#I never in my life thought I’d have to blacklist someone’s name on here until the Joe Quinn hype skkgkskf

[thiagodasilva]

😬✌🏼😬🫢

[sarah-sandwich]

Happy FFWF! Take a moment to ramble about your favorite part or parts of your current wip! It can be the characters, your headcanons, the metaphors/symbolism you use, anything at all! And just for fun: Add a gif that represents that wip!

Thaaaaankkk yoooooouuuu and happy FFWF!!! You’re the MVP for coming up with unique and engaging asks every week!

I’m going to ramble about Paradise (spread out with a butter knife) even though no one here gives a poo.

On the surface it’s this...

but under the tom foolery it’s this

and

but also

It’s a soulmates au but it’s actually about friendship and the importance of creating bonds outside of romantic ones and how the romantic ones should be built on friendship anyway, regardless of what you think about fate or destiny.

It’s Peter centric and at the beginning of the fic he’s alone. He lost all of his friends in one way or another and he’s grieving them while stuck in a cycle of self-sabotage that he can’t even see let alone break out of.

Then against all odds, Wade becomes his friend. In Wade he has someone who understands the Spider-Man side of things and can shoulder the load of keeping NYC safe but also keep Peter Parker fed and rested and ensure he gets enough of a break to spend quality time with Aunt May.

He goes back to school. He starts thinking about the future again.

After some badgering, he accepts a job at S.I. working with Tony in the lab and all of the sudden he’s not starving all the time anymore and he finds Tony to be something of a mentor.

“Stop,” Stark says, stepping between them. “Both of you just… stop. Look, I’ve got somewhere to be so let’s wrap this up.”

“Oh perfect. I’m done so you can just fly back—,”

“I could have flown her out if you would have explained,” he states, cutting him off. “There was time for maybe ‘explosion incoming’ or—,”

“No, there wasn’t!” he snaps, losing the remaining shreds of his patience in one fell swoop. “If you would have run for the fountain when I said to then it would have been fine! Why can’t you trust my judgment without knowing every nitty-gritty detail that got me there? I know I keep saying it, but I’m not a kid! I don’t need a babysitter or—or a daddy-figure or whatever it is you’re trying to be to me. I do okay on my own. Good sometimes even. If you want to team up, fine, but I don’t need anyone to hold my hand or check for monsters under my bed.”

“So hand-holding is off the table?”

“Not now, Wade.”

Stark regards him for a long moment, lips pressed in a hard line while Wade hums the jeopardy theme. Finally, he sighs, “You’re right.”

Peter cocks his head to the side. “I am? I mean, I know I am, but you know I am?”

“Listen, I want you to come work with me. Hear me out! I’ve seen what you can do with dumpster scraps. I want to see what you can do with a real lab. Real equipment. Maybe a mentor guiding you when you get stuck.”

He stares.

HOly shit. HOLY SHIT. Is this real?? 

“You’re shitting me.”

It’s too good to be true. It can’t be— Of course it can’t. How is it supposed to work unless… Oh.

His heart drops. “You want me to unmask.”

Stark shrugs. “Ideally, yes, but we can work around it. You can come in that,” he waves a hand at all of him, lip curled in disdain, “if that’s what it’ll take to get you in the door.”

“I don’t trust your A.I.,” he blurts before he can get his hopes up. “No offense to J.A.R.V.I.S., but the more time I spend in your tower the more mannerisms he’s going to learn and you’ll be that much closer to my identity.”

Stark cracks a smile. “You’re smart, kid. It’s why I like you even though you’re a brat.”

“You should see him play Disney Princess Scene It. Total dunce.”

“Wade! Not now!”

Wade huffs and slumps miserably against the ground. “I’d storm off in a huff if I could. I hate being ignored.”

He ignores him.

“I’ll make a window in the code for you,” Stark says. “It’ll only apply to the lab and the path to your entrance.”

“The Spidey door,” he corrects.

“I’m not calling it that.”

He sighs. What a stick in the mud. “I want to review the code.”

“I’m not letting you look at—,”

“Just the part pertaining to the window.”

Stark purses his lips like he sucked a lemon.

“You gotta trust a little if you want trust in return,” Peter says, wincing as he realizes he’s paraphrasing Aunt May. Christ, he’s gotten old.

“Fine,” he agrees. “Who should I make the paycheck out to?”

He freezes. “Paycheck?”

Stark shoots him an incredulous stare. “Of course. Stark Industries has very strict restrictions on child labor practices.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Stark grins. “So? Paycheck? Do I get a name?”

“Parker,” he says after a beat. Wade stops humming and Stark’s expression goes slack with shock. “Have the checks made out to May Parker and mailed to the F.E.A.S.T. location in Greenwich. She’ll know what to do with them.”

Stark rolls his eyes. “Should’ve expected….” He sighs. “Alright, kid. We’ll do this your way.”

And then his old friends start trickling back in.

He steps out of his room and forgets to breathe. All of his muscles lock and his brain screeches to a full stop.

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to be scared of me,” Wade is telling MJ.

MJ?! In New York?!

MJ (in his apartment!) smirks. Her hair is different. It’s gloriously red as always and her bangs are still choppy but it’s shorter than she used to keep it, barely grazing her shoulders as she tosses it with a practiced flick. “Nice try but I know the truly scary guys have flawless skin and shaped eyebrows.”

“Oh shit,” Wade says, mouth widening into a delighted open-mouthed grin. He cups his hands and bellows, “Vicious and smart, Petey! You better— Oh. Hey, baby boy. You were supposed to go out your window. That’s my bad. I should have been more specific.”

“MJ?” he croaks.

She smiles, bright and beautiful and effortless as always. “Hey Tiger, looks like you hit the jackpot,” she says with a significant glance at Wade that lingers on his biceps.

“I… You… What?”

Her smile dims. “Can we… get a coffee or something?”

“Is everything— Are you okay? Anna?”

Oh fuck, if anything happened to—

“Peter, stop. Aunt Anna’s fine. Everyone’s fine. I was in the city and I thought…” She clenches her fingers once and releases them. She’s nervous. “I thought we could catch up.”

Gwen was MJ’s soulmate. When she died it crushed her and she couldn’t separate Peter from his role in everything so she left. She took off to California to pursue acting and didn’t keep in touch. She’s back for good and they start to mend things. She visits Harry in the mental health treatment facility where he’s been living for the past 10 years since Gwen died and he injected himself with the Green Goblin serum and went berserk. It takes awhile but eventually he gets to a place where he has the staff remove the blacklisting against Peter and asks MJ to bring him with her for a visit.

And suddenly Peter has his old friends back. It’s not the same. It’ll never be the same. They have their missteps and 3 should be 4 but it’s working and it’s good and it’s more than he ever thought he’d get back. Harry is released and him and MJ get an apartment together and they all meet up at least once a week. Everything is looking up. His life is reversed from how we found it in chapter one.

And he still doesn’t know Wade is his soulmate.

“You don’t have a soulmate?”

Deadpool snorts and rolls to his feet, slapping dirt from his suit forcefully. “Can you imagine? What kind of asshole would fuck up bad enough to get landed with me?”

He never questioned it. After five years the specifics of how exactly he knows Wade doesn’t have a soulmate fade. He might have seen the deflection for what it was had they had the conversation later in their friendship, but instead it gets written in stone in his mind that while he has a soulmate, Wade doesn’t and so Wade can’t be his. Until...

Oh my God. It’s Wade.

[citrineghost]

A Letter to WordPress

Dear WordPress,

Tumblr has been around for a good while now and many of us have been here since the beginning (or close to it). It’s become something of a comfort and a home base for many. You can understand then why it’s so terrifying and tension-setting when a new owner comes around.

This website has been through a lot of changes, very few of them good in recent years. I want to open up a dialogue from the user base about our feelings and desires surrounding this site, because to so many of us, not only its design and function, but its success and future are a big deal.

Obviously not all of the things I list below will be universal opinions, but I’ll try to outline some of the things I’ve seen the majority of users want. I’ll also throw in some things that are more personal, because I can’t claim to know everything the rest of the users want, but I can tell you where I see obvious problems.

First and foremost, here’s an obvious one. You can’t really go anywhere on Tumblr without knowing: we want the bots and the nazis gone. We need some kind of captcha system for every time someone wants to include a hyperlink in a post or response. Until the staff count gets higher, I would honestly suggest closing down the report system for everything but bots, nazis, and death threats/suicide bait.

Make NSFW content welcome again. Outside of porn bots, the pervasiveness of NSFW content is slim to none. As long as minors and those with ‘NSFW’ blacklisted aren’t seeing the NSFW content, there’s nothing wrong with it being here. A large number of the people posting NSFW content on here are artists who use this content to make a living on commissions. The ban has done nothing but make valuable members of the Tumblr community leave and take their art elsewhere. The focus should be cracking down on anyone who isn’t properly tagging NSFW content with ‘NSFW’. If the focus is put on that, the problem with NSFW content will be null.

Please keep Tumblr unintegrated with other social media. Most users will agree, the anonymity is such a huge part of what draws us to Tumblr. Other people only know what we tell them and it’s very appealing for our real life accounts (e.g. Google, Facebook, etc.) to be completely separate. When users want to share links to other accounts, they can do so easily with links on their blogs.

Replace ads with either, better, more sensible ads or members content. A large part of the ads on Tumblr make absolutely zero sense just by looking at them. Not to mention, they’re all completely unfit for the user base. I’ve seen weight-loss ads (harmful to the many people on the site recovering from eating disorders) and ads for products most people wouldn’t need or want until their forties. Most of the user base is 13-35, if I had to guess. I can tell you right now, you would make more money and the user base would be much happier if ads were removed in favor of members content. Adding a paid membership that allows users to gain access to new features (rather than restricting what’s already here) would be a huge boost in morale and company income. Use that income to improve the site. Don’t get comfortable making more than the bare minimum in profit until the website is functioning reasonably well. Hint: it’s not right now.

Keep the base functions of Tumblr. Don’t try and get radical, hoping big changes will excite the community. They won’t. We’re creatures of habit and we just want memes, fandom, and relatable nonsense. Keep reblogging, replies, customizable blogs, tags, and likes functionally the same.

Be receptive to bug reports and post change logs so that the community knows that they’re being addressed and fixed.

These are the obvious pleas of the community. Please keep in mind that the heart of Tumblr is in its users and if you ostracize us, there will be nothing left. We love this website and we want to see it thrive as much as anyone. We just don’t want to sacrifice the spirit of the community in the process.

Read more under the cut if you want to see some more of my own personal suggestions. I’d love for other users to sound off in the replies with whether they agree with any of the pleas or suggestions and also give their own!

Okay, so, here are some personal opinions that are by no means the voice of the community. I think they’re pretty sensible, but what do I know?

Change back the color. I hate this saturated navy color and I’m pretty sure a lot of others do too. I’m part of the disabled community and I know and have seen people saying that these extremely contrasted colors that were added are making their Tumblr experience worse. It gives people headaches due to light sensitivity and, frankly, it’s ugly. If you’d like to cater to those who are visually impaired/colorblind, that’s fantastic! Do so with an account setting that turns on higher contrast mode or adds patterns to things to make them distinguishable.

Add an option to blog suggestions and posts that have shown up on your dash from followed tags that says “Stop Suggesting This.” I’ve been suggested a number of blogs that I’m not interested in following. I don’t want to block the user, but I do want some different suggestions and for those blogs to stop showing up in suggestions. I’m also tired of seeing the same post twenty times from a tag I follow. There is currently an option that says “This particular posts sucks.” While I think that was a great attempt at catering to the community, I don’t want to use it because my intuition says that there’s a negative connotation. Does me saying the post sucks make it show up less for other people? Does it lose popularity? I can’t tell. The only thing I know is that I don’t want to say that a good post sucks just to make it quit showing up on my dash.

Implement some of the features that XKit uses. I would bet at least a quarter, if not more, of Tumblr users use XKit to make using Tumblr less painful. That shouldn’t be the case. Tumblr should have these functionality options available in dashboard settings.

A very hot take here that many might disagree with: Make notes viewable more like mobile has them. As it is, it’s hard to tell which ones I’ve seen on desktop. It can be tricky on mobile too, honestly, but it’s easier than on desktop. I would also heavily suggest making the unseen notifications darker so that they stand out and making a button to indicate that you’ve seen them.

Keep the dash, messages, notes, and profile as separate processes similar to how mobile has it. The trek all the way down the damn dashboard is a long one. I want to be able to see notes and messages in full size without losing my dash progress. When I switch back I want to be right where I was. I understand if this one isn’t possible or practical. It was just something I like about mobile over desktop but I’m aware that they’re two different beasts with different capabilities.

As far as the aforementioned members features, I do have some ideas, but I can’t guarantee they’re the best the user base has to offer. I’m sure others could think of better. Anyway, some things I’ve thought of are groups/clubs, digital currency, and separate dashboards. So, as it stands, You can have multiple blogs on one account. People can follow them separately. That’s fantastic. What would also be nice though, is being allowed to make separate dashboards. This would probably take up another chunk of server space, so I understand if it isn’t feasible right now, but I would jot it down. The ability to separate shitposts, aesthetic imagery, fandom content, and NSFW would be amazing. If you follow a huge number of blogs, like me, you could even make a friends dash so that you don’t miss your friends’ posts. It would just be a matter of allowing people to add and name their new dashboards. Then, when they go to follow people, it prompts them to choose what dash their content goes to. You could even simplify it by making the follow button default to the main dash, but adding a little dropdown arrow beside it. You could then choose which dash to add them to from a list. Below are some bad paint-drawn concept drawings.

Anyway, I hope this has all been helpful in some way. I’m fairly certain that WordPress will never actually read this, but it was cathartic to write and I hope it will be cathartic for someone else to read.

Sincerely, birb-ghost

[janiedean]

aaah, and I thought the throbb/theon fandom couldn’t disappoint me more than it already had

and yet.

okay, so, whatever, I’ve been made aware of a situation on twitter and honestly I’m tired, so let’s just have it out.

apologies for the long-ass post but I honestly am tired of being the uber-correct person who addresses everyone directly and properly and so on and all I get is finding out people trash talk behind your back anyway and don’t engage with me if they have a problem.

so, yesterday I’m minding my damned business, I see that @fleurdulys​ is apparently in some discussions with anti sansan people calling her names, I send her a message like ‘oh god they found you I’m so sorry’ because I have seen anti sansan takes back in the day, two people including someone that had stalked her for months start tagging me too and accusing me of the usual condoning That Horrible Problematic Ship and of being a pedo apologist blah blah blah, I block both of them, the day after another two show up in my mentions uninvited, I block both of them.

then someone who was monitoring the situation warns me that some anon is trash talking me and fleur in the curiouscat asks of some other person that I had absolutely no knowledge of until then. I went to block them, found out I had blocked them already because they were anti thr/amsay and shipped a theon show only ship I really don’t like so I went and blocked them in JULY before they changed nickname because I’m an adult and I like to think I can cut out of my life people I don’t want to risk interacting with because I know I don’t have anything to say to them. said person accused me of ‘using as a tactic calling everything calvinist’ which... well, when the problem is that antis are basically being that it’s not a tactic but whatever, I addressed it on twitter and changed my screen name as a joke because y’know what let’s embrace it, I don’t like calvinists anyway.

I go and forget about it and then the same someone monitoring the situation informs me that these lovely people had this other exchange - I’m not mentioning who it is but they’ll know and at this point I’m honestly done:

now.

sorry but what the hell.

first of all, going in order:

I blocked receiver of the CC ages ago because she ships a thing that for me is an absolute no and I have very good reasons to not like it, and I have zero interest in talking to people who ship that AND are th/ramsay antis, which is a thing that I have zero patience for whichever side of the fence you’re on - saying it as someone who doesn’t like th/ramsay but ffs I don’t agree with anti-ing stuff, if you hate it blacklist and move on with your life;

also, I wasn't lurking on her anons because I didn’t even know she was involved but someone else monitoring the situation told me I was the subject of one of them and I went and checked for myself, so like... sorry I’m not unblocking because I never searched for her, I never talked to her, I never wanted contact with her and she and the anon are there trash talking me and fleur for shipping a fictional ship so what are we even talking here;

and that’s the premise, but: I had gotten my 'bitch ass away from throbb' in 2011, the amount of fics that fandom has would Not Exist At All because *I* was the sole steady contributor (ie the only person who kept on posting it) 2011-18 (and fandom drove out the only other steady contributor in 2015-8 lmao), *I* was the one organizing most theon-based fandom events (which were opened to all ships, including the ones I hated, and if I could handle posting th/ramsay fanart/reading th/ramsay prompts/assigning them when the exchange was anonymous and I had to post all the contributions when looking at th/ramsay art made me sick back in the day I think OP can tolerate people existing and shipping stuff she don't like), *I* was the one periodically coming up with ways to make the tag less filled with hate, *I* called out every single anti shaming anyone for their ships - from thramsay to theonsa because there were theonsa antis back in S5 but she wouldn't know I suppose -, so like she can pay me the favor to not even going there because if it wasn't for me she wouldn't have throbb fic to read *period* (not to brag but check, before I started spamming the tag and helped bringing in people along with someone else who's not in fandom anymore there were literally six), so how about she check what are her contributions to the fandom (less than mine probably) other than creating drama? thanks.

also ‘theon and robb would beat pedos up’ please check your facts, theon/jeynep is going to most likely be canon and she’s like thirteen and he’s twenty-two, which is a nine year age gap, which is not even that far from sansan. also your favorite theon ship has an eight years age gap in the books too so just stop. you ain’t coherent. at least be coherent. but you can’t, because every single asoiaf ship is problematic for some reason. ;)

and that was it for OP.

now, for the anon, who honestly... the entitlement, I swear to god, but in order: if you’re that pressed because I haven’t written throbb in months also thanks to people like you you could have like, come and talked to me on tumblr because regardless from what you assume I don’t bite. also I see that you’re a throbb shipper and you’re calling me THROBB CONTENT GENERATOR?

