my response.

Pivot

If someone seems negatively engaged - leaning back, looking around a lot, arms crossed, giving short answers - I pivot to a neutral topic. I find neutral topics work best because the focus is not on either of you - they don’t feel like they’re under pressure to disclose or act interested in you. Neutral topics also allow them to lead the pace - asking questions and making observations at the level they feel comfortable. If they continually seem negatively engaged, it’s usually best to bail from the conversation, especially if asking questions about the dynamic itself seems like it might not be welcome.

Matching

If someone seems neutrally engaged - mostly looking in your direction, not leaning toward or away, giving input on what you’re saying - I match and continue with the topic.

FOOL

Being a little like the Fool in the Major Arcana is actually a great way to be a good conversationalist - genuine, curious, brave, and receptive. Bellow are some concrete ways how.

Follow up questions - Good follow up questions come from a genuine place of curiousity. They also tend to either fill in gaps in your own understanding or encourage the speaker expand the discussion into a new but related area.

Observation - Observations on the topic itself are great but not your only option. You can oberve how a person seemed to feel when talking about the topic. You can observe that they’d touched on a related topic before. Comparison is a fruitful ground for observations as well - “That’s similar to…” and ”That’s very different than….”

Opinion - Offering an opinion or requesting their opinion is a good way to keep a conversation going. In general, it’s best to avoid generalizations, soften them a little to start with, and make sure there is some measure of compassion in the opinion you’re sharing. Rigidity leaves little room for discussion and exploration.

Levity - Where appropriate, make a joke, share a meme, craft a pun, tease them a little. Laughter is a shared experience that connects us.

Building

If someone seems positively engaged - leaning forward, making eye contact, coming closer to you for neurotypical people and actively engaging with the content of what you’re saying regardless of stims or eye contact for neurodivergent folks - I build on what we’re talking about. I self disclose my feelings and personal connections to the topic one step further than what the person I’m talking with has.

It’s important not to disclose a lot more than the person you’re talking with has. It leads to a vulnerability hangover for you and can be quite awkward and uncomfortable for them. If you disclose just a little more than the person you’re chatting with, then it’s much more easy to recover and match their level if they seem uncomfortable with what you shared.

Decision Tree

“What topic are we talking about currently?”

Me - Set expectations, share preferences; you focused

You - Understand you as you understand yourself; other person focused

Both - Connect over a shared language; idea focused

Neither - Connect over a shared exploration; idea focused

“What cues am I getting from the other person?”

If positive, build on current topic - be vulnerable

If neutral, match on current topic - be a FOOL*

If negative, pivot to a different topic - preferably neutral or in ratio**

*FOOL

Follow up questions - genuine curiousity - “I wonder…”

Observe - conversation, feelings, topic - “I noticed…”

Opinion - cautious, concise, compassionate - “I’ve often thought…”

Levity - make jokes, share memes - laughter connects

**Ratio

51% Both/Neither

<49% Me/You

[thefugitivesaint]

They Are Insecure For A Reason | Defector

"One of the less-amusing ironies of the violent institutional response to the nonviolent protest movement on campuses across the country is that the goals of the people protesting are much easier to understand than those of the variously curdled elites dispatching uniformed violence workers against them. The irony is in the fact that the students, with their specific demands and comparatively disciplined approach, have been cast as somewhere between essentially unserious and actively terroristic. In contrast, the institutions pivoting and pandering and giddily giving themselves over to the incoherent and spiraling political panic surrounding the protests represent principled leadership and forebearance; the gray elites insisting that these protests are actually about their dull abstractions of choice are the voice of seriousness; the police forces, rioting and ravening as ever, are somehow in fact order.

A lot of this disjunction can be explained by the undeniable disparities in power between those two sides, the first organizing toward a legible goal and the second existing essentially to oversee the unending work of saying no. Only one side can effectively call the cops on the other; here, as elsewhere, the impunity that comes with that exclusive access to violent recourse has made those with it not only cynical and lazy and cruel, but also paradoxically insecure and perpetually terrified at the prospect of any erosion in authority. It is, on its face, difficult to make the argument that it is fundamentally unserious to object to dropping a 2,000-pound bomb on a hospital, and much more morally and politically serious to object to that objection on some point of administrative order, or simply because it is too loud." ..... "There is something terribly clarifying in how eager the people in power at these universities have been to betray the trust of everyone invested in those institutions. Institutions that otherwise exist from one exploratory committee to the next will change university policies on the fly so that their local uniformed violence workers will get their chance to thump some young skulls; administrators whose notional jobs are upholding communities of learning and care gladly consent to being upbraided by clownish golf hogs and half-fascist nullities in Congress and then do exactly what they were told to do, whatever the damage to those communities. If the students and professors in these protests, which are now nationwide, have a sort of advantage simply by being the only parties involved that actually care about anything, they are also up against an opposition that is all the more implacable because of how proudly cynical it is." .... "The order they are after is all around us—a Homeowners Association with a S.W.A.T. team at its disposal, a business that grows at a steady rate without making anything anyone could use, a world in which things simply happen and continue to happen, a pristine desolation that is safe precisely because of how empty it is. But what they are afraid of grows even as they starve it, which is why these people, with all their power, are always so insecure. It is why, despite the relentless imposition of their annihilating concept of safety, they can't ever quite feel safe. They know how bad it would be for them to be seen clearly; they are fucking terrified of being treated as they treat others. They know that people can recognize their demands as what they are, and that there are still spaces in which to reject them. And they sense, maybe, that this false and failing security can't last. "The more they try to silence us," a Columbia grad student told the Times last week, "the louder we get."

