#Righteous error

[atlasthemilk]

May I interest you in some:

[cubbihue]

“He knows Timmy will come around eventually. It's only a matter of waiting for his clock to run out. And HP is very patient.” Hey uh.. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN HIS CLOCK TO RUN OUT is he waiting for Timmy to become a full fairy (Pixie?) and when that happens Timmy forgets about being a human entirely?

Sometimes Timmy wonders why he has grudges against certain fairies. Some of them, he can understand- like his dislike of Dr. Rip Studwell. But other ones, like with Cupid, it's a bit of a blur.

He must've been a very very vindictive 10 year old! Ah, well! Timmy's learned that he has to pick and choose his own battles wisely.

And uh. Fighting with the man who decides his paycheck and vacation days is not a battle worth choosing. Talk about a hostile work environment!!

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[scalpelsister]

Introducing Theodora Larson- my outlast trials oc! A 22 year old nursing student in the year 1960, who's just recently landed into the lap of Murkoff's project lathe trials.

template is by @chocohybrid, and you can find it here. as a note- language used in this file is meant to be as period specific as possible, including diagnostic terms from the dsm-1. as a result, parts of it are kind of a grim read, but I attempted to toe the line as best as I could. I also stayed up late to complete this, so don't look too hard at spelling or grammar <3

[crows-of-buckets]

Happy pride month to the knight commander and his little cunt of a boyfriend

[comicaurora]

I've been reading some stuff on punitive justice, and it made something click for me that I've observed a lot online but haven't been able to put into words before.

When someone does something wrong, that's bad, and the damage it does needs to be repaired while the person needs to try to do better in future to minimize repeating harm. We learn it in preschool - say sorry, don't do it again. If they keep at it, remove them from the situation where they can do the harm until they prove they're responsible enough to go back in.

So if it turns out someone DIDN'T do anything wrong, that should be a relief! There's no damage to fix, no internal errors to correct. Less work for everybody, literally no harm done. False alarm, all good.

The thing I've observed is, lots of people want them to have done something wrong. There's almost disappointment when it turns out there's no harm done. And I think that's because of this general undercurrent of punitive justice as morally righteous and desirable: someone does something wrong, you get to punish them. Turns out they're innocent? That's disappointing. Find another reason you get to punish them, or find another bad person you get to punish. But at the core of it is that desire to punish someone. Someone you can hurt in a way that makes you a better person for hurting them.

This particular brand of almost cannibalistic pseudo-justice is super common in tumblr, one of the most ostensibly liberal spaces on the internet; I see more borderline savagery in online discourse here than in the actually toxic parts of the internet that are just openly cruel for cruelty's sake. It's always thrown me for a loop, and has frankly also hurt me, because on the rare occasions I get personally dogpiled, it only actually stings when it makes me worry that I've legitimately hurt someone. If I did something wrong, or more realistically when I inevitably do something wrong, that would make it good and right for people to give me shit about it every day until I'm dead.

The thing that clicked for me most recently was this bit in Ijeoma Oluo's Be A Revolution:

Punitive justice is specifically, uniquely appealing to people who have suffered injustices. Of course it's the Tumblr zeitgeist. Everyone here is a marginalized person failed by at least one system. Punishing someone for perceived injustice is how someone the system has deemed worthless proves their value in blood, even if the person being punished hasn't harmed you directly - even if they haven't harmed anyone. "Righteous" anger isn't about the target in these cases, it's about the inflicter. This is how much my pain is worth.

And that kind of violent validation is so alluring and so very dangerous. It seeks an outlet, wearing the justification of justice. Who's in reach? Who's an acceptable target this week? What's a good reason to use?

Is there anything they could do that would make me stop?

[unsolicited-opinions]

I was called a genocide denier for *checks notes* telling some fans to stop being bigoted towards Jews.

"Hey it's really important to not target a minority with dehumanization and bigotry-"

"GENOCIDE DENIER!"

It's the exact same silencing tactic the Right has used for decades now. Be loud and obnoxious in the face of facts and when you're confronted on your shitty behavior. Yell some buzzword, make wild accusations, beat your chest.

You're right - that is the exact same silencing  tactic. 

This has a name.

It's called Moral Bludgeoning.

It's using a false binary morality as a tool to gain an advantage in a disagreement, rather than engaging in reasoned discourse.

The goal of the tactic isn't truth, understanding, or justice. It's enforcing obedience. Control through social punishment.

You said something they found threatening - that people in a supposedly righteous movement were behaving in a way that was, in fact, bigoted.

Grappling with that would require introspection, accountability, and nuance...and their movement punishes those things. 

You were pointing out information which doesn't fit into their binary, the binary which assures them they're good people. They needed to shut you up fast before they risked feeling less than utterly righteous. 

The people doing this often aren't stupid , but they're always frightened.

They're terrified of complexity which muddies the narrative.

Terrified of being cast out of their peer group for failing to adhere to the narrative.

Terrified of losing control of the narrative, because most of them derive their sense of personal legitimacy from the narrative.

So they flatten. Nuance becomes complicity. Dissent becomes betrayal. Complexity or moral ambiguity become denial.

You're also right that Moral Bludgeoning is used by both the right and the left. 

Both extremes use it to keep the middle silent. 

On the far Right, you see this play out in culture war accusations:

Criticize police abuse? You must be a Marxist anarchist terrorist!

Question US military spending? You hate America!

Say trans people should have rights? You're grooming children.

On the far Left, it’s the same energy, but different buzzwords:

Ask for civility toward Jewish people? You're a genocide apologist.

Note that Hamas isn't progressive? You’re a racist colonialist.

Point out antisemitism in "anti-Zionist" spaces? You're weaponizing your trauma to silence Palestinians.

It's never about the truth, it's about making the social cost of nuance unbearable. 

Tactics like Moral Bludgeoning are enforcement mechanisms of rigid ideologies. 

Healthy movements can tolerate disagreement, but ideologically rigid movements (right or left!) treat any deviation as a threat.

That's why you'll hear the same people screaming about "freedom of speech" one minute, then shrieking “DENIER” the next.

It's not even really hypocrisy in their minds, because they believe their cause grants them moral supremacy which entitles them to do almost anything. And that includes the entitlement to silence you in the name of righteous justice...and to be as antisemtic as they like.

The real power of this tactic is in how it bypasses reasoning entirely and goes straight to two of our most powerful emotions: shame and fear. 

You nailed this too:

"Be loud and obnoxious in the face of facts..." 

The louder and more confident the accusation, the more it floods the emotional bandwidth of the conversation, making any reasoned dialogue impossible.

It works because people fear social isolation more than factual errors. No one wants to be the next target, so the mob roars together to drown you out.

The tragedy is that you were trying to do what they claim to care about. 

You didn't defend war crimes or deny suffering. 

You were doing the thing that movements need in order to remain sane: holding your own side accountable to its stated values.