CONTENT GENERATOR?

ARE YOU COMPLETELY OUT OF IT?

I’M A HUMAN BEING, I’M NOT YOUR DAMNED CONTENT GENERATOR.

I DON’T GENERATE CONTENT FOR YOUR SATISFACTION, I WRITE FIC FOR SHIPS I LIKE. throbb is my otp (still, even if y’all really are trying to drive me out lol) and I wrote novels of it for years for free because I love it, BUT NOT BECAUSE I’M YOUR DAMNED CONTENT GENERATOR. 

content generator.

I’m just. actually you know what, if I write throbb again after this, you can be 100% sure there’s gonna be full-on blown canon sansan in it for a very long time and I’m absolutely not going to make it avoidable if you don’t scroll half of the fic. also ‘I could ask her to write it but she’d put sansan in it so I won’t’ who the hell do you think you are?

who the hell do you think you are?

I take prompts when I can because I want to and because once in a while I enjoy the idea of writing stuff for people because other than being something I love, I like the idea that I can make someone’s day nicer by filling them a prompt if they like my writing, I don’t do that just because you ask.

what the hell? so you’d ask and me, a poor idiot, not knowing it was you, would put it on a to-write list of prompts that’s like ten pages of notebook long because that’s how long my goddamned list is, while you’re here laughing that someone whose writing you like but whose personality you obviously despise has written you your favorite ship for free not knowing that it’s for someone that doesn’t like her all that much?

jesus christ.

like, I thought this fandom couldn’t get lower than the let’s plagiarize fics deal last july, but this is honestly rich.

and then you wonder why whenever I think about finishing sfbd or writing a ship that used to make me happy to write now I go like ‘f* this noise why should I bother I’m writing any other damned pairing instead’.

and I have to read this shit from someone who, when I blocked them the moment I got the fandom twitter account, who I never searched for, who I never talked to and who is friends with people who happily accuse others of being pedo apologists because they ship sansan which is, oh, wait, an almost-canon ship with canon text supporting it and that grrm himself certainly doesn’t hate and has admitted to have been leading up to, and now wants me to unblock her to talk??? when their friends showed up in my mentions absolutely uninvited because I sent support to someone who was arguing with them because we both ship sansan and I’ve done it for longer so I know how’s the deal?

and from some kind of anon who sure as hell reads my fics enough that they know I’m still the most prolific throbb contributor to the tag even if I haven’t written throbb in a year and some who calls me content generator and not even contributor as if I was some kind of juke box machine where you put in prompts and get out 5k minimum fics for free? and who still would like to read them enough to throw that shade but has no issues trashing me because I’m pointing out that antis think exactly like 17th century calvinists, which is a thing that can 100% be proved the moment you look up how the aforementioned calvinists thought?

like, I’d like to kindly tell the both of them to find a hobby that’s not trying to fele better harassing people they don’t know for fictional ships and remind everyone on here (because I’m sure anon is on tumblr as it’s where I hang out most of the time anyway) including the few anons who have asked me if I’d consider writing throbb again in the last months and who asked me if I’d run theonexchange again at some point that fic writers are human beings, not jukeboxes, and that being assholes has, as a usual consequence, driving the content creators out. I’m not a content generator, I’m not here to get laughed at because I fill prompts and I generally like to put content in the tags and not drama and because I think that being a fandom contributor should mean spreading positivity instead of shaming people for what they ship.

anyway: as a conclusion to this rant, I’m definitely not writing throbb that doesn’t have sansan in it anytime soon and if I run theonexchange again at some point (which I would like to but with these premises you’ll see that finding the force of will when I have a life is kind of a problem) if I find out that OP or any of her friends want to participate they’re kindly welcomed not to because I’m banning them on sight.

wow, get my bitch ass away from a fandom I kind of helped make and contributed 10% of the ao3 content to.

congrats, you just made sure I really won’t when I was taking a break but I was planning to come back at some point even if right now it’s quite tempting.

thanks for reading this if you got to this point and sorry for the rant but I’m tired.

I’m really tired.

also I’ve always said I shipped sansan from the moment I was in this fandom, I tag it also for blacklisting purposes and I don’t even put it as a side in fics that much because it doesn’t come up, so if anyone is so disgusted by it they’re welcome to learn to coexist with people who ship stuff they don’t like.

again: I’m really tired.

[artistic-writer]

The Contract :: CS Omegaverse :: Ch 2

Title: The Contract Rating: E Summary: Emma had never wanted much in her life, despite being married to one of the richest men in the world. For ten years she has felt like a prisoner in her own marriage, denied the one thing she wants the most, but her husband cannot help but bargain her want like a cheap business deal.  Enter Killian Jones, the Alpha her husband has hired to make sure she gets what she wants. And then some. A/N: This is an Omegaverse fic featuring A/B/O dynamics.  Whilst this varies from fandom to fandom, for the purposes of my fic, there will be no mpreg.  Just so you know.  There will however be knotting, breeding, heats and other delicious things that come along with A/B/O.  If you do not know what A/B/O is, feel free to message me :)  Many thanks to @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ and @effulgentcolors​ for letting me bounce my complicated ideas of you lol

Also, I am no longer doing a tag list.  This is something I have struggled with because of memory issues, so to be fair to everyone, and to make sure you don’t miss out, you should allow notifications or subscribe on AO3.  If you wish to stay away from this fic, blacklist the A/B/O tag.

————————————————————————————————–

Killian Jones was frustrated. His life hadn’t exactly taken the turn it was supposed to, being an Alpha and all. He was happy, there was no denying that fact, and like most Alphas, he could have his pick of any Omega he wanted. Only, Killian Jones had neglected to fuck anything outside of a Beta for reasons unknown. Maybe he was shy? No that wasn’t it. Killian was a proud Alpha, maybe a little on the small side, but his physical strength and quick tongue made up for his lack of a well defined stomach and bulging Alpha muscles any day.

Or so the ladies had told him. Maybe they were just being nice in the hopes of getting knotted.

But he was still frustrated. Killian Jones had never knotted anything other than a rut toy, only dreaming of the feeling of being tied to another. It wasn’t like an Alpha to feel this way, or yearn for the contact of an Omega so badly, but Killian couldn’t help but feel like his life missed that vital piece. There was a big, gaping hole in his life and in his heart, that he had resigned himself to accept would never be filled.

His brother, Liam Jones, owned a bar and had done since Killian was a kid. He remembered fond memories of Liam taking him to work, sitting him in the corner of the grimy, dive bar and telling him to keep his head down whilst he worked and earned their crust. Liam didn’t actually own the bar back then but worked for the previous owner instead, and neither of them were old enough to realise what Killian would become.

Becoming an Alpha was something Killian was proud of. He could hold his head up high and say that he had become something. Only, he hadn’t really. He was currently unemployed, which was basically the same as being castrated. Alpha’s were supposed to be successful, the top of their game, but all Killian could manage was dead end security jobs and the odd shift here and there in Liam’s bar. He had friends, flocks of people who wanted to say they knew an Alpha, but none of them meant anything really. When the chips were down, there was only one thing an Alpha could rely on, and that was themselves.

Killian had his brother Liam and his friend Will, also Alphas. The three of them had been inseparable as teens, creating all sorts of mischief in their town, but now they had all grown into Alphas and that came with a certain set of expectations, all of which, Killian, at the age of thirty-two, had yet to fulfill. He was unbonded, plagued by the scents of Omegas that were nothing more than a temptation for his primal instinct, and on top of that, he was jobless.

Killian Jones was broke, and he needed not to be.

“You should just take my advice,” Will slurred. He rocked back on his barstool, tossing the last dribble of alcohol down his throat from the glass in his hand.

“And sell myself?” Killian squeaked, aghast. He watched the rum swirl around the bottom of his glass, shaking his head at his friend’s suggestion. “No thanks, mate.”

Will slammed his glass down on the bar, making Killian jump. “It’s not selling yourself,” Will insisted, waving Liam over to their position. “William Jones!” He sang, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes wide with excitement.

Liam sighed as he approached, rubbing the inside of a glass with a towel. “My name is not William.”

Will screwed up his face. “Of course not,” he scoffed with a wrinkled nose. “There can’t be two of us named Will.”

“Well, there could,” an equally as drunk Killian countered.

“You’re right, mate, there bloody well could be,” Will agreed, swaying sideways.

“Did you call me for any particular reason?” Liam interrupted, flicking the slightly damp towel over his shoulder and leaning forward on to the bar.

“Oh, Liam! Good, you’re here,” Killian observed drunkenly as if his brother hadn’t been there the whole time. He licked his slightly dry lips before taking a breath and pointing to Will. “Now, tell Will here that I have no need for any of his schemes.”

“Schemes?” Liam asked, looking to Will.

“I simply suggested that your brother here,” Will emphasized by slapping Killian on the shoulder. “Takes my advice and takes the job I’m offering him.”

“It’s not a job.” Killian shook his head.

“You’re right, it’s a bloody privilege,” Will countered.

“What job?” Liam’s interest was piqued.

“It’s bloody prostitution,” Killian slurred.

“What job, lads?” Liam insisted in a parental tone. “Tell me now, or the bar’s closed.”

Will and Killian looked between each other and then back to Liam as if he had just punched them both in the face. “Alright, mate, no need to get larey.” Will scrunched his nose and Killian made a childish noise through his grin.

“Larey?” Liam echoed, high voice jumping higher. “Quite the contrary. If you have an idea that would get my little brother back into work and off my sofa, I would like to hear it.” He looked between the two men as if they were naughty children being scolded.

“Younger,” Killian grumbled through a burp in the back of his throat. “Nothing about me is little, brother, I assure you.”

Will laughed, deep and throaty, nudging Killian with a cheeky smile. “Exactly why I’m offering you this opportunity.”

“What opportunity?!” Liam shouted, slapping his hand down on the bar, silencing the near empty pub. A few men stopped their drinking, turning to look over to the three of them, before realising there was nothing worth stopping for and resuming their consuming.

Will tutted, rolling his eyes back in his head and slumping his shoulders as if Liam should already know. ”Knot for hire!” he declared enthusiastically, ignoring the way Killian brushed off his words with an exasperated sigh.

“I beg your pardon?” Liam blinked.

“Knot for hire!” Will repeated, rapping his knuckles on the bar proudly, ignoring the way Liam slowly blinked again. “You know,” he encouraged, “when an Alpha-”

Liam stopped him quickly, halting him with a wave of his hand. “I know what it means.”

“It’s bloody mad,” Killian declared, the room spinning.

“It’s bloody brilliant,” Will countered, shuffling himself forward on his stool until his knees bumped into the underside of the bar. “Imagine, fucking for money-”

“Like a prostitute,” Killian interrupted hastily.

“Like a professional,” Will said quickly. “All you have to do is give ‘em a taste of what they will never have! And not only that, you get paid to do it.”

“I can’t just knot on command,” Killian said defensively, the tips of his ears turning a rosy pink.

“You don’t actually knot ‘em,” Will shrugged.

“Then I can’t just-,” Killian scoffed, but he was quickly interrupted by his friend.

“It’s not that hard,” Will chuckled. “You just imagine the most beautiful lass you’ve ever seen, or lay back and think of England.”

“God save the Queen,” Liam added, smirking when Killian’s eyes met his.

“You can’t seriously think this venture to be a good idea?” He scoffed.

“Why not?” Liam shrugged, looking his brother up and down. “You’re a handsome young fellow with nothing but love to give,” he snorted, trying to finish his words before the laugh caught up with him. Killian shot him a glare and Liam covered his mouth to stifle another laugh. “Oh come on, Killian. You think I haven’t heard you in my bathroom? My walls are not that thick, brother,” he smirked.

Killian’s cheeks turned the same colour as his ear tips, only just hidden by the overbar lighting that cast a dim orange glow over the three of them. Liam was right, in the most embarrassing of ways.

“Say I do agree to this,” Killian began, waving a finger at Will. “What’s in it for me?”

“You mean aside from the obvious?” Will winked cheekily but Killian just took a breath in frustration. “Alright then, let’s see.” He studied his friend, cocking his head from side to side as he sized him up, even going as far as to peel the sides of Killian’s jacket open to ‘inspect the goods’. “At your age-”

“Hey now, watch it mate,” Killian warned.

“I’d say about five to ten,” Will estimated, waving a hand from side to side in front of himself.

“Hundred?” Liam asked eagerly, the idea of getting his brother out of his flat too tempting.

“Thousand,” Will clarified, much to the shock of both Jones brothers. “More if someone really wants you.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Liam thought aloud.

“What do you mean by, ‘really wants you’? Killian asked his friend with a suspicious glare.

Will shrugged, his whole body moving. “They pick us out of a book, mate, I don’t know. All you have to do is be an Alpha with desirable traits.”

“Well, that’s me out then,” Killian sighed, deflated. He had never been as big and imposing as his brother, or as muscular as other Alphas. “Desirable traits I have not.”

“But have you looked in the mirror lately?” Will grabbed Killian’s shoulder and turned his friend until he was facing him. “Perfect blue eyes, just the right amount of hot to get ‘em going, and you know as well as I do, mate, that you can certainly turn on the charm when you need to.”

“I am hotter than you,” Killian grinned wickedly, nudging his friend with his elbow.

“Yes, you are,” Will agreed earnestly. “And if some rich Beta is willing to pay seven grand for me to fuck ‘em, just imagine what you could get.”

And Killian did. All night, in fact. He tossed around on the uneven cushions of Liam’s sofa two or three times before he decided enough was enough. Living with his brother had its perks, but it also had the inevitability that came from two Alphas living in such close quarters. So far, their ruts had never coincided, but it was only a matter of time before they synced and were at each other's throats.

Killian pushed himself over, fumbling around in the darkness for his cell phone nearby. He located it quickly, tugging the charging cable from the device and flopping back into position on the couch. The screen lit up the entire room when he unlocked it, the blue light dilating his pupils in the darkness. Killian located Will’s contact information, sending him the quick text message that would seal his fate, one way or another.

“I’m in.”

--

“This is a bad idea,” Killian whispered to himself as he drove up the very long driveway and the home of his first client came into view. It was massive, the outside as white as snow and every surface visibly as smooth as marble. Maybe it was marble, who knew? All Killian knew was that as he pulled up in his slightly worse for wear black Chevelle SS, the sound of the engine was drowned out by how awesome a sight the mansion was. Even the stones on the driveway were white, the chalking dust sticking to his tyres as the wheels crunched over them, the brakes only squeaking a little as he pulled to a stop directly outside the front door.

Killian let out a steadying breath, knuckles white with how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. Nervous didn’t cover how he felt. Will had assured him that when an agent of Mr. Humbert’s had approached him to go over some ‘important details regarding discretion’, that it was normal, par for the course, but now he was at the house, Killian couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. Graham Humbert was a man well known, but not for what he was, but for what he wasn’t. Graham Humbert was a Beta, born into a long line of Alphas, and the man had an ego the size of a large country to compensate.

Intimidated just a little bit, Killian forced himself from the car and closed the door behind him. Somehow the house looked even bigger from the bottom of the twelve, huge, smooth, white stoned steps that stretched across the entire front of the house, but Killian decided that he had come this far. It was only a consultation of sorts, to see how ‘compatible’ he would be with the client, still a mystery in Killian’s eyes.

Was it Graham? Was there such a need for high discretion because the world’s most famous non-Alpha was actually gay? Killian himself was not opposed to male company, but as an Alpha, he was always in charge, something he didn’t think a man like Graham Humbert would submit to easily. Maybe Killian was wrong and he would, blaming the stresses and strains of his high profile lifestyle for his need to feel so wanton. With a shake of his head, and a quick mental reminder of just how much Graham Humbert had offered him for his services - $12,000, introductions pending - Killian reached out and pressed his finger to the doorbell button and waited.

After what seemed like forever, the heavy door swung open and a shorter than average man with a scruffy beard and bald head appeared, dressed in a neatly pressed suit that barely held in his rotund stomach. Killian almost arched his brow at the man before him, white gloves and all, looking like a butler out of a Batman comic book scene. The man looked him up and down, lips curling in almost a snarl, before waving him in with a swift motion of his arm.

“Killian Jones,” Killian said quickly, offering his hand to the man when he turned to him after closing the door.

“Hmm,” the man grunted, almost a look of disgust in his eyes. Killian withdrew his hand, swallowing hard. “Mr. Humbert is just seeing to some business,” the man began, not waiting for Killian to follow him before trundling off across the expansive lobby. Killian fell into step and almost collided with the shorter man when he stopped abruptly, turned to face him and let out a brackish tut. “Wait in here and he’ll be down in a few moments.”

Before Killian had time to agree, the man was sliding two huge doors apart before ushering him inside of what seemed to be a study, rolling the doors closed behind him. A silence followed, just the crackle of an open fire to break up the buzzing in Killian’s ears that was somehow still louder than his hammering heartbeat. He stepped further into the room which was quintessentially masculine.

In front of the open fire were two huge wingback chairs, the leather upholstery as soft to the touch as it looked when Killian ran his fingers over the dimples of the wide headed furniture tacks around the edges. Above the dark wood fire surround was a huge deer head, the twelve-point buck stuffed and attached to a mount, the lifeless eyed taxidermy clearly a trophy of some kind. Killian couldn’t stop the sound in the back of his throat as he looked around the room, the grunt that of disbelief at how far a Beta would go to appear Alpha.

Sprawled out across the floor was a huge bear skin, the dark hairs clearly indicating what was once a huge Grizzly. Killian had no doubt Graham had shot the animal himself, the misfired buckshot visible right over the animal’s shoulder as tiny bald patches in the pelt. Behind one of the chairs was a huge desk, some expensive hardwood that had been polished to within an inch of its life, the whole surface almost bare apart from two things, both of them photographs.