[rustingcat]

Earth

Lena felt awful. She must've fallen asleep in an awkward position on a chair in one of the main labs. Looking at the clock she found she had dozed off for at least a couple of hours. She let out a groan as she got up and stretched, releasing at least some of the tension in her back. Lena just knew her back was gonna bother her for the rest of the day, week possibly.

Looking around the room, she saw the rest of her team asleep on nearby chairs, or just straight out on the floor. The crisis was averted at the very least, their new lasting energy source did not, in fact, blow up the building, so she'd count it as a win. Despite the massive setback, they might just pull it off, eventually that is. For now she was just glad that everyone was safe. Everyone including– 

The embryo! She was clearly not fully woken up if she managed to forget that. Lena grabbed herself a cup of coffee from the nearby machine and headed up to her private lab. She got no messages from Kara, so she hoped that everything went alright. 

She felt awful leaving her to do everything by herself, especially with such an important milestone. It was also somewhat disappointing she wasn't there to share the moment with Kara. Lena remembered her being overly enthusiastic about it in one of her visits. Or was it strange? She couldn't recall, then again she was very distracted at the time.

Lena nearly finished her coffee by the time she reached the lab. Disposing the cup on a nearby table, she spared a warm look at the sleeping form of Kara who was draped stiffly on the little couch in the corner, the couch she herself insisted on adding to the room, before heading to the machine to check the progress. The screen seemed to be okay, not indicating any warning signs at the very least, but it was the pods that caught her attention. Brainy's special pod was lit right there at the bottom in a special container, but instead of the one other pod she expected to be lit right above it, she spotted two.

She hurried back to the monitor to check the data, only to discover her own genetic data attached to the embryo in the first pod. 

Her and Kara's.

Lena's hand instinctively went to cover her mouth in shock. She had noticed Kara never deleted their PF, of course, but she never imagined she would do anything like that. Especially without her permission, or some discussion at the very least. 

Lena thought the reason she left it might be to commemorate their success, a memory from their first test. Did she have some sort of secret plan this entire time? No, it's Kara. Kara would never pull anything like that. Then again, the pod was still active. It was processed before the pod containing Nia and Brainy's data was activated, meaning she must've noticed it, at some point, yet it was still active. 

Lena had too many emotions running through her to even begin to process them. She was tired, hungry and very confused. Above all else, she wanted answers. Maybe then she could start to unravel the mess of feelings inside her.

She walked with determination towards her sleeping friend, growing more impatient with each step. 

"Kara! Explain! Now!" She demanded, her voice may have come out a bit louder than she expected.

"Mmhhh?" Kara mumbled with a confused half lidded look, she studied Lena’s face with a growing smile. Lena raised a sharp eyebrow, hoping she would wake up sooner rather than later. 

Kara blinked a few times, until her happy goofy smile turned into the shock of a deer caught in the headlights, that quickly turned into the shame of a dog that knew they were doing something wrong.

"I'm waiting." She emphasised with a stern voice.

"Oh, yeah." Kara cleared her throat. "I can explain." She jumped to her feet, all trace of her sleep was gone.

"I sure hope so," Lena stepped back and crossed her arms.

"It was an accident." She waved her hands down, a common signal for people asking to calm down, Lena only straightened her back in response.

"An accident that is still very much growing in a pod!" Lena pointed out.

"I…Yes," she recoiled back from Lena's intense gaze. "I was just… thinking…" 

"For your sake, I really hope you did." Lena swore that unlike her brother, she never bore any murderous intentions towards any Kryptonian. That is until that moment at least, where she seriously started to consider it.

"Right, well," kara swallowed hard. "We can always choose to… um terminate –  the project I mean, of course. That is still very much an option if you want. I just… I remembered the conversation we had about the future and you said that you wanted kids, but were afraid to raise them unless it was with someone you trust. And you know I always wanted kids and don't really have the best luck with my relationships," she chuckled. "So, I just figured, maybe it's a sign, you know? Well, not a sign, more like an opportunity." She finished with a nervous smile.

Lena's mouth opened and closed a few times, unsure how to respond. God, she really believed entering the lab would help clear out her swirls of emotions, how wrong she was. Her best friend was potentially offering her everything she had ever wanted, or at least most of it, and Lena wasn't sure if it made her anger lessen or not.