Movements sometimes die from internal intolerance and ideological purity tests.

I think this is part of why the SDS movement of the 60s and 70s fizzled out. I think Occupy Wall Street fell victim to endless internal policing around privilege, language, and ideological orthodoxy and meetings devolved into ritual purity checks instead of coming up with and promoting actual policy ideas. I think this is a good explanation for what brought about the Reign of Terror.

The inability to tolerate nuance is where intellectual rot begins.

The people who did this to you aren't fighting oppression. They're just enforcing ideological purity at the expense of reality. It's an old and stupid game.

Can I tell you, though, how much I appreciate this Ask?

It's more evidence that there are many in the large middle who are repulsed by both ends of the Horseshoe. There are many who still care about evidence, reason, pragmatism, and avoiding ideological groupthink. 

There are still people who know that justice requires complexity. There are still people who don't think standing up against antisemitism is something to be ashamed of. 

Thinking critically and voicing those thoughts makes you feel like a threat to people on either far end of the political spectrum, all who rely on false binaries and performative loyalty.

So keep doing it.

Let them rage. Let them shriek their buzzwords. Just hold the line. 

You saw clearly and quickly that this was not about justice, it was about obedience...and you didn't bend the knee.

Do you have any idea how much that pisses them off?

Well done, Anon.

------

Edited to add this great example I got within hours of posting this:

[yandere-wishes]

・┆✦ʚ Had a few dreams about you, I can't tell you what we did ɞ✦ ┆・

⭒⌒★ Yandere!The Boys x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓀𝒾𝒹𝓃𝒶𝓅 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ♡ ｡ ゜

๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑It's such a shame it ended this way ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑

✮⋆˙ Homelander

He wasn't supposed to get this attached, he knows that. At first, it's easy to pretend, to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close to whisper sophomoric quips into your ear so you'd squint throwing your head back and laughing, even though the dirt of the joke is lost on you. But that's the problem right there, that odious jovial laugh coupled with that eerie righteous gleam carved into your eyes. Your voice sounds like early morning birds and those housewives in old infomercials. Domestic, blissful, so utterly painfully innocent that it punctures his steel heart. You make it so hard not to fall in love.

According to the public -and Vought - you two are not quite lovers, but there's clearly something there, squirming below the surface, trying to break free. 'More than friends' is what they call you. It's what the public wants, a build-up, a love story they can watch unfold through their screens. The Golden Boy and the People's Sweetheart. But the error of it all itches under Homelander's skin. You are his lover, his darling, his whole damn world. He doesn't need the suckups and tyrants to tell him how and when he can love you. He already does, he's already crossed the line, gotten too attached.

The thoughts creep in, or rather invade, when he notices how your fans touch you, how those wretched mortals have the gall to slurp up gallons of your attention and love. You really are made for the people, aren't you? Not for him, never him.

No, he can't have that...

"You all right?" he asks vice grip on your body as he soars through the sky. You're tucked into his chest sniffling, tears dried out and pleas laying dead upon your tongue. He has you now, He'll never let you go. He's so high up one misstep and you'll plummet to your doom. Still, that's better than letting those insects lay a finger on you. He does this every time your fans ask for pictures, every time someone gets too close. He picks you up and flies away. But this time, this time he's going too far, flying too fast. You don't know where he's headed but you have a feeling you might never come back. "I love you," Homelander says, voice booming through the thick winds, "I can't...I can't let them have you, you belong to me. Besides what kind of boyfriend would I be if I couldn't keep my own darling safe?" the humor and technicality that you aren't 'really' dating it lost on you when you start to notice how cold it's gotten, how the ground is pitch white how the snowflakes land like doomed omes upon his golden hair...

"I'll keep you safe," He promises. "Far away from those disgusting, filthy mortals, and then once it's all burned down and built anew, I'll lay it all at your feet." His lips seal his promise, binding you as he lands on the tundra.

⋆˙⟡ Black Noir

Little hearts are dancing around your face as you nervously strangle a lock of hair around your finger. The hearts spin and swirl floating over to pivot around Black Noir's head. You look so adorable mulling over your costume changes, over the limited options Vought has bestowed upon you. You remind him of cartoon bunnies and fawns frolicking through evergreen forests hiding from cruel poachers and hunters. Forced into cages to be leered at

You plague him with lovelorn paralysis, too dazed to think straight to move, just replaying your voice in his head while scribbling your name across papers, love notes, and endless doodles of your essence. He draws you with fluffy ears and a cotton tail, draws himself -black wool and big sheepish eyes- saving the poor bunny from the monstrous masses. And maybe it's not just a fever dream, a relapse in reality. Maybe it can be true. He just has to pluck you away in the dead of night, fib a little tale about some supervillain having killed you. Vought will find a replacement, and you will be safe tucked away in his room. Forever his, his sweet little bunny.

𓆩♛𓆪 Queen Maeve

Her heart yearns for you. Aching from your mere smile, from the haunting sparkle in your eye under the right light. "I love you," she says, thousands upon thousands of times. But you never say it back, she's not meant for you to love, she can't belong to one person. But the world doesn't need to know, the people shouldn't get the right to choose her wishes. Do your bones ever sing for her? Maeve wonders. Hum her name between the marrow and plead for her firm touch.

It's savage the way she hauls you from your home, unbefitting someone who truly believes in freedom, unbefitting her epithet of 'Queen'. But it's the only way she knows how, instinct upon desperation. You're staring out the window, glaring at the stars as she kisses up your neck. Locked away forever with her, high above, hidden from the world's cruel gaze. You can belong to her forever, with no guilt and messy shards. Just you and her and the love clawing at her throat.

⋆𓆝 The Deep

He wants to watch you drown. Maybe that's not a thing to admit to someone. Especially someone you claim to love. To tell them, tenderly, while running your fingers over their bones and curves, that you want to watch the air slip out of their lungs, replaced with the gorgeous crystalline liquid of his essence. Deep watches as you push the glass to your lips, head tipped back, giving him the perfect view of your slender neck. He thinks it'd look better with his teeth marks and kisses marring your smooth skin. He thinks it would look better adorned with deep sea pearls and fingerprints.

He weighs your cheeks in his palms, pushing just enough to watch the pellucid tears ripple from your eyes. He has you caged, cornered in the dark of Vought Tower. Begging, pleading for you to stay with him, to be his. You once told him you feel like a shark, a great white, forced to live in a donut tank, and he couldn't help but understand every single word coming from your mouth. He won't be your tank, he swears, as he drags you up the emergency flight of stairs that eventually bleeds into the Seven's penthouse complex. No, he'll be your water, your ocean, aqueous salvation keeping you safe from every dreadful one and thing on dry land. You can drown for him, drawn in his enthrallment, in this desperate thing he calls "love". Drown in his kisses that feel like swallowing seas and starfish. Drown for him, belong to him, be his…

ঌ✦໒ A-train

When you glare at him he feels like spitting back. Shoving something sharp between your eyes, or cracking your skull on the pavement. He hates you, hates the way you make his heart beat faster than V fixes, hates how he needs to feel you close just to feel alive. But what he hates most is that you're always out of reach.