One was of his family, more specifically the men, standing abreast in front of the house. They were all wearing the same suit, tops hats and coattails, with Graham front and center. It must have been taken a while ago, the youth still evident in Humbert's face. The other was in the exact same position, only the men had been replaced by women, all smiling and laughing in the direction of the camera. That was, except for one of them. The woman in the center, more accurately, the girl, was not as happy as the gaggle of identically dressed bridesmaids and flower bearers around her. She was smiling, but not in the same way as the others. It was forced, and her downcast stare that many others might see as shyness was clearly sorrow.

Killian reached out, fingertips lightly brushing down the side of the woman’s cheek in a silent apology, when the sound of the doors rolling open roused him from his thoughts. His gaze lingered on her a little longer, almost feeling her warmth through the pane of glass in the frame as he imagined how soft her skin was. She was beautiful, even in her sadness, and Killian had never felt the tug in his heart for a Beta before, even during his rut.

“Mr. Jones,” Graham called out, making sure the doors were closed behind him.

Killian turned, nervously balling his hands and stuffing them into the pockets of his suit pants. Will had told him to make an impression on the wife, so he had opted for a dark blue suit and a white collared shirt unbuttoned to expose just the right amount of chest hair. He had trimmed his beard length to just the right amount, soft curled red hairs mingled with dark brown tempting and grabbable. His shoes were shined, his hair swept aside and seamlessly styled as if by a higher being, and if the way Graham Humbert was looking at him was anything to go by, he’d done alright.

“Mr. Humbert.” Killian greeted the man before him, stepping forward and pulling a hand from his pocket. He offered it to Graham, who took it and gave it a hard squeeze as he shook it.

“Thank you for coming,” Graham said, motioning for him to follow him. The room was an odd shape and just around a hidden corner was a small dining table with a couch on each side. Graham walked over to them, offering Killian to sit with a flat palm directed at the couch, which Killian accepted with a nod and sat. “I’ve something of a proposal.”

Graham’s statement took him back and Killian arched a brow, fidgeting nervously on the slightly too low couch cushion. “Forgive me, sir, but you are aware of the services offered by my employer?”

Graham smirked as he took his place opposite Killian, running his finger over his bottom lip. “I am,” he said simply, finally looking up to the Alpha who was everything he was not. “Look, let me just cut to the chase here. You see, I have a wife.”

Killian’s lips twitched into a smirk. Will had told him that it was not unusual for rich Beta husbands to need an Alpha to satisfy their wives, and Graham was not disappointing, but the next words out of the wretched man’s mouth shocked him.

“And a mistress,” Graham added nonchalantly. Killian looked up and tried his hardest not to be judgemental. If Graham’s wife was indeed the solemn woman from the photograph, then he was a fool. “And whilst my wife is a woman of needs, I prefer my mistress if you get what I am saying.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed through gritted teeth. “I guess that’s where I come in?”

“I hope so,” Graham sniggered. “My wife is-.” Graham paused, looking up with thought. He rolled his bottom lip under his teeth, a sly grin spreading across his features at the thought of how defiant a woman Emma really was. “One of a kind,” Graham said finally, his words laced with sarcasm.

“She’s demanding?” Killian enquired, trying to keep the conversation as business like as possible. Graham gave him a nod. “Mr. Humbert, can I be honest with you?” Killian lowered his head and heaved a huge breath.

“Of course, Killian,” Graham replied, sitting back and puffing out his chest in mock dominance. Killian narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his name on Graham’s lips. “What? You didn’t think I would hire someone to fuck my wife without knowing everything about him, did you?” Graham pushed himself to his feet and began walking around the room, revelling in the many items that littered his den. “Killian Jones, thirty-two, single Alpha with no current employer, besides the agency of course, who lives with his Alpha brother following some trouble with the police. Did I leave anything out?”

“It seems not,” Killian answered, his voice low as he watched the Beta move.

“No, it would not. You see, my wife means a lot to me, despite our differences,” Graham began, moving around the room once again. He ignored Killian’s gaze as he walked past, setting a course straight for his huge oak desk and falling back into the luxurious tanned leather chair. “And I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

Killian nearly bit his tongue in half, choking on a cough as he tried to abstain from laughing. Graham looked up at the sound but Killian quickly covered it as a cough. “Of course,” he offered reassuringly.

Graham kept his eyes fixed on Killian for a moment longer, sizing him up from across his desk. Killian kept his gaze, blinking slowly, trying to read the man in front of him but Graham was not giving up anything with his emotions. Killian was finding him hard to read and was about to excuse himself, when Graham reached into a drawer beside him and pulled out a wad of cream coloured paper that was clipped together in the top corner.

“This is a list,” he told Killian, thumbing the small stack of paper whilst motioning for Killian to join him at the desk. Killian rose to his feet, crossing the distance to Graham’s desk and setting himself down in the chair opposite. “Of do’s and don'ts with my wife.”

“It looks extensive,” Killian observed.

“It is,” Graham agreed without a smile. Graham Humbert was a rich man with a mistress, so Killian doubted that he cared much for his wife as anything more than property, and the next words out of the vile man’s mouth confirmed it for him. “A contract, if you will.”

“Alright,” Killian agreed, taking the ‘contract’ and flicking through a few pages.

It was crass, degrading and that was just the references Graham was making to his wife. ‘Spouse’ was the only thing that Killian could actually read without feeling disgusted by the man. Who was he to refer to his wife like she was something he owned? Even if she was a Beta and Killian had only seen her in a photo, he couldn’t stop his protective nature from rearing its head, the hand on his knee curling into a fist.

“Take a moment.” Graham stood, walking around the desk whilst Killian stared blankly at the words in front of him. He stopped near the mantlepiece surrounding the now low burning fire. The embers burned hot, glowing in the pit just enough to illuminate Graham in a glow of red, and the photographs over the fire were all of Graham, not a single one of his wife. “I’m a busy man,” Graham told him, inspecting his fingernails. “Let’s get this deal arranged so we can be on our way.”

Killian paused for a second, the rage inside of him for the man who had summoned him bubbling just under the surface. Graham was not an Alpha but he was going out of his way to make himself seem like one, and the worst kind at that. Most Alpha’s were kind, gentle and with the exception of their ruts, willing to tolerate most things in life. Graham Humbert was not, an Alpha or tolerable it seemed, and his poor wife was to pay the price, cast aside like a term in a negotiation. Killian was going to tell him that he had never done this before, that he probably wasn’t worth the money Graham as offering, but then he talked himself out of it.

“Aye, let’s,” Killian ground out, pushing himself to his feet and moving to stand near Graham. The Beta inhaled hard, making himself look unnecessarily larger, but Killian just ignored him. Fucking his wife would be glory enough.

“First of all, some ground rules," Graham said way louder than he needed to. "Under no circumstances are you to accept any oral favours from my wife." Graham's voice had dropped lower, as if he was trying to intimidate. "But I'm sure she likes it, so give her all she wants."

Killian's brow pulled together for an instant at Graham's words. Shouldn't a man know what his wife likes?

"I'd ideally like you to service her here, in the house, but she feels it would sully our marital bed." Graham rolled his eyes, sighing heavily as if he had been forced into the next decision. "She has an apartment in the city that will do just fine for your needs."

"Alright-," Killian began but was cut off quickly.

"But there are to be no rendering of services until I have signed off on it, do you understand?"

"I do," Killian ground out, flicking his eyes back down to the document in his hand, sure his blackened eyes would give away his anger.

"My wife likes lingerie, but if she wants you to buy anything new for this little venture, then you will not be reimbursed for expenses, understood?"

"That seems fair." Killian nodded slowly.

"God knows you will have enough payment to buy it yourself," Graham muttered. Clearing his throat after his words. "Oh, and Killian?" Graham paused, waiting for the Alpha to look up at him.

"Yes?" Killian faked the sweet tone to his voice.

"Don't come in my wife," Graham ordered, fixing his stare on Killian.

Killian felt the tips of his ears burn and hoped his cheeks hadn't accompanied them in his blush. Will had told him that some husbands could be oddly specific but Graham was a new level of forthcoming. Killian swallowed hard, the mere thought of knotting the blonde beauty in the photograph making his stomach flutter.

"Good," Graham concluded, taking Killian's silence as his agreement. "I've heard the appeal of sleeping with an Alpha is the knot, but I am paying you a lot of money to just fuck her until she feels good. There would be no need to ruin a good thing now, would there?"

"Don't knot your wife, got it." Killian ground his teeth again, the muscles in his jaw ticking and making his ears wiggle.

"You are not to see her without my prior knowledge, is that clear?" Graham pointed a finger at him, pacing back around his desk and not waiting for an answer. “Do you have a set schedule?” Graham asked. “Do you have other clients?”

“No,” Killian assured him. “Your wife is the only one right now.”

“Good,” Graham said a little louder than necessary. “Then you will be exclusive to my wife, when and where she wants, am I understood?”

Killian didn’t like his tone and everything inside of him screamed to make Graham see who was the real Alpha in this room, but sadly he needed the money more. What Graham was offering was the highest amount ever offered to an Alpha before, especially one who had never even had a client, and Killian couldn’t help but wonder why. All of Graham’s body language was telling him that he was intimidated, so why such a huge financial offer?

“Aye, I do,” Killian agreed, licking his lips.

“With my approval, of course,” Graham nodding, seeking Killian’s agreement. “And this whole venture is strictly confidential, do you understand? There is a non-disclosure agreement on the back page which you will have to sign in order to get paid.”

“Will you tell me why you chose me out of all the other Alphas?” Killian asked suddenly, breaking Graham from his thoughts.

Graham smiled a sickly sweet grin and Killian saw him tighten his jaw. “She picked you.” A boyish smirk played across Killian’s lips, despite Graham’s misogynistic degradation of his wife. Graham fished around in his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. “Come in,” he said idly, pressing the device to his ear. “He’s here.”

Killian has no time to ask who Graham was calling before it became clear, a side door at the far end of the den creaking as it opened, and a woman stepping into view. It was the woman from the photograph, brought to life in front of him, and Killian jumped to his feet as she approached. Graham was at her side in a few steps, almost stopping her from reaching him, and throwing a protective arm around her waist. She smiled, but Killian could see it was forced, her body leaning away from her husband in disgust.

“Mr. Jones, this is my wife, Emma,” Graham announced, looking her up and down beside him. “Emma, this is-”

“Jones,” Killian stepped forward to close the gap Graham had created between them and reached out his hand. “Killian Jones.” Emma reached out her hand to shake his, but with a twist of his wrist, Killian had her fingers curled around his and was kissing the back of her hand in greeting. He felt her skin on his lips, warm and moisturized, and he couldn’t stop himself from imagining the rest of her body just as supple. She didn’t pull her hand away, her fingers tightening over his instead, and when Killian looked up to her once more, there was a new smile on her face.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma,” Killian said a little too huskily.

His throat had become dry, the dress she was wearing leaving nothing to his imagination, her cleavage so amply nestled behind the fabric, it was hard to look away. When he did finally look back up to her eyes, they were the most beautiful shade of amber-green he had ever seen, so soulful and happy and yet laced with sadness he could only imagine to comprehend. It bothered him, his natural Alpha instinct to care itching just under his skin, and it didn’t help when the beaming smile on her face faded to a slight smirk.

“Well?” Graham prompted, nudging her with his elbow. “Don’t tell me you are shy now.”

Emma didn’t seem to hear him at first, her eyes flickering over the Alpha in front of her like he was her saviour. Her face filled with more colour, a pink hue rising over her cheeks as she bit down on her lower lip and locked eyes with the blue of Killian’s again.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she said finally, her face erupting into a grin.

“I hope so,” Killian smirked. “Or I wouldn’t be much of an Alpha, would I?” He gave her a soft smile, a reassuring nod and just for good measure, a cheeky wink that made her blush under his gaze.

[arabellaflynn]

Hello, all. It has been a rough pandemic.

As you may have figured, since I am in the performing arts, I have been completely out of work since this shitshow began. The earliest venues will open up here in MA is September, which is not helpful for me, because I need to be out of my current place by 8/31. No one will rent to me on my Patreon income, so I've been trying to figure out how to supplement that with other online work.

My first thought, frankly, was camming. I'm attractive and I know that, and I don't care about being naked in "public". I have a lot of opinions on the legitimacy and legalization of sex work, but making a statement would be a convenient bonus; I'd be in it for the tips. As the appliance menagerie on the Flintstones used to say, "Eh. It's a living."

The best camera I currently have is attached to the slightly-less ancient laptop. You know, the one with the broken hinge that won't hold the screen up on the right. Only the wifi on that computer has quit working. The onboard chip was always kind of flaky, but for some reason it has chosen now to deteriorate to the point where it no longer acknowledges a router on the other side of the goddamn wall. Shooting in the living room with an ethernet cable is not an option, because another housemate is already doing that.

I bought a dual-band USB wifi adapter with antenna. It's a Realtek chip -- not gold-plated, but also not total junk. I specifically checked to make sure it worked with Ubuntu Bionic before I ordered. I have now installed three separate sets of drivers in three completely different ways, read everything ever written about this on AskUbuntu, and still the computer refuses to acknowledge its existence. Not even if I blacklist the onboard chip to keep it from falling back into previous bad habits.

The other elderly laptop (with the working wifi) has a cam that tops out at 640 x 480, which I suppose might squeak by as a tiny facecam on Twitch, or for tutoring where no one cares about pixelization. The microphone, however, is crap. It's a tinny omni on the screen bezel that likes room noise more than my voice. I don't have an external microphone, and there's no onboard Bluetooth for my wireless headset. So I bought a USB Bluetooth adapter, which this computer is ignoring as hard as the other one is the wifi dongle. I have a wired headset with a mic, but because this computer is probably mere months too old to know what to do with an inline mic on the same jack as the output signal, it doesn't register at all.

The camera on my phone is potato quality, because that is honestly about how much the phone cost. Ditto the refurb Kindle. Neither is smart enough to keep up with streaming video, which I found out when I tried to do a video rehearsal for something months ago. 

I have no place to do any kind of professional non-entertainment streaming work (e.g., tutoring) with my terrible equipment in any event. I don't own a desk. If a free desk appeared on my doorstep tomorrow, I would have nowhere to put it. My bedroom is small enough to contravene the Geneva Convention requirements for POW cells and I'm basically stuck in here, for reasons of both air conditioning and not having to interact with a house full of people who very much want me gone.

What I do have is a set of working emulators and some free video editing software, so I decided to take a stab at a subtitled Let's Play. I can certainly ramble on for 30 or so hours of Final Fantasy II. At the very least it'll give me something scheduled to do. So I pulled everything out and set it up, only to find that my controller was "pining for the fjords" -- no lights, no acknowledgement from RetroArch, no response to any button presses.

...

...okay, well, at least we're down to a level of equipment I can afford to replace. So I am waiting for the mail carrier to bring me another $10 gamepad, whilst stuck in bureaucratic hell. I'm down to emergency public assistance, which keeps asking me to send them random documents, inconveniently one at a time. Even when I can submit them online I'm required to wait a minimum of 2-3 business days before a human can look at them. I'm trying to not be mad -- they are clearly horribly overworked -- but it also leaves me with a lot of time to do nothing but busy-wait. They've finally decided I'm destitute enough for food stamps, so now I have to sit on my hands until the card arrives in the mail.

The chronic, crushing lack of resources is not helped by (or helping) the fact that I'm just not functioning very well. I was already on the edge of disintegration when the lockdown orders hit anyway; I was taking every piece of work I could find in an effort to scrape together enough for first/last/deposit on a new apartment, and honestly that's more than I can handle. I can consistently get to about 20 hours of "stuff that can't be done while in bed, wearing pajamas" per week, with occasional spikes up to about 30, before I start losing the ability to take care of myself. I skip showers, let my living space become a complete disaster area, and go to bed without dinner because the whole process of choosing something to eat, preparing it, eating it, and cleaning up after myself is so overwhelming that I just burst into tears and don't do it. I fed the rats twice a day and cleaned their cage once or twice a week, but couldn't manage to do the same for myself.

It's difficult to explain to people the state of being physically and mentally exhausted without also being sweaty and shaky from muscle fatigue. Perhaps the single most salient example I can give is lying in bed at night and realizing I kind of vaguely needed to pee. Not like urgently -- just enough that I knew if I didn't, I'd wake up the next day with an uncomfortably full bladder. Then just lying there anyway, not because I thought suffering was noble or I deserved it or anything idiotic like that, but just because taking care of it would involve standing up, walking into another room, and initiating a new task, and I did not have the capacity to do any of those things.

If you suggest I start making a to-do list, I will sit down right now and invent a brand new Blunt Object Transfer Protocol (botp://) expressly for the purpose of punching you, personally, in the face over the goddamn internet. I will even credit you in the patent application. I will not share the licensing profits, which judging from social media right now, would be approximately all of the money on the face of the Earth. I do not need "life hacks". 

What I really need is a case worker, or possibly a babysitter, or just to have shown up at the ER about two months ago, because that is the only way I have ever found to get people to pay attention when I ask for help. Otherwise I get triaged out of sight and out of mind -- they ask if I'm suicidal, I tell them no, they tell me 'okay, here's a prescription for six Xanax and a packet of resources, go home and fix it yourself'. I'm just like, you sons of bitches, do you think I don't know how to Google things? If I could fix this on my own, I wouldn't be talking to you. Except I can't right now, because plague.

Everyone wants to fob me off on someone else. I was referred to an SSDI attorney by a friend, because frankly that's where I'm at right now. I wrote to them, specifically mentioning his name and the associate who helped him, and explained that I was basically a vegetable and I needed help applying for disability. I'm a college-educated suburban white girl, who grew up hearing her parents make rude jokes about welfare queens -- I have no idea how any of this works and I'm so broken I kept losing my place in a blanket whose pattern was literally "knit-purl-knit-purl to end of row; turn work over; repeat". Their response was "Sounds like you need some help applying for SSDI/SSI disability. Here's the website for the Boston Bar Association, good luck!" Crisis lines of both the psychiatric and financial varieties keep directing me to one of two national clearinghouse sites for social support services, both of which direct me to each other, because neither has any programs in my area.