"Because," Kara nervously continued when she noticed Lena wasn't responding. "It's really hard to know who you can trust, you know, all those stories of people leaving, and just not working out. You and I have been through so much, so I just know that we can survive anything. I trust you with everything. So why not this? I think everyone should just have a child with their best friend! It would probably lead to less relationship troubles and such. Does it sound crazy? Because I'm not sure anymore." She let out a nervous chuckle. "Please say something, Lena. Anything, please." Kara finished her speech full of hand motions and rambling with a pleading look, directed straight at Lena.

The air felt too thick to breathe normally. It did sound crazy. More than crazy. But somehow almost made sense at the same time? Or was it just her wishful thinking? Lena wasn't sure.

"I…" she started, unsure what to say. Her anger from before disappeared completely. "I don't know."

"Lena," Kara moved closer, holding her arms on each side, "I've tried to picture my future several times in my life, never sure of what it would hold or how it may look like, but I realised that the only thing I'm completely sure about is you. I know that I want you to be a big part of my future and the thought of raising a child with you brings me nothing but joy. It's a future I want. It's the clearest future I've seen in a while, and it's so bright, Lena. So bright. Do you see it?"

She did. Oh, she could see everything. Years of denying herself from accessing those kinds of thoughts washed over her. She saw chubby cheeks and deep blue eyes staring at her with wonder and love, family vacations, late nights at home watching movies, their child starting school for the first time, helping them with their homework, Kara bringing them all some takeaway after burning out her latest cooking attempt, and maybe even…

"You don't have to decide now of course we can always–"

"Okay." Lena found herself breathing out. Not louder than a whisper.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"So...?" Kara asked just as quietly, stepping further into Lena's space.

"Yes." Answered, bridging the gap by putting her forward against Kara's. She closed her eyes in disbelief. "We're gonna be parents." A small chuckle of disbelief escaped her lips.

Lena has done some crazy shit in her life. She went on an insane treasure hunt in the jungle to find a necklace because mother told her about it when she was too small to remember, she tried to rescue her family's company after her brother destroyed its reputation for going genocidal, tried to brainwash the entire world in an attempt to stop violence, survived multiple assassination attempts, risked her own life several times, jumped off a cliff with only hope. Hope that the person in front of her would catch her. She hoped she always would.

Lena felt Kara's thumb wiping away the tears she didn't notice were falling down her face. She opened her eyes and saw similarly teary eyes, filled with love and hope. God she wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss her so badly, but feared the rejection she might shatter the dream she somehow found herself in.

She hugged her instead, pulling her as close as she could, searching for proof she was awake, that it was real. Kara didn't pull away so neither did Lena. She let herself breath the sweet scent of Kara's natural perfume, how this woman always smelled so good was beyond her. 

"Wanna see our future baby?" Kara whispered in her ear after a while.

"It's barely an embryo at this point," Lena chuckled, not yet ready to pull back.

"Come on." Kara took her hand and pulled her towards the pods. They stayed close, as they stood next to the pod wall. Kara took her other hand as well and lifted it over to their pod. The glass was warm to the touch, which was unsurprising considering everything that went on inside of it. Still, knowing what could potentially come of it, was a lot.

"God," Lena wiped away her tears, "we have so much to discuss." Lena noted.

"Yes, we do. But we can do it later." Kara agreed.

"Kara, I don't even know if you even want to raise the child here." She found it somewhat difficult to say Our child. "I mean, you might want to go to Argo with your parents, and their advanced technology and education. It was your home after all." Lena tried to hold on to a sob.

"I may have been born on Krypton, but I made my family on Earth."

[sicariodechinchulines]

Damijon headcanon: Dami doesn't flirt, he COURTS.

•We tend to forgot WHERE and HOW Damian was raised. He just doesn't get the concept "Highschool sweetheart". when he first mentioned that, they were at a gala.

"-Im not interested on playdates, that's a waste of time.-" and they nodded because that's SOOO him, but then... "-If someone is interested on my being and dare to ask for my hand, I expect them to be ready for marriage. If not, then is just to be mean a ephemeral game that I won't even bother to remember, they shouldn't either."

Unnecessary to say that reporters we're so fucking excited with that response, so much that they didn't notice Dick Grayson hanging from a chandelier.

• and yes, he had a girlfriend before, even shared some kisses with other ladies and acted like a gentleman for them, but the truth is: he didn't take them seriously.

• Dami was ready for living alone and single, that's not the big deal, but Jon appeared again, and things started to get weird... in an amusing and warming way. Jon was now a mature good looking man, strong and good-natured as always. The little naive and childish boy was gone, and now was a man; a man worthy of his attention, in any areas.

• Without saying ANYTHING about his feels, he started to court Jon in the way he learned was appropriate, the problem is: Jon Kent is not a lady.

