#and see which answers remained consistent and which ones changed

[vivitalks]

not to be like "dreams do come true" on the Jaded Cynics Dot Com website but when i look back at tag/ask games i answered from my high school days every question of "dream trip/vacation" is always "new york city" and. fuckin here i am less than a year out of college living and working in new york city. so like. dreams do come true

[signedreality]

Would you so kindly do a Bill Cipher x reader with the song Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage? 🥺

ᯓ       ALL MINE

        bill cipher x reader

ଳ synopsis ; you didn't expect the apocalypse to start off with a demon making a deal with you so he could use you as a puppet.

ଳ warnings : romance, petnames, suggestiveness, manipulation, bill changes his form because my creativity was thriving while i was writing this (he's his original form, and whatever the form is called where he has a human body but his head is still a triangle.) and the fact everyone here simps for a literal geometric demon.

ଳ missive ; it's lovely to be back on the air, and i do hope you enjoy this broadcast! a fair warning, though, is that this broadcast mostly consists of bill attempting to control you, but the song is about dirty things! the song is explicit, but this broadcast is just a bit suggestive. enjoy!

now airing ; rule #34 - fish in a birdcage

the screams you had heard before were no longer present as your eyes slowly opened.

darkness surrounded you apart from the candle that was lit on a side table—the wax slowly dripping down its side while you attempted to focus your vision.

were you alone?

the question seemed to answer itself as you noted triangle shadows crawling around the lightened walls of the room you were trapped in, and you couldn't help but feel perplexed about where you were.

one moment, you were witnessing a tear in the universe opening to reveal a group of nightmares, and the next, you were here.

this was bill's doing, wasn't it?

the triangle shadows gave away the confusion you had about who had taken you here, but the sound of a psychotic laugh ringing out hinted at that idea as well.

"someone finally decides to wake up!"

a large, white eye appeared from the shadows while you noted a yellow hue glowing with each word that was spoken.

a frown made its way onto your face while you attempted to move your body, but you couldn't.

looking up, you noticed blue chains that were wrapped around your wrists and bolted to the wall. your legs had unfortunately met the same fate as your wrists while your eyes darted back to whoever was talking.

bill emerged from the shadows as he had his hands behind his back, and you watched his eye travel from your head to your feet before he hummed. "i didn't think i knocked you out that hard! you were asleep for quite some time..."

"what do you want?" you demanded an answer while bill only raised his hands in a taunting manner, which only made your frown deepen. "someone's in a mood—anyways, i guess i'll get to the point."

you watched him snap his fingers, and within an instant, he had a human body.

he wasn't just a triangle anymore, though his head remained that way.

a black suit hugged his frame while a yellow button-up underneath shined in the candlelight, and you watched as he fixed the black gloves on his hands.

"i want to make a deal with you, doll."

"over my dead body—"

"your body's about to be dead if you don't shut up." his tone was harsh, and that alone made you fall silent before bill only hummed. "see? now that you're quiet and obeying, you get to hear what i want to offer."

you ignored his belittling comment about you obeying as you squirmed in the chains, and bill only let out a chuckle while he walked up towards you.

"i want to use you as a puppet..." you narrowed your eyes in disgust while bill placed his hands in his pocket, and he partially tapped his foot as if he was waiting for an answer. "why do you want to do that?"

"because i'm bored! is that so wrong?"

"yes. yes, it is."

a hand slammed itself against your head—making your breath hitch as bill was in front of you. "i'm not asking for your remarks. i'm asking for control, you fleshbag..."

"never." you taunted as you watched bill's head turn crimson while a few veins popped out in his gaze, yet all he did was let out a shaky sigh before taking a step back.

with the snap of his fingers, your chains vanished as you were left to crumble onto the ground.

as you were on your knees, a hand grabs your chin while you were forced to look up at bill—his eye narrowed with amusement yet irritation.

"just surrender your mind..." he spoke quietly as you stared up at him—your eyes wide while his grip on your chin only grew. "this would be so much easier if you just gave in, doll."

"let go of me—" you seethed while the demon could only let out a low chuckle, and he surprisingly did as you asked.

his hand fell to his side while his other reached into the pocket of his pants, and he pulled out a pocket watch while a rusted chain followed the movement of the object. it swung a bit while bill popped open the watch, and the sound of ticks filled the room before he wrapped the chain around his finger.

the watch was partially spun around while the metal continued to wrap around his gloved finger—his action coming to a stop before he held the watch right in front of your gaze.

it was almost midnight.

"i usually say time is an illusion, but as of right now, it's the most materiality thing in this room apart from how fast your heart is beating..." your hand partially reached out for the watch until it glowed a dull blue, and the watch snapped shut while you jerked back in shock.

all you felt was a hand grasp your collar before you were yanked onto your feet, and your gape locked with bill's as he let out a low sigh. "while you look good on your knees, it's unfortunate that you don't know how to please one while doing so."

your body warmed as his grip tightened on your shirt, yet he wasn't choking you. he was just assuring that you stayed in your place.

your gaze drifted towards the candle that continued to burn—the wax dripping onto to the side table before a finger grazed the bottom of your chin.

"look me in the eye, doll, i won't say it again—i didn't realize you flesh puppets had such bad hearing..."

his words echoed while the silk of his glove could be felt as his finger trailed down to where your pulse was, and he pressed down on it. "that explains why you can't focus...your heart's beating so fast..."

your lips pursed as bill kneeled down onto one of his knees, and he tilted his head at you while his eye narrowed.

"tick tock, doll—do we have a deal or not?"

"what do i get out of this, bill?" you questioned while bill could only look away in thought, yet his eye flickered to meet yours. "me. you'll get me."

"deal."

your hand slowly raised up to grasp his—the one that continued to remain on your pulse, and you felt the warmth of the cerulean fire that erupted from his palm as he grabbed your hand.

shockingly, it didn't burn whatsoever.

a wave of warmth just remained against your skin as he brought your hand out, and you noted the flame that covered both of your hands while he shook your hand.

yet, he didn't let go.

he yanked you closer as your legs slightly tangled, and one of his arms wrapped around your waist while he tilted his head.

"such a stupid fleshbag, aren't you?—you're mine now, doll..."

your chin was cupped while your chest was pressed against his, and you were able to feel each time he took in a breath. "all yours...?" you quietly asked as bill only chuckled, and he traced a triangle against the skin of your hip while his eye flashed blue.

"all mine..."

⤷ word count ; 1,210

© signedreality

🌊        reblogs + hearts + comments are appreciated !

listeners : @simpingoncarmensandiego @ari-hatake24 @heartfeltcherie

[dootznbootz]

Odysseus was afraid the entire year on Aeaea in the Odyssey.

Content warnings: Rape, Sexual Coercion, Sexual assault, Sex Work, power dynamics, this will also be long as fuck as I talk too much. This is NOT a "Circe the Goddess Hate Post". I call her out but that's it. I tried to keep this neutral but still making a point (Let me know if I gotta put more)

Lots of lovely folks on here have written great essays on what Calypso did to Odysseus as it's soooo blatantly obvious there. It literally states how he cried every day and how he flinched from Calypso, very straightforward on how he was explicitly raped.

But I've noticed that a lot of people are always iffy about Circe's situation (understandably so, it's not so in your face.) She's usually always mentioned in the "Odysseus never cheated! He was raped!" posts but then the evidence is only ever given against Calypso, and then mentioning how you can't say no or disobey the orders of an immortal and how it was in exchange for freeing his men.

WHICH IS ALL CORRECT!!! But!!!

There ARE immortal/mortal couples who genuinely love each other. Dionysus and Ariadne, and Eros and Psyche are examples. Apollo and Hyacinthus. Psyche indeed becomes immortal eventually and in some versions, both Hyacinthus and Ariadne do too. But even while mortal themselves, their immortal lovers still remained respectful and loving towards them and definitely doted on them. There are definitely power dynamics at play here but there's some nuance.

Odysseus and Circe's relationship, however, is very different. We all know he slept with her at the very least once. And that was in exchange for his men being returned to humans. That was the only time it was explicitly stated. With Calypso, it tells you every night he was enchanted and slept beside her. It was the narrator speaking but Odysseus is the narrator now and it's his story. If you think he lied, this probably won't change your mind anyway.

But even if it was a one-time thing, (which isn't the only interpretation and I will have points that talk about others) then why did he stay a year? What was he doing?

I'm doing a deep dive into the year he spent on Aeaea based on evidence in Book 10 and then the beginning of Book 12. Step by step, and honestly I'm writing this for Tumblr, not as a thesis so I will be a bit more casual but still using sources. To me, it's very obvious that he was uncomfortable throughout the text simply based on the language that is used. But it's very subtle and not an outright statement of "He's been crying every day."

BTW, just so we're clear, this is not a "Circe is the root of all evil, etc." type of post.

This isn't meant to villainize her. She's an immortal being and in mythology that changes things. Everybody is morally gray. I genuinely think if we were to ask her feelings on it, she'd probably be like "Oh, yeah! Turned his men into pigs! Strange little man he was." I don't think she gave a flying fuck.

I just simply get pissed tf off when people think Odysseus was fine. It honestly disturbs me how often I'll go on other websites YouTube and see everyone call him a whore and a womanizer. It's sexism at its finest because 1.) "MaN AlwAyS wAnTs sEx" and 2.) women can't rape/coerce. THIS IS SIMPLY TO LOOK INTO HIS FEELINGS ABOUT IT.

This is also only for Homer's Odyssey, using different translations. If you want to discuss this, (I'd be happy to! Just be nice!) DON'T BRING UP ANY OTHER WORKS.

With all that out of the way, come yell with me 🤗

I've read multiple translations, as I know there's going to be bias depending on who's translating. And having done so, each one has basically the same situations described the same so that's nice for consistency. Also, there are some parts in the story that are vague and that we'll never have answers to.

Odysseus first simply sees the smoke from her chimney and then sends his men in, after drawing lots Eurylochus leads half of the men to check out the house. I mentioned here vaguely how the 2 immortals he sleeps with are both introduced while singing and weaving, which could be seen as an enchantment (which to me is most likely. They both possess magic and are goddesses). So I'm just gonna move past that. Just take a peek and come back or just know that enchantment was likely.

Next, I'll see people often joke on Tumblr about how

"Odysseus says that Polites is his best friend yet only mentions him once!"

I think Odysseus mentions his best friend, the one to jubilantly go in first, to show WHY he would go through with this. How much these comrades mean to him. That's his best friend, and there are approximately 20 others who are now pigs as well. Could you knowingly leave one of your best friends to live a life like that knowing you could've done something?

[...]Circe—and deep inside they heard her singing, lifting her spellbinding voice as she glided back and forth at her great immortal loom, her enchanting web a shimmering glory only goddesses can weave. Polites, captain of armies, took command, the closest, most devoted man I had: ‘Friends, there’s someone inside, plying a great loom, and how she sings—enthralling! The whole house is echoing to her song. Goddess or woman—let’s call out to her now!’ So he urged and the men called out and hailed her. She opened her gleaming doors at once and stepped forth, inviting them all in, and in they went, all innocence.

(Fagles, Book 10)

In the Odyssey, it's never mentioned why she turns people into animals. I think they were turned into pigs because, throughout the Iliad and Odyssey, Odysseus is often associated with boars. His men are associated with him, therefore: 🐖 Piggy. From what we know, the lads were just eating her food. With how much Xenia and hospitality are a large part of the story, they probably thought they were safe. They were GUESTS. This is especially welcome after the Cyclops and the Laestrygonians. And it literally says "All innocence". They were simply naive.

Then Eurylochus runs back, so terrified that he couldn't speak at first. He then begs Odysseus to just leave the men behind. Odysseus has shown that he does TRY to save his men when it is truly not reckless to do so.

But I shot back, ‘Eurylochus, stay right here, eating, drinking, safe by the black ship. I must be off. Necessity drives me on.’

(Fagles, Book 10)

Then the famous warning from Hermes. I've seen folks bring this up when talking about this. YES, he is literally commanded by Hermes to not refuse her if he wants his men back in basically every translation. It sounds like Circe was warned as well. When? We don't know, but it sounds like Hermes didn't pick "sides" here.

Strange that he was still like, "Sleep with each other" to both, because he could've been like, "Circe, there's this guy named Odysseus. When he comes to this island, change his men back." But who knows, maybe it was Circe's idea from the beginning and Hermes went along with it. Just food for thought.