I am trying really, really hard not to resent the ever-loving fuck out of anyone who has any sort of support system right now. One housemate has almost the exact same list of medical problems that I do, and is also completely out of work right now. She is married to the one who has a grown-up salaried WFH IT job, and will never have to worry about having a roof over her head or food in the cabinets. The single housemate has supportive family literally a five minute walk down the street; if she ever gets her feet kicked out from under her, she can stay with them temporarily while she scrambles back up. Another friend yote out to California right before lockdown to stay with his family. A local offered to help me with paperwork, then ghosted me intermittently before explaining that he was having a hard time himself right now and barely had the capacity for his own life. I have an elderly rat, no more savings, and no options.

I don't even know how I'm going to move the little I own. How do you even ask people to do that in the middle of a pandemic? If I don't have the money to move, I definitely don't have the money for a moving company, and I'm envisioning all of my community-minded friends pursing their lips in judgement and declining because like all the good people they are diligently social distancing.

I have also discovered, while hauling an empty suitcase out to Watertown and a full one back home again, that I do not cope well with face masks. It's fine if I'm not doing much, especially if I'm in a climate-controlled space like a store or the T, but as soon as I exert myself at all, I see spots. And no, it is not a matter of "just get used to it"; I have tested this by trying to wear a mask during my home workouts. It is just stuffy enough under there, and there is just enough reduction in air flow, that the world keeps going all film-grainy and dark on the sides, which I know from experience is the first step on a very short path to the Magical Land of Syncope. I had to stop during the outdoor trek and sit on the suitcase about twice a block through the commercial district, where it stayed on because there were people. This was when it was 72 whole degrees out (and the AC is generally on 74°F inside) which doesn't bode well for moving my heavy shit around in late August. 

I'm normally good at catching things at the weird-vision stage, although enough random strangers and T employees have asked me if I'm okay that I have to assume I look as ill as I feel at that point. And I have an absolutely tragic talent for talking people out of calling emergency services when I do actually keel over, but everyone is so health-panicked that I don't think it would work right now. I know what's happened and why, but I can't exactly communicate that to bystanders when I'm unconscious. As nice as EMS is, I don't feel like waking up to a round of Twenty Questions ("How many fingers am I holding up? Who's the President? Do you have a seizure disorder?"). So I just don't go out.

Alison over at Ask A Manager got a question about this the other day that suggests this is considered legitimate can't-(always-)wear-a-mask territory, and I am able to wear a mask where required in MA, which is indoors/during interactions with other people when it's actually useful, so I don't have any qualms on the scientific or legal front. I have just never been a good judge of how much potential peril/damage it's "reasonable" to put up with, and I don't have the capacity to explain myself over and over again a million times a day. 

I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of covid, I'm tired of living in a big glitzy continent-spanning banana republic, I'm tired of anxiety, I'm tired of other people carping at me to do things I can't in order to fix their anxiety for them, I'm tired of not having the space to dance, I'm tired of asking for help before things fall apart and being told 'well, come back when it is an emergency', and most of all I'm tired of this cycle where I tell myself "I'm going to stop being lazy! I'm going to put on my big-girl pants and wake up early and work 40 hours a week and support myself like an adult!" and then fail at it again because I just do not have the capacity to do that. I do not know how to make the system understand that I need some kind of support right now. 

Sorry for yet another depressing update, but that's where I am right now.

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[pcygoldenchild]

Ambassador Kim Jongin 4

🐻summary: Kim Jongin, Ambassador of Gucci, and one hell of a man. You, designer for the newest collection, and one guilty of falling star struck. Opportunity, easier said than done.

🐻warnings: none, minimal sexual themes, fluff.

The morning of, a wonderful or horrific thing. Depends on the circumstances at hand. Did the night end in a blur? Not at all; you remember everything that went down. Do you know where you are? Ambassador Kim Jongin’s luxurious penthouse. Were you alone? Yes, but it was his home so he had to be there somewhere. Therefore it was a wonderful morning after. You layed in the large bed covered in silk sheets and couldn’t help but smile. The person you had an fun night of love making with was an amazing man. You weren’t scared that you’d have an awkward relationship. You weren’t worried about if you could still work together. He didn’t seem to be that kind of guy. He was extremely professional and wouldn’t take the risk of sleeping with you if he knew it could mess up everything. If he were, he’d never have pursued you. He’d go for someone like Jenna or whatever her name was.

You stayed in thought about the missing man in the middle of his bed. You peeked over at the time thinking it was around 9am. You didn’t have the photo shoot until 2pm. But at first glance the time was 2pm and at second glance it was 12pm. It is better than 2pm but it’s still way too late. You got up and rushed around grabbing your things. The dress you wore just wasn’t appealing to you at the moment of needing to move fast. So you looked around until your eyes landed on Jongin’s shirt. Cliche morning after attire but you’d make it work. You tied your hair up in a loose messy ponytail and put on the shirt leaving three buttons undone at the top. It fit you like a tee shirt dress and you loved the look of a simple oversized button up and some heels. It was a blessing to have such a designer mind. You grabbed your shoes and ran downstairs. You heard Jongin call out to you and you had your phone in your mouth so you couldn’t answer as you put your heels on. You did try but it was muffled. When you didn’t answer he came out to the living room.

“Were you just trying to sneak out on me?” he asked walking over to you completely naked. You finished putting on your heels and stood back up.

“No Jongin. I’m late.” you exclaimed turning away from him. You went to throw him a blanket but he just let it fall to the floor. But he noticed that when you bent over, you weren’t wearing any underwear.

“I’m not covering up what you’ve seen already. And you really thought I’d let you out in that? Just my shirt and nothing else?” he said coming forward and taking ahold of your chin before kissing you. He knew the time he had to be at the shoot. He knew you had to be there earlier than the models. Why was he so nonchalant?

“Jongin I am late. I don’t hate time to chit chat. And you need to get ready. Oh my god. I have to call my car and get them all the way here and that’s going to take 30 minutes as is. And another 30 minutes to get to the shoot not to mention traffic. I need to shower and be on set way earlier than all of you. There is no way that’s happening now. Why didn’t you wake me? Why-,” you ranted out walking back and forth fiddling with your phone. Your brain was racing a million miles an hour. And now you had to figure this out.

“Stop. Listen. Don’t talk.” he said standing in front of you holding you still with his finger to your lips. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes before opening them and looking at him.

“You look really amazing.” he said after a minute.

“Jongin please!” you whined.

“Ok sorry! Listen. I woke up in the middle of the night and was exhausted. You were laying on me and I figured you’d have to sleep in so I texted your team and managed to push the time back to 5pm. You needed to rest and I wanted you to stay as long as you could.” he said. Your hands went to his chest as your heart stopped racing. It was like a ton of bricks just disintegrated off your shoulders. You let out a breath you were holding since you woke up and he pulled you to him.

“You’re cute when you’re worried. But don’t stress your pretty head. I’ve got you.” he said rocking back and forth. You laughed and pushed off him with the cheekiest smile on your face.

“Can you put some clothes on?” you laughed using your hands to shield his crotch from your eyes.

“Why? Am I distracting you?” he said moving forward and pulling you to him again before ripping his shirt open. You laughed and pushed past him to the steps.

“I’m a designer Mr. Ambassador. I don’t get distracted.” you said before turning to go upstairs. You walked into his room and to his bathroom where you started the shower. You heard him come in behind you as you dropped the shirt off your shoulders. You turned to face him and saw a very star struck Kim Jongin.

“Am I distracting you?” you tease.

“Very much so.” he said pushing you into the shower.

🐻

When you arrived to the shoot location everything was set and ready. Your assistant already started styling and dressing the models based on your descriptions. You and Jongin walked in together hand and hand a giggling mess. Jenna, or whatever her name was, came prooding over to you with her bad attitude and annoying presence.

“While you were out fucking your way to the top, I had 3 pins stuck into my side by your stupid assistant.” she barks at you. You scoff and your face is of pure disgust. But before you could say anything Jongin steps in front of you and does his own thing.

“I don’t appreciate the way you talk to her. She is your boss, your employer. You are her model. What would you be without this job? Unemployed. Imagine your life after you get zero gigs for being blacklisted for disrespecting the Y/N who topped Gucci. I don’t think you realize how unimportant your role is here. And since you seem to have such a disrespectful view of this magnificent woman, you can leave.” he said. He said that all to her. Right in front of everyone. She had tears in her eyes but it was moreso out of anger. She looked at you and back to him.

“I hope fucking her was fun while it lasted. How long before you get tired of little miss plain jane. Please. I’m much more than she will ever be. No one even knows her name.” she said. And that’s when you had a couple words for her yourself; before Jongin could.

“Fucking me was great from what I can remember from last night. And then there was this morning. Twice, in and out of the shower. But that’s just the life of little miss plain jane. And it’s funny you mention names here. Here, in my shoot...for Gucci. For the new collection that I just designed. Names? I haven’t got a fucking clue what yours is. But that’s the difference between you and I. You have a known name but it’s forgotten. I am only just getting started. No one may know my name now, but trust me. They certainly will.” you smiled deviously. You never talked like that to someone. But it felt amazing to do so. The look on her face was priceless. Your words struck a deep nerve. She stood there, completely at a shock of what just happened. You looked at the security and had her escorted out. It had you feeling brand new. Everyone in the room smiled at you and some bowing their heads. You turned to look at Jongin and before you could say anything, he grabbed your face and kissed your lips unlike he had done before.

“I think I love you.” he whispered. You smiled and kissed him back.

“Get in line Ambassador.” you teased.

[dragoninthecloud]

Following the crumbs back to you - Chapter 1

Tried my hand at some Marichat this time. Got some fluff, cookies, and two lovable teenagers.

HUGE thank you to @tbehartoo for making it better <3

Chapter 2

-~-

Chat Noir landed on the balcony with a quiet thump, ears perked forward as he looked over his classmate. Marinette was wearing her pyjamas and slumped back in her chair with one arm holding a white cardboard box on her lap and the other thrown over her face, which she lifted slightly to look over at him when he let himself down from the railing.

“Hey Chat, what brings you to my balcony this completely random Monday night?”

He snorted at her overly exaggerated surprised tone. “Well I heard you were giving out cookies today, so I’ve come to beg for leftovers.”

“Oh? And where exactly did you hear that you greedy stray?”

He grinned as he walked over to her chair and nudged her so she’d make space for him. He really liked this sassy, almost flirty, person he’d managed to make friends with while wearing his mask, who was happy to let him hang out and snuggle and occasionally feed him. He just wished it would bleed over to when he wasn’t wearing his mask as well. Marinette didn’t give him anywhere near enough hugs.

“Around,” he said innocently as he sat down and slid his arm behind her shoulders, laughing as she grumbled and shifted around to settle back against him more comfortably.

“You follow Adrien on social media, don’t you,” she said flatly as she snuggled in against his neck.

“I follow some of his followers,” he hedged, trying not to smirk. “I may or may not have seen the photo of those chocolate chip cat shaped biscuits you made for him that he shared this morning.”

She sighed and he could tell she was rolling her eyes, even if he couldn’t see them right now, but then she lifted her head up and they were nose to nose and his breath caught for a moment at how close she was and the twinkle in her eyes.

“Well, luckily for you, I do in fact have some here. And if you promise to not laugh at them, I’ll let you help me destroy the evidence of my latest screw up.”

“Oh? You’re trying to tempt a hero of Paris to a life of crime?” At her confused look, he explained solemnly “destroying evidence isn’t exactly heroic you know. I expected better from you.”

She pulled back slightly and blinked wide eyes at him, which made his breath catch all over again, before her face split in a wide smirk and he was suddenly slightly afraid. “I thought you’d go willingly, but if you don’t want these chocolate orange cookies, I can just eat them all myself…”

Chat tried to grab for the box and pouted as she kept it just out of reach.

“Oh no Chat, you’re right. I can’t let you take that first step. Next thing you know, you’ll be scratching up door frames and benches and joining Hawkmoth and-“

He dug his knuckles in to her side and wiggled them, causing her to stop with a screeched laugh and bat at his hand, leaving the box free to be grabbed away from her. He poked at her ribs one last time before letting go, smirking as she glared at him and tried to reach for the box. He wrapped his arm around her waist to hold her still and held the box out until she huffed and slumped against him, practically laying half on top of him now. Which was warm and comfy and they should totally do this more often.

“So why would I laugh at your baking? There were pictures of the other things you made, and none of them were laugh worthy.”

She laughed and snuggled back down against his side as he put the box back in his lap and slid a claw through the tape holding the lid down and flipped the top open, only for her to put her hand on top to shut it again as a blush grew on her cheeks.

“I did some baking over the weekend, and I wanted to take these ones in for my, my friend. But instead I managed to take the box I’d set aside for you. Don’t get any ideas,” she added quickly, meeting his eyes for a second before looking back down at the box. “I just happened to find the cat head cutter and remembered you liked the choc chip last time I made some. Which is just as well really,” she said as she finally pulled her hand away and let him lift the lid again. “Because if I had taken these ones in it would have been a disaster! I mean just look at them, this is a perfect example of why you don’t cook and decorate cookies at three a.m.”

Marinette kept talking as she took a biscuit from the now open box and started to wave it around, seeming to not notice that he wasn’t exactly listening anymore.

Heart shaped cookies, topped with candied orange peel and red and pink icing either outlining the hearts or in elegant AA’s. They were brown with faint orange swirls, the same as she’d brought in for them to taste test the week before, and he’d been begging for more ever since. His hand was shaking as he pulled one out of the box and held it up to get a better look at it. Yeah. That was definitely a heart all right.

He thought back to that morning, and all the other things she’d made. Camera shaped gingersnaps for Alya, chocolatey swirls like records for Nino, Markov shaped shortbread for Max, lavender cookies for Rose, something oaty for Mylene… everything had been individualised and made with thought and care. And she’d made hearts for Adrien in the flavour he liked.

She was still talking as his brain tried to process this new information, and slowly fitted itself in with everything else he had kind of, sort of, triednot to notice over the years: the stuttering when they first met, the posters in her room, the blushing, the stumbling and clumsiness that used to show up more when she knew he was there, the times Alya and Nino bailed on them, or deliberately set them up together both wearing knowing smiles.

Huh.

He tried to tune back in to what she was saying, but then she was pressing the cookie she was holding against his lips and he automatically bit in to it. It snapped in half and she looked at it, then popped the rest in her own mouth.

“So, what do you think? Good huh? Wait, you’re not allergic to anything, right? You’ve gone really red,” she mumbled around the biscuit.

He stared at her, eyes scanning her face for any tell that she was lying, teasing him somehow, but he saw only truth and concern and crumbs and icing stuck to her lips, and then he got caught on the tongue that had poked out to clean them.

“Chat?”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, which were really close again and getting closer and she was looking concerned and he swallowed so his mouth could start talking with little input from his brain.

“Yeah, yeah they’re really good. All chocolatey and orangey and, and, and good. Why are we getting rid of them again? Don’t you think whoever they were for would want them?”

She blushed again and snapped her mouth shut, leaning back and looking down, seeing the biscuit he was holding. She sighed and took it from him, catching the crumbs from where he’d apparently been gripping it too tightly, and started to nibble on the edge.

“Well, Alya knows that the ones I gave Adrien, the cat faces, weren’t for him. I might have freaked out to her about it at lunch time. And she wants me to bring these ones in to give to him tomorrow, but she doesn’t get it, Chat. Not only would I be giving Adrien a box of heart shaped, heart decorated cookies, but I’d be giving them without also giving more to the rest of the class to hide behind. So it’ll be really obvious I’m singling him out. And with my luck, something will go wrong. I’ll trip over myself and send them flying and get icing all over him and ruin his clothes and then he’d hate me and his father would hate me and get me blacklisted from ever working in fashion and I’ll never get to date him or get married and have three kids and a hamster named-”

He couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him and cut her off. He really couldn't. Because wow. That was, that was something else. She pouted at him, and it was adorable, and he couldn’t help but pull her in closer and nuzzle his nose against the side of her head either. He was sure he was just as red as her, if not more so. Because wow. Marinette liked him.

She pulled back to look up at him and he felt his heart jump at her wide blue eyes. Blue eyes that suddenly reminded him of Ladybug. Ladybug who he had been declaring his love for for quite a while now.

Ladybug who he was in love with. Ladybug who he had been in love with for a very long time at this point. Ladybug, who had repeatedly shot him down, and told him she loved someone in her civilian life. Ladybug who had told him that they had to stay professional, so even if she did like him, even if she could see him as anything else, couldn’t do anything about it because of Hawkmoth and the danger. Ladybug who was the most important person in the world to him. Who loved him fiercely, but platonically.

But the girl he currently had his arm around, she loved him in a very not platonic way. Part of him at least. And Marinette was apparently a lot more complex than he’d thought, if he’d somehow missed seeing this in all his interactions with her. But then, he’d never really looked at her in that way before.

Maybe it was time to start?

“Fine, fine, I get it. I’ll help you get rid of these ones, on one condition.”

“I’ll eat them myself after all thanks,” she muttered.

“I’ll help you get rid of these if I also get to help you make more for him. More of these chocolate orange ones, but no hearts this time, and no pink icing. I’m free tomorrow afternoon, after five maybe, for a couple of hours. And then you can give them to him Wednesday. Deal?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, wary.

“Why are you helping me, Chat? If you’re just doing this so you can make fun of me…”

“No, no Marinette, nothing like that, never. I just think you deserve a chance at happiness, and you really seem to like this guy. And maybe, maybe he’ll like you too. If he has any sense. But you’ve got to let him know you’re interested first, right? And you’ve got to give him a chance to get to know you.”

“I…. fine. Tomorrow, after five thirty. Now shut up and eat already.”