AND IS NEITHER SINGLE.

• Flowers, luxurious gifts and expensive jewelry. People started to suspect if Jon became some type of sugar baby for Damian, but when is questioned, Jon unsuspecting, answer "I don't know, rich people are weird"

• yes, people, Damian does HOLD the doors open for Jon, while ignoring the people behind, usually ending on them smashing their faces with the door.

• They rarely travel on cars, but when they do, Dami open the door for him; the bats are BEWILDERED by that.

• Needless to say that Jay DOES want to beat the shit out of him. (I don't blame him, if a sort of Arabic prince- heir of one of the biggest fortune in the world- a fucking Robin is trying to conquer MY boyfriend, I would love to beat the shit out of him too.)

Even if he's mad at him, don't see the point on competing with a child, because after all he's not even 15.

• Everyone knows that this boy is weird in SOOO many ways, but waiting 4 years until the object of your courtship is legally able to touch you, is little to much... even for Superman, who lost his virginity in his late twenties.

• Clark never say anything about that matter, first because he doesn't want to feed rumors, and second..

Because if he ADMIT that he would be okay with Damian marrying his son, Batman will KILL HIM.

•Even if he is worried about the future that Damian and Jon hold as best friends or partners, he can't denied that Damian devotion to Jon is cute.

Sorry but Clark is a hopeless romantic who loves his wife DEEPLY

(and he doesn't like Jay at all, he doesn't knows him as much he would like, neither is happy with the amount of info about his son that is on internet now thanks to jay's activism... but this ray of sunshine don't talk about that because, wHAT IF HE IS BEING HOMOPHOBIC OR SOMETHING?? Don't want to stress his boy with that.)

• after the SHOW Damian Wayne gave at that gala talking about his expectations on a partner and the PROPER way of courtship, the rumors about the younger Wayne being a heartbreaker like his father were over. NOW, they love to talk about how amazing and romantic Damian would be as a boyfriend.

When in an interview, a reporter mentioned Tim Drake-Wayne the titular "The teens dream: A prince like Damian Wayne. His thoughts about dating and how court a lady" he dissociated for 1 whole minute.

• the worst-best come now. Still hanging from that titular a journalist did DARE to ask about PRE-MARITAL SEX. (yes, Bruce demanded that journalist, yes, Bruce won.)

"- Isn't obvious? I'm against it, at least for myself. I don't find shame on waiting the proper person to lost your virginity with... even if I fall in love with SOMEONE who isn't virgin anymore, I'll wait anyway."

And yes, that was a hint for Jon. Jon didn't get it, but the press did.

It was funny how teen boys were so spiteful towards him and how teen girls were so delighted. Damian set the bar so high for Gotham boys.

• even with all the gifts and flowers and food, Jon is the ONLY ONE who don't notice. His mother did, his father did, Batman, Redhood, RedRobin and Nightwing DID, even StARFIRE AND THAT'S A LOT. a night after a mission she just said "Correct me if I'm wrong... but the little Robin is courting Superman according his culture standards, isn't?" And the whole Bat Boys just stared.

"That's adorable... a little gentleman!"

• They usually cuddle. It was hard for Jon getting used to it after YEARS gone, but Damian was weirdly okay with it, even pleased Jon can say.

But there was something unsettling. He don't cuddle him as before, instead he do it in a way that makes Jon feel incredibly conscious about himself, but safe anyway.

Damian does it on purpose, holding Jon head close to his chest when they are on the couch, caressing the side of Jon's jaw and lightly touching his temple.

If Jon is being lucky and Damian too tired, he will press his nose against his curls and close his eyes, answering anything with a lazy "mmh"

• Bruce is worried. He's not Clark, he's not tHAT optimistic. He knows his son and how unhinged and dangerous he can be, and see this said devotion as a time bomb. What if Jon is not that good??? Or Damian manage to CONQUER the teen's heart and decide to guide him into a darker path???? Jon probed that he can DIE for him in most of one occasion, Damian is starting to act the same and is unsettling.

Sorry if isn't readable, my mother language is Spanish and i learned English from comics, translator and weirdly poetic AO3 p0rn. If you're that kind, please point out my mistakes or care to give me an advice so I can better my grammar, ty so much!!!!

[ernmark]

Birthdays fuck with me, mentally. They always have.

There's a lot of reasons for it, but they're all little ones, nothing traumatic-- to the point where I'll find myself wishing there'd been some Big Trauma Way Back When to justify the overwhelming depression that always rears its head right then (that, I'm told, is A Symptom).

But without getting into the weeds:

There's something actively painful about things where you're Supposed To Be Happy. It creates this overwhelming expectation/demand to Be Happy Right Now that's echoed back from every single direction, and a feeling of immense guilt for Failing to Be Happy, so you try and force it, and the harder you try the harder you fail, and it keeps going like that in the background until it leaves you completely drained and miserable.