Now here’s your plan of action, step by step. The moment Circe strikes with her long thin wand, you draw your sharp sword sheathed at your hip and rush her fast as if to run her through! She’ll cower in fear and coax you to her bed— but don’t refuse the goddess’ bed, not then, not if she’s to release your friends and treat you well yourself. But have her swear the binding oath of the blessed gods she’ll never plot some new intrigue to harm you, once you lie there naked— never unman you, strip away your courage!’

(Fagles, Book 10)

But that doesn't explain why he was there for a year afterward! Nor if he himself was okay with it, which is what I'm trying to delve into as he wasn't.

Also the knife thing? She's still immortal. It was meant to startle her. Her dad is Helios. Odysseus would've been toast, literally.

Also note this exchange wasn't a "Yippee! Hermes says I'm going to get laid!".

...just approaching the halls of Circe, my heart a heaving storm at every step, paused at her doors, the nymph with lovely braids— I stood and shouted to her there. She heard my voice, she opened the gleaming doors at once and stepped forth, inviting me in, and in I went, all anguish now …

(Fagles, Book 10)

Another translation by Ian Johnston, (they all say the same thing essentially but trying to make a point.)

I continued on to Circe’s home. As I moved on, my heart was turning over many gloomy thoughts. After I had walked up to the gateway                                                of fair-haired Circe’s house, I just stood there and gave a shout. The goddess heard my voice.                      She came out at once, opened her bright doors, and invited me inside. I entered, heart full of misgivings.

HE👏WAS👏SCARED! The tone is solemn and suspenseful. He was just told that without Hermes' help with the root, he wouldn't be able to survive and bring back his men. Circe was dangerous.

He made her swear not to harm him.

Straightaway she began to swear the oath that I required—never, she’d never do me harm—and when she’d finished, then, at last, I mounted Circe’s gorgeous bed …

(Fagles, Book 10)

Please note that she NEVER promised that to his men. His comrades did NOT have moli in their systems. He had no way of truly ensuring their safety in any way from Circe.

He then refuses to eat or speak, literally "lost in grim forebodings". If he "just got laid", then why isn't he happy? Not many men can say that a goddess CHOSE to have sex with them. He did it to get his men turned back. It was an exchange. I don't think Circe is "Evil" so maybe it slipped her mind. Or yes, she could've thought, "Hey, I got what I wanted. He's handsome enough. Homer never shuts up about how hot this guy is He hasn't brought up the pigs yet. I'll just let this play out. Maybe HE forgot. I don't have to do anything." We don't know. But Odysseus probably felt like he got deceived.

"Hey, I did my part of the deal. I slept with you. Now do yours."

She pressed me to eat. I had no taste for food. I just sat there, mind wandering, far away … lost in grim forebodings. As soon as Circe saw me, huddled, not touching my food, immersed in sorrow, she sidled near with a coaxing, winged word: ‘Odysseus, why just sit there, struck dumb, eating your heart out, not touching food or drink? Suspect me of still more treachery? Nothing to fear. Haven’t I just sworn my solemn, binding oath?’

So she asked, but I protested, ‘Circe— how could any man in his right mind endure the taste of food and drink before he’d freed his comrades-in-arms and looked them in the eyes? If you, you really want me to eat and drink, set them free, all my beloved comrades— let me feast my eyes.’ So I demanded.

(Fagles, Book 10)

He doesn't trust her despite what she had told him that he should when they sleep together. He has figured out that while she will not hurt him, his men were not a part of that oath, the men he was trying to protect in the first place.

She is then moved by how they rejoice when they see one another again. While turning people into animals for funsies isn't cool and coercion is fucked up, I think she comes to see this group as not quite friends but I think she did find them entertaining in a way.

This is very strange but I've seen some folks say that since Odysseus was pissed at Eurylochus for still not believing him about Circe is proof that "Oh he was trying to defend her!". Which??? Uh, Eurylochus was literally questioning his leadership as a whole. Calling him reckless and shit. He is captain and he's the King, he can't let that shit slide. The text literally says "Mutinous". Also if I had to sleep with someone I did not want to especially if it was to save my friends and I got called names afterward I'd get fucking pissed too.

Only Eurylochus tried to hold my shipmates back, his mutinous outburst aimed at one and all: ‘Poor fools, where are we running now? Why are we tempting fate?— why stumble blindly down to Circe’s halls? She’ll turn us all into pigs or wolves or lions made to guard that palace of hers—by force, I tell you— just as the Cyclops trapped our comrades in his lair with hotheaded Odysseus right beside them all— thanks to this man’s rashness they died too!

They stay a year. Again it's never stated that Odysseus slept with her that whole time. You could interpret that. (Honestly, I feel Circe would get bored with him? She's a goddess, she's got more important matters than mortal men. And she definitely doesn't love him.)

His men DO have to bring it up that "Odysseus has forgotten his native land." Maybe they thought they could sneak out without her knowing??? I am fucking REACHING but hold on as Telemachus did because he knew Nestor would well, be Nestor and try to coax him with "Have a meal with us! Let me tell you about how badass I used to be in my youth." But to sneak away from a goddess? Without her permission? That won't end too well. Aeolus in the beginning kicked out Odysseus when he tried to ask for another bag of wind. If she didn't want him around, she could literally boot him out. While she didn't force him to stay like Calypso did, she didn't "release" him either.

We don't know if they've been asking for a long time. Odysseus does say to Circe that they have been begging him nonstop, but he could also be saying that to try and convince her. He's good at persuasion. I think while he knew he could rely on her for food, shelter, and good advice, he still didn't feel...SAFE with her. I think he was possibly avoiding her personally.

I think HOW he asks her to leave is important to know as well.

...but I went up to that luxurious bed of Circe’s, hugged her by the knees and the goddess heard my winging supplication: ‘Circe, now make good a promise you gave me once— it’s time to help me home. My heart longs to be home, my comrades’ hearts as well. They wear me down, pleading with me whenever you’re away.’

(Fagles, Book 10)

Throughout all of Homer's works, the characters grasp another's knees when they are desperate and are literally at the other person's mercy. Priam did when begging Achilles for Hector's body back. The man who literally killed his son and was defiling his body by dragging it around. Leodes grabs Odysseus' knees to beg for his life before Ody kills him. If he saw her as a friend, and not a captor, WHY DID HE FEEL THE NEED TO BEG IN ORDER TO LEAVE?! No one, who is in a healthy relationship, has to BEG for permission to leave. Or to "Break up", if you interpret them as still sleeping together.

And even Circe acknowledges that he is there against his will!

‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, old campaigner, stay on no more in my house against your will.

(Fagles, Book 10)

[...]Odysseus, man of many resources, scion of Zeus, son of Laertes, don’t stay here a moment longer against your will

(A.S. Kline, Book 10)

This is probably another reach that you can ignore but the whole "they wear me down", could be trying to appease her. "Look, you're REALLY cool, it's actually my crew that wants to leave hahahah please don't kill them"

I mentioned before how Telemachus snuck away from Nestor but that was simply out of necessity because he needed to go home now. Not rest for the night. NOW. Nestor is just everyone's grandpa. Menelaus kind of talked more but Telemachus is very straight up in "Please I have to go now" and Menelaus immediately got things ready for him. He never has to beg and clasp his knees. Telemachus was never afraid. Menelaus is a fun uncle and Helen is your cool auntie.

Back to Circe! She tells him instructions for the underworld, they were in her bedroom. But that might've been the only way to speak with her. As even Penelope is usually away from the suitors when they are in her halls, Circe may have done the same. The text never states she played hostess physically. If she was hosting in the halls during the day, why did Odysseus wait until night to talk to her? He could've just asked her while she was on her throne in front of everyone. (He did so with the Phaeacians)

Or maybe he went alone because she only swore an oath to not harm him and so he didn't want his men near if she decided she didn't want to let them go. I could be missing something here so feel free to say something. Idk if this was a pride thing on how "I don't want others to see me beg".

She has info he needs in order to go home as well. She tells him to go to the Underworld.

She gave him new fine clothes and put on pretty clothes herself but that doesn't mean they had sex. Nausicaa gave him nice clothes as well but he never slept with her.

Then he leaves. Immediately. Not even doing a headcount as he didn't realize one of his men had died. (That was negligence on his part but he wanted out) He booked it, to the UNDERWORLD BY THE WAY. Circe even had to sneak the animals he needed for the sacrifice. Odysseus even basically said "She's a goddess. She can do things mortals can't" at the end of the book. And it almost feels...Numb? Solemn? Neutral? Gives a "It is what it is" vibe.

But Circe got to the dark hull before us, tethered a ram and black ewe close by— slipping past unseen. Who can glimpse a god who wants to be invisible gliding here and there?

(Fagles, Book 10)

She’d slipped past us with ease, for who can see a god move back and forth, if she has no desire to be observed?

(Johnston, Book 10)

She's a goddess. She has magic. She can do whatever the fuck she wants.

NOW ON TO BOOK 12!!! That was long! GET A SNACK AND WATER! LUCKILY THIS'LL BE SHORTER!

In Book 11, Odysseus swears, upon all his loved ones in Ithaca, to Elpenor that he'd give him a proper burial as he's been "unwept, unburied". So in Book 12, he sails back to Aeaea to fulfill his promise.

But you know what's funny to me?

He didn't tell Circe he was there.

He didn't even go to greet Circe himself. He sent his men to go get Elpenor's body.

The biggest clue that he didn't love/trust her is that if she was his "Affair partner" then why not go see her for "one last night together"?

SHE came out herself and pulled him aside to know what happened and then gave more advice.

I dispatched some men to Circe’s halls to bring the dead Elpenor’s body. [...]

Nor did our coming back from Death escape Circe— she hurried toward us, decked in rich regalia, handmaids following close with trays of bread and meats galore and glinting ruddy wine. [...]

But Circe, taking me by the hand, drew me away from all my shipmates there and sat me down and lying beside me probed me for details

(Fagles, Book 12)

In every translation, it talks about how he sits, and she lounges/lies down. That's not sex 🙃 In some translations, it even says he tried to be with his shipmates but she pulled him away!

So we lay down and slept beside our ship’s stern cables. But Circe took me by the hand and led me away, some distance from the crew. She made me sit, while she stretched out beside me on the ground. 

(Johnston, Book 12)

Then, she gives advice about the sirens, Charybdis, Scylla, and her father's Cattle. He tries to ask if he could save all his men. She scolds him for even thinking he could try. He again books it out of there.

I think we all know it wasn't "love". But I think a lot of people think Odysseus was willing and happy with whatever this was. "Friends with Benefits", if you will. I guess you could see it that way but I will say that makes me feel itchy with the whole power dynamic and fear. I don't think folks who have that arrangement have to beg on their knees to ask if they can leave though.

I mean the entirety of Book 10 gives me the vibes of "Laughing uncomfortably because you don't want to upset the other person". To just grin and bear it.

A lot of this was just putting the text here and picking it apart step by step. What you do with this is up to you. It's rambling while banging pots and pans together.

Maybe you see him as drugged the entire year and still sleeping together, as the moli "wore off". Even then, just because her magic can't affect him, there are plenty of natural concoctions that can be created that can affect mortals.

Maybe you see the entire year as sex work in exchange for shelter and food.

Maybe he was just alongside his men the whole time under her roof and was avoiding her after the exchange. After he got asked by his men to finally leave, he would start to walk up to that room only to freeze and turn around, thinking "One more day won't hurt. Should wait until I know she's in a sympathetic mood".

I beg of you, however, PLEASE understand that there was fear and coercion throughout his entirety on Aeaea. He wasn't staying to get laid. While there is so much going on and too many things that are left vague to really know exactly what happened, it is consistent that he was scared/numb. Lots of people go through with things they don't really want to do just to appease others. There are plenty of situations of sexual trauma where one person goes through something and the other has no idea the other person isn't okay. ESPECIALLY WHEN SOMEONE CAN HARM THE PEOPLE YOU CARE ABOUT AT ANY MOMENT!

Sexual trauma is a very complicated thing and while he was scared, he definitely wasn't as traumatized by her as he was by Calypso. Calypso was a torturous hell while Circe was a year of walking on eggshells. Not comparable but I still think it should be acknowledged. It's wild because I read the Odyssey and kept thinking "Y'all are calling the sex slave a cheater? The guy who slept with a goddess to get his men back? The ultimate simp apparently doesn't love his wife??"

