#but like. still not prepubescent humans... what the fuck

[shoechoe]

Having my main two interests be orangutans and JJBA is kind of terrible because the only overlap between those two is the absolutely awful Forever character

[groenendaelfic]

i love YR and i love wille and simon so much but i will be a simon defender till the day i die. i can see both wille’s and simon’s POVs for how they acted but idk as poor POC simon’s actions resonate more with me. regardless, the reason why i say this is because i always see so much more wille support/simon hate online than i do vice versa. im not asking for wille hate but im asking for prepubescent girls to stop supporting wille simply because he’s an attractive white boy. i dont know—maybe im oversimplifying things but what do you think about the split between simom defenders and wille defenders?

I get it. It's not fair but I get it.

Why?

Because Simon is all of us.

I might be able to identify more with Wilhelm when it comes to many things, his personality, his anxiety, his temper... but in essence every single one of us will always have more in common with Simon than with Wilhelm.

It doesn't matter how different our lives, upbringings and the small everyday things which shaped and defined us are from Simon's. It doesn't matter how much I see my younger self reflected in Wilhelm, how much I can relate to his struggles (I mean it does, but for this specific argument it doesn't). My life will still always be closer to Simon's than to Wilhelm's.

We are Simon. Simon fucks up. Simon makes mistakes. Far reaching mistakes, and it's always easier to be self-critical and insecure than not to.

I'm Simon. But I wouldn't have done xyz! (I wouldn't, I'd either have done something worse or nothing at all, which might just be worse still.)

Simon is a teen and he makes teen mistakes. Sometimes understandable ones, sometimes stupid ones, sometimes crazy ones.

It's normal. It's relatable, it's every one of us but different. Of course it's easier to be critical of Simon. To 'hate on' Simon. He is us, but he doesn't always act like we would, nor does he act like the idealized version of the beloved character we want him to be.

He's a teenager and he's flawed and he's human. We love him and we want him to be perfect but he isn't. Of course there's Simon 'hate'. It's not okay, but I get it.

Simon is us, but he makes mistakes we, however unconsciously, think we wouldn't. We think we would do better, or at least we hope so, and so we criticize him.

It's not right, but I also get the urge to do so even if I don't approve.

Wilhelm however? Wilhelm is different.

Wilhelm is a prince. Worse, he's a crown prince and future king. He's His Royal Highness The Crown Prince of Sweden, Duke of Some Historical Province or Another.

His entire existence causes a knee-jerk reaction of defensiveness. At least it does in me.

Him being a minor who didn't choose who he was born as helps, but it's not enough. Yes, his life isn't easy. Yes he's living with pressure none of us can understand. Not the irl crown princess and not rwrb's Henry.

But he also has power and privilege and wealth the likes of which we'll never truly be able to comprehend. No matter what he chooses to do once he's an adult, he'll always have that.

Wilhelm's entire existence is a reflection of most of what's wrong with this world. I cannot in good conscience root for him and I shouldn't like him. We shouldn't romanticize and glorify royalty, not even fictional one, because all their wealth, power and privilege is built on our backs and sustained by our backs.

I should hate him, not feel sorry for him. I shouldn't empathize with him.

And yet Wille is my bb and my fav and I love him and he never did anything wrong in his life. Not ever. Wille is perfect. He deserves the world and I'll defend him and his wrongs to the very end of it and damn everything and everyone else.

Why?

Because if I start to acknowledge, in all seriousness, that any of his mistakes or wrongs are in fact mistakes and deserve (more) consequences, no matter if it's the fact that he's an objectively bad friend to Felice (I'm already getting super defensive typing these words because Wilhelm, my poor bb, had reasons and deserves to be selfish!) or that you never, ever point any gun at anyone, not ever, or any of his other numerous mistakes, then I'm opening up a Pandora's box I cannot close again.