When he takes you, he leaves no room for argument. No room for reason. You're in the convenience store one-moment buying ice cream and Diet Coke. And the next you're high above the ground in a room with locked windows and doors. A-Train tries to reason, tries to apologize sheepishly for the crude "date" -as he calls it- blushing mess, charisma, and charm rotting in the pit of his stomach as he tries to kiss you, tries to hold your hands, and shows you how much he loves you. But that glare, that damn glare never leaves your gorgeous eyes. It's fine, it's cool, you'll learn to love him, you have nowhere else to go, you can't leave him now. Eventually, his love will catch up to you too.

⭑.ᐟ Soldier Boy

His love is so utterly cruel, all anger and radiation and gunpowder inhaled. He loves you he swears even when his kisses are all teeth and tongue and knife cuts. And at first, it's exhilarating being with the quintessence of heroics, the perfect man, the woldest bravest. Old fashioned and rough around the edges, until those edges start drawing blood. Until he's ready to murder anyone who so much as looks at you. His excuses are plentiful, sweet innocent thing like yourself knows nothing of the world's cruelties. Those people are evil they want to hurt you, hurt him, steal you away, and break you apart. And Ben just has to protect you, someone unmarred by the terrors and pains he's gone through, you're his sanctuary his Eden, he needs to keep you pure.

Whatever he's slipped you has made the lights throb and the walls spin. You thought it would be fun to drag him to a nightclub, to show him this century isn't so bad. But when he pulls you onto his lap, mouth on yours, slipping something round down your throat with his tongue, you start to realize this may have been a bad idea. He's cruel when he pushes you off his lap, laughing as you try to stand and fail. He coos in your ear, all patronizing synonyms of 'I told you so'. The next morning, you don't know where you are, just that you can't leave; he made sure of it. He has you locked away, hidden, and safe. And perfectly broken for him and only him.

ᯓ★ Starlight/ Annie January

She utters your name in absolute, little wish upon a star that someday you'll be hers. When Annie asks you to move in with her, she makes it sound like a covenant, like rehearsing a verse from a childhood dream. Be close to her, be with her, she's so sick of being alone, of being used. She needs someone to make the pain go away and mold her back into something resembling a human being.

She's a supernova on the brink of explosion and she knows it's a cruel fate to tie to you. But she can't help it, not when your lips are so soft and your eyes so innocent. Not when you remind her of why she even became Starlight in the first place. Her eyes flicker gold trying to imprint herself into you, so utterly terrified you'll leave her for another less broken girl. She can't have that, it sounds so callous to force this all upon you. To leave you locked away in her childhood home. But she has bruises that never healed right and eyes that have seen too much. And you're just a human, a human who holds her heart in the palm of your hand. She'll protect you, scare away supe and mortal so you'll forever remain in her arms.

⋆☾ Billy Butcher

He locked you away the moment he realised he loved you. The moment the shards fell into place and Billy woke up with your name on his tongue he knew he had to hide you away. He's meticulous about it, classic in the deed. Blind folds and gags, and reassuring words that are always too gruff to be comforting.

He treats you like a princess, wiping away your tears, kissing you as tenderly as he can. Makes you your favorite foods and buys you whatever your heart desires. Just don't break his rules, don't leave the house. Please! It's all he asks for, love. And should you ever succeed in running away. Well, Butcher has no claims against breaking your bones to keep you compliant, after all, he knows what the alternative is, and he knows what the world could do to you. In comparison, this is a mercy. So just be a good bird and let him take care of you. Alrigh' love?

˚꩜｡Hughie Campbell

Hughie never kidnaps you, not really, he doesn't have the heart to take your freedom away like that. But he's always too close, body pressed to yours. You can feel his heartbeat echoing within your bones, flesh-to-flesh exchanging traumas. He's so anxious all the time, worried and lovesick all in the same breath. His presence is your cage; you can never escape his closeness.

The first time Hughie kisses you, it tastes like guilt and dead butterly cacoones. Like a boy who's trying to understand who he is through you. His fingers squeeze the flesh of your arms, scared that you'll slip away. Be taken from him the moment his lips leave yours. You can almost call him sweet if he weren't so suffocating. Lost puppy boy who won't leave his favorite chew toy alone. Kicked one too many times by the cruel world to let you relive such a fate.

˚✿° Frenchie

It's a little too easy to love you. Not love at first sight or last sight, just a love whose seeds have festered deep within his blood, taking bloom every time you appear to assist on another suicide mission.

And maybe that's it, the thought of dying that makes you so appealing, like a bomb that is a fraction of a second from exploding. Frenchie thinks you're more weapon than human, all revolvers and demolition, all dying and surviving, and every oxymoron he can think of. Because the truth i,s you are a gun, a pistol, pointed blank at his heart, ready to shoot.

He's careful when he blows up your house, timing it perfectly so that you're far enough to remain unscathed but close enough to see everything. And he knows Butcher and Hughie can't really put you up. It's the problem with being vigilantes, you're always fleeing from safehouse to safehouse like famine-driven rats. But Frenchie has a place, and you're free to stay with him until you sort this whole mess out. Just help him out with his orders, with the modifications the clients need. He has you so close, and he promises he'll be so good, so tender, and doting. You would never want to leave! But should you ever decide to break his heart, to wander off, he has you chipped ready to find you and drag you back. Maybe this time he'll cuff you to the bed until you readjust.

[psychotrenny]

It's certainly true that one shouldn't uncritically and unconditionally support any group or nation, regardless of their previous achievements. Errors can occur even with the best of intentions, while ideological changes on both personal and organisation scales may lead any group into all sorts of disagreeable directions. You should evaluate things in terms of how they are, their material impacts on the world and genuine reasoning behind them, and not what you wish they were or what you claim them to be.

All that being considered, it's funny how consistently the most useless sorts of Western Marxists* will attack actually existing Socialism using all manner of distortions and outright lies, and when pointed out "this just isn't true" they resort to accusations of "factionalism" or "campism". They seem to think their criticisms are so correct and righteous that people only ever disagree because of a mindless devotion to badist fake commies. The idea that they're just repeating Imperialist propaganda with a thin Marxian coating is never one that seems to get through to them.

I suppose that wouldn't sit well with their self image of detached intellectual enlightenment i.e. the most important thing about being a communist as far as this sort of person is concerned. They seem to think what Marx actually meant to say was "Philosophers have only changed the world in various ways; the point, however, is to interpret it"

*as in those who follow the strain of Marxism that emerged in Western Europe as diverged from Marxism-Leninism (Frankfurt school and the like), who are not necessarily themselves citizens of Western Europe/their settler colonies

[snail-day]

Hello 🩷

Can you write gojo with a crybaby reader

Have a nice day!