Things I'm adding that shouldn't affect the argument as it is not in the Odyssey but I want to mention as it's a "fun fact": Odysseus' dad was an Argonaut. Laertes probably met Circe as well, (or knew of her) with the whole purifying thing and maybe Odysseus heard his dad tell stories of her. Later myths also have Circe with the habit of turning her crushes (or their lovers) into something with Scylla and Picus.

In conclusion, Yeah, he was afraid of her. At least to an extent. And don't pull the whole "Ancient men didn't get raped". Male victims exist and deserve compassion for what was done to them and women are capable of sexual abuse. If you think otherwise, you are not a true feminist and Fuck you. I said in the beginning this'll be casual and I don't wanna write a fancy ending. You can still think Circe is neat but you have to know that this was fucked up.

If you think a lot of this is bullshit or wanna give more context or wish to yell with me but still know he wasn't alright on Aeaea, cool. If you want to point out mistakes or something I should keep in mind with interpretations then feel free to say so but give text evidence. If you try and bring up the Telegony and/or Madeline Miller's Circe, fuck clean off. This is Homer. If you call Odysseus a whore and not the malewife he canonically is I'll start biting. 😤

[theresattrpgforthat]

do you know any games that would fit a film noir detective style game? especially one with a gilded age or art deco aesthetic

THEME: Film Noir

Hello friend! So I knew of one or two games - but my buddy Sean, well he knows way more. Most of the games on this list are games that he’s introduced me to or knows about. So shout out to Sean!

Noirlandia, by Turtlebun.

Noirlandia is a murder mystery roleplaying game played with an actual cork board. When you first sit down, no one knows the answers.

You'll figure out the way your city ticks—maybe it’s blanketed in white ash, maybe it’s built atop the back of an enormous dying beetle, maybe only a few non-synthetics remain.

Your story follows a group of interconnected characters, a mind-bending case, and the cold stiff that started it all. Roll well, and you'll be allowed to pin new leads to your cork board or string connections between them.

Find the truth, or lose yourself trying. It’s just another day in Noirlandia.

A GM-less game, Noirlandia sets up each of your characters as someone who is connected to the victim - someone who demands justice in a world that has none. The city is created by the players, which tells me that you can decide some details about what the city looks like. The city itself feels like a character in this game - it has defined sections that you build using a deck of cards, each with a distinct personality and a host of slang words.

Because this game is GM-less, everyone gets to participate in the construction of the mystery, from who the victim is, to why their characters are involved. If you like world-building as much as you like following a story, you’ll want to check out Noirlandia.

Urban Jungle, by Sanguine Productions.

The early 20th century of the United States was rife with fantastic change: from the rise of industry giants, to the great experiment of Prohibition, to the tragedy of the Great Depression, onto the dawn of the Atomic Age. The sky was tamed, the world was mapped, and the possibilities of science seemed limitless, all blue skies and buttered toast…

… for some folks, anyway.

A complete game in one volume, URBAN JUNGLE makes you a player in an anthropomorphic world of pulp-adventure, hard-boiled crime, and film noir. You’ll tangle with hardened gangsters, with jaded debutantes, with world-weary veterans, and with all kinds of shady characters.

Urban Jungle uses different sizes of dice to determine your level of skill. Character creation consists of distributing dice amongst your traits, and then choosing from a list of species, types, careers, and personalities. The type and career options open up a wide variety of backgrounds for your characters - you don’t necessarily have to be hard-boiled detectives. You could be a criminal, an artist, a member of the social elite, or a down-to-earth labourer of some kind, just to name a few. As a result, the differences between the characters in Urban Jungle could lead to a rather mis-matched party, so you’ll likely want to talk with your group about what kind of story you’re telling.

Judging by the skills available in this game, you’re likely going to begetting in and out of scrapes, chasing, running, fighting and investigating. You might tussle with the mafia, or hunt down missing artifacts. You might try to get inside a swanky party, or try to win at a game of cards. If what you want is a toolbox to create your own plots with, you might be interested in Urban Jungle.

Junk Noir, by JadeRavens.

Junk Noir is a cooperative, zero-prep, GM-less mystery game for 2 or more players. Players share control of Tracer as the titular robo-sleuth investigates mysteries, visits Locations, meets Characters, finds Clues, and triggers Events. In Junk Noir, you'll dramatize scenes, form connections, make moves, and play to see what happens! 

Junk Noir mysteries don't come with pre-written solutions — that's the detective's job! Solving a mystery is about more than just finding clues, since clues are only as good as the theory that connects them. Players connect the dots and discuss theories over the course of an investigation. 

This is a game for folks who like generative mysteries, such as Brindlewood Bay or Paranormal Inc. Junk Noir helps you generate clues that you as a group will have to put together, while each player embodies a part of Tracer’s programming. This is also a GM-less mystery game, which means you can all sit down and play with no prep required - the game will guide you as you play it.

Deadlands Noir, by Pinnacle Entertainment.

New Orleans, 1935. Whoever called this “the Big Easy” sure got that one wrong. Things are tough all over. Honest work is hard to find, and even dishonest jobs are getting scarce. The one thing that’s not in short supply is trouble. From shady thugs to crooked cops to Mafia soldiers, there’s plenty of characters out there looking to give an honest Joe a hard time. And that’s not the worst of it.

There are stories going round about things that go bump in the night. Things you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley on a darker night. And those stories aren’t just coming from rummies or saps who read that Epitaph rag.

Still, there are a few heroes left in the concrete jungle. Steely-eyed private dicks, fast-talking grifters, wild-eyed inventors, and shadowy houngans still struggle against the encroaching darkness. With enough moxie—and more than a little luck—they might just be enough to turn the tide.

Deadlands Noir is a pen-and-paper roleplaying game set in the world of Pinnacle Entertainment’s award-winning Deadlands universe. It includes new Edges, Hindrances, and powers, as well as new rules for handling detective work, the state of the Union and the CSA in the Depression-era, a complete Plot Point campaign, and of course, more monsters and ghouls than you can shake a smoking .45 automatic at.

Savage Worlds is a great system for pulp-action and protagonists that are good at what they do. Deadlands Noir is a setting for Savage Worlds, meaning you’ll need the core rulebook in order to use it. The Deadlands setting as a number of books that relate to each-other, including a Weird West and a Hell on Earth setting. This means that this version of Noir includes a supernatural element, and the people behind any big upset could have magical powers. The setting itself is based on the New Orleans that often shows up in popular media, with hauntings and monsters turned up to 11. If you want something paranormal mixed up in your noir, this is the game for you!

Sword Noir 2e, by Sword’s Edge Publishing.

Imagine a barbarian prince embroiled in the criminal underworld of a cosmopolitan city as they seek for an artifact in the shape of a falcon statue. Consider two accomplished thieves—one an urbane duelist and the other a brawny skald—hired by a wealthy retired general to deal with a blackmailer, only uncover multiple murders tied to the general’s children. Envision hardboiled crime fiction in the worlds of sword & sorcery.

That’s Sword Noir.

The concept of Sword Noir is a combination of hardboiled fiction, the film noir it inspired, and sword & sorcery. The setting is noir while the characters are drawn from sword & sorcery tales. The PCs live in a world filled with injustice and apathy. Treachery and greed dominate and hope is frail. Violence is deadly and fast. The characters are good at what they do. They are specialists. Trust is the most valued of commodities—life is the cheapest. Grim leaders weave labyrinthine plots which entangle innocents. Magic is real and can be powerful, but it takes extreme dedication to learn, extorts a horrible price, and is slow to conjure.Now is the time for your characters to walk down mean streets, drenched in rain, hidden in fog, and unravel mysteries, murders, and villainy.

Sword Noir is probably the biggest step from the original noir trope, placing your characters in a fantasy world, far removed from technology like telephones or sleek cars. However, the corrupted city still lives and breathes here, full of ne’er-do-wells and shady characters. If you want to revel in noir tropes but play with the setting a little, maybe try out Sword Noir 2e.

Noir World, by John Adamus.

WALK THESE STREETS. TELL YOUR STORY. MAKE YOUR MOVIE.

It’s raining. The alleys are as dark as the streets. You’ve entered a world where light and dark mix with gray and the unknown, where your past collides with your present and future, and it’s safe to assume everyone’s out for themselves.

It’s the stuff dreams are made of, it’s the stuff of old movies, classic movies. Great stories.

This is Noir World. And this is your world and your Movie now. Your story is worth telling, even though it’s not going to be pretty. You might not make it out alive, but it’ll be one hell of a ride.

It’s true what they say: the City is full of stories, and not all of them have happy endings.

As a PbtA game, Noir World calls back to Apocalypse World, Monsterhearts, and The Sprawl as sources of inspiration. This means that you’ll be building your setting together, using noir tropes as guides to construct the story you want to tell. If this game is anything like its’ predecessors, the primary thing you’ll be focusing on is relationships; what do your characters mean to each-other, and how do those relationships affect their ability to get what they want?

Fedora Noir, by Less Than Three Games.

In Fedora Noir, you create the story of a flawed private investigator in the style of a film noir. Players take on the roles of the Detective, their Partner, their Flame – and their Hat, the Detective’s sharp mind and inner voice. Together, players explore the Detective’s messy life against the backdrop of a difficult case.

In Fedora Noir, two players share control of the story’s main character: the Detective and the Hat.

The Detective role-plays a private eye on a case, narrating their actions and speech. But here’s the catch – the person role-playing the Detective doesn’t get to say what they think. That’s the Hat’s job. The other two main characters – the Partner and the Flame – provide the Detective with personal relationships. People to care about… or disappoint.

Fedora Noir is a game for exactly four players. It takes the form of a deck of cards, which provide prompts and references to help you navigate the story - great for folks who don’t want to keep track of character sheets. There’s a whole bunch of settings included - and if you want the art deco style, then the New Hudson setting is made for you. Each city comes with a piece of art to set the mood, a list of locations you can choose to visit, and a cast of characters that may be getting involved in the case. You also choose a Case card to represent the Detective’s mission, Actor cards to help you depict what your detective looks like, and a series of chapter cards that will bring you through the narrative beats of a detective novel.

Other Games to Check Out...

Hardboiled, by Fat Goblin Games.

Noire: Elle Est, Elles Sont, by Ursidice.

Nitrate City, by Evil Hat.

[ghcstao3]

vampire x monster hunter……….i am so respectfully asking for more (im foaming at the mouth)

(original post) i shall do my best. again i got a little out of hand with word count. cw blood (of course)

-

John knows he should be happy about Simon's return.

He knows he should be happy to be reunited with his once-best friend even if it's after over a decade, because all this time he'd thought Simon was dead. He knows he should be happy that Simon would return here, of all places, to make amends, to catch up, to do whatever it is old friends are meant to. He knows this.

And yet... John can't help but feel on edge.

John is happy, of course he is. It isn’t often he’s surprised as he was when the knock at his door had been Simon. It isn’t every day an old friend returns from the dead. But he can only be fed the same excuses over and over so many times before he grows wary in Simon’s presence, which is really, truly the last thing he wants.

Being told I'm not hungry, I'll eat later would only be of any worth if Simon had said it once or twice, and not for every meal offered. It might be a cause for concern if Simon did not still appear consistently healthy and sated in spite of it.

Not to mention the sneaking out at odd hours. New creaks and groans have since developed in John's old house, ones Simon wasn't aware of, clearly, until the first time he makes his mistakes. It all just... worries John. Frightens him. Of course people change, and certainly over thirteen years, but it all seems to raise far more questions than there are answers that Simon is willing to give.

And then all of the sudden it makes too much sense, and John finds himself wishing Simon had never come back.

With the regularity at which people disappear in and around the town, John doesn't notice any difference after Simon's arrival. No increase or decrease, no change in occurrences that might tip John off to a new creature needing to be hunted.

This particular hunt was meant to be carried out like any other; John was heading out alone as the creature he was after didn't pose so much a threat to require help, it would be clean and quick, then he'd return home. He leaves a note for Simon, who may or may not have gone out himself, grabs his gear and vanishes beneath the cloak of a cloud-filled night.