Yes, he's a teenager and he's flawed and he's human. Yes, he makes stupid, far reaching mistakes. Yes, it's everyone else who hands him his power and privilege. Yes, it's all inherited, as is his wealth, but that doesn't make it alright.

You cannot, in good conscience, root for Wilhelm without also acknowledging or at least being aware of the inherent power dynamics at play, and I'm not only talking about Wilhelm and Simon's relationship, but Wilhelm and everyone, including his mother and the royal court and the entire government.

All three need Wilhelm more than he needs them, and once he fully realizes that he's going to be (even more of) a menace.

Wilhelm doesn't have any political power on paper, but that doesn't mean that his actions can't influence and control the entire Swedish legislature for years. That can be good, sure, at least in the long term, but it'll also take away from much needed other laws etc being discussed and passed, ones which would better the lives of many Swedes directly and immediately. That is scary, because it's real, or it could be.

Wilhelm is a minor and Young Royals is captivating, fictional escapism. But my ardent republican heart (of the non US kind) still struggles with not getting immediately defensive when talking about my love for Wilhelm, because Young Royals is also so real and realistic and a reflection of so many things which are still extremely problematic in our oh so progressive, look at how much worse all the other countries are, can't you be happy with what you've got? part of the world in ways many other shows aren't, and Wilhelm and his rank and title and entire existence are at the heart of it.

The biggest 'problem' Young Royals has is that despite the premise, it is so realistic and relatable and well done. It's almost impossible to escape into the fiction of it to a degree where you can solely focus on the cute boys falling in love and the romantic tragedy of their struggles, without also being at the very least peripherally aware of our reality being reflected in every scene.

Young Royals is romantic and hot and heart-wrenching, but it also criticizes the system and society and shows us exactly how little people like Simon, people like us, matter to the upper class, and it does so from the very first episode in which Simon tries his best to stay strong and tells everyone exactly who the country's biggest welfare receivers are. And he's right.

Simon deserves our defense, our support. But I don't feel the need to. I should, because Simon is not as strong as he wants to be, but he's also a normal teen and nothing is easier than looking down on teenagers and people we can identify with or have things in common with. We all do it all the time, willingly or not, consciously or not, thinking we're better, that we'd do better, no matter how much we love them, because not doing so would mean acknowledging our own faults and flaws, would mean we'd have to admit that Simon is doing the best he can in a way most of us probably wouldn't be able to.

Wilhelm however? I can identify with parts of him despite of everything he stands for and not because, and that is scary, because I don't want to have anything in common with a future hereditary head of state.

I don't want to sympathize with royalty, with people who can control others around them with nothing but words, worse their mere existence. People who, were I to address them in anything other than the third person and with a title, would consider me to be the rude one, as would everyone around us.

And yet I do. I do identify with Wilhelm. I sympathize with him. I think I understand him, but scratching the surface of that is dangerous, because no matter how much we need escapism in these hard times romanticizing royalty, sympathizing with them and thinking they're just like us is not only tricky but dangerous.

It's what the elites want, all of them, while they laugh at our plight and profit off of our hard work. It's what gets horrible people elected president and billionaires turned into cool, dudebro heroes. It's a slippery slope and none of them are the exception, no matter how much they try to convince us otherwise.

Of course we get defensive, of course we're so passionate to highlight that Wilhelm's mistakes are okay and are overly critical of Simon's.

Defending Wilhelm is not rational, it's not logical, and yet it is, which is why I will burn down the world in Wille's defense and serve it to him on a silver platter, because my bb deserves everything and his feelings and struggles are valid and who am I to judge. Wille never did anything wrong.