TW: SMUT, p in v, oral (m! receiving), spanking, cum swallowing, he's kinda mean but he does love his little crybaby. Use of 'cummy ache'. Mentions of squirting. Dacryphilia, Unedited/Potential Grammatical errors.

MDNI

Non yandere for once. Gojo x Crybaby!Reader

It just doesn't make sense, does it? How the strongest, Gojo Satoru, ended up with a crybaby when he has never been the best at handling emotions—not his own, and certainly not someone else’s. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. Of course, he does. You’re so sweet, so soft, all mushy and endearing when your emotions spill over.

Take this morning, for instance. You came back from the store, eyes brimming with tears, your lips wobbling as you stammered out how they were sold out of your favorite drink. It was ridiculous, really, but also so painfully you.

Satoru just stared at you for a moment, caught between laughing and pulling you into a hug. “You’re crying over that? Seriously?” he teased, his trademark grin stretching wide.

And, of course, his little teasing remark set you off. “You’re so mean!” you sniffled, firing back with all the righteous indignation you could manage through your hiccups and watery glares.

It didn’t help your case that you were still so ridiculously cute, even while trying to be mad at him. If anything, it made him grin harder, biting back a laugh as he watched you unravel. Honestly? He can’t help it—you’re just a little too adorable for your own good.

Let's be honest, it's creating a tent in his pants. So, much that while you're crying about your day, he's stuffing your poor cunny with his cock.

Bouncing you up and down as you straddle his lap taking every inch he gives you, honestly just loving the way you mewl when his cock brushes against your cervix, watching the way those teary eyes slam shut, prattling on about how much you love him and his stupidly large cock. Satoru just adores the way you squeal out a whine when the palm of his hand smacks your ass, the way your pussy clenches down and sucks him deeper inside, such a greedy little thing.

If you kept mewling and crying like that, he was going to lose it—Satoru's lips crashing onto yours, sucking on your tongue, capturing every sweet, desperate noise you made. He just craved making you this cock drunk, his sweet lil crybaby!

"I just know what you mean sugar, such a bad bad day" He's practically melting into you thrusting upwards as your sweet walls clench onto him as you cry out another moan. Prattling on about how he’s being so extra—so mean and unfair! He has to bite his lip to suppress another groan as your poor cunt squeezes his cock. Fuck how did you even get so tight? Squeezing so much of his warmth out of him, your cunny really is just trying to suck the cum out of him. He knows you don’t mean to, not really, as you lean into him, practically dumping all your weight on him until he’s got no choice but to move your hips for you. And god, the way you’re leaving those sweet little marks on his pale skin, sucking like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded—it’s too much. Stretching you out, your walls squeezing him so tight, and those pitchy little whines you’re letting out? He’s barely holding it together, and honestly, you’re not making it any easier. God, he knows he’s being so unfair—fucking you too fast, too rough—but he just can’t help himself when you look at him like that.

It's taking so much for him not to just dump his load into your sweet cunt as he lifts you up, fucking you in the air with ease as you wail to him that it's too deep.

God, were you always cryin?

He's already got you squirting on his cock? Shouldn't that shut you up?

Sometimes, Satoru’s gotta find other ways to shut up those pretty little whines, like stuffing his cock so deep down your throat. “Breathe through your nose,” he murmurs, all smug as you look up at him with those teary eyes yet again, mumbling on his cock, "like this?" he can't even hear you, yet it's just so cute that you're really doing your best! So cute that he just has the urge to force the rest of his length down your throat, it's just his way of getting cuteness aggression, you understand right? When he finally presses his full length in, just enough to make your pretty eyes squeeze shut with a loud gag escaping your throat, he can’t help but grin.

He knows you can handle it—you learned from the best, after all.

The way he’s pushing himself in and out of your throat, your nails digging into his thighs as he keeps a steady, almost gentle pace, has him grinning down at you. He has to at least try to be gentle.

His long fingers tangle in your hair, guiding that pretty head of yours up and down his length just how he likes. Drool’s spilling from your lips, and those big, teary eyes of yours looking up at him? Yeah, they’re almost too much for him to handle.

You should honestly be proud of him—he’s really trying to let you adjust, giving you little breaks to gasp and gag around his stupidly big cock. He’s being so patient, so nice about it, even when every noise you make is driving him absolutely crazy.

You’re his little crybaby, after all.

His little crybaby that's going to swallow all his yummy cum, aren't you? So much that you might just get a cummy ache and come crying to him for more, his sweet little crybaby!

[rqbossman]

Rules

Hey everyone, I thought it would be a good idea to establish some ground rules to guide interactions on here so without further ado: 1) I get to change and or ignore my own rules as and when I like. It's my blog so tough. 2) I won't even consider answering an ask unless it meets the following criteria: a) I haven't been asked it before on Tumblr. b) It is worded as a question. c) It does not ask me to rule on canon for content I make. d) It does not ask for takes on real people. e) It has a positive tone (seeking to become positive counts) f) It is not a callout (e.g. why are you so rubbish etc.) g) It is not asking for confidential information on business and/or Intellectual property h) It is not just rephrasing a previous question because people didn't like the answer. i) It's respectful. j) It is not just a veiled story request (e.g. why don't you make these characters kiss etc.) 3) This is not a press conference or an interrogation. If you want to ask serious questions about Rusty Quill and other proper topics send them to mail@rustyquill.com 4) If you DM me I will ignore it on principal. Not because I don't like you but because I am receiving so many that I can't be fair with it and it's just generally unwise anyway. 5) Remember we are all human. That means we can make mistakes, change our minds, be flippant, have a bad day and give bad advice. Please show a little grace rather than trying to catch people out. I do not support dogpiling in any situation. 6) Be kind. The fastest way to get yourself blocked by me is being unkind even if you are in the right. Some of the cruellest and regrettable actions I have ever seen have been fuelled by righteous indignation. 7) Be wise. Internet culture moves fast. Not everyone knows everything you know and not everyone needs to know everything you know. You aren't helping me if you appoint yourself "chief brainbox educator supreme" and try to school people on how things should be. Let's just all keep it chill yeah? 8) Be patient. This is not my job. This is barely even counts as a good idea! I run my social media when I can but I don't have deadlines and I don't have sociability quotas. I might do a flurry of activity when I have time then go quiet for months. Just go ahead and assume if I am not posting it's for a good reason. 9) One question per person. Don't worry it doesn't annoy me, its just I don't know if its fair me using all my social media time budget on a single person and leave others unanswered.

This is hardly a complete or exhaustive list and no doubt I have made some tragic tumblr newb error but it'll have to do for now. I am happy to take constructive feedback on these but don't expect quick turnaround on anything.