Vampire, is what little information he'd been provided with, and so vampire is what he prepares himself for.

John has long since been a stranger to bloodshed. Really, it's necessary he not be squeamish, especially when so often he comes across scenes like this—this being the messy feasting of what could only be a newer, more inexperienced vampire. The unfamiliar hunger like nothing else usually makes them far more reckless when it comes to finding food.

This fledgling isn't any different, judging by the large smears and smatterings of blood leading right to John's culprit.

A figure sits hunched in the dark, accompanied only by the sound of tearing flesh. When John had first been learning, the lack of breathing that should be present when drinking so fiercely had made him uneasy, but now it merely serves as a reminder that he should hold his own breath, lest he catch the vampire's attention.

John wields a silver dagger, creeping forward as carefully as he might in approaching a wild animal—these monsters are just about the same, anyway.

But John underestimates how elevated this particular fledgling's senses would be. They pause the moment John takes a step toward them, sitting up straighter, immediately alert. Their face remains obscured, but John can see them cock their head, presumably listening for his pulse.

He expects an attack. Expects a fight so as to not become the next course.

What John hadn't expected—or maybe a subconscious part of him had—was for the figure to rise slow and cautious, head bowed in what John might dare call shame. What he hadn't expected was for the vampire to turn on their heel and have John met with none other than—

"Simon?"

His head remains hung, silhouette still impossibly imposing. It's hard to discern much in the low light, but John imagines Simon's irises are currently a scarlet red as opposed to their usual warm coffee brown, if evidenced by the blood that covers his face and drips from his chin.

"Johnny." His voice is hoarse, but it's most certainly Simon's. He can probably hear the way John's heart picks up pace, be it out of fear, or be it out of use of a nickname Simon has so far avoided since their reunion. "Johnny, I'm sorry."

“Simon, wha—“ John frowns and finds his guard falling, yet his grip on the hilt of his knife only tightens. “I don’t—“

“I can’t help it,” Simon rasps, begging. “I can’t… I learned how to control myself, I did, but when I’m around you…”

Simon is directly in front of John in the blink of an eye, frigid hands curling around John's, around the dagger. He allows the tip of the blade to dig into his abdomen, unflinching as it pokes past clothes and just barely breaks skin. John holds steady, more than capable of pushing it further, but unwilling to hurt—or kill—Simon until he's given a reason to.

Never mind the mangled corpse on the ground just a few feet away.

"How long?"

"Johnny—"

"How long, Simon?"

Simon doesn't meet his eyes. They're dark either way like this, in this lack of light, but John still feels like something isn't quite right about it.

"A few months. A year, maybe. Two," Simon confesses. "It's all muddled."

For reasons John can't describe, somehow it stings knowing this... affliction has only been short-term. Because instead it could have been an explanation for Simon's disappearance—let alone that of his family's that he still often wonders about. Because instead it could have been a reason for Simon to have stayed away for so long even as an adult.

But it's not.

"Then why come back now? And why come back here?" John hisses. "You're a fuckin' dafty, y'know that?"

Simon's mouth parts, and for the first time since his arrival John finally catches a glimpse of his fangs; razor sharp and promising a swift but violent death for John should Simon's instincts get the best of him.

He then seals his lips in a thin line, swallowing whatever words he may have had prior. Simon offers a solemn nod of his head, his theme of shame so insistent.

Against John's better judgement, he retracts the knife. Tucks it away, and forces space between them. The overwhelming stench of iron is beginning to make him nauseous.

Softer, much softer than Simon deserves at the moment, and far too reminiscent of a past long gone, John says, "You were supposed to be the leveller-head between us."

Simon huffs. "'Be easier if constantly listening to your pulse wasn't driving me mad."

Oh.

"Oh." The pounding in John's ribcage does him no favours in picking up speed again. Then, suddenly realizing where and why he is, John attempts to steel himself, clenching his jaw and taking deep, slow breaths to calm the flutter of his heart. "Well, quit listenin' then."

Simon regards him curiously, in a way so painfully familiar to a past life.

A silence stretches on between them, tense and riddled with uncertainty. John tries, pointedly, to ignore the elephant still in the room, but between the blood and the smell and the looming issue of them being a vampire and a monster hunter, it's nigh impossible.

But even still—John thinks it'd be less right to kill Simon now, than to let him free. To bring him home.

John sighs, suddenly and immediately overcome with fatigue. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger for just a moment, rubbing the skin to unsuccessfully self-soothe. He wishes there was some sort of... protocol, for this. Maybe then things could be easier. Could make more sense. Just for once.

"I'm not—" John pauses, takes a breath, shakes his head. "I won't kill you, Simon. Not... now, at least."

Simon nods. "That's all I can ask for."

"Good, because that's all you're getting." It's a lie, and they both damn well know it, but just a little longer would John like to linger in ignorance. "Now just... clean this up before anyone sees. We'll talk about this more in the morning, alright?"

"Alright."

John offers a tight smile, whether or not Simon can really see it.

"Right. Goodnight, Simon."

"Goodnight, Johnny."

John hovers only a second, hooked on that nickname as he's always been, before he finally pivots on his heel and starts off the other way, turning a dutiful blind eye like he really shouldn't be doing.

He had missed Simon, he really had—but he's afraid to start wondering if this will all be worth the trouble, in the end.

[lunallaa]

||when the cat distribution system strikes||

gotham knights!jason todd x gn!reader

{Not edited/proof read please excuse any errors♡}

Ever since the two of you started dating, your favorite view and time of day consisted of the quite moments you and Jason shared when the city was asleep and everything for once was at peace. Now, you weren't a fan of being woken up in the middle of the night, but you found it hard to remain upset when you could look over at the other side of the bed and see your boyfriend finally have the moments of peace that he deserves for all that he does for the people of Gotham. Recently though, that view of yours got an upgrade. Tonight you had been torn out of your sleep by a slightly unpleasant dream and as you turned over to adjust yourself for sleep again you were met with the sweetest sight. There of course was your boyfriend peacefully dosing away, but with the newest adition of a small little void of a kitten just as peacefully sleeping on his chest. That tiny little thing was an unexpected new member of the little family the two of you had made and you wouldn't change a thing,even if the kitten still remained unnamed after being home for about a month now. You'll probably have to change that soon.

You remember when that furry little angel entered your lives like it was yesterday. You had gone out to the Bodega around the corner from your apartment to grab a few of their home-made pastelillos* for dinner because Jason was home for the night nursing a sprained ankle and craving one of his favorite meals. You remember being in a rush that evening due to the forecast of rain that was supposed to roll in at any moment, and due to that you were meant to be in and out and home within just a handful of minutes. Instead, on your way back home you were stopped dead in your tracks by the most pathetic little meow you have ever heard. Your goal of getting home as soon as possible was abandoned as you made your way to the tattered cardboard box sitting just at the entrance of the alleyway you almost walked past. Strays and pets that simply found themselves outside were no strangers to the neighborhood, not so much abandoned animals, which seemed to be the case as you get Closer to the tattered and damp box. Once you got close enough to get a peek inside you were able to see there in the shadow of the box the smallest kitten you have ever seen in your life. You had wondered to yourself if the poor thing was runt that had been left out here due to the fact you saw no evidence of any littermates or a mom. By then it had started to lightly rain, and you wasted no time in removing the hoodie you wore then gently picking and wrapping up the damp little creature as it cried out at the sudden change of environment.

Anytime you take a little more time than usual on an errand than planned, Jason can't help himself from becoming worried. It also doesn't help his worry when you don't answer you phone when he sends a few texts trying to see what was possibly making you late when it should've only taken you around twenty minutes. After hearing your voicemail message for the fourth time he was almost ready to (hesitantly) call one of his siblings to go look for where you could've gone, not only could you be in some kind of danger but the rain was starting to worry him. He was halfway off the couch when your soaking form finally came through the door. You barely gave him time to sigh in relief, let alone welcome you home and ask what happened as you hurriedly dropped the bag of food into his lap before quickly making your way into the bathroom. That worried him. In the last few years of you dating, you never came home and did not speak to him immediately, let alone rush past him like that. He thought he was worried before, but now he is concerned and almost scared of what's happening that he doesn't know about. Jason carefully got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen to put your dinner into the microwave to keep warm before he made his way into the restroom to see what you could possibly be up to. The last thing he expected to see was you cradling a small soaking wet ball of black fur while stressfully searching the internet on your phone. While he had already began connecting the dots on what was happening, it wasn't until he had hobbled his way to your side and the furball meowing at him that he was fully aware of what was going on.

“Babe? Everything okay?”

“Oh! Jason! I was on my way back home but then I found this poor thing and I couldn't bring myself to leave it there I had to take it home. I'm so sorry.”

“Baby, no need to apologize. I'm Just glad you're home safe. Now, let me take over you need to go dry off and get warm.”

That night you and Jason had done what you could with your limited supply to bathe and care for the kitten before agreeing that you two would make the trip to the vet clinic in the morning to make sure it had a clean bill of health. You two had also immediately decided that you'd adopt the kitten due to how attached you had become and that Jason has no ability to say no to you when it comes to Stuff like this.

Life with a kitten was certainly new, it felt almost like the next big step in the commitment of your relationship. Thankfully the kitten was perfectly healthy, and your theory of it being a runt that was undesired was spot on. You had also found out that the kitten was a little girl and she fell in love with the two of you. She would constantly follow you around the apartment and was never more than a few feet from your side, if there was a moment where she wasn't with you it was because she discovered that Jason was her favorite playmate and her favorite pillow. You couldn't blame her, with his higher than normal body heat and big soft muscles he was your favorite pillow too. It had slightly worried you at first that a kitten was too big of a change and commitment for the two of you to make so suddenly, but that sweet little furball made you quickly realize that you and Jason were in the perfect spot in your relationship to handle just that.

Now as you lay in bed looking at the two loves of your life, you reflect on that rainy evening and feel so greatful for the universe putting this sweet little thing in your path. You also realize that it's almost been a month and your kitten needs a name.

"Jason. Hey.” He's awake immediatley.

"Yeah? What's wrong baby? What's happening?”

"We need to name her.” Jason relaxes now that he knows there's no danger, just his sweet girl and her late night thoughts.

"Yeah? What do you Suggest?” There's a pause as you think about your answer.

“Hmmm. What about…Midna?”A soft laugh escapes him as he recognizes the name. He wouldn't expect any less than for you to chose the name of your favorite character from one of you favorite video games.

“Hmmm nerd. Now go to sleep.”

"Okay goodnight, love you.”

“Goodnight, love you too beautiful.”

"I was talking to Midna.”

At that he softly moves and deposits the sleeping kitten onto the pillows above your heads before moving himself to softly smother you in his arms for the rest of night. Sleep comes back easily when your little family is all together in this little pocket of peace.

This blurb takes place in the same little universe as my last blurb :)

Read it here!

pastelillos*- basically Puerto Rican empanadas (I have a personal hc that Jason is mixed and half Puerto Rican♡)

Also if you recognize the name I picked for their kitten I love you♡

[ukrfeminism]

At least 350 women have been killed by a man since the murder of Sarah Everard – the equivalent of one woman dying every three days, The Independent can reveal.

Frustrated experts said the government is still failing to protect women as the sobering new figures came to light on the third anniversary of Ms Everard’s kidnap and murder by a serving police officer.

Her death was hailed as a watershed moment which sparked an outpouring of anger over women’s safety and shone a light on the epidemic of violence against women and girls.

But campaigners have said promises to tackle the crisis were “empty words” as they warned: “So much more needs to be done.”

The figures, shared with The Independent by the Femicide Census, showed at least 350 women have died with a man responsible or a principal suspect since Ms Everard’s death on 3 March 2021.

“That’s an average of one woman dead at the hands of a man every three days,” executive director Dr Karen Ingala Smith said.

Of these, eight in ten had a relationship with their killer, with 43 per cent killed by a former or current partner, 12 per cent by a family member, 15 per cent by a man who knew them.

Around 28 women – which accounts for eight per cent of cases – were killed by a stranger, like Ms Everard.

She added: “The figure of eight per cent of women killed by men in the UK being killed by a stranger is consistent with the average since our records began in 2009. So ask me whether anything has changed since Sarah’s murder, and my answer is no.”