Finally, I get where you're coming from, but please don't make this about prepubescent girls. Or teenage girls. Being a girl that age is hard. Your body and feelings are changing in ways you don't understand, people suddenly treat you differently. Adults, kids, other teens no matter their gender. You are sexualized, and your intelligence and skills are suddenly only of secondary importance at best. It's scary, and even when it's good it's not safe. You always need to be wary and careful lest you have to pay a price for your joyful inattentiveness, a potentially traumatic, life changing price. Being a prepubescent and teenage girl is also wonderful and freeing and eye opening in the best way, but anything you do or say will always be reduced to silly teenage girl, even by other teenage girls, someone to be made fun of and not taken seriously, when in truth nothing requires more strength and tenacity than surviving as a prepubescent and teenage girl. So if fixating on attractive, unattainable white boys helps? Let them and don't judge, no matter your age or gender. It's not perfect, but it's safe. More, it's a safe way to explore your budding sexuality and bond with others along the way, something which is so important when nothing about being a girl that age ever feels safe, not even when you think you can do anything and know everything. That attractive, unattainable (white) boy? Be it Wilhelm or the current boygroup heartthrob of choice? He is going to reveal private things about himself (most likely made up, but that doesn't invalidate how finding out those facts makes you feel) without demanding a price, you can develop an intense parasocial relationship with him and learn and grow from it, it can help you in many ways which aren't obvious at first (I still keep up with my teenage boygroup and listen to every one of their new albums even though it's been twenty years and I've had musical anhedonia for almost as long), and he will never, ever grope you or insult you or make you feel awkward and insecure, nor will he ever pressure you to do something you're not ready for (unless it's to spend money you don't have on useless stuff you desperately need). Please don't be condescending or judgmental of prepubescent girls, especially ones having to grow up in the age of social media and smartphones everywhere. Fixating on the attractive white boy is a matter of self-defense. It doesn't mean they aren't aware of what they're doing or that doing so isn't ideal. They know. Everyone is constantly telling them and making them feel guilty about it. Please don't be one of them.

[ultrvmonogamy]

if you really were in your 40s you seriously need to update your bio to 21+ and not 18+. especially with the themes on your blog it can come off as creepy and pedo ish

bestie i'm a bit confused by this message, n i feel like there's a lot to unpack here for what's essentially a single sentence.

first of all, there's the fact that the text is red, which i suppose is meant to indicate that this is a warning of sorts or that i'm in error somehow like if my attempt at creating a password didn't include the correct combination of length n special characters or wtv. this was strange to see upon opening my inbox, n it strikes me as a bit aggressive/reprimanding in a manner that does not lead me to feel that ur offering counsel in good faith.

second, it seems ur insinuating that i'm lying abt my age, which to my mind establishes a dynamic of distrust, and for what reason i do not know.

third, u proceed to dictate what i seriously need to do if perchance i'm not lying abt my age. that's p fucking weird n rude n presumptuously authoritarian, and i have to wonder if u could possibly have believed that i'd be receptive to such an approach. i mean, u mention my blog's content, so u must have at least some cursory awareness of my general attitude, no? or maybe as my anonymous overlord who also happens to be the supreme arbiter of social dynamics, such trivial matters as actually communicating w the person ur admonishing is of little import. or perhaps ur just appallingly bad at human interaction, in which case i won't hold it against u as long as ur willing to reflect on that n make some changes including but not limited to staying in ur lane.

fourth, putting 18+ (and, u know, MDNI in multiple places) is creepy n pedo-ish? but also somehow changing that to 21+ would alleviate ur concerns? to my mind, this is so misguided on so many levels that i truly do not know where to begin, but hey i'll give it a try anyway..

let's pretend that u didn't just errantly apply to adults a term that is reserved by its very definition for atrocious acts n desires towards prepubescent children. furthermore, let's pretend u didn't just come to my inbox n associate that term w me. actually, i'd better backtrack n ask u to pause for a moment bc ur probably still thinking abt the fact that i made that distinction n r likely now running some dialogue in ur mind abt how fucking gross i am for even calling out the semantics. ofc i could be wrong abt what ur thinking, but if u do find urself thinking along those lines, then i'm going to take this opportunity to tell u that u seriously need to talk to adult survivors of prepubescent sexual abuse and explain to them why u feel their experience is categorically the same as that of an adult choosing to have sex w someone u personally deem inappropriately older, n then convince them that it's fair to erase the distinction as it pertains to their own experiences.