-~-

Next

[toyfrog]

“Parents don’t stay angry with their children. Or their grandchildren.”

“And that's who you are to us. It doesn't matter who you were. This is who you are and who you'll always be.” “It’s like Lipstick on a pig.” Ahhh Brimley be still my heart... Sending out a hug to Lizzington fandom. This is not a “I told you so,” post that would be mean. However this *is* and *always* has been the direction of the show since season one with a surprising twist. Was the show wrong to manipulate you guys? Yes. But at this level of you think there’s any hope or prayer for a coupling you’re not going to get it. You never were. The dynamic has always been the same- Liz/Ressler the love couple: Red/Liz father/daughter it’s complicated love story. This wasSeason 2 until Eggold’s story disrupted the flow, the pace, and greedy writers room took a surgical knife and gutted solid portions of story, left characters in limbo. It sucked. “I'm not conflicted about killing you. I'm conflicted because I can't. Because I can neither kill nor trust nor forgive.” This deep freeze will go on through Season 7. Now that Agnes is returning-Liz plans to use her inadvertently to bond with Reddington... This writing team is creating new shifty characters which I do like because they don’t change the main plot line it’s still the same. Lol “I’m a sucker forLimoges.” So am I 😊 Love seeing Red negotiating. “Are you upset? Conflicted. About what? I live and work by a very strict code built on loyalty, justice, trust. I survive because I eliminate those who betray it. Up until now, no one has been spared, not even my closest associates. Not even Kate Kaplan.” This should’ve been Red’s reaction against Liz in Season 2 after he was shot and in season 3 after he discovere Liz faked her death... but there was no fallout- just Kate getting “killed” Or is she really dead?🤔 to write the wrong of this show is to bring her back! This is key dialogue so pay attention. Key dialogue.... “So that's what you're conflicted about? Whether or not to kill me because I betrayed some "code"? You can mock it because you live in a world with institutionalized codes, where order has already been imposed by powerful forces outside of yourself, where there are laws and rules for everything. I live in a world with no laws, no rules, and certainly no order. So I have to impose my own.” Task Force and Ressler and Liz will be adopting these rules because Anna McMahon and the Cabal will Be rewriting the rules. Hey. Where have you been hiding? - What do you mean? - You've been a ghost ever since I told you that I've been looking into who Reddington was. Ahhhh sweet. Not plot driven. Ressler Missing his partner-life partner lol. The more intimate details they share, the more season 3 dialogue up till end of artax network should piss you. Off. “Thought maybe you were still pissed at me.” What? No. I'm grateful. Ressler’s heart swells three sizes with her response. Her, who knew? Oh gee not me no sireee what do I know wishful thinking right? “If anything ever happened to you I’d never forgive myself.” You did what you thought was best for me. I'm grateful for that. “IF ANYTHING EVER HAPPENED TO YOU ID NEVER FORGIVE MYSELF.” What I said earlier was true. I'm grateful that you're a good friend. But, um, I'm also grateful for what you did, for telling me about my grandfather. This means Liz has the hots literally and FEELINGS forRessler.. the Ummmms will continue. “Nothing worse than when a child disappoints-like being impaled by a unicorn.” HAHAHAHAHA!!!! Glorious. Yes Liz has pissed off her Dad! Red is so so SO disappointed with her. And here comes more KEY DIALOGUE!!! [WHISPERING] I found him, and he told me about Reddington, about who he was. Wait. You You know? His name was Ilya Koslov. He and Katarina were childhood friends, and then they were in the Cabal together. Ah childhood... “But why take on Reddington's identity?” I KNOW I KNOW!!! My lips are sealed. “After the fire, after I shot my father and the world was after Katarina, the only way for her to survive was to access the funds they used to frame Reddington.” “You are going to be SO WEALTHY.” Yeah, but they couldn't do it without Reddington. Since he was already dead, Ilya Koslov brought him back to life. That's the answer that Reddington killed people to keep quiet? - I mean, why? - I don't know. SEASON 7. To protect me somehow? To protect himself. Ilya Koslov and Katarina Rostova disappeared after betraying powerful people with long memories who were willing to kill to find out information about their whereabouts. Or try to. So guess whose the next couple to betray people with long memories? Or at least be framed thanks to Anna McMahon? Reddington will so be needed and his code of NO RULES. Welcome to the CIA. A couple of weeks ago, I got the drop on some KGB mook who had heard that I was looking into Katarina.” Yeah Ressler- you in danger babe... your bae will be freaking out and blaming herself... “IF ANYTHING HAPPENED TO YOU ID NEVER FORGIVE MYSELF.” This is KEY TO THE ENTIRE MYTHOLOGY OF THE BLACKLIST. It GOES ALL THE WAY BACK TO ANSLO GARRICK. what kind of leads I had. That's why he's keeping it a secret. That's why we can't tell anyone. Yeah, but we got to tell Cooper and ARAM. Pillow talk. How sexy. Go back to Season 2 after they bumped off Alan Fitch... Whoever he was, he is Reddington. Cooper will understand that, but he might feel obliged to tell someone in the Bureau who doesn't. KEY DIALOGUE... Anna McMahon does not trust the Task Force, and she hates Reddington. She's looking for any excuse to shut us down. Perjury, breaking the law, letting fugitives go... yeah those are causes to shutdown and assasinate everyone... that dossier is the new fulcrum. THE SHOW NEEDS LEONARD CAUL FOR THIS LEG OF STORY HELLO!! You're worried that they'll void his immunity agreement. YUP THEY WILL AMONG OTHER THINGS. Once Reddington disappears that’s the mystery isn’t it? I'm pretty sure I had the right to know the truth, and I'm absolutely sure no one else does.” Yeah NO you’re wrong. Go back to Season one and you’ll recall why. An episode featuring Diane Fowler being shot in the belly—-a house blown to smithereens. Look, I get that, but is it the truth? KEY DIALOGUE. I mean, does it make sense that this is the answer he'd kill to keep quiet? This is why what happens to Ressler is essential to understanding Reddington’s secret. That so many people have died trying to find out? It's because so many people died that I gave up my child. To protect Agnes until I learned the truth. She hasn’t learned the truth so guess who will e in danger in the finale? Except not a infant this time... Am I sure I know why he guarded his secret? No. Is it possible that I'm overlooking some of the holes in the story because there's a sweetness to it? Yes, it's possible. Rose colored glasses are cute on Liz. But it's more possible that it's true. "More possible. " Ilya Koslov had motive and opportunity. If this were a crime, you'd say it was solved, and you'd believe you were right.” Don’t it words into his mouth... Ressler’s gut instinct won’t let it go and that is a good thing. IF ANYTHING HAPPENED TO YOU ID NEVER FORGIVE MYSELF.” Hang tight. Enjoy this moment where THE WRITERS ROOM ROBBED KEENLER OF THEIR BABY AND WEDDING. If you can’t see it here compared to now... You’re fooling yourself.

[nightcoremoon]

I wanna coin a term:

Cismisogyny

the misogyny that cisnormative people utilize is focused on "biological/natal sex" and birth assigned gender, as well as intersex erasure, and is basically just glorified genital supremacy. that people with penises have power over people with vaginas, and therefore people with a uterus are inferior. it's a very particular type of sexism that's a blend of transphobia and misogyny but from a cis lens.

transmisogyny is specifically prejudice against what they deem to be trans women (as they're unaware that "passing" trans women exist), so cismisogyny would be specifically prejudice against what they deem to be cis women (or what they would just say is women), and is a separate notion entirely from the misogyny that misogynist trans men and misogynist but not transphobic cis men (and brainwashed dumb white blonde haired blue eyed bimbo trophy wives for conservative men so think a cookie cutter carbon copy of tomi lahren) frequently feel.

so to clarify:

Misogyny: hating all women

Transmisogyny: hating trans women

Transphobia*: hating trans people in general

(*includes gender binarism and truscum)

Cismisogyny: hating people with vaginas, indeterminate of whether they're trans or not

...

It's a very specific term but it describes a very specific type of sexism, you see. As someone who does not have a vagina, is transgender, and has the benefit of viewing things from an objective standpoint due to autism, it's a very disturbing trend I see in many parts of society. Even here on Tumblr.

I just saw a take that was blaming trans men and dfab nonbinary people for the lack of trans women's voices in trans spaces, and saying that they are silent about it because the silent oppression of trans women benefits them. A very cold take indeed. Trans men and dfab nonbinary people aren't responsible for the transmisogyny. Cis people are. And the reason why is because cis people typically are usually also male supremacists. If what a cis person perceives to be a male tries to "become a female" such as trans women and dmab nonbinary people (because cis people and male supremacists typically are also binarists), that is them rejecting the privilege society awarded us for having the magic Y chromosome that allows humans to be treated with dignity and respect. If what a cis person perceives to be a female tries to "become a male" such as a trans man or a dfab nonbinary person (see my prior parenthical remark), that is them attempting to reject femininity and embrace the superiority of masculinity, which accepts them into their ranks.

So trans men and dfab nonbinary people are typically lauded by many cis male-supremacist people are socially acceptable, especially since many of them seem to be okay with tomboys and women wearing suits and just a general overall sense of women embracing masculinity and rejecting femininity. That's acceptable to a bunch of white christian post-colonials. And of course degenerates would feel it's an "added bonus" to ~get~ to see breasts and vaginas in the locker room because tHaTs sO hOt.

But dmab people who identify as anything but men? Absolutely loathsome, in cis eyes, because femininity is EVIL and BAD and INFERIOR.

Cissexism is of course a definition I've seen, but it seems to be basically a synonym for transphobia. But see, while cismisogyny as I am describing it is indeed rooted in transphobic ideology, it doesn't seem to be in and of itself explicitly transphobic. I'll have to explain that.

Like. All white people are racist. Every person with white skin color benefits from the privilege accompanying it, at the expense of the people who don't. We perform microaggressions that we don't notice all the time. We absorb all of the negativity and racism society forcefeeds us, subliminal propaganda, and it releases itself. Now, a white person could actively fight and campaign for black rights. They could respect black culture and art. They could listen to and understand wu tang clan without ever letting a slur pass their lips. They could date black people who don't find them racist. They could be the least racist person you've ever met. But they would still be at least somewhat racist because that's how human development works. But just because they're not republican or a 4channer, don't laugh at lynching jokes, don't use slurs, don't treat black people as less or inferior, don't literally murder black people, that doesn't mean they aren't racist at all. It just means they're not specifically that kind of overt explicitly violent antiblackness like the kkk. It's a different tier of racism. It's not as severe or as noticeable, but it's still racism.

And it's the same way with cis people. Many cis people are supportive of trans people on the surface. They'll smile and welcome you into their homes and hug you and walk you to the bathroom and respect your name/pronouns and go clothes shopping with you and be the shoulder to cry on when someone attacks them and fight congress for your rights and punch a transphobic asshole in the face. But they still can & do perform transphobic microagressions for no other reason than society instilled those ideals in their heads since birth when they put the M or F on your birth certificate or in slightly rarer cases performed surgery on your infant genitals without parental consent. They can sympathize, they can attempt to empathize, but they will never fully understand. And that's okay. If they try, that's good enough.

Just as there are many tiers of racism there are many tiers of transphobia. Cismisogyny is one such tier that intersects with binarism and standard misogyny. People who aren't typically transphobic could still be cismisogynist. Even I can admit to experience cismisogyny in my life through sexual exploitation. My orientation is bisexual with a strong preference towards cis women, trans men, and dfab nonbinary people. I don't want it to be like that. And it's not like cis men, trans women, and dmab nonbinary people are not attractive to me, because they are (unf chris hemsworth 👌🏻🤤), but due to the social conditioning in my being born and raised a "straight white christian red blooded hoosier man" and the cismisogyny accompanying that, the entitlement complex that manifested side by side with my "nice guy in the friend zone" complex, that I didn't unlearn until after I was already a fully grown adult, that's how my brain be like. I recognize it in myself, and that's how I know that it exists. And it took that ignorant shitty post for me to actually be able to put these thoughts in writing.

I don't blame trans men and dfab nonbinary people for my social isolation and distinct lack of friends who are also trans women. I don't blame this new wave of drag kings and bio queens. I blame cissexism, cisheteropatriarchy, transphobia, transmisogyny, and cismisogyny. I blame the people responsible for the situation of our society. I don't blame my brothers, my siblings, my friends and family. I won't throw them under the bus, just as they didn't throw me under. We're all in this together, and I'm glad that they're having less difficulty than I am in that specific situation. Especially because due to my aforementioned objectivity, I've also noticed all of the hatred and vitriol hurled towards them, especially by dudebro gamer culture. I've seen it. I know it's there.

So I know I'm not really popular online. Very few people know me. My only claim to fame is the "aliens: [slide $40 to nasa] nasa: lmao what aliens" post and even then they don't know the individual URLs of the three of us involved. In fact I'm pretty sure the number of people I'm blacklisted by and blocked by is double my follower count. Even with the bots. Maybe even triple. Things I've said taken out of context have in the past made me look like I'm racist, transmisandrist, a sexual predator, a fucking rape apologist, and worst of all a person who "didn't get a joke" that I ignored heaving pile of religious intolerance that hates jews, muslims, christians, and... everyone else (people who weren't judeochristian didn't seem to care). Certain circlejerks herald me as a king of clowns of a sort (I'd say queen but they were mostly transphobic lmao). So I know that this post will get ignored. Maybe two or three people will like it. Maybe one person will reblog it... like that one crimson lady monarch, or the mildly irked homosexual wyvern, you two know who you are. Maybe nobody will. And looking back it's much more likely for a bunch of dumb uglyass terf cunts taking my sexual preferences bit out of context to make all trans women look like evil sex predators, than any people will see my vocabulary suggestion. But there is a reason why I'll hit post and not delete.

Cismisogynist trans women don't speak for me. Despite the problematic microaggressions my shit tier bad brain development perpetuates, despite what any ignorant cis tries to tell me, despite all of that shit... if you try to talk shit about my family I will obliterate you.

[laur-rants]

Fic Complete: Wolfbann

Chapter 17: With Reckless Abandon

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Chapter Synopsis: Time to crash the Boyle party and start a new chapter for Daud and Corvs

*Note: The read more may not appear for mobile users. For this, I sincerely apologize. The best way to avoid this is to blacklist #long post Special thanks to @wantonlywindswept for being the fucking rock this fic needed, my constant fan. This fic was all for you, boo. Thank you so much. I love you. A lot. And its very VERY gay.

AO3 Link

Previous :: First

The lights of extravagant decoration hung high in the sky, so bright even the stars scattered from their brilliance. Giant balloons floated over and around the Boyle mansion, making the cold of Dunwall's winter seem a little less bitter. The party goers below seemed oblivious to the weather; the Boyle sisters kept the grounds heated, both in temperature and the alcohol burning in their guest's veins. They all laughed and yelled behind elaborate masks, eyes turned to the night sky as one of the huge balloons burst suddenly, showering confetti down on the disgruntled security guards below. Another in the cluster followed it, and another; inebriated patrons cheered, clapping at the show.

Among the distracted crowd, a shadow moved. One with a long coat, a well-fitted vest, and a metal mask that laughed like death. There was a long sword at his hip and a wristbow hidden in one of his gloves, but the guards didn't seem to care or pay any mind. They just shooed away the stiff figure when they caught him at the lavish dining table, telling him half-heartedly to put his weapons away. The masked man scoffed as the guard frowned; he grabbed a slab of bread and cheese and shrugged apologetically before darting off, quiet as a ghost.

The Boyle house, this skull-masked man was finding out, was a never-ending maze. Even when he thought he knew the layout, he ended up somewhere… unexpected. This time, it appeared he had escaped into a small dining parlor, one full of loiterers and smokers. A woman in a moth mask and a man in a whale mask watched him carefully, even as he awkwardly eyed his plate of food.

“That's quite the mask you have there,” the moth purred, and the metal face twitched to attention. “Almost like those masked felon stories from the plague.”

That laughing mask tilted, the individual behind it clearing his throat. “Yes, that is where the inspiration came from,” he said, rough voice grating. The woman seemed pleased with the answer, as if nothing could be more exciting.

“At least someone at this party has a sense of mystery about them,” she laughed and her companion scoffed, annoyed. “If you ever need a good time, just ask for Miss White.”

The metal mask nodded, falling into a mock bow. Miss White giggled, making her friend even more distraught. He put a hand on her shoulder and steered her away, loudly proclaiming “More like suspicious. I'd steer clear of such unsightly masks, if I were you, Miss White.”

The mask watched them leave from behind glass lenses fitted into deep sockets. Then, he disappeared entirely.

In a magical blink and a flurry of smoke he was outside, perched just above a top floor balcony. Next to him emerging from the roof's shadow, a giant dog appeared, its eyes glowing in the dark and blending in among the lights. He held the plate out; a brown, greying snout sniffed, eying the mask critically.

“Bread and cheese with no wine ?” the wolf mentally inquired, incredulous.

“Listen, I'm not a maid or a waitress. If you don't want it, Rinaldo, toss it to someone else.”

The wolf's lip curled before chewing down the quick meal. Mildly satisfied, he licked his nose before looking down over the party below. The mask watched him, choosing his next words carefully.

“Seen anything worth reporting?”

“A few things, all of them boring. From the patrol, this is looking to be a typical Boyle masquerade. Some patrons are complaining that this is the second masked party in a row from the sisters, do they're disappointed.”

“Any word on the target?”

“Yes. Connor's deduced it's Waverly. She's in red. Last seen near her sister in the music room, but moving upstairs. Might be able to intercept her there.”

“And Brimsly?”

The wolf's lip curled into a wicked grin.

“We're keeping him occupied.”

The mask groaned, shaking his head and adjusting his hood. “Just don't make it obvious, please.”

The wolf eyed him knowingly. “It's the twins. What did you think will happen?”

The snarl from behind the metal would have been menacing if it wasn't so tired. His left fist clenched; under the glove’s leather, an arcane mark sparked to life.