The figures come after an inquiry into Ms Everard’s killer Wayne Couzens uncovered an astonishing string of blunders in the recruitment of the predator to the Metropolitan Police and eight missed opportunities to stop him in his tracks.

The 33-year-old marketing executive was walking home in Clapham, south London, when she was tricked by Couzens, who falsely arrested her before driving to Kent where he raped and strangled before dumping her burnt body in a woodland.

In the aftermath of her death, thousands of grieving women gathered for a vigil at Clapham Common calling for action to prevent to male violence against women and, simply, the right to walk home safely.

Anna Birley, co-founder of vigil organisers Reclaim These Streets, told The Independent: “We were promised that tackling violence against women and girls would be a priority for this government, but these figures show that this was all empty words.

“Women are still being murdered by men, demand for domestic violence services remains at record highs and rapes are still going unprosecuted.

“By failing to grasp the scale of the problem and failing to take meaningful action to keep us safe, this Government is failing women.”

Andrea Simon, director of the End Violence Against Women Coalition (EVAW), said each of the 350 women who have lost their lives in the last three years have been failed by society.

“While we’ve heard lots of promises and seen top level commitments to tackling violence against women in the last three years, there is so much more that needs to be done,” she told The Independent.

“There is a failure to prioritise preventing violence in all the work promised to tackle it. We need to see the police response to all forms of abuse improve, with better detection, early intervention, and protective steps taken when women report violence to reduce the risk of femicide.

“Police and justice agencies must take action to stop known perpetrators from frequently re-offending against women and girls.

“We must also see work to shift attitudes across society, including the sexism and male entitlement that drives violence against women and sees it normalised and trivialised.”

This starts with high quality education and well-funded public information campaigns, she said, adding: “Until we tackle harmful attitudes and the inequality that puts women and girls in harm’s way, we won’t be able to improve women’s feelings of safety and freedom.”

The calls come after this week Labour MP Jess Phillips read out the names of every woman killed last year in House of Commons, warning the “epidemic of violence against women and girls has not abated”.

She said: “All of these women mattered, they need to matter much more to politics. And I urge again, as I have for years, for the Government to have a strategy for reducing femicide. Warm words and no political priority will never make this list shorter.”

It is the ninth year that the MP has read victims’ names to the chamber, adding each life lost was a testament to failure to prioritise women’s safety.

She added: “I am tired that women’s safety matters so much less in this place than small boats. I am tired of fighting for systematic change and being given table scraps.

“Never again do I want to hear a politician say that lessons will be learned from abject failure - it is not true.

“This list is no longer just a testament to these women’s lives, it is a testament to our collective failure.”

Jhiselle Feanny, co-founder of Killed Women - a campaign group of families bereaved by male violence against women, described the latest figures as “devastating”.

She said: “Each represents a life brutally taken. And a family facing the unimaginable, their whole world destroyed.  “Three years, so many lives, endless announcements, headlines, reviews, reports and lessons learned. And yet here we are, listening to the latest death toll read out in Parliament.”

She said attacks on women were “preventable crimes” after a survey of bereaved families last year found almost seven in ten believed their loved ones’ death was preventable, while two thirds said the killer had a prior history of violence.

“These deaths and injustices are not inevitable. The murders of women are not unavoidable tragedies, but preventable crimes,” Ms Feanny added.

“We urgently need decision and policy makers to act, so women can live free from fear, threat and violence.”

A government spokesperson said: “We are committed to tackling violence against women and improving the police response to these vile crimes. We have classified it as national threat alongside other threats such as terrorism and introduced the first ever dedicated national policing lead.

“The Angiolini inquiry has looked into issues around police culture and the government will continue to work with police partners to ensure that proper standards are upheld at all times.”

[ursawastricked]

Distracting: Part 2

Viktor has been harboring guilt over his accidental thievery of your used champagne glass. At least he had the security that you were none the wiser..that doesn't change that your even harder to ignore now that he spent the weekend studying your lip print 

warnings: More of Viktor's developing crush on you, lots of flashback to after the party, him being soft, some VERY mild suggestive stuff..don’t worry more is to come in the next part 

Read part 1 here

Word count : 2,339

“Is the sun always that bright?” Viktor whined, covering his gaze as he hurried over toward the window, leaning toward it and squinting disaprovingly at the sunny world beyond it, before pulling on the shades and banishing the light. His head didnt exactly pound anymore, but he had a way of ending up hung over whenever he drank, call it his low weight, or the fact that his anatomy consistently seemed against him, if there was alcohol, it hurts the next day.

“I think it always stays like that Vik '' you answer, earning an unimpressed glance your way as he limps toward his desk and places down his bag. You stretch your arms upward, humming lightly as you feel the satisfying crackle in your spine and knuckles. You personally, feel wonderful. After the party over the weekend, you peeled away your dress and were fast to slip into a hot bath, allowing for your sore muscles to relax and let you practically fall into a perfectly restful weekend. You dont recall too much other than resting on your couch, reading the current novel that had infected your every thought, one you had also slipped into your bag for today when the lab was getting a little boring.

“Ugh..” You hear Viktor let out a relch at the sound of your joints popping, “Why, every morning..That isnt good for you, and it is worse to listen to” He lectured, placing himself in his chair, slowly turning to face you so that his point would get across. You mimic him immedietly, a practiced motion, turning to face him, and mirroring his posture and how his fingers laced together on his knee. He flashed yet another disaproving look, this time punctuated with a, “Rude”.

You snicker lightly, returning yourself to face your desk. Unpacking your bag only takes another minute or so, that moment remaining silent as you and Viktor set up for today's work load. The silence was normal, especially with Viktor, but that's why you liked working with him. While you could spend hours talking with Jayce, bouncing back and forth in a hyper focused frenzy, you much more enjoyed the comfortable silence of working next to Viktor. You had developed a ritual of passing back and forth materials and tools as you worked simultaneously on projects.

He was always respectful, never intentionally touching you without reason, and if he did bump you, he was quick to apologize, which you enjoyed only because of how flustered he got when he began to stumble over words so fast he began to slip into his native language. Or when he would tap you lightly with a pencil, and you would turn to see what he needed, only for him to lean over your notebook and scribble something down, like a warning before he did so.

You had caught yourself memorizing his little mannerisms over time, keeping a small tally at the top corner of your pages for every time he had tricked you into letting him fix a note, or murmured a word you didnt recognize when fidgeting with a new project. It relaxed you, like a little grounding tool to keep your mind occupied when you had tired yourself with your work, a healthy distraction. So you lazily flipped open your notebook to the current page, doodling a little box for today's tallies before pulling the sheet off your current project and beginning your busy work. Viktor sat quietly as he began his project, as usual. He had just gone for his wrench when he caught movement in the corner of his eyes, a familiar motion he had memorized, you're playing with your hair again. His gaze tracks the motion, how the tufts flutter about, if he was closer like last time, he was sure he would be able to smell the shampoo you used again..if he was correct in assuming, it smelt like honey. He didnt notice he was staring until you turned your head and caught him. Your eyes lock with his golden gaze for a short moment, a blissful second of eyecontact between you, before he caught it and you watched his gaze flicker around, his head turning swiftly before settling back on his work and his form shrank down far too close to his project to be safe, but successfully he had avoided the chance of you seeing how harshly his face darkened red. His breath was shaky, as he struggled to keep it low enough that you coculdnt hear. How frustrating, it had been getting harder to avoid your prying eyes, more tedious to avoid you catching him logging your smiles, and even harder to keep up conversations without smiling too much, and you had only added another level to it with that damned glass. That weekend, he had smuggled that stupid glass away from the party. He didnt know why, in fact he was sure it was a trance when he walked into him and Jayce shared an apartment, only to find the empty champagne glass still tucked in his palm. Jayce locked the door as Viktor considered what could have happened to end up here, now a thief..through the glass couldn’t be too expensive, it felt rather cheap.

“What's that you got there?” Jayce asked, leaning over Viktor and causing him the flinch, almost hard enough to send the delicate glass shattering across the floor. He gripped it tighter, giving one of his famously annoyed glances. Jayce lifted his brows, motioning specifically toward the rouge lipstain at the edge.

“Oh? Oh hoho..that color there looks pretty familiar” Jayce had started to tease, his chest was starting to bob with a deep chuckle, the kind he had always given when he was preparing to tease him.

Viktor felt the stab of anxity in his stomach, looking quickly between Jayce’s knowing gaze and the glass before he squirmed a bit away, trying to hide away in his room, fast.

“I dont want to talk about it.” He insisted, tucking away into his room and quickly hiding away the used glass in his closet with a slam.

“Talk about what? Did they give it to you or did you mean to steal it?” Jayce practically howled as he leaned into Viktors room, watching as his friend as he struggled to undo his tie with furious aggression, only getting more incense the longer he struggled. With a loud huff he finally undid it, now wrestling with his shirt vest,

“I didn’t mean t- I didnt steal it from them” He insisted, pulled off the vest before landing on his bed and taking off his shoes, “Oh..so you're not denying it anymore?” Viktor froze, his hands ceasing shakily over his cufflinks. Jayce smirked teasingly, suppressing another laugh until Viktor flung a loose shoe toward him. He quickly took the hint, “Okay! Okay! Good night loverboy-” He laughed, slipping away and leaving Viktor flushed violently and gripping his hair as he fell back into his bed. 

At least now he could let his face cool down now that you were no longer watching him, it of course was easier to work and ignore you for a few minutes at a time. Until..

“Hey guys! Sorry I'm late,” Jayce hollered, bursting through the door, nearly tripping over the doorway and spilling the offering of coffe for the trio.

Yes, Viktor was screwed now. Jayce knew, he dditn know to what extent, but he did know. He knew about the glass.

“Here ya go,” Jayce chirped, handing you a coffee with that stupid winning smile.

“Aw, thanks ya goof. You know, you could just not be late, then you wouldn't need to get us coffee every monday.” You explain, sipping the drink as you watch him float off toward Viktor who had frozen solid since the door opened.

“Then I would miss out on your winning smile, you have a very special smile when you get surprised by coffee” He replied, twirling around to the other side of an unresponsive Viktor. He placed the cup beside his friend's hand, leaning over his shoulder to whisper where you couldnt hear.

“I got you the same order, in case you want to ‘swap’ cups again,” He hummed, almost getting hit as Viktor swatted him away. Jayce snickered quietly, slipping away to his own work.

Viktor sat staring at his coffee for a few moments, regrettably reaching for it. Coffee was essential, how unfortunate that it was a gift from Jayce..he drank it non the less, pressing his lips to the lid and gulping down a few mouthfulls and returning finally to an average working pace.

“Vik? Are you there?” Viktor snapped out of his focused state, turning toward the sound before pulling off his goggles and finding you much closer than he expected you to be. You stoof next to him, leaning a little over his side after spending the past minute or so trying to get his attention. You tilted your head, giving an amused huff as you slipped some papers to his desk. “Thank Janna the fire alarm wasn’t going off, you would be cooked by now.” He blinked, glancing from you to the papers a few times before turning to read them better. He pulled them from the table, acutely aware of the fleeting warmth your hands had left. 

“Hmm..yes, and I'm sure in wouldn’t notice the heat or pain either,” he replied, looking over your notes with a similar, less intense, focus.

“I wouldnt be surprised, you kinda run on autopilot when you're zoned out. Once you stole my pencil for the day after fixing my notes”, You pull yourself up on the desk, crossing your legs and watching as he scribbles down corrections to your equasions. “And you have yet to return that novel I let you borrow, you're kind of a clepto.” 

“I am not a ‘clepto’” he huffed, adjusting one of your notes, biting on the edge of his pencil,

“That's my pencil..”

He pulled it away from his teeth, inspecting it for any signs he may recognize. He flipped it in his hand, finding your initials etched into the wood.. 

“Ah..so it is..” he muttered, finishing his edits before offering you the pencil. 

“No, you keep it.” You say, declining the chewed on pencil and snatching up your papers. You hug them to your chest, walking a step or two before leaning down close to his ear, “Add it to your little collection,” you purr, straightening up and hurrying toward Jayce for a final opinion.

Viktor stills in his seat, holding the pencil loosely between his fingers and staring blankely at the edge of the desk. He twitched his hand lightly, unable to do much more after that. 