where was i?

okay, so now let's pretend age gap sex is intrinsically pathological until the younger partner reaches 21 n so therefore 18+ vs 21+ categorically changes the dynamics: even then what exactly is ur premise here? do u think that my intent is to fuck anyone n everyone who looks at my blog? or that i even just want to fuck anyone n everyone who looks at my blog? r u the kind of person who sees someone's horny post n then dms them inappropriately as tho it was written to u personally? literally what the fuck? if a profile on a hookup app is asking for 18+, u'd have grounds to believe the user is seeking sex w ppl at least 18 yrs old, but this is not a hookup app; it's a microblogging platform ffs. like, there is no shortage of blogs that i follow here for art, science, fandoms, cats, moths, religious iconography, knives, symbology, gore, spirituality, etc. do u think i wanna fuck all those bloggers too, or only if they happen to follow this blog as opposed to one of my others? if that's how ur mind works, i'd suggest u put 200+ in ur bio bc i personally do not think adults of any age should have to suffer exposure to u, but even so i do think that adults who would choose to do so have every right to do so (assuming ur not posting the kinds of things ur ostensibly condemning in ur message to me, in which case they would not have the right). now wrt 18+ being an issue: do u think i should be protecting adults from kink or from my sense of humor or what? do u not believe adults should be allowed agency until age 21? or is that just wrt looking at tumblr blogs? maybe just mine? or just blogs run by bloggers 40 n over? was 18+ okay w u when i was 39? 35? 30? 29? do u have some kind of table w a range of adult ages on one axis n various activities on the other? maybe w green checkmarks or red exes at the intersections? is it a case by case basis? is there some kind of puritanical mental gymnastics to be performed so that an integer value pops out from the ether? r u gonna share the formula?

am i completely missing smth here? is there some key information abt the age of 21* that i'm not privy to? srsly, bc if there is such a thing then i'm wholly unaware of it but would v much like to be made aware, and i earnestly invite u to provide me w the relevant information.

if u take nothing else from my response, plz stop misusing that term bc by doing so u r erasing not simply the scale but rather the profound developmental damage of an atrocity that does not track proportionately w age. and to anyone who would choose to do that willfully n knowingly just for the sake of rhetorical impact, i say fuck u bc ur a piece of shit.

if u actually want to have a conversation in good faith, talk to me off anon. just don't fucking coming back here associating those kinds of labels w me, n don't presume to tell me (like some kind of fascist) what i need to do, especially not while invalidating the lived experiences of those who've suffered in one of the worst ways imaginable.

*as i sit here thinking abt it, i actually would not be surprised if 18 yr olds on avg r less inclined to make bad decisions than 21 yr olds on average, but i'd need to see a whole lot of data that most definitely does not exist in any reliable representative form.

bleh.

[garyfischy]

Oyasumi Punpun: a Rant

Oyasumi Punpun is like the Elliot Rodger manifesto for weeaboos. Boy that thinks he's the only person that's had anything bad happen to him gets raped and beaten, goes around raping and beating and murdering women. And it's all justified because of the horrible life he led. If you read any of Inio Asano's other mangas you can tell this is not a flaw or an oversight in Punpun's writing- Asano is a bitter misogynist and it shows in everything he writes. Bullies, abusive mothers, are all bitchy, unlovable hags. The only good women in the world of his manga are underage prepubescent girls.