And then you're meant to respond back to every "Happy Birthday" with a performance of delirious happiness (or else look ungrateful, or prompting demands at explanation) and Exciting Plans (which are their own, additional, source of dread and anxiety). And it creates this bone-deep feeling of loneliness as you're hiding behind a performance that they don't understand and you aren't able to explain, repeated with every single well-meaning text and email and interaction. And you can't just pretend that you don't have a birthday or ask people not to acknowledge it, because having people Forget Your Birthday carries its own baggage of being Unloved and Unseen that I really don't need when I'm dealing with what's become an annual episode of Deep Depression.

What sucks doubly about it is that I like getting presents, I like being acknowledged, I want to feel special and loved. And I know that these things are done from genuine love, or at least genuine like. There's never a drop of malice or bad meaning behind it.

Hilariously, if there was, I would be a lot more comfortable saying "I'm probably going to eat my weight in whatever comfort food I have the spoons to procure and then curl up in bed for the rest of the night."

(Therein, I think, comes that Mentally Ill desire for some kind of trauma or tragedy-- because in that fantasy, you get to have the well-wishes, but also with the support and understanding that you're allowed to be miserable right now regardless.)

I suspect that this sort of thing is a big part of the reason why I've always been as aggressively Not A Fan of Christmas as I am, even before I left my childhood religion-- that same demand for Good Cheer and guilt for Being A Grinch coming from all sides, the inability to escape it without making it A Whole Thing that you already don't have the energy to deal with.

(This sort of thing is also why horror and tragedy media is easier for me to handle than comedies or fluffy stuff-- that Expectation that comes with the latter very quickly becomes stressful and upsetting if I'm not in the right mood for it. Meanwhile if horror fails to scare, it's because it failed to be scary, and tragedy can usually find something to be cathartic about).

Mentally, it's a stalemate. I don't know what to do about it or how to make it not suck. It's not anybody else's fault, and nobody is doing anything wrong for wishing well or hoping happiness on you. That's just a genuinely good, nice thing to do. They're not remotely responsible for my brain chemistry, and I have plenty of reasons not to share it with them.

It's just part of how this whole thing goes.

[cripplecharacters]

hi! i saw the ask you recently posted regarding the amount and date of asks currently in your queue, and im not sure if i understand the response fully. as you said your queue currently contains asks from early 2020, does this mean that at the moment the average time for an ask to be answered is about 4 years? this is not a complaint or anything of the sort, i understand and appreciate the massive amount of work you put into these answers - im just asking to know whether i should send in a question myself, as i usually dont work on building a character for several years, so i would just be burdening you with yet another ask that would no longer be applicable by the time of an answer. again i apologize if this comes off as rude and i really dont intend to be demanding, i just want to inform myself on how this blog works so i dont add to your workload needlessly. thanks for all the great work you do here!

Hello!

To clarify: The average time for an ask to be answered is NOT four years.

There isn't really an average wait time per ask since it differs so greatly but I'd say it's usually no more than a couple months? Somebody can correct me if I'm wrong though😅

Depending on the ask, it may be answered almost instantly and chucked into the queue or it may sit in our inbox for a while before somebody can get to it. This all depends on a few factors, including:

What's the ask about? If it's something that multiple mods can answer (Such as questions about autism, mobility aids, etc.), then it will likely be answered sooner. On the other hand, an ask about something more specific that fewer mods can answer (Such as progressive vision loss or albinism) will likely take a bit longer.

How detailed is the ask? If it's a question that's more simple and can be answered without as much effort/energy, it will usually make it's way into the queue quicker than a question that's more detailed/specific to the asker's story/characters, which will take a bit longer.

What topics does the ask deal with? Sometimes there are asks with heavier topics that can be more difficult to deal with. In my experience, I find that I have trouble spending too much time on these asks at once and I'll usually draft an answer and then go back to them after a few days.

This is by no means an official 'why your ask hasn't been answered yet' post, just some clarification and a few of my own observations but hopefully it's helpful!

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

Editing to add:

A huge part of why there’s such a big backlog is also that, for around a year or more, there was really only one active mod on the blog.

As you can imagine, this blog is kind of a lot for just one person to run. So the backlog built as it was much harder for just one person to do it.

For reference, we now have 10-11 mods, which helps us be able to do more questions.

Hope that helps for some context!

Mod Sparrow

[windvexer]

For those who are considering initiatory witchcraft:

Is it once again time for me to wake up and say something melodramatic about witchcraft?

For a while, one way I've conceptualized initiatory witchcraft is as being DLC for your life. Before you initiated, you were playing the vanilla game.

After you initiate, you're playing with DLC. And the DLC primarily changes gameplay mechanics.

And I think that one of the things that changes is complexity, because you have more mechanics than you had before. There are more things to manage, and if you manage them well you get pretty nice gameplay bonuses. But if you manage them poorly, then you get much worse debuffs.

And also, you can't uninstall the DLC.