[lavenderhateswritting]

Oh, you should totally make a continuous to Viltrumite Mark x male reader, where Mark maybe gets haunted by him and Nolan as a sign of regret while he's trying to move away from it all. If you want to of course

First Part

Mark and the reader are going to say Mark murdered reader in this story. It isn't a continuity error Mark is an unreliable narrator and reader is in his head

Once he took Earth there had still been resistance of coure there would be. Years of living on this planet had taught him one thing for sure and that was the unimaginable stubbornness of the human race. As he watched the row of rebels layed out in front of him squirming as though they were fish stuck in a cooler ramming against the side trying to reach freedom. He stepped in front of the first man in the line. His eyes were staring into Mark's and here was a deep hatred strumming through his soul.

""Why do you argue with them." You looked toward him frustraion still in your eyes. There had been a group of protestors on your campus. They'd bee carrying signs reading 'Fags will burn in hell' and 'Turn to Jesus before its to late'. He had found them annoying like a fly diving toward your face. They yelled and they shouted though he doubted they were capable of intelligent conversation. "What was I supposed to do just ignore them." You were angry at him. He had pulled you away when it became distinctly aware that the argument you were having was likely going to get physical very soon. "Nothing changed though you argued with them and they didn't even move further down the path." The group had grouped up on you screaming and yelling at you together. He had wanted to rip their throats out. Who did they think they were? Compred to you they were stains on the ground not even competent enough to speak coherent thoughts. "Yeah and why does that matter? I don't care if they stopped thinking about me as soon as I walked away." You were pinning him down with a level of intensity that would have made him guess you were a Viltrumite if hadn't known you. "When people just stand around an do nothing the people doing shitty things get free range to push as much as they want." And then you had marched toward your dorm with him trailing behind, all righteous fury and self assurance.

He lifted his arm up and brought it down on the neck of the rebel. It sliced through cleanly, the rebel hadn't even had time to react, his look of defiance was still firmly in place as his head hit the floor. He marched down the line beheading the rest of the rebels in kind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were few things he could say he enjoyed in his life these days his fellow Viltrumites being the lowest on his list of joy. The Viltruites who stayed on Earth were just as violent and self aggrandizing as they had always been. He found that being around them now after having seen your light was almost impossible. Especially as they discussed how many humans they were owed for their contribution to the invasion.

"Well ain't that sweet my murderer missses me." His body stifened the Viltrumites that had been arguing about which of them deserved to have the entirety of South East Asia (neither) hadn't noticed.

"I mean I would have perfered to not be dead, but all things considered this is nice to." You were lounging over the arm of his throne your body just out of reach of his grasp. Your smile was languid and light as though you had just woken up from a nap. Your arm layed over the top of the throne just slightly to high to play through his hair like you used to.

"Get out." The Viltrunies who had been arguing in the room were getting ready to fight eachother and froze where they were standing.

"Fight each other for the land kill the loser and do it somewhere away from me. Now." They began to trail out one at a time until it was just him and you in the room alone.

"Mark that was rude-"

"You are dead." He kept his eyes forward trying as hard as he could to not look at you again.

"Yeah I know. I brought it up." He could hear the humor in your voice.

"This is in my head and it needs to stop." He clenched his fists to stop them from shaking.

"Am I in your head Mark?"

"Yes you are."

"Then why won't you look at me. You killed me Mark at least have the decency to look at me. "

He snapped his head toward you then. You were covered in blood and dirt. Your eyes clouded over with the haze of death and your neck was bruised where his hands had tightened. Turning his head down to look at the gaping hole in your stomach. Looking at you like this made him feel like he was knocked back to that day. His throat tightened and his eyes began to burn.

"There you go. Look at me Mark look at what you did to me." The burning in his eye threatend to turn into full blown tears. He couldn't look at you like this and he couldn't deny that it was his fault you were gone.

"I'm sorry." He whispered looking into your hazy dead eyes. Your face looked almost confused when he said it. He watched as it morphed and a smile began to inch across your face stretching to the point that it would be painful.

"Yeah and why does that matter?"

[liveyun]

die with a smile | jjk

pairing. Jeon jungkook x fem/gn reader

genre. neighbours au, fluff, slice of life, light humor, slow-burn

rating. pg

warnings. late-night karaoke, mild annoyance, OC being conflicted and awkward, unspoken feelings, lots of staring at Jungkook (because who wouldn’t), implied military enlistment, OC lowkey simping (let’s be honest), “english isn’t my first language,” + not proofread, yearning . . .

wc. 1.7k +

🎧 die with a smile | bruno mars and lady gaga

The third night of incessant singing is where you finally draw the line.

You sit at your tiny kitchen table, surrounded by papers, half-drunk cups of tea, and the beginnings of a tension headache.

From the apartment next door, his voice—smooth, clear, and . . . warm — reaches you in a wave of melodies. He’s been singing for nearly two hours now, moving seamlessly from upbeat pop songs to heart-wrenching OSTs — with such ease and precision, you nearly feel both envy and frustration at how good he is and how he’s giving you his free performance at 3 AM.

You would’ve been impressed if you weren’t one sleepless night away from filing a formal complaint.

Your walls are thin. Your apartment is small. Every belt, falsetto, and perfectly sustained note crashes into your eardrums. You’ve stuffed pillows over your ears, slammed doors, and even loudly coughed against your shared wall, hoping he’d get the hint — but the man next door seems tireless . . . like a karaoke marathon champion who’s going to audition for the next survival show over some drinks at a restaurant.

Tonight’s song finishes with a flourish, and you hear a muffled sound of giggles — his own, perhaps — through the walls.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, aggressively thumbing through your phone. Your irritation fuels you as you type up a complaint email for the building management, every sentence laced with righteous annoyance. You don’t think you’d care if they have any errors. You pause for a moment, fingers hovering over the send button.

“Maybe it’s just one of those guys. Moved in a month ago, right?” The voice of the kind old lady with her cute cat from the next block pops into your head. Earlier that day in the park, she’d casually informed you that your mysterious, musically obsessed neighbor was on a brief four-day vacation. “Poor boy — been serving his time in the army and just came to rest a little. He sings, you know. A real singer.”

You’d blinked at her words. “Wha. . . singer? Like… famous?”

The lady had shrugged. “Famous or not, his voice is beautiful.”

You remember standing frozen on the sidewalk, feeling guilt bubble in your chest.

That’s why you don’t send the complaint.

The clock reads 3:49 AM when the familiar, too-loud melody begins once again.

This time, you snap.

Throwing on your cardigan, you march to your front door and storm into the dimly lit hallway. Standing outside his apartment, your fist hovers above the door, second-guessing yourself for a beat. But then you hear him laughing — a soft, boyish laugh — and irritation wins out. You knock twice, firm and loud.

The door opens.

You’re unprepared for the man on the other side.