Throughout Downfall, Goodnight Punpun, Dead Dead Demon's DEDEDEDEstruction (yes i read all of those. i wanted to give him a chance so bad.) women are always positioned as mindless foils to the protagonist. women that crave sex are disgusting whores. prostitutes are ugly, but the protagonist still sleeps with them. Fat women are disgusting. Mean women are ugly caricatured beasts, and kind women are perfectly molded, underage girls. Characters that proudly self-identify as pedophiles (Punpun's uncle, the otaku in DEDEDEDEstruction) are positioned as the rationalists, the Reddit Atheists, the ones too smart for the idiocy of the normies. The breath of "reason" in an insane world. The most obvious example of this isn't even in Oyasumi Punpun with the pedo uncle;

it's in DOWNFALL, which is about an 'intellectual' manga artist that hates the braindead 'normies' that like his manga. he only makes it for bottom feeders like them. he's above those human scum. The self insert protagonist rapes a woman too because she pissed him off. That's life! C'est la Vie! Men just do that kind of thing sometimes!

I am fucking sick of indie scenes treating punpun like the most deep, meaningful manga ever and jacking off about how smart they are for "understanding" it. what is there to understand? asano themself said punpun isn't supposed to have a coherent plot or meaning, that it's just supposed to be nonsense because real life murders are nonsense. it's just an excuse to write a sloppy, disheveled story, with little care put into the world that the protagonist inhabits.

this isnt very organized. im just full of hate for inio asano, and i cannot believe this bilge is touted as some of the most 'intellectual' manga of our time.

here's some quotes from an interview about punpun

and here's an incident where a teenager killed a young girl and wrote punpun quotes all over the wall at the site. **AT NO POINT AM I IMPLYING DIRECT CORRELATION OF A HORRIFIC CRIME AND A FICTIONAL COMIC. You've seen that kind of thinking with, say, the boy that killed himself after playing Doki Doki Literature club- it's more likely someone willing to do that was drawn to media that discussed those themes rather than yknow, being directly inspired

..However, it is still interesting to note similarities in ideology/motive. In the same way the religious beliefs of killers often come into discussion (ie the Dena Schlosser murders- how did the ideology/community she was surrounded by influence her already declining mental state? Noone would argue christianity itself caused the murders.) , I think it's interesting to note Punpun's influence on the killer. ***I AM NOT SAYING PUNPUN WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MURDER. the person involved in the killing was already suicidal and mentally ill, thus they probably gravitated towards manga with those themes.

but if the manga influenced his actions that much, I think it's interesting to look into the ideology of the manga itself and what ideals it promotes. ***I AM NOT FUCKING SAYING PUNPUN CAUSED THE MURDER BEFORE I GET ANY COMMENTS ALONG THOSE LINES

note to self if i clean this up; make it more structured with my gripes about his manga; ie separate sections for misogynistic depictions of women, why i dont think the nihilism works, and bad writing with clear favoritism for certain characters and author self inserts (Platinum End also does this!)

[definestupor]

I'm so glad I don't see "proship" etc discourse on Tumblr. I am so over that shit. I've always believed that pro/anti are nonspecific labels that help no one and sugarcoat pedophilia and zoophilia, lumping them in with "icky" kinks and (what the terms were originally meant for) shipping fictional characters in typically unhealthy relationships. It doesn't allow for any sort of nuance. Either you're anti-all-weird-kink or you're pro-pedophillia. That's a really fucking exhausting discourse.

I'm fine with folks having weird kinks, morally ambiguous kinks, etc. What I'm not fine with is folks getting off to imagery of children and animals.

I think things like CNC, rape-play, age-play, pet-play, "dangerous" kink, etc. Can exist without fetishizing actual rape, pedophilia, and zoophilia, even of I'm personally uncomfortable with some of those things still. You can draw or write fictional adults acting a certain way without depicting the thing that they're acting out.

However, I do believe that drawing realistic children and animals in a sexualized way is a deplorable act. Like, if you reference a child actor who exists IRL and draw adult content of them, draw them with prepubescent body parts that are pretty obviously from reference, then that's fucked up! And the people who get off to that are pedophiles, in my opinion, because you're getting off to the idea of a child! Loli/feral shit makes me similarly uncomfortable. Even if it's fictional, you're getting off to the idea of a child/animal that can't consent, full stop. (It's not the same as getting off to like... An adult in a diaper or a human in a dog collar, imo, which are things mostly based on consented-to power dynamics, etc.)