You were so close..he still felt the warmth of your breath across his throat, the memory of it sending a static shiver down his spine, causing him to lean over his desk and place his head againstt his hands. You were warm, even though you hadnt touched him, and being so close, he could confirm..your shampoo smells like honey.And when you sat on his desk, he had fought every instinct in his body not to look at you, not when you sat above him like that. Your legs crossed, leaned over his work. If he reached over, he could have confirmed another theory, whether or not your thighs were as soft as they looked- Damn it, focus. He coudln’t be doing this, not here. You were no less than a yard away and all he couldnt think about was how good you smelt, how your breath felt against his neck..how your lipstain would look against his skin. He had noticed you were wearing the same color as before.

‘Stop it. They work with you.’ 

He grabbed his coffee, sipping it aimlessly.

The night after the party, Viktor had sat staring at the single stained glass on his desk. He had pulled it out to clean it, thinking at least he could put it in the kitchen and just forget all about his accidentale thievery. Instead, he had ended up watching it, as if it would squirm or come to life if he only watched for long enough. 

He didnt clean it..he let it sit on his desk and continued on with his day. On occasion he would glance at it, sometimes walking over and holding it to closely inspect the print of your lips left on its crystal edge. He always rounded back to it, replaying the memory of you in that dress, giving him the rest of your drink..you smiled..maybe you knew- of course you didnt. Why would you know? He was good about hiding it, right? He didn’t think he made it too obvious, maybe stareing a bit longer than he should have, or that one instance where he had to hide the smile tally from you when you had seemingly manifested beside him.

 Before he had slept that night, he absentmindenly brought it with him to the kitchen..he ment to clean it..but instead he had filled it, nursing down a bit of wine to trick his brain into sleeping. Maybe even allow for a dream similar to the events of the party..with less of him standing alone. 

He groaned lightly to himself, standing and grabbing his crutch before walking across the room toward the door. 

“Everything ok Viktor?” Jayce asked, pulling his attention away from the blackboard,

“Just need some fresh air..” Viktor replied, escaping the lab, and making his way down the hall. 

After a walk his head would be clear enough to work again. He would be able ti at least make some progress on the assignment without his thoughts drifting back to how your uniform looked against your skin, or how pretty your voice sounded when you gifted him your stolen pencil..

“Add it to your little collection..” 

He paused..eyes wide. “Oh..no..” 

[therealvinelle]

Why do you think Jasper also slept with Peter and Charlotte?

Because @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin and I differentiate between fic and canon.

We write our thoughts on canon on tumblr, but in fanfiction we are free to make our own rules and have fun.

Lines become blurred, however (bullet pointing for legibility):

What we extrapolate from canon impacts the canon of our fics Fun fact, therealvinelle only exists because people kept asking me questions about my choices in Nebuchadnezzar's Dream, and I thought replying to the same questions in the comment section was silly. So I made a blog, which became a beast unto its own. In other words, fic is impacted by how I view canon, and when people ask me my opinion on canon I tell them my view on canon. Example: Carlisle and Aro are not intended by Meyer to have been anything more than friends, but we think it's there and write metas with that starting point, and have it explicitly canon in our fics.

We keep our fics consistent with one another, sometimes using a minor tidbit from canon to justifty it and sometimes making it up Muffin and I are very stringent about this sort of thing. Our view on the characters is fixed: if something changed from one AU to another, the question is "Why?". If it just changed for no reason and the people remain the same, they're no longer real people and nothing really matters. Example: the Volturi guards all having consistent personalities, life stories staying the same, nevermind that we made up Demetri's personality or Aro's ridiculous collection of Carlisle art.

We write metas explaining our fics on our tumblrs See my fic meta tag. Anon asks "Why did character do thing?" and we go "well, character is a person who does things like that thing, remember in canon when they did that thing? So we had them do this thing in our fic." Nevermind that character didn't actually do thing in canon, because this was all in a fic. Example: see the fic meta tag on my blog or Muffin's masterpost.

Now to answer your question: to my recollection Jasper/Peter and Charlotte is first mentioned in For the Love of a Woman, where Bella learns that not a single one of the Cullen men are straight and she despairs (as does Emmett, who wonders what this means for him).

It was justified as a "Jasper was in a state of ennui, they were all beautiful, they went for it" type of thing, and perhaps more to the point it tells you, the reader (and the scandalized Cullens, per fics like Bleach on the Brain) something about vampire sexual norms being different than 21st century western humans and those humans already have plenty of casual, recreational sex.

So, canon doesn't indicate it, but we had Jasper/Peter and Charlotte be a thing that happened in our fics and the argument for it can be made (I do believe sexual norms among vampires, being excempt from diseases, pregnancies, children, and the type of obligation and routine human lives have, would be... recreational).

(As it is I recall this coming up on the blog before, but I think whichever of us got the question responded with essentially the above - "We don't know, but possible".)

[silverview]

below the cut is a long and overthinky post about in9, mostly

i need to start by talking about sitcom finales, which fortunately is a straightforward place to start. i've probably written this exact bit before, so i'll recap it as briefly as i can

when creators are knowingly bringing a sitcom to its end, they use the final episode(s) to ask and (usually) answer the question: are we getting out of this situation? since the characters aren’t going to be onscreen anymore, they don’t need to be funny anymore, so they have the option of ‘graduating’ out of whatever sit(uation) has been keeping them hilariously unfulfilled. (the sit might be a literal location or simply a social circle, pattern of behaviour etc.) they have the opportunity to be happy, offscreen, after the show ends

characters can graduate by changing their circumstances: for the worse e.g. death (blackadder) or for the better (cabin pressure). if they don't graduate, they're doomed to remain in the sit indefinitely (peep show). or they might realise that the sit has become a place where they feel fulfilled, and they have no need to graduate (spaced). how to classify any specific show can be up for debate & i won't go into detail justifying these examples, but broadly speaking and for the sake of argument, these are the categories

you can mix and match these endings for different characters within the same show, so that some graduate and others don’t (community). this will often be the case when there is a ‘striver’ character who has consistently shown greater ambition/potential to escape than the others. this is going to be bittersweet, in fact all graduations are going to be bittersweet, because – no matter how awful the sit and no matter how nice the graduation – the audience has come to know and love the sit, and the characters/relationships within it, and we’re sad to see that come to an end. the characters left behind will inevitably have strong feelings about a split ending, one way or another – either supporting or attempting to sabotage the striver's graduation

so i’ve been thinking about plodding on as a sitcom finale. as you can tell, it's clearly using this framework. it takes the emergent meta-characters of 'steve' and 'reece,' largely implied presences up to this point, and puts them up onscreen for a very traditional sitcom finale. the show itself is the sit, and we get all the classic struggles to escape, all the ensuing clashes brought on by guilt/resentment/the pain of separation. through this lens, the ending is... well, either a peep show or a spaced ending, depending on how optimistically you read it. but those are just two sides of the same coin – the 'nobody graduates' coin. 'the adventure continues indefinitely.' they move on to a new show, but their circumstances are effectively unchanged, for better or worse. the audience are invited to enjoy the cosy feeling that this is for the best. they know we love the sit, that's only natural, and we don't want it to end. so they very kindly wrote an ending that keeps it alive forever, even if that leaves their characters somewhat unresolved/unfulfilled in some respects

tlog apocalypse is also a sitcom finale, in a sense. it uses a curiously similar formula – manifesting the meta-characters 'steve,' 'reece' and 'mark' onscreen for the first time, and making tlog itself the thing from which they want to escape. like plodding on it even shows us a fictional 'next' project to represent their escape attempt. the difference is that they are not the protagonists; the residents of royston vasey are, represented by lipp & geoff & briss. those guys get their own unique graduation arcs, which all fit the traditional sitcom model to a greater or lesser extent. some are aborted and some are fulfilled, but overall, we get a similar ending to in9: the town goes on, the sit goes on, the adventure continues indefinitely. ('it was all a dream' ambiguity notwithstanding.) because that's basically what the audience really wants.

in both these cases, what we're really rooting for is The Show; The Work Itself. i've said this before, but one of in9's favourite themes is the danger and difficulty of creative work/entertaining people, the damaging effects on the body and soul. but in the end, despite all that, it comes down in favour.

if psychoville had run its course, would the r&s meta-characters eventually have made an appearance? i suspect not, for two reasons. 1) unlike tlog & in9, psychoville has a substantial recurring cast of other actors, so the r&s meta-characters are not such a ubiquitous implied presence. 2) maureen & david are (or ... were) a prominent stable unit that can easily stand in for the creators, i.e. represent their respective aggregate presences on the show. (tubbs & edward can fill this role for tlog; they just didn't in the movie. in9 doesn't have a version of this, or it didn't until the finale.)

i'm talking about meta-characters all the time. i linked to my original post about it above, but i want to try & expand on it. r&s, the implied actors/writers. they're a sort of thin layer between the explicit fiction of the show and the reality of the actual guys. they're emergent, unscripted, unseen, unheard, and largely unknowable. they're made up of the viewer's conscious & unconscious impressions as she watches the show. the easiest way i've found to think about it is this: they're the same as the actor characters on the show that goes wrong – recognisable characters who are actors, themselves playing a variety of characters – the only difference is that 'reece' and 'steve' don't ever break onscreen. we always know they're there; we always know we're watching 'reece' & 'steve' playing tommy & len; we are never just watching tommy & len. we build up a familiarity with 'reece' and 'steve' just by watching them act, and that inevitably shapes our perceptions of the individual explicitly fictional characters

the meta-characters are who the audience is tuning in for week to week, to see what they do next. not the explicitly fictional characters who change every week (although once we know & love them, we return to see them again of course<3). not the real human men, because those are too far removed for audiences to develop an impression of them from the show alone. there is a fictional construct of a man which is never intentionally written or acted, but which nonetheless accretes organically in the viewer's head, until she has a vague sense of a character behind the characters. that's the meta-character.

many such cases, when actors repeatedly work within the same circumstances/ensembles. very similar effect in the carry on films, for example. hancock's half hour features an odd version of the same phenomenon. sketch shows like mitchell & webb look and jfsp repeatedly bring their meta-characters onscreen, and in fact both explicitly acknowledge what they're doing by having the meta-characters point out that their lines are scripted. especially in jfsp, this creates ANOTHER layer of fiction – there's the fully fictional character simon kane is playing, there's the 'simon kane' who has scripted lines in a fourth-wall-breaking sketch, there's the meta-character 'simon kane' who is implied to be reading those lines, and finally there's the flesh & blood human man. this is all getting a bit much

anyway, imagine if in9 had included more ‘backstage’ scenes/episodes throughout its run. imagine how plodding on would hit if you’d been seeing those guys interact onscreen for the whole ten years, sloooowly building their meta-story to its finale

[strangersteddierthings]

Plot Idea I'll never fully flush out or write but gotta get out of my head or it'll never let me know peace again. It's basically Steve sent from the future going all John Wick. if YOU want to take this plot and write it, or if it inspires you to write something, tag me in it. I'd love to read it.

A 26-year-old Steve Harrington gets sent back to the morning of November 6, 1983. IDK if it's like El using her powers to punch a hole in time or like, some other way but everyone still alive has given him something to use as proof of his time-travel and get their younger versions to believe him, because he's got a time limit. No idea how long, but once he's altered history enough that the timeline he left ceases to exist, so will he.

No one he cares about dies this time. It's the mantra playing on repeat in his head as he looks down at the notebook that took Nancy almost three full days of nonstop writing to fill. It's the entire timeline of events, gathered and recounted by everyone still alive, because this Steve has been fighting a losing battle since Spring Break of '86 because Henry won and Hawkins got torn apart and it's been a fight to survive ever since. He's going to stop that from happening.

No one dies this time.

Will doesn't get taken that night, because this Steve is already waiting for him at his house. From Will's perspective this is just some Guy but he's more scared of whatever chased him home then of the person on his doorstep. So, Steve tells him to hang tight and all but shoves him into the house before cutting himself somewhere on his arm and stepping onto the lawn yelling out 'come and get me, ugly'. Of course, the blood draws the demogorgon. And while 17-year-old Steve was no match for just one, this Steve has been fighting packs of them for years now.

He's armed to the teeth and takes it down with precision. He's not unharmed, just one is still fast and dangerous. Steve knows how to fight them now, though. He covers the dead demogorgon with a tarp he stole from his own garage earlier that day and sits on the front porch to wait for Joyce and Jonathan.

Will is both terrified and awed.