He’s wearing a black beanie, tugged low over his forehead, and an oversized black T-shirt that falls to his elbows. Tattoos trail like brushstrokes down his arm, stark and beautiful against his skin. His large eyes blink at you in surprise, framed by lashes so unfairly long they could sweep the floor. The corners of his lips lift into an easy, almost mischievous smile, deep dimples appearing like magic.

You falter.

This isn’t fair. Someone who sings like that should not also look like this. He looks. . . cute. Boyish. Innocent. But so undeniably attractive that you have to clear your throat because now you’re hyper aware that this man is nearly towering over you.

“Uh…” Your frustration stutters as you search for words. “Hi. I, uh—I live next door. And it’s 4 AM.”

“Yeah?” His voice, now spoken rather than sung, is just as soft and warm as you imagined. He tilts his head, curiosity dancing in his expression, his eyes wide like boba. “Something wrong?”

You blink at him, feeling ridiculous now that you’re standing here. “It’s just…your singing. It’s, um, loud.”

“Oh!” His eyes widen, and he steps back as though caught red-handed. “I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.”

The immediate sincerity in his voice makes you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy.

“It’s fine,” you add quickly, backpedaling. “It’s just…the walls here are thin, and I’m not. . . uh, I’m not really used to it.”

His smile returns, shy. “I get it. I’ve been singing too much, huh? I just…” He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish now. “I haven’t had time to unwind in a while. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

His honesty throws you off balance. You glance past him into his apartment, catching a glimpse of his karaoke setup—a small mic stand surrounded by crumpled lyric sheets and snack wrappers. And a big. . . calculator. . . .? The space is much bigger than yours but still homely, lit warmly in contrast to the sterile hallway.

“You…you’re really good, though,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

He looks surprised for a moment, before the edges of his smile soften. You don’t even know this guy, but his smile seems genuine. Sincere. “Thanks. . . That means a lot.”

Silence stretches between you. You’re suddenly acutely aware of how he’s gazing at you — like he’s studying you just as much as you’re studying him.

“You know,” he says at last, teasing but gentle, “I could sing quieter if you have any requests.”

You snort involuntarily, the tension breaking. “I think I’d rather you not sing at all.”

He laughs at that—a full, bright laugh that tugs at something in your chest. “Fair enough.”

. . . ♡ 🐰 ♡ . . .

To your surprise, he sticks to his word.

That night, his singing drops to a near whisper. You can still hear it faintly through the walls — although, the song is more of a soft rock, but his voice is soothing. Sweet. Strangely, it doesn’t bother you anymore.

If anything, you find yourself listening a little too intently, sleep now long forgotten as you find yourself smiling so widely that your cheeks hurt.

I, I just woke up from a dream

Where you and I had to say goodbye

And I don't know what it all means

But since I survived, I realized

The next morning, as you head out for coffee, you bump into him again in the hallway.

This time, he’s wearing the same beanie and a plain hoodie, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He grins when he sees you, lifting a hand in greeting, but his grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh,” you say, stopping in your tracks. “You’re leaving?”

And there it is—that faint smile, shy yet playful, tugging at the corner of his lips. Except this time, he’s fidgeting with it, thumb grazing the skin as though he’s used to something being there. A piercing, maybe. Did he have one before? You hadn’t asked but for some reason, the gesture makes him look a little younger, a little more uncertain.

“Yeah,” he says softly, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Heading back.”

His voice carries none of the energy that used to spill through the thin walls, none of the stubborn joy that once kept you awake at night.

And somehow, it bothers you more than the loud singing ever did.

You shift awkwardly, trying to think of something to say—anything that doesn’t sound as silly as it feels in your head. “That’s… soon. I mean, it’s only been a few days.”

He chuckles lightly, the sound soft and self-deprecating. “Time flies, huh?” His thumb is at his lip again, a nervous habit that seems almost out of place on someone like him. “Guess I didn’t get to bother you enough before I left.”

“I didn’t hate it,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Your voice falters, quieter now. “The . . . singing, I mean.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, his dark eyes catching yours in a way that makes your breath hitch. You try to read them, but you can barely even look at them — thanks to his beanie pulled low.

“Well,” he says after a pause, his voice low and warm, “I’m glad to hear that.”

He nods — and turns slightly, as if to leave, and your chest tightens. You open your mouth — hesitate — and then, before you can think twice, the word slips out.

Wherever you go, that's where I’ll follow

Nobody's promised tomorrow

“Wait.”

He stops immediately, turning back almost instantly with a flicker of hope in his gaze, like he’d been waiting for you to say it. His eyes seem to sparkle, a boyish anticipation lighting his features, and you feel your stomach twist.

Your hands feel clammy as you extend one awkwardly. “Uhh, I— I never introduced myself. I’m ____.”

He stares at your outstretched hand for a moment before breaking into the kind of grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. The kind of grin that could make you forget the world for a moment.

“Jungkook,” he says simply, taking your hand in his. His grip is warm, firm, and entirely too brief, but it leaves a strange warmth spreading through you. His hands are slightly rough - but they feel pleasant. “Hi again.”

You nod, feeling a little silly but unable to pull your gaze from his. For a second, your chest tightens with an inexplicable urge to step closer, to wrap your arms around him. . .

Wait. Where did that come from?

So I’ma love you every night like it's the last night

Like it's the last night

But before you can really think of what you’re thinking — he lets go of your hand, stepping back with another small smile.

“Well, I should go,” he says, voice soft but final. His grin lingers, playful but tinged with something else, something quieter. “Take care, ____.”

He turns, and then he’s really gone. Leaving you standing in the hallway with your hand still half-raised, the warmth of his touch lingering like a ghost against your skin, the muscle near your left eye twitching and a weird feeling wrapping around your chest.

When you finally retreat to your apartment, the silence feels impossibly loud.

You sink onto your couch, hugging a pillow to your chest, and wonder if his hand had felt as warm as yours had—or if it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you.

If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you

If the party was over and our time on Earth was through

I’d wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile

If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you

[zorciarkrildrush]

I think the essence of what drives me crazy about current Enlightened Online Leftist Discourse Regarding My Life Personally And Whether This Time Killing Me Is Morally Correct (as in, commentary about the latest episode in i/p violence) is this:

I want a free Palestine.

I don't personally know a lot of people that don't! They might bristle at the tagline, because it's co-opted by people who do in fact want them dead, but as soon as I lay out why it's in literally everyone's best interest, how a non-free Palestine is horrific both to the people of Israel and to the people of Palestine, how pragmatically ridiculous the occupation of the west bank and the siege upon Gaza are (and I am a very pragmatic person), they get it. And I don't mean I debate people online about it - this, too, is a ridiculous concept - I mean having, time and time again, the deradicalization conversation with my friends, and colleagues, and my family. Obviously not only now - I've always been a very principled and argumentative Jew, ever since I became an adult - and I've been alive for, I don't know, a dozen flashpoints and operations and wars at this point, and I don't stop being argumentative and loud in peacetime either, but especially now.