“As long as he stays put, I suppose. I'll be right back.”

He disappeared again, a flurry of smoke invisible against the cold sky, unseen by those below. His body left a trail as ink slithered into claws and black tendons, a physical ghost against the Boyle house decadence. He slid his smoky body back inside, hugging the ceiling, perching on extravagant chandeliers and dodging the guards patrolling the upper levels of the house. His predatory body finally solidified, the hood drawn close and those glass eyes seeing every bit of movement.

It wasn't long until his quarry appeared; dressed all in red and sporting a crimson, porcelain mask. Waverly Boyle finally ascended the stairs, passing under his hiding spot. He watched her quietly as she muttered angrily to herself, checked her pockets, then entered her room with the key procured.

He clenched his fist. In an instant, sound and color drained away. He leapt down, crouching low and sliding into the room. As he entered and stood off to the side of the canopy bed, he let the magic go. Color and air rushed back in and Waverly entered her room, none the wiser of her shady visitor.

She went over to her desk, checking the open book laid there. The mask adjusted his gloves, clearing his throat loudly.

“Lady Boyle.”

Waverly jerked, frantic, pulling a knife from her bag and tossing it his direction. He cleanly dodged the blade and closed in as quickly as possible. As she darted for the door he grasped her wrist, holding her in place.

“Get off me! I will call the guards!”

“That will make saving your life quite difficult, Miss Boyle.”

She jerked against his grip, unconvinced. He growled and pulled her closer and tried again. “Listen. There's a man here trying to abduct you. His name is Lord Brimsly. He claims to love you. Do you know him?”

That got her attention. She stilled, chest heaving, her mask's blank eyes looking into his shiny glass ones.

“How do you know this? Have you seen him? Did someone send you?”

“It is my business to know such things,” the mask purred out, “as it is my business to know you have been supplying money to Regenters about the city.” As Waverly twitched and looked away, he tilted his head. “Ah, I see I wasn't mistaken about that either.”

“If you were sent to kill me, you might as well,” she all but cried, her voice broken behind her pristine mask. “I am in too much debt now. They keep calling for me, expecting me to fund their little pity group. Brimsly is among them: he hounds me, stalks me. My sisters don't know, they don't see the books, they think he's just a weirdly fervent suitor...” She shook her head, her fight leaving her. “Be quick with your blade. I am better off dead.”

The man behind that toothless smile loosened his grip, taking a step back. The eldest Boyle sister didn't move, but stood resolutely, waiting for the blow.

A blow, he knew, would never come.

“Apologies, but killing isn't my business anymore.” He told her, his voice low. “I'm here to offer you an alternative.”

Her mask shifted, as if trying to catch his eye. When she didn't refute or respond, he continued. “I have an old contact who was more than happy to offer you a life away from Dunwall, up north in Morley. Portside. You could change your name, remake your life. And nobody would ever know.”

“A contact?” The woman repeated, suspicious. “I can't trust that. I need names.”

The mask eyed her, silent and unmoving.

“Farley Havelock,” he finally supplied. “An old captain of the Royal Navy, now… retired.” He adjusted his grip on Waverly once again, this time holding her hand in his. “As a personal favor he's agreed to let you escape and go unscathed.”

“But-- the Regenters?”

“The crown plans to deal with them. They will not hound your sisters as they did you once you are out of the picture. You have my promise, your sisters will be free if you leave.”

“And if I don't?”

“Then I will not only destroy the Regenters, but the good name of House Boyle,” he threatened casually. “I will have no other option than to bring the scandal to public attention and followers of the late Lord Regent are not looked upon fondly--”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Waverly said, waving him off frantically. “I always knew this day would come anyway. If I have a target on my back, I always will. This just confirms it.” She shuffled away and grabbed her book, a few belongings and some money, stuffing it all into her purse. “So? Where do we go? How do you get me out of here?”

The metal mask bowed ever so slightly. That macabre smirk almost appeared real, if only for a moment.

“Leave that part to me, Lady Waverly.”

------

Maneuvering Waverly through the house without appearing suspicious proved a tricky task, especially since the eldest Boyle was wearing a noticeable shade of red. However, she was able to distract guests and kept a respectable distance from the man in the metallic skull. For his part, that same mask kept an eye out for Brimsly, the individual trying to abduct Waverly. A voice nagging in the back of his head fed him a constant stream of updates and the two of them changed their paths through the house accordingly.

Eventually, they came to the back cellar stairs, where the only obstacle was a curious Miss White who was snooping around the kitchen wares. He sent her off easily enough with a compliment and a drink, sighing as soon as she was out of sight. This was turning out to be one of his stranger jobs to date, and it wasn't even over with yet.

He led Waverly to the basement where a small river boat waited. She stared; in the boat, two men waited. One of them was small and greying, with tired eyes and mutton chops framing a quiet smile. The other was a larger man, shaved head glistening with sweat, his face looking pulled and stretched. She glanced back to the mask, looking for an explanation.

“Miss Boyle, I present Farley Havelock, previous captain of the royal guard, now private boat owner. And his friend and old subordinate, Samuel Beechworth.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Boyle,” the large captain said, though his hand twitched at his chest and his voice wavered.

“And you're supposed to get me out of this city safely?”

“As safe as we're able, ma'am,” Samuel said, settling down at the rear of the boat. “I'll help navigate the two of you out to the larger ship waiting in the harbor.”

“How do I know I won't be killed?”

“Farley here is also seeking asylum from Dunwall,” the mask explained, “since more than one party is after his blood. If I hear he has killed you, he'll be breaking contract and dealing with much bigger issues than the ones he currently has.”

“It's true, my Lady,” Farley confessed. “I've made too much trouble since my furlough. I best be going as well.”

“Well, I suppose we're dealing with the same problem,” Waverly said. She looked down, hesitated, then stepped up to the boat. Havelock took her hand, helping her in. He then turned a grateful eye on that laughing mask.

“Thank you for the second chance,” Havelock told him quietly. The mask just growled, waving them off.

“Just get out of here already,” he snarled, voice warping. “And don't make me regret it.”

“And you promise my sisters will be safe?” she asked again, looking for reassurance.

“You have my word,” the masked replied. The boat's motor puttered to life and the gate to the river estuaries opened up. “I don't make promises I can't keep.”

If Waverly responded, he never heard it. The boat was already moving, the motor drowning out any words spoken. Havelock just nodded once and then they were off, disappearing into the gloom of the night.

The mask stood there for a moment, watching the dinghy float off. The cold crisp air of outside floated in, and something chillier than winter settled in his chest.

On the wind's whisper, he turned.

There in the gloom of the cellar's shadows, a pair of shining eyes stared him down. Reflective glass eyes, set into the face of an elongated mask, the gas filter of it making the wearer's breath come out ragged.

That metal mask huffed. He laughed once.

“What, had to come and check my work?”

The newcomer stepped out, a heavy blue coat trimmed with gold draping his shoulders.

“Of course not,” He muttered, annoyed, his long legs unfolding as he stood up and strode over. The heavy Whaler mask was pushed up, revealing the scowling face and long hair of Corvo Attano. “I came to get back the mask you stole from me, Daud.”

------

“Who told you?” Daud asked a few minutes later after they had found a secluded balcony to retreat to. Corvo shook his head, amused, his borrowed Whaler mask pushed up off his face.

“Nobody did,” he confessed. “I just knew.”

Daud nodded, humming, his smirk still hidden behind Corvo's metal mask. He carefully removed it from his face, the cold air immediately prickling at his clammy skin. He raised an eyebrow at Corvo but not because of the vague response. Over the last two months, Corvo had grown more and more used to the mental collective he was a part of now -- and was more at ease due to it. Intuitively, Corvo really could have just known -- or, he could have just gone to his room and seen his mask was missing from its stand.

Both were valid theories. Both were probably true.

“I'll blame Connor anyway,” Daud said, the smile pulling at his scars and Corvo laughed. It had a nice sound about it, even if it was still rusted at the edges.

“So,” Corvo mused, the borrowed Whaler mask finding its way into his restless hands. His cheeks shone with sweat as he leaned on the Boyle's balcony, watching as the boat carrying Lady Waverly disappeared downriver. “Do you think this whole night will become a conspiracy?”

Daud laughed, a gruff thing, the feel of it hanging in his chest. He turned his own temporary mask in his hands, fingers smoothing the glass lenses resting under those metal brows. “Probably not as much as you think,” he growled back. “I wouldn't be good at my job if it could be traced back to the crown, but there will be stories enough about her disappearance, I'm sure.”

“Still surprised you had a contact in Havelock, of all people.”

Daud shrugged, his mouth never losing it's quirk. “He owed me a favor. And I think they'll both be happier like this.”

“Mm,” Corvo noncommittally agreed.

Daud settled on the balcony himself, watching the Royal Protector closely, as he always did. Even after two months employment, a saving of an Empress and partially sharing a headspace, Corvo still fascinated him. Not because he was necessarily complex, no, but because he was unpredictable.

Daud never wondered why the Outsider marked Corvo. He was, truly, a man of interest.

Corvo looked over, noting Daud's unwavering gaze. His eyes darted away, watching the colorful festivities as the Boyle party continued, the participants and guests none the wiser about the disappearance of one of their hostesses.

“We have to go back down eventually, or people will be suspect.”

“That is likely, yes.”

Corvo sighed out a ragged breath. “Parties really aren't my thing, but Emily insisted heavily that I come to this.”

“It’s because she can't go herself, not yet,” Daud reminded him. “And having a good story to bring home to her is her only price.”

When it came to Boyle's previous annual parties, Daud had only watched from a distance -- had even killed someone during a masquerade once -- but had never been invited. In a way, even if he was here on a job, he saw no reason to not enjoy the rest of the evening before retiring back to the Tower. Still, he turned to Corvo.

“Our role in this story is over, however. If you want to head back to the Tower, we can. Just say the word and I'll gather my men.”

To his surprise Corvo shook his head, long hair tousled in the wind. “No, not yet. I just got here, after all. Emily's orders were to enjoy myself.” His eyebrow hiked up as he spun the Whaler mask playfully in his hand. “We could switch masks. Fuck with the party goers.”

Daud's lip twitched up as he uncrossed his arms. “That's the only way you're going to deal with this, isn't it? Seeing how many pockets you can pick, how many drinks you can steal, and how many guests you can scare?”

“Maybe if we stay long enough, they'll be so drunk you could morph your head and nobody would realize or remember.”

“I'm an assassin,” Daud snarled, but there was no venom in his voice. “I may be dramatic, but I'm not obtuse. There's a reason the Wolf of Dunwall is a child's tale.”

“Even more reason to make an appearance and excite the boring lives of these poor nobles.”

Daud huffed as he stood, ignoring Corvo's coy smile. He held out the Protector's metal mask, expecting his Whaler's mask in return, but Corvo didn't move from his spot. He stayed leaning over the balcony, listening to the rabble of the partygoers, the colors of the lights bouncing off his every angle.

He was a man of exquisite form and a wolf of sharp intent. Corvo looked back up to Daud and Daud felt his jaw clench.

“What? You're not going to take it?” Daud said impatiently, nudging Corvo's arm with the mask.

“You aren't an assassin anymore, you know.”

Daud blinked, taken aback. He drew himself straight and looked away.

“We both know it's old habit, Attano, and even if it's not killing people my prey still seems to disappear in much the same manner.”

“I don't mean…” Corvo shook his head, licked his lip, started again. “Can I tell you something, Daud?”

Daud felt his stomach flip and his brain buzzed unpleasantly with the voices of his nearby men. He shut them out of his mind, one by one.

“You can tell me anything, Corvo.”

“Anyone listening?”

Daud laughed, low and short. “There were a few curious noses. They've been shoved away.” He settled back down, trying to get comfortable again. “What is it?”

Corvo went quiet, even withdrew from Daud's headspace. His leg twitched as he gripped the mask tight.

“She called you 'dad' the other day.”

Daud froze. He felt his hackles rise defensively, his eyes widening. Corvo glanced at his expression and chewed his cheek before clarifying. “It was a quick thing, a slip up. She seemed… startled, like she didn't expect it to be so natural. Like she expected me to be mad.”

Daud breathed out harshly, looking away and rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Corvo -- I'm sorry, you know I'm not looking to take that role from you--”

Corvo was up instantly, fixating Daud with a glare so intense that Daud felt his throat close and his self-consciousness rise.

“No, you misunderstand me and also her. You aren't taking my role in her life away, I will always be her father, her Corvo. I'm not mad that she sees you this way; I'm relieved, actually. You aren't an assassin to us, not anymore. You're her family.” Corvo's face softened and Daud felt his vulnerability rise. “You're our family. You can put that past behind you.”

“You shouldn't call your professional partner your family,” Daud scolded -- but there was a weakness to his words and they held no bite. And there it was -- that treacherous affection worming across the bond he shared with Corvo, filling his chest and alighting him from the inside out. He felt his physical space invaded; when he next looked over Corvo was there, a smirk on his face, offering the Whaler mask to Daud.

“Is that what you think this is? A professional partnership?”

Daud exhaled, aggravated when Corvo didn't waver. His jaw clenched as he refused to meet Corvo's eye. He didn't need this now, he wasn't drunk enough to handle Corvo coming to him with this conversation topic. He had been holding Corvo at arm's length for the past two months, refusing to push against any boundaries and yet Corvo kept inching closer against both of their better judgements.

Daud breathed in and licked his lips. The action didn't go unnoticed.

“I thought that was what you wanted it to be,” he said, finally meeting Corvo stare for stare. He had hoped it would make Corvo stand down, back off the advance, but still Corvo refused to move, his features instead going sharp and wild at the edges. Something stronger than affection burned against their bond and filled Daud's nostrils. His nose wrinkled and he grasped for the Whaler mask, yanking it from Corvo's palm.

Corvo's claws gripped his wrist, holding him in place.

“Corvo--” he warned, a lip curling to show off lengthening fangs.

“I didn't come tonight because of the mask,” he stated evenly, owning up to his excuse. His eyes never lost their focus on Daud. “And I didn't come because Emily told me to.”

“Well then you should get better hobbies than babysitting me,” Daud argued, but he didn't pull away from Corvo's tight grip, didn't turn from that intense stare. “Especially when parties aren't your thing.”

“Daud,” Corvo admonished softly, shaking his head. He looked down and away. “Please, don't make this hard.”

Daud sneered, still defensive despite everything he was feeling from Corvo's mind, from his own emotions. He tried to ignore it, to brush it off, but something about it made him want to drown instead of fight to keep his head above the surface. A wave crashed over him and he gaped at Corvo, disbelieving.

“You can't be serious.”

“As the dead.”

“Please, don't ask this of me.”

“And why not?”

“Should I list the ways?” Daud growled, body rippling, “Ask anything else of me, and you know I'll be there for you, but--”

“Then stop talking.”

Daud stuttered to silence, his mind too shocked by the command to counter it. And then Corvo was there, the heat of his body filling the space between them, his scent strong off his slicked skin as lips slid across his, biting with stubble. Daud's inhale was sharp as his bond exploded with emotion and he was almost too shocked to kiss Corvo back, even as the Royal Protector pulled him in closer, the gap between them closing. Corvo relinquished his mask from Daud's hand as the kiss deepened, both their chests rumbling with unsung cries. The scrape of teeth sent electricity down Daud's spine and he licked after it, claws gripping to Corvo's coat as his thoughts and emotions spiraled wildly. He couldn't tell who's ecstasy he was experiencing, who's triumph, who's arousal. It didn't matter anymore; it was complete and whole and wonderful--

Corvo backed away, a breathy laugh on his lips as he tapped Daud back into reality. Daud blinked, meeting Corvo's hungry eye; Corvo cleared his throat and motioned to Daud. He looked down; his whole body was sloughing off, smoking like a signal. Immediately his stationed men were mentally checking in on him, one after another. He cursed under his breath and mentally pushed them away again, all to Corvo's undying amusement.

“Nice to see you feel the same way,” Corvo mused as Daud pulled his heated face away, brushing his inky fur off his back. Daud grunted at the obviousness of the statement and straightened his jacket.

“I shouldn't,” was his only annoyed answer. “It's too risky, it's too -- Outsider's literal ass, Attano.”

“You're thinking too much about this.”

“And you're not?” Daud countered, hating his desperation. “You're not thinking about the potential repercussions, the potential threats--”

“I am,” Corvo said smoothly. “But I also know I am inexplicably drawn to you, and you to me. You saved the only family I have left… you are part of that family now, Daud.”

“Don't be such a sap, Attano,” Daud croaked weakly. “You don't have to do this just because some bloody magical bond told you to.”

“Don't blame instinct on this,” Corvo told him sharply. And then, softer, “She wanted me to forgive you. She wanted me to move on. And ever since you accepted to be my Royal Spymaster, well…” he shrugged his shoulders. “Less guilt. Less regret.”

Daud didn't ask how Corvo knew the motives of Jessamine Kaldwin posthumously. They were two monsters of men who spoke with whale gods, could manipulate Void and had powers and dreams that made them scream at night. For them, speaking with the dead was the least alarming of their life events.

“Listen, I can't--” Daud started, his teeth going heavy, making his words sound forced. “What do you expect from this? Where do think this is going to go?”

Corvo shrugged and Daud bristled. He was far too nonchalant about all this.

“I had an affair with an Empress for 14 years. I know how to keep this hidden, if I have to. And it won't interfere with work.”

Daud pinched the bridge of his nose, hating how Corvo's amusement kept intruding on his thoughts. “And my spies? They'll know.”

“They're spies,” Corvo said, his eyes going dark. “They should know how to keep a secret.”

Daud sneered at the response, the growl rippling out of him as his logic fought with his emotion.

“If we ever break it off, you're going to have to fire me.”

“Then we won't break it off.”