This is something I wish people had told me at the beginning. A lot of the warnings about initiatory witchcraft are all doom and gloom. Which, that's the nature of this sort of thing. It's a rough road to walk, especially for the first few years there.

But I wish people had just told me about the, well, the chores. The responsibility. The stuff you have to start doing now, or these new channels of power you suddenly rely on are going to collapse and nothing will be right until you fix it.

I think this is a common divide seen between initiatory and non-initiatory witchcraft. In non-initiatory witchcraft the advice tends to be, don't do it unless it sparks joy! Does that routine or activity make you feel great? No? Then don't do it! Your path is your playground.

Which is pretty good advice, but it doesn't apply to everyone.

Some practitioners out there really do just have responsibilities they have to perform, and those responsibilities don't always spark joy, or make them feel good, or whatever. It can be tedious. It can be boring. It can be something you set two alarms for and then drag your feet all the way to the altar. They can take time away from desired hobbies, or friends, or sleep.

When you initiate, there are all these little channels of power inside of you. That's an inelegant metaphor but for the purposes of this post, it's fine.

And a lot of little things can run through those channels. Spirits, powers, gods, the land, whatever. They've got you like a fish on a hook, and they can drag you away.

Do you really, really want to sit with your friends at the campfire and play never have I ever and drink beers? Well, you can't - because the forest is demanding your attention. There's a rock over there beyond the firelight, you will go to it, you will make sacrifices to it, you will honor the spirits who demand your homage because they know you can see them, and they will not be ignored by you.

And I really, really don't like the narrative, or the assumption or whatever, that this moment of having to ditch your friends and go be weird in the forest is a beautiful, sacred moment that makes you sOoOoooOoOOoo glad you initiated.

There are mosquitos out there. You can hear people laughing without you. You're exhausted because you impressed your friends with tarot readings earlier. The energy of the forest is strange because it doesn't trust you.

It can suck, is what I'm saying, but you have to do it.

And I think that maybe this is something to consider, or at least be aware of, so if you start feeling like garbage after you initiate you can be like, "oh yeah, the chores." In my experience, people who are set on initiation aren't going to be deterred by the thought of these kinds of things.

But I think it's something good to be aware of. Initiatory witchcraft isn't something you can set down and walk away from. It's not something you can necessarily change or rework according to your whims. And a lot of that isn't sexy, or mystical, or joyous. A lot of it is just... chores.

[joshslater]

Delayed Graduation

Repost of an old story that was previously flagged as too risqué for tumblr. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

- We might have a solution of sorts for you.

I barely registered principal Johnston talking. My world had been shattered, without warning. It all felt unreal, and most of all unfair. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, but there were no witnesses, just my word against hers. She wouldn’t press charges, Johnston had explained. I was almost demanding that she did, so I could clear my name, but thought better of it. If it went to trial all outcomes would be bad, to varying degrees. This way I would just be expelled. I guess I could use the term “drop out” to soften it further. It’s not like the job market is stellar even if you have a degree, but this would firmly pigeon hole me as manual labor.

- What? - I said we might have an arrangement that could interest you.

He pulled out a stack of papers from his manila folder and placed them in front of me, and continued.

- We have a little trial project we would like to push ahead with, to see what the full potential is. Coach Andrews would personally take charge of your training to see how far he can take you in a year. Similar to what he managed to do for Shane O’Brian. Since you will be heavily supervised, fully scheduled and not share any classes with your former class mates, she has agreed to allow you complete your studies under these conditions. It’s not that many months until she graduates anyway. Your graduation obviously will have to wait until next year.

Shane of course was the star of the basket team. He was two years below me, so I didn’t know him, but I heard he had basically never touched a ball before he met coach. He must have been active in something else though, with that body. The girls were swooning like crazy. Some of the boys too, as rumor had it.

- Sir, I’m really grateful for this opportunity, but I’m not really made for sports. Just look at me. Tall and thin. Not much track and field around here. - We are not asking for any miracles. Just follow all instructions given and do your best. That’s all we’re asking.

I started to flip through the papers. I was bored just looking at the page numbers.

- Should I bring this home to my parents? - This is a bit time sensitive, so I’d prefer if you make your decision already today. You’re 18. You get to decide this on your own. Why don’t I leave you for a bit? You can have a read through, and then decide what you want to do.

As he left the room I started to go read through the contract properly. Why do they make things so complicated? The contract really just said that I assumed responsibility for the “infraction”, but the school would not disclose it to anyone unless the contract was breached. I would agree to participate in the athletic education study for one year. In return the school would allow me to graduate next year. But written over 26 pages.

I didn’t feel like I had many options. Initials on every page and signature on the last. Then repeated on the second copy of the contract. I was about to leave and find principal Johnston when he returned, followed by coach Andrews.

- Have you made up your mind, or would you like Mr. Andrews to explain it in more detail. - I’ve already signed the papers. - Oh, well then. I’m so happy we could work something out.