Somehow, someway, he gets the Byers to listen. Shows them the dead demogorgon and gives Joyce the notebook from his backpack.

"Read it, and if you aren't convinced, I have more proof of its contents."

And he leaves. The next morning, he has to find El before Benny does, which he succeeds at but just barely. El is skittish and afraid but Steve gets her to trust him. Maybe because her powers brought him back here, she feels a connection to him, a trust that's there instinctively?

He returns to the Byers' house, carrying El the whole way. He stays off the main roads because people are going to recognize him as Steve Harrington and the less people that see him, the better.

Joyce lets him in and immediately fusses over El. Gives her some of Wills clothes to wear.

She's read the notebook cover to cover and has questions. Steve has answers and digs into his backpack to find the item the Joyce from his timeline gave him for proof. Maybe the proof is the same for everyone - individually recorded cassette tapes of their own voices telling them impossible things. Other proof consists of a photo album, pictures of everyone, the destruction of Hawkins, and of the ramshackle home they'd built in the remains of the apocalypse.

Then something something, details pending, everyone gets filled in on the danger that's coming. Maybe the kids get left out this time, get to just be kids or maybe they don't.

Steve meets his younger self and that's just a whole Deal but eventually he gets his younger self to listen. He tells him that being a jackass isn't worth it, and that he's not going to have a reason to change who he is in this timeline, because the events that lead to him being a better person don't happen. He's not going to have his whole life uprooted, so if he wants to be a better, nicer person, he's going to have to pick that life for himself.

Steve doesn't know if his younger self will listen, but he hopes.

Steve hunts down Brenner and shoots him point blank in cold blood. No regrets. Then he shoots the corpse a couple more times. He doesn't get to hurt El ever again. It's only after that that Steve feels the shift, knows that he's going to cease existing by the end of the day, and there's one thing left he needs to do.

He gets Hopper to let him post up with him in his police car at Forest Hills Trailer Park so he can try and catch a glimpse of Eddie Munson, alive and well.

Hopper asks who Eddie is to him.

"Nothing. We never got a chance. Will never get a chance," Steve answers. "Your Steve Harrington won't ever have a reason to even look his way. He died, back in '86. He didn't need to. He shouldn't have."

"You spy on all the other people who died?" Hopper asks. It's not judgmental, just curious.

"No," Steve says, then decides to be honest because he's going to be gone soon anyway, "I barely knew Eddie, but I wanted to love him anyway. Fell in love with his memory, from stories told to me by the kids and Wayne. We were nothing to each other when he was alive, but he could have been everything if we'd gotten a chance."

They don't talk after that. Steve gets to see Eddie arrive home, jump from his van full of life and vibrance and if Hopper notices his silent cry, he politely ignores it.

They drive out to the quarry after. Steve doesn't know what it's going to mean for him to stop existing and he didn't really want a witness to it, but Hopper insisted someone should be or else they'll all just wonder about it.

They stand looking out across the water. Hopper sees something from the corner of his eye and turns to look at Steve but he's not there anymore.

There's nothing left of the Steve Harrington from the future but his actions and a photocopy of the notebook that Nancy made because she wanted to study it, but Joyce didn't want to let it out of her sight. The cassettes, photo's, and original notebook all just disappear before everyone's eyes.

The fight's not over. Henry is still alive, but they're more prepared for him this time around. They know what to expect.

Hopefully that'll be enough this time around.

[jgnico]

One thing I find a little sad is that how Geto's death affected Shoko and Saturo's friendship a lot, you know, you feel empty when they're together, there's something missing there. you see how much geto is missed by shoko and especially gojo With geto's death do you feel a significant change in satura and shoko, what do you think? sorry for the text

I've always considered Geto to be the glue that held the SuguShokoSato friendship together, which becomes apparent by how both of them are left lonely by his absence. It's more obvious with Gojo since it ties into his theme so much, but Shoko definitely feels it, too.

Yes, Gojo trusts her. Yes, she has Utahime and Ijichi still. But it's not the same. I think, for Shoko, she didn't just lose one of her close friends when Geto defected; she lost both of them.

Gojo spent so long chasing after Geto's memory and making sure that the students didn't end up lonely like he did, that Shoko got lost in the background. As Shoko says, there's a bunch of people waiting for him now, a whole group of students that have each other even though he's gone, but what about her? What about her loneliness? Is it not as important, or was it simply overlooked?

Either option is bitter, but that's sometimes the reality of losing a friend. Not all friend groups can whther the storm of losing a member. Sometimes, it'll crumble abruptly. Sometimes, the people left behind will drift apart slowly and quietly, while holding onto the title of friendship because anything otherwise is too hard to accept.

Shoko has always been the one of the three that seems unphased, especially when we have her reaction to Geto's defection versus Gojo's, but I'd argue that her grief and loneliness is quiet while still being very much there.

She loses Geto, and while looking for him, she's smoking. (Furthermore, this panel directly follows the one of Gojo being visiblly upset by the news of Geto's actions.) Then, a few years later, she gives it up, and she moves on. Partly because of Utahime, iirc, who doesn't like it when she smokes and is one of the only people that's a consistent friend in her life, especially as she leaves her student days behind.

But then she loses Gojo and she picks the habit back up that same night, and it only grows worse the longer that he's gone. In fact, up until the day that Gojo is going to be unsealed, we never get a panel of Shoko where she isn't smoking. Call it stress, call it grief; if you tie Shoko's bad habit to her loneliness, then it tells a story on it's own.

But, yes! To answer your question: Losing Geto definitely put a strain on Shoko and Gojo's remaining friendship. I don't think they remained close like they were before, but more that they became aquaintances that used to be friends who held onto the title so that they didn't feel like they lost each other too.

[ross-hollander]

Protocols published by the...

...Galactic Society of the Paranormal and Weird, for the identification and classification of "ghost 'mechs".

Phase One: Identification.

The GSPW provide a simple system for categorizing sightings: Type and Class, which are as follows:

Type 1: only one person can perceive the ghost 'mech.

Type 2: any number of people can perceive the ghost 'mech.

Type 3: only people within a specific category can perceive the ghost 'mech (i.e., members of the unit which the last pilot of the 'mech was a member of in life).

Type 4: the ghost 'mech appears to be able to exert control over who can or cannot perceive it.

-

A Class Zero ghost 'mech has no physical presence or visual appearance, and can be detected solely on scanners or in radar. This is attributable to a glitch and should not be cause for concern.

A Class One ghost 'mech is visible but does not respond to stimuli; i.e., matter passes through it, radio hailing provokes no answer. This is not necessarily a supernatural occurance, but it is possible.

A Class Two ghost 'mech is visible and responds to external stimuli but cannot or will not identify itself; i.e., solid to touch and can be struck by weaponry, but does not answer radio hailing.

A Class Three ghost 'mech is visible, corporeal and exhibits traits a functioning 'mech could not have. Examples include having a cockpit shot out, a detonated engine, or remaining on fire for more than an hour with no change in behavior.

A Class Four ghost 'mech is visible, corporeal, and has or appears to have a pilot despite conditions a functioning 'mech could not have. Vitally, Class Fours will speak over radio but typically refuse to open their cockpits or disembark. Class Fours come in two recognized varieties:

Class Four-A: pilot refuses to acknowledge, or contradicts, assertions that they have died, their 'mech is damaged, or similar. They may grow hostile, go silent, or simply act as though you are joking.

Class Four-B: pilot is in a state of delirium and acts in panic or irrationality; they may fire at spaces they claim enemies are, which are unoccupied, or request repairs for parts their 'mech has already lost (i.e., saying their cockpit shell is compromised, when the entire top half of their 'mech has been destroyed).

A Class Five ghost 'mech is visible, corporeal, and has a pilot who acknowledges that they are deceased.

Class Sixes are an apocryphal classification for ghost 'mechs that, despite identifying fully as a deceased pilot (see phase two, below), show no damage consistent with the manner of the pilot's death or 'mech's destruction. These are uncommon but not rare.

Phase Two: Interaction.

A Class Five should be subjected to the following tests to ensure actual supernatural status:

Who? The pilot is asked to provide the full name and rank of the pilot who was in the 'mech when it was destroyed. Several instances suggest that Class Fives have a consistent pattern of claiming they are unable to divulge this due to external forces or restrictions. As long as the pilot answers all remaining questions satisfactorily, this is not of concern.

Where? The pilot is asked to provide the location of the death of the pilot in the 'mech.

When? The pilot is asked to provide the approximate time since that death.

What? The pilot is asked to provide the means of that death (i.e., missile, tank shell, laser). Ensure that this means of death matches both records of the pilot's death, and the appearance of damage sustained by the ghost 'mech itself.

Why? If the pilot has answered all of the above with accuracy, it is the Society's view that they can be believed to be a genuine supernatural entity. It is at this point that the pilot can be asked why they returned.

[sovonight]

I've been browsing your art, although I don't go there and I don't have much context, I'm consistently blown away by how you compose comics (plot aside, which is also amazing, the panelling is the one that really blew my mind). It's so creative and has a lot of variety, while remaining clear to read. If I may ask, but do you have any tips to keep oneself from being rather monotonous when panelling?

ahh thank you! i think the main tip i have is to know what you want each panel to show, and have a good handful of basic panel compositions at the ready to choose from

by "knowing what to show" i mean like, for each chunk of dialogue, i already have/had a visual in mind for the scene/characters when that line of dialogue is spoken. i know the emotion of the characters in the scene, and sometimes their pose/expression. when i sketch each panel out, i ask myself:

who/what should be visible here?

what's happening? what interaction is taking place? what poses are there?

what expressions are they wearing? should an expression be focused on, or hidden?

what is important for the viewer to see (or not see)?

where should i put everyone/everything in the scene, and what camera angle should i use, in order to ensure that all of the above is visible in the panel?

there's a lot of ways to answer those questions, but because i draw a lot of the same scenarios (often just 2 people talking), i have a go-to panel composition that i just modify slightly for each panel, which is "1 character closer to camera & 1 character further from camera"

i like to angle the camera like this just for a sense of depth because it's more dynamic than them being equidistant from the camera (although i do that too, if the pose calls for it or if i want the panel to feel flat/matter-of-fact on purpose). this angle also lets you swing the camera around during an exchange so that the conversation feels less static

you can extend this setup to 3 characters (or more):

and just within this basic setup, you can edit proportions & reframe to draw focus where you want it:

panels don't just live in a vacuum though, so where i can, i like to work with the page as a whole. with all of these elements (text, bubbles, art, panel frames) to arrange on a page, i kind of treat it as putting together a collage.

when i start a new page my first step is to add the dialogue to the page & split the text up into bite-sized chunks. then i move the text around the page, visualizing roughly how much space i want to allocate for each portion of text, and start to arrange the dialogue bubbles. i'll think about which text chunks are part of the same line of dialogue & how i want to connect them (should they stay near each other, or is there a panel change?), and about if there are any interruptions (where text bubbles need to overlap) or dialogue running off-page (where i'll need to find or create an edge to hide text runoff with). at this step i'm already thinking about composition of the page as a whole, bc the placement & portioning of the text affects the composition just as much as the art does

then i start doing rough sketches--like this rough, so that i can easily & quickly scrap and redo sketches if i change my mind. (this is kind of like my thumbnailing step, but i do them at full size bc i prefer to have the correct page proportions & text bubble sizes for the page before i start sketching)

for panel-first comics (like this or this) i set up my panels first according to my space estimates from earlier, then draw my sketches for those panels. tbh i've found that i don't really like going panel-first, bc i feel like it stifles my panel shapes & arrangements and keeps everything very rectangular and rigid, and i really have to think and make a conscious effort to make things more dynamic or organic

for art-first comics (like this or this) i'll do a sketch for each chunk of text, and let the sketch sprawl over as much space as it needs to (aka, not trying to confine it to a panel shape or anything; at this point i literally don't have any panel guides onscreen at all). i do each sketch on its own layer, and i generally keep my previous sketches up as i go so i remember my progression, but i'll also start to hide layers if i'm running out of room. after i finish all my sketches for the page, i unhide all my sketch layers, and move my sketches around the page to see how they flow & fit together. finding similar curves and tangents and natural cut-offs that i can use to connect 2 sketches is how i get the panel-less look, and for sketches that really need a clear line of demarcation to separate them from everything else, i'll draw a panel around them

after all that, i have my sketch for the page as a whole. if i feel a need to, i'll move the text around some more until i like how it looks & flows with my art, or i'll redo a sketch or two if a couple consecutive panels look repetitive. and that's pretty much it!