Daud swallowed hard and coughed, gaping at Corvo. Corvo still stood there, serenely, still waiting for Daud to come around. Daud saw the conviction in Corvo's eyes and felt his panic rise. He shook his head, wiping his mouth where it was still wet with Corvo's saliva.

Void.

He turned, his chest filled with fire, and breathed. Corvo gave him a moment before extending his thoughts back to him. They flowed over his addled brain, cool and reassuring, and when Corvo gently grabbed at his arm he didn't pull away.

“Sorry, that may have come off strongly, but I'm not…” Corvo licked his lip, took a breath. “I just want you here. With me. Physically, maybe not intimately yet but... I've wanted this for a while now. I see no reason for that feeling to change. Besides,” he smirked, nudging Daud closer, “you're too good a spymaster to just fire.”

Daud scoffed, amused, opening to the affection. He raised a brow towards Corvo, eying him quizzically.

“You're not going to let this go, are you?”

“Well, I would, if you weren't interested,” Corvo mused, suddenly preoccupied with Daud's sleeve. “But now I know you feel similarly, so…”He trailed of mischievously and Daud scoffed, amused.

He wasn't winning this test of wills at all.

“Corvo, you already have my life in your hands,” Daud reminded him. “If you want to give this a shot…” His eyes went dark, his smile dangerous. “Fine. Just make sure you don't regret any future decisions you make with it.”

Corvo laughed and nearly yanked Daud in again, pulling him close and licking against teeth and lips. This time, Daud was far more eager to reciprocate, reveling in their emotions melding together with each kiss.

They eventually returned to the party, bodies smoking with energy, Daud in his whaler mask and Corvo hiding behind his laughing metal face. They melted into the crowd, never out of sight of one another, sharing gossip with the guests while their two minds tangled with every passing shared moment. By the end of the night, the job was done. The largest investor for the Regenters was gone out to sea and the crown remained safe from a few more dissenters.

By morning, the Knife of Dunwall was smiling despite himself, nursing a coffee brought in by the hungover Royal Protector himself. Daud's men, blessedly, said nothing, but Daud could feel their energy.

They all knew.

And he accepted it, all of it. Against his better judgement, against any bit of logic he could muster, he was ready for whatever this new chapter brought. Perhaps, just this once, it wouldn't be as bad he expected.

Perhaps his future wasn't so bleak, after all.

[ap93mcu]

Delicate

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: implied smut (not detailed), alcohol consumption, mild language and terrible 1st timers writing. 

Word Count: 2,960

Thanks to my girl @notimeforthemessenger for totally talking me through this!! I obviously do not own any rights to the song but your girl has some killer lyrics and I couldn’t get this plot out of my head :) I hope ya’ll enjoy!

This ain't for the best My reputation's never been worse, so You must like me for me We can't make Any promises now, can we, babe? But you can make me a drink

 You took a deep breath as you sat down at the busy bar. Looking around the room at your fellow cast mates you tried to feel proud. You finally did it, your first movie had released and you knew by the end of the week it would smash the box office. So why we’re anything but happy? Probably because you spent your week answering more questions about the scandal that surrounded your previous relationship than you did about the upcoming movie. You weren’t happy, your co-stars weren’t happy, your producers weren’t happy and Disney certainly was not happy with you. Anything that clouded the release of the movie was a negative and you were worried that they were going to write off your character in the upcoming movie. Your success would only peak at the single Marvel movie you completed because you were certain to be blacklisted from any other companies if Disney dropped you.

Smoothing the beautiful green dress along your stomach you found yourself feeling more alone than when you first read the TMZ headline accusing you of cheating on your long-term boyfriend. This week was anything but blissful and busy like you expected it. You found yourself wrapped in this love triangle. Taking another breath in, you plastered on a fake smile at the incoming bartender.

“Vodka soda, top shelf and double the lime, please.”

“Make that two, please.” The familiar voice brought a genuine smile to your face. You looked over your shoulder and you were met with dark brown eyes. His smile made your stomach do a tiny flip and you mentally started cursing yourself. Now is not the time.

“I didn’t see you as a vodka soda type of guy. I thought you liked beer.”

“I figured that if a beautiful girl like you drank them then they can’t be half bad.” Tom smirked and you never noticed just how cute it was that his eyes wrinkled at the corner. No, stop. Your agent said to steer clear until this mess passed. The bartender sat the drinks in front of you two and before you could say anything next Tom handed him cash for them. You lowered your head and shook it back and forth.

“You really shouldn’t be over here with me Tom. I don’t want you mixed up in all of this.” You whispered and his face softened a bit. Tom raised his eyebrow up at you and let out scoff.

“Is that why you are over here alone? Your worried about any of us being mixed into this? You were just in a fucking Avengers movie. Nothing that is going on out there should be bothering you tonight. This is your moment. Do not let them ruin it for you.” He smiled and stood up. Quickly he pulled you off the barstool and started to pull you towards the crowd.

‘Wh….What are you doing?” You could barely get out all while grabbing your drink off the bar with your free hand. Tom turned around towards you and motioned his head towards the dance floor.

“We are going to go dance with Sebastian and Chris because this is our night and we are going to enjoy it.” The blush instantly creeped to your cheeks and you were certain that he could see it even in the dim lighting. Biting at your bottom lip you nodded and smiled up at him letting him pull you onto the dance floor.

For the first time that week you weren’t thinking about the tabloids and the media. All you could think about was the cheeky brit dancing beside you.

 Dive bar on the East Side, where you at? Phone lights up my nightstand in the black Come here, you can meet me in the back Dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you Oh damn, never seen that color blue Just think of the fun things we could do 'Cause I like you

 Eight long weeks went by and the tabloids started to mention your name less and less. You moved out and you were starting to get use to your new norm. You loved absolutely every aspect of your new apartment, your new life, and the new consistency of a particular boy. With your shooting schedules and your new low-key lifestyle, it had been about three weeks since you had last seen him in person. After a long day of table readings for your new movie, you changed into sweats and a t-shirt and then let your bed consume you. You were halfway through your 3rd episode of Gossip Girl for the night when your phone lit up on your night stand. Confused you reached for your phone and quickly smiled when you saw the name that lit up your screen. Thomas.

I thought I’d surprise you but the guys are telling me you’re a homebody now and that you turn them down every time they ask you to come out. So, my plan failed. Come out with us pretty girl.

You sighed and replied before even realizing what was happening.

I don’t know…

Laying low was something you had grown comfortable with. The thought of going out in public with friends made your anxiety spike. Wanting to see him outweighed all of that though. You had a big smile plastered on your face. Something that only happened when you talked to Tom or someone brought him up.  He wanted to surprise you bitch, YOU, go. Ping

Get your ass here 😉

Where are you at?

East Side. The Know Where Bar. You can meet me in the back and I’ll sneak you in.

Ah, low key. A boy after my heart. I’ll be there in 20.

 ***

One hour and three quick drinks in you were feeling pretty good. The bar was dead except for Tom, Haz, Jacob, Seb and you. Jacob and Seb were in a pretty heated game of darts so that left you, Haz and Tom to talk among yourselves.

“So, Spiderman, are you going to give us details about this new movie you’re shooting. Marvel barely gives me my own script so they pretty much laugh in my face if I ask about anything else.” I giggled as Tom threw his hands up.

“Don’t ask me these type of things. You know I can’t keep secrets, especially from you.” Tom made direct eye contact with you as he spoke the last three words and took a sip of his beer. You winked at him and pulled at the wrapper of your beer. No one could make you blush like he did.

“Fuck me, yeah? I’m sitting right here you two. I’ll go get another round and let you love birds have your moment.” Haz flipped you both off as he walked away which made you a Tom laugh. You finally had your happy place although you knew it was still too soon after the chaos you created. Everything was so fresh and this would for sure light a fire in the media. Any sight of just the two of you together could end whatever this was before it even started.

You felt Tom’s index finger wrap around your pinky and your eyes shot up to him. You hadn’t realized that you guys were sitting in silence as you were just stuck in your own thoughts. He half smiled and squeezed your pinky. The alcohol was taking over and you were starting to feel braver than normal.

“What’s on your mind, love?” He asked and he was genuinely interested. You bit your bottom lip and internally battled about what your next words were going to be.

“You know I did it right?” You weren’t sure if he could even hear you because you said it so softly. Half of you was hoping he didn’t. This wasn’t something you really planned on discussing tonight. You just wanted to be with him and your friends. Tom furrowed his eyebrows confused at first but once he saw the look of regret on your face he knew instantly what you were talking about.

“When saw your face the night of the premier I knew it was true. It’s not my place to judge what you did and it was never a deal breaker for me. I wanted you to come out with it on your own when you were ready.” It sounded like he was trying to pick the right words to say as his beer bottle suddenly became the most interesting thing in the room. Tom wasn’t being pushy but you knew he wanted to know more. It might not have been a deal breaker but it was something that would be in the back of his mind.

“That’s not me. Well, I guess it was me. I missed him at the time. I felt so alone and we didn’t really work well with distance. We weren’t good at communicating and I found out he was texting his ex and I just snapped. Things were bad before I left to film and they just got worse. There is really no excuse and I feel so guilty about it still. It’s almost ruined every part of my life and if I could change it I would. I am just working on how to move forward,” He nodded, knowing about the issues in your relationship prior. Sebastian and you were good friends and you knew that Tom was also good friends with Seb. There were many times where they would find you on the side of the set wiping your eyes and trying to hide from them that you were crying.  None of that justified what you did but you were hoping he could work through it. You took a deep breath and let the alcohol take complete control, “I really, really like you Tom.”

“Sebastian is a cheater and I want my money back.” Jacob came back to the table pouting and you heard Sebastian behind him howl.

“He’s just a big baby and he sucks at darts. Whose next?” Sebastian looked back and forth between you and Tom and the look on his face instantly changed. He knew you wanted to talk to Tom about what happened but he didn’t think you would do it here. Your stomach flipped and you started to feel sick. You said too much. Why did you do that?

“I’ll be back soon you guys. I need some fresh air.” You slid out of the booth and went straight for the back door. Feeling the cold air hit your body was refreshing but it didn’t help your nausea. You leaned up against the smooth stone of the building and put your head in your hands.

 Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate (delicate) Is it cool that I said all that Is it too soon to do this yet? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

It felt like eternity had passed when you heard the door creak open. You peaked through your fingers and groaned loudly when you saw Tom smiling at you.

“Quit looking at me like that. Can we just pretend I didn’t say any of that? I take it all back.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” He removed your hands from your face and replaced them with his own, forcing you to look at up him, “I was really hoping you meant it.”

“Yeah?” You bit your bottom lip and it was his turn to let out a groan. He used his thumb to pull your lip away from your teeth. He leaned in and the thick air of Los Angeles was taken over by his aftershave. You couldn’t help but let it consume you and the overwhelming feeling of alcohol buzzed in your head.

“I really, really like you too.” Tom mumbled against your lips before he fully engulfed them with his. The kiss felt like it lasted forever and if you were being honest you wouldn’t have been mad if it did. He pulled away and you felt your throat let out a whine but before you could interject fully he continued, “I think we have a lot to work through but I want to do this if you want to. We should probably keep it under wraps for a bit though, even though I don’t want to.” You nodded. There was nothing to argue about because you felt the same way. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulled you against him and kissed your forehead.

“How long are you in town?”

“Not long enough,” Tom said dejectedly, “Buuuuut, we start filming in London the beginning of July. I have a break at the end of the month and you should fly in. I know a place at the edge of the city.”

“Hmm, I do like the sound of that. I think I can clear my schedule for you but, until then, we should head back inside. I believe Mr. Osterfield has a fresh drink waiting on me.” You winked and kissed him quickly before walking back to the boys. Your ears were met with the whistles and excited yells from Jacob, Haz and Sebastian. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face if you tried.

 Third floor on the West Side, me and you Handsome, your mansion with a view Do the girls back home touch you like I do? Long night, with your hands up in my hair Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share 'Cause I like you

 The sunlight hit your face and you rolled over not ready for last night to end. When Tom said he knew of a place you didn’t know he meant his place. You were taken aback because it was nothing like your apartment but yet it still had the same comfortable feeling. It didn’t take long for you to get settled or for him to make you feel at home. Craving his touch again you reached across the bed and were met with a cold sheet. You opened one eye, still not wanting to let the feel of the previous night go, and confirmed he was missing. Sitting up, you looked over and noticed he was on his balcony shirtless, pacing, and talking on the phone. Wrapping the white sheet around your body you glided across the room to the glass door.

“No, this is my weekend off. I can’t do it today.” He was angry. You had never heard him use that tone before and you were thankful it wasn’t directed towards you. Tom was so caught up in his conversation he hadn’t heard you open the door. You were thankful for this because you couldn’t help but admire the definition of his shoulders and back. Slowly, you walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist making sure you feel every curve and indentions of his muscles along the way. Leaving a few scarce kisses along his spine, you leaned your head against his bare back. He relaxed at your touch and wrapped his open hand around yours. You caressed the sensitive skin just below his belly button with the hand he left free and you started to feel him tense again. You smiled before realizing it wasn’t because of you and you grimaced when you heard his harsh tone return, “I heard you. Give me an hour and I will be there.” Tom angrily sat down his phone and took a deep breath. After a moment of just enjoying your embrace he twisted around in your arms. Your hands found their new home on his lower back and he found his once again entangled in your hair. Except this time his hands were filled with comfort and not need, massaging the back of your scalp. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch.

“I take it you’re gonna have to leave me?” You opened your eyes to see his frown and unfortunately that answered your question.

“Just for a bit, love. They want to rewrite a part of the script so they need my input. I told them it could wait until we are back filming next week but what Disney wants Disney gets.” He leaned down and rubbed his nose slowly against yours before placing a lingering kiss on your lips.

“…And what if I don’t want to share you?” You whispered against his lips. He let out a dark laugh and you quickly found his lips on your neck. Small nips giving you déjà vu of the night before. A moan escaped your lips and you felt his hands grip the back of your thighs. You quickly recognized his command and jumped up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He traced his lips from your neck, up your jaw, and then once again to your swollen lips.

“It’s only an hour and then I am all yours again for the next two days. When I get back we can have a rerun of last night, yeah?” You hummed in agreement as he carried you over to the bed and laid you down. Hovering over you, his eyes couldn’t help but wander. Tom threw his head back and let out a whine, “Fuck it. I told them to give me an hour. I can be late.”

This ain't for the best My reputation's never been worse, so You must like me for me Yeah, I want you

[holdmetightordont-2]

hi :0

i have 300 pages to read, and yet here i am, remaking my tumblr. yep.

hi, my name’s ray. i’m 23 and i started my first year of grad school two weeks ago. i already want to die. 

i’m not sure if this’ll be more of a personal or fandom blog yet. we’ll see. it might be a combination of things. i’m not bothered about followers or anything like that, so there’s no real incentive for me to make this blog known for a certain entity. i do want this blog to be somewhat organized though, so i’ll make sure i tag everything. ya’ll can blacklist any tags you don’t want to see.

i suppose the purpose of this post is to introduce myself, and sort of...blog about my first few weeks of grad school.

i’m tempted to reveal every single aspect of my life, as i do on my personal twitter account. i’ll try to be as appropriate as i can, in case someone irl finds me. i do think i’ll be somewhat recognizable, based on my research and interests, but that’s alright.

based on my username, you could guess that i am/was a big fan of fall out boy. i still listen to their music, but less so these days. about a year ago, i rewatched inception, one of my favorite movies in high school, for the fist time in years. after 8 years, i became obsessed and was pleasantly surprised to see that the fic comm is still around, churning out arthur/eames fics. it’s fantastic. i uh...love inception so much that i...did this...

i had it finished right before i moved for grad school. i’m pretty pleased with it :)

originally, i planned out a somewhat large-scale tattoo with my tattoo artist -- i wanted matching tattoos on my ribs of a rose garden, firstly because they’re one of my favorite flowers, and it would symbolize beast/highlight, the first kpop band i ever loved. then...in march, all that shit came out about junhyung -- who is a piece of shit, by the way, and i no longer really interact with fandom because of all the people who still support him -- so that obviously was called out. tbh, i’m so glad that all was revealed in march, bc i was supposed to get it in may. i would have really considered a cover up if i had gotten it before he was called out, tbh.

anyway! after i got the first half of the inception tattoo, i went to study khmer for the summer out of state. it was...an interesting summer, partly because of the teachers. khmer was h a r d. i hated the state i was in. i actually applied to go that school for my MA and i’m glad i made the decision not to go back in april.

after that, i returned home for a bit, finished off the tattoo, and promptly moved to...paradise. i’m trying to be vague here, but you can probably guess where i moved. it’s just beautiful here. the culture is so rich. i’m surrounded by such good food. i’m very excited about the classes i’m taking, the people in my program (anthropology) are so nice. i’m so so so so excited for my research.

but i’m lonely. i’ve made a few friends, but i feel kind of excluded from the group that formed in my cohort. i can tell that they hang out more together, and haven’t really invited me (though i haven’t sought them out either). i’m just kinda bummed about that. but it’s okay, i’ll make friends. 

i’m also suffering from health issues...i’ve had a hives viral infection for the past two weeks. it’s been fucking hell. nothing really helps except for the steroid i’ve taken the past few days. it just really fucking sucks. i’m itchy all the time, especially at night. in fact, i’m itchy right now, and i’m kind of glad i’m doing the all-nighter since i can’t go to sleep with this anyway. i hope this doesn’t last too much longer.

i fucked up real bad, y’all. i still have that 300 pages to read and weeks worth of khmer to do. my macbook actually broke yesterday, but thankfully i have my old one with me. it’s not a good excuse, really. i’ve been lazy. i hope i can better manage my time this upcoming week. maybe limit all-nighters to once every two weeks, or even better, once a month? that’d be nice.

on another note, i’ve been trying to cook more recently since a bunch of my kitchen supplies finally came in. i made a japanese curry with potatoes, carrots, and kabocha yesteday and it’s pretty good!! i wish i’d gotten a spicier roux though. it’s kind of a miracle that i like it so much, because i almost never eat vegetables. i guess the trick is to simmer the veggies until they’re super soft and absorb all the flavors. 

i also found recipes for a turmeric pad thai, “golden” (turmeric) broth noodles, and egg kimbaps that i’m excited to try!! there’s a small japanese grocery store that’s in walking distance from my dorm, but it doesn’t have all the ingredients i need. i also still need to order a mini fridge. but it’s been working out so far!! also want to make carne asada burritos!! i want to make 3 for this week and have the other 3 frozen so i can sorta meal prep throughout the month. i bought a meat thermometo and i’m just. so excited. because i have never made proper steak before, like the kind that’s rare or medium rare? it’ll be great.

okay, i think this is a good place to stop. it’s nice writing about everything here, cohesively. i’m a bit of a rambler on twitter (not that i’m not here, clearly), but i like that i have all my thoughts in a single place, even if there’s no one to read it. 

wish me luck on my readings! -ray

[castcharmperson]

Taakitz: Crossover

What up!! It’s November!! Literally my only note to myself when writing this story was, and this is a direct copy-paste from my google doc, “For the love of god i gotta keep this one short or I’ll lose my mind.” AND NOW I HAVE 9k+ WORDS SO???