Coach Andrews opened the gym bag he was carrying and pulled out a blue singlet and ear guards, and held them for me to take.

- Let’s try this on right away. - Now? Here?

Johnston opened a door to a side room of his office.

- You can change in the conference room here. - But wrestling?! Have you seen me? - As I said, follow all instructions and do your best is all we ask.

It was the first time I even held a singlet in my hands. I’ve never even thought of how to put one on. It wasn’t hard, just step in them like some shorts and then pull the straps over your shoulders, but I never imagined doing it.

I looked ridiculous. I guess size isn’t as important when the fabric is stretchy, but this sure wasn’t my size. The taut straps pulled the fabric in the groin, while at the same time my thin legs didn’t fill out the legs of the singlet. What a mess. I walked back into the office, naked apart from this one single piece of clothing.

- Should I put on the ear guards as well. - No, that isn’t necessary. Here.

Coach opened a small, brown, glass bottle and poured its contents into a white plastic cup from the water cooler, and handed it to me.

- This is the time sensitive part. Drink up.

This day was going from horrendously bad to confusing to weird. I emptied the cup. The liquid tasted like cough syrup. Sickly sweet and with bitter herbs.

- What is.. *cough* *cough* - Here. Take a seat.

It felt like drinking really hot cocoa when you are frozen. It kind of spreads from the chest to the rest of the body. All of me was getting warm, and an uncomfortable feeling or pressure. Everything was off, like I was drunk, or high or something. It was over in a minute, though it is quite possible my mind was playing tricks and it really was longer than that.

- Stand up against the wall, so I can take a photo.

Bewildered, and with unsteady steps, I did as told. He snapped a few pictures with his phone, and then showed me one.

- Don’t tell me this isn’t a great starting point.

I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was definitely me in the photo, but it was like the aspect ratio was wrong. I must be several inches shorter, but everything, arms, legs, chest, shoulders, neck, was wider. Even my face was altered, if ever so slightly. Where just minutes before, or whatever, I was a lanky gamer, I now was a hunk of muscle.

- How is this... - Don’t worry about the details. We must work quickly now while you are fresh, to get the wrestling technique right. Meet me in my office tomorrow at 7 am.

With that he slapped me on the shoulder and left. Just as he was about to exit the office, he pulled out a pair of shoes from the bag and placed them at a table.

- Oh, I almost forgot these. Your new size. See you tomorrow!

My head was spinning. What had just happened to me, to my body? Starting point? Principal Johnston had his distinct “anything else?” look.

- What about my studies?

My voice was lower than before, I think.

- You’ll be placed in the athlete’s reduced curriculum class. We just need to retest your proficiency levels first. - Why? I don’t understand. - My point exactly.

He didn’t make any sense. I felt tired, slow and almost dizzy trying to understand him.

- What about this body? What happens when I graduate? - You graduate with the body you have, like everyone else. It’s not like we can change it by magic or anything.

He smiled and chuckled to himself.

- Take your old clothes with you as you leave. Something might still fit.

Nothing did.

[pearwaldorf]

Have you heard about what's happening on dreamwidth/FFA and volunteers talking about the dysfunction happening in the OTW and the CSEM incident?

I have! It's real fucked up!

(Blanket warning for discussion of CSAM/CSEM, as well as exposure to such in a volunteer context, in text and links below.)

For those who are unaware, failfandomanon (FFA) is an anonymous meme community on Dreamwidth for people to discuss all things fandom, serious or not. I think it tends towards kneejerk anti-purity wank, but it is one of the few places where people can talk openly about fandom things without it being traced back to a publicly identifiable handle. This context will become important later on.

You may remember last year AO3 got hit with emails containing CSAM and they had to lock everything down while they dealt with it.

A few days ago somebody on FFA asked about what happened re: the AO3 volunteers working through that period. Here is the tweet chain where I found out about it, with screencaps from FFA. Basically, said volunteers got a list of links to mental health hotlines and the names of people who volunteered themselves as resources for dealing with this stuff. Yeah. (As a tangent, the OTW has an estimated ~$2mm cash reserve. At no point did they decide to hire a counselor or any other sort of professional help to assist their volunteers in dealing with this.)

Impertinence has a good rundown of the timeline of events.

azarias, the person who became the defacto CSAM resource person (a truly horrifying statement), was traumatized dealing with this. The OTW used this opportunity to force her out because people on the Board didn't like her, realized they wouldn't have a defacto CSAM person, and reinstated her, expecting that she would go back to doing what she did previously. This goes beyond benign neglect into real actual harm inflicted upon volunteers.

Then! Then! THEN!! This message (FFA original) was sent out to everybody in the OTW volunteer Slack. Which basically says to volunteers "If we don't like you we'll come down on you like a ton of bricks if you talk about how we abused you."

I don't know who's keeping up on this on Twitter, but somebody started a Dreamwidth aggregating most of what you see above.