[thecameronchronicles]

Office Christmas Party

TW: Smut. Language. Dom!Rafe. 

SUMMARY: Rafe decides you will be the one to entertain him at the office Christmas party this year…

WORD COUNT: 1900

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

🎄rafe and reader doing it in his office at his work Christmas party🎄

Office Christmas Party

You had only been hired just over a week ago and yet you were quick to learn that Rafe Cameron was not like any boss you’d had prior. To say he was intimidating was an understatement with the word itself needing a different definition of such intensity worn behind such kind eyes. But with your recent employment, came a surprising distance for what you should expect in being his assistant. He focused on any interactions with you through emails and demanded you’d never enter his office alone. Although they appeared to be bizarre requests, his reclusive existence had been an answer to any question you held in your reservations. 

But tonight would change everything. 

Since you had been chosen for the job, you had only met his gaze twice. The first had been when he welcomed you as part of “The Cameron Family”, a phrase actually spoken by his father as you shook both of their hands. But the second, the accidental connection of your eyes to him, had been as the elevator opened as you’d remained after hours. For just a moment, you had taken him by surprise as he explained he wouldn’t share the ride back down to the ground floor, leaving you to theorize that he didn’t like you. For whatever reason he had agreed to hire you, none of them consisted had been because he favored your presence. 

But as his eyes came to you now from across the annual Christmas party, a dull event he loathed throughout the entire year, he was focused solely on you. It made you question your existence entirely as he only showed this kind of attention to his computer screen. It meant that your fingers were always rushing over the fabric of your dress in correction and you made every excuse to check if you had something in your teeth as you would pass over any reflective surface. Yet, you would learn soon enough why you held his interest. 

“Come to my office, yeah?” His voice, melodic in its own way, had been enough to make your heart still and then accelerate as you followed his steps until the door closed at your back. 

“This is usually the part where I hand out those bonus checks…” He hesitated, hovering at a designated drawer of his desk harboring such things. 

“Would you get them for me?” You were beyond bewildered of how entitled he could be. He had already opened the drawer and hung over its parting and yet he wanted you to be the one to work it back into his fingers. And yet with the way his eyes followed you with such a deadpanned expression beneath, you were eager to obey. But as you rose from in front of him, his body was pressed to yours. 

“I knew I never should have hired you.” You attempted to turn to question him, but felt him press you harder to the edge of the desk, a swift motion forcing the drawer closed with a slam. 

“I knew you were going to be distracting…” He shook his head. “Those tight blouses and short little skirts,” He scoffed, “But to make matters worse, you can actually do your job…which makes being near you…difficult. I can’t focus on anything…so I’m going to give you a choice…” He pulled one of those envelopes from your fingers. 

“This is your check. Maybe you don’t necessarily deserve it like they do for being here longer, understandably. And you can take that and leave my office. Take the vacation days over the weekend and celebrate with your friends or family, whoever’s warming your sheets-” Your eyes widened as your gaze kept to him since he captured that envelope. 

“Or?” You asked with a mix of anxiety and excitement as he smirked to see such curiosity. 

“OR you can forgo this…this job…any expectation to be independent…” He pushed you into the desk, a hand on either side of your hips, as he enclosed you between his arms, “And you can let me bend you over and make you mine in the same way you’ve wanted since you accepted this job.” 

You swallowed hard. “If I…If I agree to the latter, it sounds like I’d be out of a job-”

“You misunderstand…” He moved even closer, lowering to you, as he was close enough to now smell the single drink he’d had now echo against your lips as an echo of a possible kiss. 

“If you agreed to it…I wouldn’t pay you. I’m not gonna pay someone I’m fucking. But I would expect you to come to me when I asked. And in exchange, you wouldn’t need for anything. But it would also mean nobody else exists for you. I am yours. And you’d be mine.”

“Mister Cameron-”

“IS my father….You better get used to saying my name because I AM going to make you scream it.” He moved even closer, “IF you choose to accept-” Something took over you from this moment. The reservation you had to cross that line was more than blurred, it was obliterated. The common sense pulling at you in remembrance of how messy could get was silenced when feeling him reciprocate. Such passion behind such intensity you’d longed for since you were employed. And even if it had only been a short while, it was enough to make you burn for him stronger than anyone you’d ever craved. And now you could act on it. And for that reason, you didn’t hold back against him. With a grin forming across his face, you were made aware that he favored this. 

“But I need you to be quiet for me until I’m ready for everyone to know you’re my favorite…” He teased, turning you against the desk. “And for now…You’re going to let me appreciate what’s mine…isn’t that right, baby?” Your eyes came closed as you felt him trace your curves. 

“I mean it. I don’t share and I don’t ask twice. You break any of my rules-”

“What rules?” You spoke quickly, needy to want to please him. 

“I’ll write it up tomorrow. For tonight, I just need you to be quiet until I tell you to come…Let me see what you like…and I'll show you what I expect.” He teased beneath your skirt, but would ultimately retreat and sit in his chair. 

“What CAN I expect Mister-Rafe?” He clenched his jaw as he motioned you closer to him. 

“I’m going to train you to me, sweetheart…”

“Train…me?” He nodded, petting the side of your hair before this sent you to your knees,a  silent direction making you acquiesce as your hands rested on his parted thighs. 

“How long can you hold your breath?”

“I-I don’t know…”

“You’re going to learn to breathe through your nose for me…I just know you’re gonna cry so pretty when you take me,” He used his finger marked by that signet ring he’d worn as a signature of his aesthetic, as he guided you to meet his gaze. 

“All the way,” He carried that cold metal along your throat, stopping where he would rest. 

“Here…” You swallowed hard. 

“But tonight…” That soft tease now altered to a harsh grip in the back of your hair, curls crushed in his cold grasp, offering you a preview of just how quickly he could contrast. 

“Since we don’t have a lot of time…I’m going to show you the worst of it…” You were taken back over the edge of his desk, his hand keeping you eating into the cruel corner as he bunched your skirt at the dimples of your back. 

“I’ll buy lace…” He explained, snapping the cotton fabric at your chilled skin beneath. “It’s easier to tear off…” You gasped as the sound of his belly unlatching behind you made your jaw clench. 

“Understand something right now. That even though I’m in charge, you’re in control. I’m going to fuck you, but you tell me how hard. I’m going to make you come, but you tell me how you want it. But if there’s one time I go to far or you can’t take it, we’re done.” He explained as he’d pulled you to face him, ensuring he had your focus. 

“Tell me you understand. You have to communicate with me or this won’t work.”

“I understand, Rafe.”

“Good. Now be quiet for me so I can make you come without being interrupted-” He was thrusted into you by his own submission. 

“You okay-just nod.” You bowed your head, offering this validation as he clenched his jaw to how you felt around him. 

“Stop tensing…I’m not gonna last.” You tried to ease. But when he noticed your struggle, he softened the moment by taking his hand to your breasts. 

“If you want me to get any work down after this…you’re going to have to give me enough until I can make you mine again…Every inch of this beautiful body…All mine-say it.”

“Yours, Rafe.”

“Good girl, still being quiet.” You blushed. “You like being told you’re a good girl? That makes you wanna come, doesn’t it?” You nodded. 

“I know you wanna scream baby…I promise you can…but…not…yet…” He gripped onto the edge of his desk as he pounded into you, words exchanged for the sound of skin slapping against skin. His stamina was impressive and almost aggravating as he would offer teasings of what he could bring you, edging you as he moved from adorning your figure to offering immediate pleasure. 

“I can’t wait to taste you…” He groaned. “Bet nobody has ever made you come that way…” You shook your head as he scoffed. 

“Don't worry, won’t be a position, a room, a fantasy you won’t come from because of me. You won’t be able to watch porn or have a wet dream with me being a part of your mind…You won’t need either of them…nobody else.” He became almost erratic with his thoughts spoken aloud as his motions increased, explaining to you how he was close. 

“You’re going to scream into my hand this time…I wanna feel the vibrations…” You nodded as he used this grip to pull you up into him as his dominant hand came around your face. “Now, baby…I’m close-I want to feel you drown it-I know you wanna be good, I know you wanna listen-” Your head came to a rest on his shoulder. 

“I’m-”

“You don’t have to tell me…just come-” You nodded, clenching your jaw before feeling that release, quick and sudden in contrast to the build up, but just as rewarding as his own as he turned you to face him. 

“Consider yourself fired, sweetheart. But I’m expecting you first thing on Monday morning. No panties.” He moved closer, that soft trace ascending your curves after returning your dress flat, now harsh at your jaw. 

“You do anything without me, I’ll know…” He explained, taking his fingers over his own cock. “I know how you taste now, baby…and I’ll know.” You clenched your jaw and nodded as he teased a kiss as a knock came to the door. 

“Don’t break any of my rules, baby…You won’t like the consequences, I promise you that.” He smirked as he moved out the door, redressed and satisfied. 

“Oh, and Merry Christmas.” He smirked. 

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love @belcalis9503

MASTERLIST 

CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST

[fishedeyelenz]

ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE BLACK CHRISTMAS FANDOM

Hello everyone who's been following my writing and art and OC's!! Your support has warmed my heart, and got me through some thought times. Thank you very much for sticking by me, commenting, sending me kudos and asks regarding Dilf Billy and my oc-verse I made around him!

However... I have come to realize I have made Billy, at least the older 45-50 year old version of him my own. Very much my own. I think there's a discrepancy between my characterization of him, and how he is portrayed in the movie/novel/commentary. Another thing is that I love him too much. I want to make him my own, not an interpretation of a pre-existing character...

So that's exactly what I am going to do! I'm taking him and making him an OC. Currently I am in the process if changing up his backstory to make him distinct from Billy Lenz, though the Dilf version we see in Rats in the shadows and partially in So give me coffee and tv will stay similar.

My goal is to create a group of ocs consisting of the character formerly known as Billy, Camille, Bean and other side characters who will exist in a story about an ex serial killer father. I'm still early in the rework, but I feel like I don't have change too much.

What this means I will effectively be distancing myself at least partially from the Black Christmas fandom, at least in terms of my content creation though these past few months I have been in a rut given college preoccupying most of my time. I still love Black Christmas, it will remain one of my favorite movies forever. I cherish the friends I made and the experiences I had, but I want to move on to more original creations, uninhibited by primary existing source materials.

I will still interact with fan works in terms of reblogging art and writing , and I will most likely draw more of Billy Lenz and the other characters from the movie in the future. Anything regarding Camille, Bean, "dilf Billy" though, will be something divorced from Black Christmas, entirely its own thing, though obviously inspired by it.

Will I return to writing for Black Christmas? At this point I am uncertain. I have a WIP of a priest!au thing for Dilf Billy, which if I ever get around to finishing I would post under the pretense that it's a Black Christmas fanwork. However, I am not sure if I will finish it, given that I don't really have the time, and at the moment motivation to really work on it. Another story idea exists too, one which would better fit into the Black Christmas ethos with is very dark tone and heavy subject matter (while still remaining a smut work) which I would gladly have exist as a fanwork.... But once again I am lacking the time and want to do it. It would be a very big project, all things considered.

So what now? I will keep all my Billy Lenz/Dilf Billy content up on my blog, my AO3 will stay intact (though I will forward this announcement onto there), and I won't change my tags on Dilf Billy related posts. Moving forward, though, everything created for my oc inspired by Billy Lenz/Dilf Billy Lenz will be tagged as that. I need to come up with a new name for him first...

I will also make a post regarding how the plot of Rits/Sgmcatv would have went if I'd finished them, to give you guys some sort of conclusion. Though the new oc story with Bean, Camille and the new Billy oc in it will very closely follow Rits original storyline. Most of the events of Rits are canon still in regards to Camille's and Bean's backstory, with of course some caveats (no Brahms, Camille and "Billy" meet differently etc.). But the large majority of the plot points and story beats are the same.

I will be happy to answer any further questions, as my inbox is open. I'm sorry to disappoint anyone, but I've felt the need to move on, to elevate this story. I hope I can be forgiven. Now I bid farewell to this part of my life and creative era, and look forward to the new.