A thousand thank you’s to the folks behind @taakitzweek - participating was a joy and a privilege and gifted me this AU that I’m pretty sure will live in my heart forever. To be posted in six parts over the course of the next week. Please enjoy part one of Speed Trap, a b99 styled, white collar inspired, non-magical modern au where Taako does a crime and Kravitz absolutely does not get paid enough to deal with it. Warning for a paraphrase of the ‘tentacle your dick’ quote.

It wasn’t Taako’s fault that he got fired. The product was damaged, some kid was clumsy in the back of the shop, so the manager told Taako to throw out it. Sure, the eyeshadow palette was cracked, but other than that it was perfectly fine. Some pigment from the blue crossed into the green, but honestly, Taako had several outfits that would be amazing with that unique shade of teal. So the product was supposed to go in the trash, instead it ended up in Taako’s pocket. There was almost no difference between the two, especially when he changed out of his work uniform and into his black skinny jeans that were all but threadbare.

But then he was in the parking lot, sitting on the hood of his car and nowhere near the store, when his manager thought it’d be a great time to remind him that smoking would be the death of him. Seriously, Taako was off the clock and even if he wasn’t, his manager wasn’t his mom, don’t tell him what to do.

“Hey, why do you have one of our palettes in your pocket?”

So now Taako didn’t have a job. Again. He’d been lucky to score that easy gig, to have some sort of start at paying off his loans, but now he was blacklisted from the entire mall. And it wasn’t like he could work in any of the restaurants nearby because his asshole ex-boyfriend had literally soured every contact they had in the food industry.

Taako had three degrees to his name. He was an engineer and a chef, but even before his credibility was destroyed, the only thing his fancy education brought him was a bank account perpetually in the red.

“Hey Koko, you’re home early.” Lup shrugged off her uniform jacket and went directly to the fridge. Living with his sister was the best thing to happen to him since coming back from the nightmare Paris had turned into. She had a steady job, a dangerous one, but she was never late to pay rent like he always seemed to be. She was so patient with him, it almost felt unfair. She really should have kicked him out by now; instead, she constantly reminded him that his luck would change any day now. He’d catch his break, or there was always a job for him at the station.

He appreciated her offer, he really did, but Taako he knew he wouldn’t survive a day being a police officer. The idea of him being in uniform and competently saving lives was laughable. He barely managed to handle the stress of knowing his sister was putting her life on the line for this shitty city.

“Uh, yeah.” And he could not handle the stress of her knowing he got fired again.

“Everything okay? I know you’re manager’s a jerk but maybe-“

“They actually got fired today.” What? No, stop. He was not lying to his sister, she’d see right through him. Instead, Lup turned around grinning. “Yeah and um, I’m the new manager. Regional position, actually, pretty nice.”

“Taako!” She was hugging him and he felt sick. “That’s amazing! I told you things would turn around!” What happened to twin telepathy? Why did she believe him? Why was he lying to her??

She said something about a date with Barry, but Taako was barely listening. Now that he was thinking about it, it wasn’t surprising that she believed him; they didn’t keep things from each other, she had no reason to suspect anything.

Home alone again, the smart thing to do would be to tell her the truth. Text her. It would maybe ruin her date, but at least the fall out would be buffered until she got back home. Besides, date night with Barry meant the two of them were shopping for Mr. and Mrs. suitcase sets or some other gross couple-y nonsense. There wasn’t much to ruin. She’d be mad, but in time, everything would be fine.

Just sitting on the couch, phone in hand as he hovered over the digital keyboard, he was already nauseous from her imagined anger. Getting fired again was bad enough, but lying to her? Why did he say that?

The smart thing to do would be telling the truth. But the Taako thing to do would be to make the truth. He said he got promoted, new job, new hours, new money. All he had to do was find that job.

Next morning, he was out of the house before she even woke up. Note on the fridge, something vague about new hours for manager training and a breakfast pastry waiting for her, and she wouldn’t suspect a thing. Taako wasn’t sure where he was going to find this new truth of a job, but it had to be out there. The mall by the house wasn’t an option, but there were other malls and he had gas to burn after swiping that seemingly unlimited gift card off of some rich asshole a few months back.

Speeding down the highway, Taako forced himself to be hopeful. It was the tail end of fall, places would be hiring. The kids to help with the summer rush all had classes again and stores wanted to start preparing for the holiday rush. Lup was right, even if she didn’t know the whole picture. His luck was turning.

But maybe that luck was taking a smoke break as he heard sirens behind him. Glancing in the mirror, a cop car tailed him down the freeway. “Bullshit,” Taako cursed as he pulled over. Everyone sped down this stretch, why was he being pulled over?

He rolled down his window and was treated to someone glaring at him through a large pair of aviators. “Sir, do you know how fast you were going?” Ridiculous sunglasses matched with an equally ridiculous accent. No way that was real.

Taako couldn’t help himself, losing the fight against the grin taking over his face. “Blimey, officer, I ain’t sure.” It’d been over a decade since his and Lup’s high school stardom in a rather strange retelling of Oliver Twist but Taako’s accent was still more believable than the officer’s.

The officer’s brow twitched and then the glasses came off as though Taako’s joke might have somehow been a trick of his lenses. “Excuse me?” The accent was faltering worse now, but without the glasses, Taako was able to fully appreciate the man’s face.

“Oh wow, if all the cops were as handsome as you, I’d maybe be tempted to follow all the laws.”

The handsome man’s face twisted further in confusion. “What is wrong with you? I’m giving you a speeding ticket and you’re hitting on me?”

Taako just shrugged, but then the threat of a ticket finally sunk in. “Wait, shit, a ticket? Come on, I couldn’t have been going that fast.”

“I’ve certainly seen faster on this street, but eighty in a fifty five still isn’t great.”

Taako did the math real quick, facts and figures from Lup’s studying for the academy still fresh in his mind even though she’d graduated years ago. There was no way he could afford a ticket for going that high over the limit. “Okay hold on, hot stuff. Can’t you cut me a break? First time offense and all?”

“Not five seconds ago, you admitted to me that the lack of attractive police force was contribution to your history of crime.” His tone was turning amused now, seeming to enjoy the way the conversation had slipped back into his control. His smile was unfairly charming, even if the accent was still disastrous.

Taako couldn’t afford to be distracted though. “I’m not a criminal! Dude, come on, I will give you everything in my wallet if you don't ticket me.”

“Bribing an officer? I do not want to deal with the paperwork for that. Just stay here.” He started back to his squad car and Taako leaned out the window to holler after him.

“Come on, hot stuff, don’t be like this! At least lemme get that name, I’m about to suck your dick for free if I can’t do it to get out of a ticket!”

The officer ignored him, coming back to throw a slip of paper through Taako’s window. His sunglasses were back on, covering some of his face but not enough to hide the blush from what Taako had been shouting at him. “Do me a favor, Mr. Taako? Be a criminal in some other district because I would love to never ticket you again.”

At least the piece of paper gave Taako a name: K. Queen. Not that it meant anything with one of the most common last names in the city. Besides, Taako couldn’t exactly try to hook up with someone if he got arrested for overdue fines. Long after the officer drove off, Taako sat in his own car on the side of the highway. The price mocked him from the piece of paper, like it knew he’d never afford it and rent at the same time.

Another car zoomed past him, easily going over the eighty Taako had been caught for. If only he could pull over that guy, charge him in order to pay off his own ticket. It’d be fair- there were drunk drivers and reckless assholes all over this stupid city. They should be getting ticketed, not him!

Wait… That wasn’t a bad idea.

[Part Two]

Please come scream at me in my ask box about this AU because even after I post all of this fic I might write little bonuses for it. And thanks so much for reading! I know I am well past the taakitz week deadline for posting this. If you want to, check out my charmedwords tag for more taz fics!

[sorrowschengmei]

about the fandom and my love for kylo ren [vent post, not poetry][tw bullying]

sometimes i wonder what am i doing here at tumblr, really. they say to encourage every weirdo ‘someday you will be better than everyone who laughed at you’. we study while they hang out with their friends, we work while they sleep, and we never fucking live the life they want, they end up with the life they wanted and we end up being grateful for just being alive.

but there are things that are pure, really, that aren’t tied to capitalism, to survival, to socially fitting in, they are just beautiful and intense and poetic and brutal, and they do exist. he is one of them, the one i call my own truelove, and most people call ben solo or kylo ren.

today i watched tfa, and i could see why i fell in love with him... tlj kylo is a beautiful man, the most beautiful man, yes, but tfa kylo is more than a man. he looks like a dark angel, something that isn’t human and yet is too corrupted to be divine, he has a mystery that can’t be described with words and no one will ever decipher, he’s a poem on himself, more beauty than human.

i looked back into my early tfa days, how i interacted with the fandom, with kylo himself... i’d spend hours LOOKING FOR FANART, reblogging art, reading fic, reading headcanons, writing poetry and making my own doodles without any intention of publishing them. nowadays... nowadays i blacklisted all the artists of the reylo and kylux fandoms likewise, unfollowed all my art friends, get straight up suicidal if my stuff flops and i only publish stuff that is correctly rendered and at the peak traffic times, i got at least 5 anxiety attacks for looking at people with more followers/notes than i do, all of this why?? 

because i wanted people to like me, to like my art, to send me cute anons saying they love my stuff and asking me for requests. i wanted to know middle school was over, that people would appreciate me and my art in here as theoretically everyone loves kylo ren and i’m not a weirdo in here.

but i am a weirdo in here as well. i recently found out someone was gossiping about my love for kylo ren, saying very hurtful things about it, you have no idea of how much i cried when i found out, i think i spent 2 hours crying nonstop until i got exhausted. i look at kylo ren himself, not art, not fic, just the pictures of adam driver and i ask again: why??

why can’t things be simple like they were before? why can’t i just be myself without worrying about feedback? why did i become so bitter to the point i can’t fucking support my friends??? how did i become one of those millenials that value their self worth by the number of likes they get???? why can’t i just love kylo ren, draw him, see cute pics of him, without being crushed by years of trauma and the ‘socially inept’ stigma?? how did literally everything i hate in my life become attached to the thing i love the most?

being in the fandom hurts me, it hurts me so much. several times i said to myself ‘i curse the day i decided to watch tfa and met kylo ren’, and this is the saddest thing ever i could say, because kylo himself never brought me anything else but joy, support, lust, bliss, inspiration, contemplation, melancholy and the purest love i’ve ever felt.

i am afraid of people, and i have very real reasons for this. i’ve been lied, betrayed, deceived, attacked, pursued, tortured or just ignored by people on several fandoms. i can’t see art or fic or meta anymore, i just see the ego of the people who are doing it, how they only interact with the socially apt, repeat the same themes and styles, manipulate people into giving them stuff, gang up to harrass their enemies... people who draw kylo ren, who write about him.

you see, autistic minds work with patterns and organising logical conclusions around these patterns. in a fandom you have people you hate drawing someone you love, your friends supporting people you hate, people that never did anything but you hate them bc people you hate love them, people that hate you pretending they don’t, people that don’t hate you acting hateful just because???, and the most puzzling thing for me, that is people who hate kylo ren claiming they love him and want to see him having sex, a love life, a husband. it’s a complete mess. it’s a complete chaos. so you end up scared, running away from any kind of confrontation, blocking and blacklisting everyone, not speaking your mind because you don’t know if they are gonna agree with you and then attack you, disagree with you but agree later, attack you and then pretend they didn’t, pretend they disagree with you, ignore you...

i think i should leave the fandom, like i did in 2017. but this time i can’t, i already have a name, even a small name, i have ties with the community, everyone already knows my terrible personality and lack of self awareness, i have a place on this fandom and it is the place that always followed me: the weirdo, the outcast, ‘that guy’... 

when i entered here, all i wanted was to meet people that loved kylo ren too, as intensely as i did. i met some good, good friends, but i worry all the time they will leave me, and there are people that im not sure if they are my friends or they are just following the american social code of calling everyone ‘friend’. i wish things could be simpler, really... and unfortunately i have no place to go to enthuse about my love if i leave tumblr/the fandom =/ 

[if anyone thinks they have a thoughtful answer for my problem they are encouraged to send me a chat message]

[purrincess-chat]

*deep breath*

Okay.

I’ve cleared out the rest of my inbox and responded to all of the asks I’m going to on the subject. Anything else was deleted, and also for the time being I have turned off anonymous asks. I apologize to those of you out there who are very sweet and shy who use anon for its intended purpose, and I hate to punish you in the name of a few people who decided to use it to harass me on my birthday, but just for the time being I will not be accepting anonymous asks. If you would like to not have your name attached to something or want to make a request for something without other people knowing then feel free to message me or include in your ask that you don’t want your name to be published and I will make a separate post. I promise I don’t bite, and I won’t judge you at all.

That all being said, I think we should have a conversation about opinions. As I said a dozen times on Friday, it’s perfectly okay to have a different opinion as long as you are respectful. I think that a lot of people nowadays are so quick to become offended when someone doesn’t think the way they do, and they don’t know how to engage in conversation with someone when they disagree. I’ve had some heated debates with friends before, but at the end, even though we still disagreed, we were able to put our differences aside and accept that we both feel differently about it. 

I’d like to remind everyone that we’re talking about a cartoon. It’s not about real life or politics or religion or any other type of hot debate topic. It’s children’s fiction. It really doesn’t matter if someone ships Chlonath or Alyanette or whatever. If those things aren’t your cup of tea, then just ignore them or if they really grind your gears, filter those tags or get an extension that blacklists them. It’s okay to not like something just so long as you aren’t harassing the people that do like that thing. The same applies the other way around too. If someone says on their own blog that they don’t really care about a character or a ship that you really wholeheartedly love, I promise it’s not an attack against you. You can still like something even if other people don’t, and instead of focusing on the people that don’t like something then maybe go out and find the people that do. Never once have I said that no one is allowed to like a certain character or ship just because I don’t. You may not see me reblog things about that particular ship, and maybe from time to time I will reblog or make a post talking about reasons why I don’t like that thing, but again, that doesn’t mean I’m telling you that you can’t like it. 

People are always going to have a different opinion. People are always going to have their reasons for those opinions, and in the case of harmless things like cartoons, it doesn’t really matter if someone likes x ship better than y. It doesn’t impact your daily life at all if some stranger on the internet doesn’t ship your ship, but you may impact their day if you choose to lash out at them. As many of you know, Friday was my birthday, and to receive such hostility on a day that I was just trying to enjoy with my friends and family was frustrating. It made me anxious and upset over something that, in reality, doesn’t even matter. I tried my best to remain as respectful to other people as possible, but it can be hard when people are constantly filling your inbox with rudeness and unkind words just because of the way you feel about digital people. The main point I kept trying to make in my replies was that it’s okay to disagree with me. I am perfectly okay if people disagree with something that I’ve said so long as they do it respectfully and don’t come at me aggressively. I often enjoy conversations with people who see things differently because you can always learn something about that person or about the thing you are discussing, and it can make you see things in a different light sometimes.

 I know that’s asking a lot of tumblr to respect other people’s opinions about a cartoon, but I pinky promise you that your life will be so much better if you learn how to not antagonize people over silly things like ships. If you really feel like you can’t converse calmly with someone, then just ignore their opinions or block them or do whatever you need to do. Curate your own experience. If you choose to seek out things you disagree with or don’t enjoy and tear others down then your fandom experience will always be a negative one, but if you choose to keep scrolling and instead engage the people who like the same things you do then you will find your experience to be much more pleasant. And even sometimes in those groups people will have a different opinion once in a while, but you have to understand that just because someone does or doesn’t like something you do or don’t, it’s not a personal attack against you. Just be respectful of other people’s opinions, and if they aren’t respectful of yours then there’s a block button for a reason. Sending someone anonymous hate will never convince them of your side, in fact it might even drive them farther away from it because they’ll learn to associate that thing with the way you made them feel. 

All that being said, I appreciate those of you who offered your mature opinions in a respectful way to me. If you enjoy something then great, enjoy that thing as much as you want, and you are welcome to come here and celebrate the things that we enjoy together. I always do my best not to tag any type of complaining that I do about ships if I do it at all, and I hope that you all understand that if I’m complaining about something it’s not in any way me saying that you should feel bad for enjoying that thing. My opinions are based on my experiences and my thoughts and the way that thing makes me feel, and sometimes I can’t change that. I always try my best to give most things the benefit of the doubt, and who knows? Maybe one day down the road something will happen in canon that changes the way I see that thing, but until then screaming at me about how wrong I am just for feeling is only going to do more harm than good, and the same applies to everyone. So my plea to all of you is that you will seek out the things you enjoy rather than the things you don’t and to allow people that same opportunity.