I know this is a lot of information to throw at people. I encourage you to read it and process at your own pace because this is important to understand. And while I believe this is trustworthy information (as far as I can tell), I'm not a substitute for your own personal judgment and brain.

It is clear to me the Organization of Transformative Works has abrogated its responsibility to its volunteers as people and as laborers on behalf of the organization. There is no formal mechanism for us as AO3 users or as people the organization claims to represent (members of fandom) to demand remediation on behalf of azarias or other volunteers who have been traumatized by this.

I expect there will be a lot more people than usual at the next board meeting (I do not see one scheduled currently), but they still don't really answer to us. If you donated at least $10 during the last pledge drive you're eligible to vote in the board elections, but that does not fix the current situation or the culture that lead to it.

As somebody who has been in fandom longer than some of you have been alive, and as somebody who's had an AO3 account since 2009, it grieves me to come to terms with the rot in the OTW culture, which is deeper than I could have imagined. It's one thing to see an organization drag its feet on things it promised to do years ago or misread the room regarding new technology. It is a whole other thing to have evidence it harmed people through active malice because they didn't like them and refused to make amends when confronted. That is not something I can support, regardless of what it may have done for fandom in the past.

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

hi! i’ve been wondering, do gallifreyans have menstrual cycles? if so, how is it similar/different to what humans experience?

Do Gallifreyans have menstrual cycles?

There's really not that much on Gallifreyan reproductive systems to start working from, but we can make some really good assumptions based on what we know about Gallifreyans and humans.

🌍👽 Humans vs. Gallifreyans: A Comparative Study

Let's face it, speaking from an evolutionary and biological viewpoint, human menstruation is stupid. As if it wasn't weird enough that your fertilisation windows and ova are limited in a body whose only real evolutionary purpose is to procreate until you die, you've also gotta brook the burden of bleeding everywhere to make the perfect trail for predators. Add on top of that a shift in cognitive and emotional processing with severe pain alongside the risk of anaemia, and you've got a really badly designed system.

Gallifreyans, on the other hand, have a more mechanical relationship with their reproductive systems. It's suggested that they transitioned from natural reproduction to "looming" their offspring due to various reasons, including a sterility curse and/or societal changes and/or eugenics. In more recent times, with the "curse" lifted (or never actually in effect), Gallifreyans have shown the ability to reproduce naturally, even with humans. This means that they have sort-of the same organs in sort-of the same places doing sort-of the same jobs.

🌺 Alternative Solutions to Menstruation

Given the advanced nature of Gallifreyan physiology, it's plausible they've developed more efficient reproductive mechanisms that avoid menstruation, or at least make it 'invisible'.

Leading Theory: Selective Ovum Production Gallifreyans have a lot of control over their bodies, including hormone regulation. It's entirely possible that ova are only created when they actually tell their bodies to do it. This bypasses the need for any form of menstrual cycle.

Sub-theory 1: Feline-Like Induced Ovulation Taking a cue from feline species, Gallifreyans might have induced ovulation, where the ovum is only released in response to specific stimuli, such as sex or maybe a telepathic connection. This method again would eliminate the need for a regular menstrual cycle, with ovulation occurring only when physically or mentally intimate.

Sub-theory 3: Permanent Ovum Retention In an alternative approach, the ovum could remain perpetually in the womb, never shedding unless fertilisation occurs. This would eliminate not only the need for menstruation but also the cyclical preparation and degradation of the endometrial lining, streamlining the reproductive process to an 'on-demand' system.

Followed By ... Tissue Reabsorption Why shed the lining when you can reabsorb it? Gallifreyans might have the capability to reabsorb the endometrial tissue back into the body. This process would be seamless, with no physical manifestation akin to menstruation, ensuring that the reproductive system remains prepared without cyclic shedding.

🌟The Perks of Being Gallifreyan

These speculated mechanisms would offer several advantages:

Efficiency: By eliminating the menstrual cycle, Gallifreyans conserve energy and resources that would otherwise be expended monthly.

Control: Induced ovulation and tissue reabsorption allow for greater control over the reproductive process, enabling Gallifreyans to decide if and when reproduction occurs.

Convenience: Without the physical and emotional discomforts associated with menstruation, Gallifreyans can maintain their activities without interruption.

🏫 So ...

We can't be entirely sure until some info comes along that goes to great lengths to explain more about Gallifreyan reproductive organs, but we can say that Gallifreyans, with their penchant for efficiency and control, have likely refined their reproductive systems to a level of sophistication that renders menstruation unnecessary or invisible.

Related:

What would a Human/Gallifreyan pregnancy look like?: Details on the possible gestational aspects of a hybrid pregnancy.

How do natural Gallifreyan pregnancies work?: Details on the possible gestational aspects of a Gallifreyan+Gallifreyan pregnancy.

Factoid: Can Gallifreyans have interspecies children?

Hope that helped! 😃

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