On twitter it's often all-or-nothing with these things though, and it's so exhausting. Folks get called "proshppers" for being into like... Blood play, or even shipping aged up versions of fictional characters in a sfw way, and shit like that. Or you get called anti-kink for not liking actual irl CP even if you support weird kinks. There is no nuance. And it is so exhausting. And not declaring myself to one label on my profile raises eyebrows. And I can never tell if the people I follow with EITHER label are safe, so I avoid both.

(Also, if you do equate being "pro-kink" or "pro-ship" to exclusively pedos/zoophiles, why even use the label at at? Just call people pedos/zoophiles. That's sugarcoating those paraphillas and equating them to legitimate kinks, sexualities, identities, etc, which they are NOT. Use the actual word, for fucks sake.)

I'm very glad I haven't seen those labels so prevalent here. They're fucking stupid.

[iceyrukia]

liberal feminists be like: oh there’s rampant pedophilia, incest, misogyny, sexual abuse, rape, racism, human trafficking in the porn industry? really? well I’ll be dammed that sucks :( I didn’t notice even though I go to these sites and see videos titled: “ TINY ASIAN ( BARELEY LEGAL ;) ) TEEN SLUT GETS HUMILIATED BY STEP-FATHERS BIG WHITE COCK”. and the suggested video with a thumbnail showing a prepubescent girl-oh I mean women (I’m sure it’s a women people wouldn’t post a lil girl right??) in pigtails sitting in a pink bedroom filled with children’s toys looking innocently up at the camera isn’t wierd. yes that might be a kid but let’s not assume the worst that’s just a women that likes pigtails, and toys so don’t assume ok. also ur a weirdo for thinking that way actually ur the pedophile for pointing it’s out me thinks 😕. oh I forgot we were talking about those aesthetics in the context of porn. hmmm well idk what if a women likes it so stop 🛑 with all the infantilism #supportallwomen. and no let’s not question why any man would to fuck a women that resembles a child. as long as it’s not a lil girl it’s not actual pedophilia it’s just a kink u judgey prude. plus those aren’t the norm in porn what kind of videos are you watching LoL I only 🤥 watch every other video that casually uses the words “ bitch/whore/slut/ cum dumpster” as replacement for the word women tho HAHAHA just normal kink stuff ya know and stop slut shaming me becuz it’s not misogynistic since I’ve reclaimed the words slut and bitch 😤 like I’m so cunty 🥵 for that ughhh it’s just #badbitch things you wouldn’t get it 🤪. no you don’t get it by calling myself a slut it cancels out the history of the word and I’m sure the men watching these videos don’t associate sex as an act of hate towards women. constantly jacking off to “ slut devours my dick” only rewires men’s brains to see women as human being even more. oh tbh I only watch feminist lesbian porn because I support women😏. uuummm no it doesn’t mimics the dynamics of straight misogynistic porn and doesn’t cater to voyeurisric creepy men what are you taking about??? shut up stop trying to ruin everything. gurl alllsooooooo gay porn exists so much idk why you’re trying to claim all porn is bad. this is NOT comparable in any way to men saying that women should stop taking about rape because men can also be raped ok because uhhh porn makes me horny and that’s all that matters so there #notallporn. ✊WeLL Anywayzz like I was sayin uh damn 😔 I hope all the human trafficking and rape stops. I hope all of that junk * motions vaguely* gets regulated soon in order to soothe my guilty conscio- I mean for the safety of all those women getting abused. wait ur saying that it should be our priority as feminists to stop this??? nahhhh I think the men running these sites making profit out of actual rape videos have our best interests in mind they’ll come around! also what if all the good ethical porn by the totally consenting sex workers gets deleted as collateral damage for going after these companies. Ur so insensitive and short sited god 😬 im sure the millions of porn videos out there will be screened and regulated don’t worry!! even if a women is traumatized by her rape video floating around it doesn’t take precedent over the other good videos ur being unfair. like I freakin said #notallporn. oh you can never really tell whether porn is consensual????? well, YOU can’t tell that it isn’t so there 🤷‍♀️# unoreversecard # checkmate. ur just being a negative nancy 🙄 anyways until that time comes when the porn industry magically regulates itself I’m still gonna watch porn sooo yea- oh now wut do you have to say? hmmm? the existence of pornography and my bdsm kink are all due to living under a misogynistic patriarchal society?? Impossible!!! how can it be bad if it makes me feel good 😂 that’s stupid af. socialization? oh I’m immune to that because I’m a strong independent smart women stop patronizing me. it’s makes me feel good to wank off to porn so it can’t be bad how many times do I have to tell you????