But that's not what "from the river to the sea" means.

When you, gentle soul from across the sea, echo this slogan, you are either:

By apathy or will, ignoring that the sentiment cheers for the mass expulsion and killing of Jews. Indeed, any non-Muslim present from the river to the sea. This doesn't even begin to cover how even Muslim arabs still will not be safe under Hamas rule - and trust me, I don't care if a Hamas apologist told you different. A victory for Hamas (And we're ignoring the fact they do not have the military capacity for it - I hope you are aware of the privilege inherent to not understanding military conflicts) means exactly that. No "rule by the people". No socialistic, Palestinian utopia to be had, which is a fantasy I'm seeing alluded to a lot recently. Just an extension of the horrific power structure in Lebanon and Syria, where Hezbollah - friends and allies to Hamas - have been playing a tango for decades of both refusing to participate in actual government and betterment of civilian lives, while still draining their resources and controlling them with no real contest. "From the river to the sea" is not a sentiment for freedom fighting - it's a sentiment for a final solution to the people living here who are either Jewish, or for some Very Strange And Weird Reason would rather not submit to Hamas rule. You know - Israeli Arabs, secular and Muslim and Christian, Druze, Circassians, Bahai, take your pick. Their suffering, and my suffering - you know, a person who made the strategic error of being born in Israel while Jewish, which is inherently problematic and not okay of me - don't matter to you. Just the fantasy of an easy, morally correct cleanse of the land.

Are well aware of all of the above! You just don't care. You either smugly chuckle that I, and anybody else who will die, deserve it - or that it's an acceptable loss for the aforementioned fantasy. "Decolonization is an inherently violent process", you'll say to me, chillingly, before implying I have a summer home in Brooklyn I can just retreat to when things get tough. Israel is basically Rhodesia, a very popular blog here mentioned flippantly, so what's the issue with all of those lily-white Jews fucking off back home before the righteous freedom fighters strike them down? Well. This might be the part I urge you to open a book, or even Wikipedia or any god damn thing that will explain to you these upsetting, dense things you clearly struggle with.

It's easy for me to discount islamophobes. Like, very easy. It's very easy for me to discount insane evangelistics who "advocate for me" simply because I'm a pawn in their religious rapture. It's easy for me to fight against Israeli and Jewish fascists - I have been long before this news item came across your feed, as did the insinuations that some civilian deaths are okay, actually.

It's easy for me for me to see promotions for donations to non-political aid in Gaza. It's easy for me to see the sentiment that hey! Palestinians deserve safe, healthy lives. That they have deserved an independent state, and were unfairly denied one, for decades. It's easy for me to see people saying "You know, the Israeli government is shit, actually, and their actions endanger and promote to the misery of innocents". Because that's right! I wouldn't be voting and protesting and donating for all of these sentiments otherwise!

It's not easy for me to see people, who I honestly held in high regard and saw having well thought out opinions on important matters, inadvertently echo the sentiment that my death is acceptable. That a terrorist organization, who rule over their own territory with fear and violence, are righteous freedom fighters, vox populi, only out to establish a free state. Like hey, their manifesto said otherwise, so it must be all there is - right? That Jews are just hysterical, they can easily live elsewhere - ever since that nasty holocaust business everything's fine abroad. Besides, it was just so long ago who even cares stop talking about it. Hamas, Hezbollah, ISIS, the Ayatollahs in Iran, the fucking Islamic Jihad - are not interested in freedom. They aren't, and echoing their slogan tells me you are either ignoring that, or support them anyway. If antisemitic rhetoric, half truths and lies by omission work on you today, they would have in any period of time. I'm sorry this makes you uncomfortable. I'm not, not really.

So finally:

Know what your fucking words mean. Have a cursory glance at the history of the MENA and why it's so fucked, one that doesn't boil down to "The Jews, with American help, rolled into where they don't belong". This isn't even a joke. I've seen this braindead, history-revising sentiment repeated so many times, both online and in actual textbooks, that I feel I'm going insane. So many well-meaning people handwringing and assuring each other that repeating genocidal slogans is fine, that calling the i/p conflict "a simple problem" (which means it has a simple solution, right? Just kill the Jews.) is a well-adjusted and intellectual take. That "only the Zionists should die! The rest will be fine :)" I dare you to say that and also give me a correct definition of what Zionism is. Why I, a Jew that advocates for Palestinian statehood and rights and safety and always have, won't also face the wall in your little fantasy.

Freedom to Palestine. Peace in the middle east, fucking yesterday.

A curse and a plague on those who don't want either of those, and just want to cheer on the death of "the other side".

A curse and a plague upon you, when you tell me, smugly, from somewhere safe and far away, "from the river to the sea".

[picthos]

If it’s true that James bullied Snape because he aspired to become a Death Eater.

I believe that this interpretation doesn’t make James Potter a brilliant hero, but rather a petty hypocrite.

It paints him as someone who is weak to the strong and strong to the weak—a braggart, so to speak.

James Potter didn’t exclusively target Snape; he also bullied other anonymous students at Hogwarts simply because they annoyed him or for his own amusement. For instance, there’s a student named Aubrey who was hexed by James, but it’s never mentioned whether Aubrey was a Slytherin.

On the other hand, individuals like Mulciber, Avery, Evan Rosier, Lucius Malfoy, and even Sirius’s younger brother Regulus were all clearly aspiring Death Eaters, and they came from powerful pureblood families.

There is no evidence that James went after or bullied individuals from pureblood families either. If some fans imagine that James bullied Snape because Snape aspired to become a Death Eater, and that James did so with a "righteous heart," then that would indeed be amusing.

"It would mean that his fans have transformed their favorite character into someone who, under the guise of justice, targets the poorest and loneliest person while ignoring others with greater power. Such an interpretation only turns James into the very hypocrite they would likely despise."

Even if they use Dark Magic as an excuse, James himself maliciously used jinxes and hexes on others, and there’s no story of James Potter punishing Mulciber, who tried to use such a terrifying Dark Magic spell on Mary Macdonald that Lily said it was horrifying.

When will those who praise James for bullying others at school realize this truth?

Honestly, I hope they never realize the contradictions and logical fallacies. They haven't noticed it so far, and I don't think the snaters people who would read my post are smart enough to acknowledge those errors.

—I hope they never know. Let James remain that hypocrite forever.

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

So I've decided to reread the comics for the upteeth time and it got me thinking, how do you think the tec would react to having a s/o that's just as toxic and degenerate as them >:3c

(Lol them meeting their match is gonna be- Oh boy)

Bill Dickey x equally toxic/degenerate S/O:

Bill wouldn’t just like a partner who’s as rotten as him—he’d worship the ground they stomped on, at least at first. He’s the kind of guy who wants a partner who can match his rage rant for rage rant, quote obscure media just as obnoxiously, and humiliate others in the name of "fandom superiority." If you're verbally destroying some poor soul online while yelling about canon continuity errors, he'd probably say, “That’s my girl/guy/them!” with tears in his eyes.

But here’s the thing—Bill is a control freak. He sees himself as the alpha nerd in any room. So when his partner starts out-toxic-ing him, stealing his thunder during a nerd tirade, or calling him out on his hypocritical gatekeeping? Oh boy. That’s when the fireworks start.

He’d be:

Enraged, but also weirdly flustered.

Petty as hell. Like purposely misquoting your favorite sci-fi monologue just to piss you off.

Constantly trying to one-up you, even in mutual destruction.

Arguments would be legendary. You’d both yell until someone’s voice cracks and someone else’s collectibles get flung across the room. Then you’d probably hate-makeout or angrily binge-watch Babylon 5 like nothing happened.

And yet, despite (or because of) the toxicity, he'd brag about you to others like:

> “You wouldn’t get it, Jerry. My s/o’s real. They threw a slur at a Funko Pop collector once. I almost proposed.”

Bill wouldn’t admit it out loud but you have his ass whipped and you are his worst enemy, but he'd need someone just as messed up as him to feel less like a loser. Someone who validates his degeneracy and still somehow sticks around. It'd be co-dependent, angry, and probably end in broken furniture—but he'd secretly consider it the most meaningful connection he's ever had.

Josh x equally toxic/degenerate S/O:

Josh is the kind of guy who thinks he wants a sweet, understanding partner who “gets” him—but when he actually ends up with someone who’s just as bitter, neurotic, and fandom-addicted as he is? He spirals.

You two would be that couple who get kicked out of comic book shops for arguing about canon loud enough to scare the employees. You’d both spew venom online under different usernames, then gas each other up like:

> “That takedown post you made about that guy who likes the Abrams Trek movies? That was beautiful. I left a comment with a .GIF.”

He’d act all defensive and cranky when you’re around others—bragging about how your relationship is based on “mutual intellectual superiority”—but deep down, he’s addicted to the chaos. You'd enable each other’s worst habits. Obsessive collecting. Screaming fights over which anime arc sucked more. Using fandom as a weapon in your actual relationship fights.

But Josh is insecure. Big time.

If you ever criticize him the way you do the rest of the world, it’d cut him deep. He'd lash out with one of his self-righteous, borderline-incoherent rants, calling you a “fake nerd elitist dilettante traitor” (yes, he’d say all that in one breath). Then sulk for three days while obsessively rewatching DS9 and quoting Garak at you passive-aggressively.

Still, he'd be helplessly attached. Even when things get toxic, he’d need you around like a comfort blanket he can also scream at.

You’d probably:

Get in fights at conventions and high-five about it later.

Argue about ethics in game journalism during making out

Make each other mixtapes full of spiteful punk songs and anime OSTs. And classical star wars sound tracks.

At the end of the day, he'd rather fight with someone who gets him than be with someone who doesn’t care about the real stuff. You’re poison in the same flavor. And he’s never letting go.

Pete x equally toxic/degenerate S/O:

At first? Pete is in heaven.

He meets someone who rants about “casuals” and punches holes in Funko Pop boxes with the same fire he has? Someone who lights up like a Molotov cocktail when someone says “I liked the live-action adaptation”? He’s into it.

> “Yo, my s/o threatened to spit in a guy’s eye for calling Alien 3 underrated. That’s f***in’ hot.”

He’d act like the mature one in public, rolling his eyes when you go on a tirade—but the moment you’re alone? He’s telling you how cool it was, laughing with you while you both trash on someone’s fandom take like a roast session from hell.

But here’s the catch: Pete wants to think he’s better than everyone, including you, sometimes. If you get too toxic, outshine him, or drag him into your messes?

He’ll get defensive. Like:

> “Why the hell would you post that? Now they’re gonna think I agree with you! Jesus, babe, tone it down—”

Which is rich coming from the guy who once threw a Slurpee at someone for misquoting Army of Darkness.

Still, he’d never fully stop you. You’re his chaos twin. The Tiffany to his angry Chucky. He respects that you don’t take sh*t and that you’ll always take his side—even when he’s objectively wrong. (Which is, let’s be real, often.)

You two would:

Chain-smoke after vicious internet fights like war buddies.

Laugh meanly at cosplayers you hate together.

Have intense, hormonal-charged arguments about whether practical effects are superior (you agree—but still fight anyway).

There’d be some real loyalty under all that aggression. Pete’s the type to stand behind his s/o in a bar fight, even if it was your fault. Especially if it was your fault.

And if someone else insults you?

> “Hey, I can call them a self-righteous poser. You can’t. Say that again and I’ll staple your tongue to a box set of The Thing.”

In short? It’s loud, it’s petty, it’s defensive—but somehow, it works. Against all odds, Pete finds love in a mirror made of nerd rage and bad coping mechanisms.

Jerry x equally toxic/degenerate S/O:

At first, Jerry would act like he’s above it.

> “I mean… yeah, my partner gets a little heated online, but it’s just because they care about integrity in fandom, you know? They’re really passionate.”

Meanwhile, you’re live-tweeting death threats to someone who said Evangelion was “mid.”

Secretly? He’s obsessed with you.

You're the only person who makes him feel seen. You watch hentai and don’t flinch. You roast bad animation and toxic fan communities with surgical precision. You quote Berserk at him during foreplay. He’s sweating. He’s trembling. He’s yours.

But he’s also deeply insecure.

When you start getting more attention than him in fandom spaces? Or when you make jokes about his creepy little figure collection he’s pretending isn’t creepy? He’ll get all sulky and weird about it.

> “It’s not, like, weird to have a full resin cast of Ryoko from Tenchi Muyo. It’s art. And the panties came like that.”

He’s the type to spiral emotionally if you call him out, then try to guilt-trip you with his “sensitive guy” schtick. But you, being just as rotten, clap back harder. Suddenly he’s flustered and crying.

Still, your relationship would thrive in the shadows. You’d spend nights:

Watching trashy OVA VHS tapes from the ‘90s while you both pretend it’s for “aesthetic.”

Arguing about which magical girl transformation was more badass.

Co-writing long, disturbing fanfiction under anonymous handles—then reading it to each other in bed.

You both would Build each other OP Magic the gathering decks.

Jerry is pathetic, but with an equally degenerate s/o? He’s emboldened. Enabled. You let him be a little freak without judgment, and that’s more love than he’s ever gotten.

He’d never leave. He’s too scared he’ll never find someone who can both match his depravity and bully him just enough to feel alive.

[kasenbu]

Happy!Pride!Guys!

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We connected even thought you be any where …

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[Hollow!ink sans] [King multi verse!sans] [Dust+] [Righteous! error sans]

They belong to @/SHADIKAL15

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