[callsignbaphomet]

About his status as a raider.

It's all he's really known. The recap is that his mother died when he was young, his dad wasn't in the picture (he basically dipped and got the fuck outta dodge) so he ended up living with his grandmother who then sold him to an older man around her age. Luckily this man turned out to be a pretty decent human being who was a raider in his younger days but saw that it was kind of a messed up thing to be with age. He took him in because he saw that the grandmother and him clashed a lot over a lot of things but more so due to his gender identity. He saw Angelus as yet another way to redeem himself in the eyes of society.

He taught him everything he knew and since he was a raider since he was a prepubescent boy all his knowledge was shaped by his life as a raider. He taught him how to fight, mostly using melee weapons (because you won't run out of bullets), hand to hand and how to pick any lock he came across. By melee I mean he taught him that anything is a weapon, by hand to hand I mean he taught him some of the most unfair, underhanded and dirtiest tactics he knew. Angelus has a small frame and is skinny af so there's not much physical strength (lol unlike the Oracle version but that's because he's a werewolf. Strong af twink only because he's a werewolf) so he taught him how to use speed and agility to his advantage.

The only thing he didn't teach him was how to read because he didn't know how. Angelus's mom started teaching him but she died and his grandmother had ZERO interest in him.

So when the old man disappeared and didn't come back he sought out the only people he knew of. He didn't know how to farm, didn't know how to fix things, didn't know anything except how to fight, steal, pickpocket and break into locked things and buildings. Despite never having been in a raider gang he knew everything about raiders. So with that knowledge he sought out a gang that lived not too far from where he and the old man lived. Basically uprooted his life and left.

He joined gang after gang after gang until a few years later when he was 25, he ended up as a member of The Pack, when a client of his (he earned for a previous gang as a prostitute) set up a meeting and he got in. It's all he's ever known and while it's all he's ever known he never bought into the raider mentality per say. You can almost argue that raiders are kinda cult like but he never "drank the kool-Aid" as they say. He traveled a lot to the Commonwealth but not exactly as a raider, just as a regular person tho that never stopped him from stealing anything that wasn't bolted down.

While in the Commonwealth he was passing by one of the settlements and two women were being chased by a very angry yao guai. He still has no idea why but he went to help the women and for his trouble he ended up with a gnarly set of scars all over his back followed by a massive infection that almost killed him. From that day on he befriended the two women, Ginger and her wife Genevieve, and as thanks they gave him his very own room in their settlement. So now he had an excuse to come and go to Boston and to be honest his friendship with Ginger and her wife grew strong and while he enjoyed having some (decent) friends he came clean and confessed he was a raider which was nuts to them because whenever he was in Boston he was always helpful, was kind and really protective of them. They overlooked that fact and kept the secret to themselves.

Yeah, he enjoys stealing shit, getting into fights, beating people up, giving the Minutemen as much trouble as he can but at the same time he sees it as just fun and games, like I said he doesn't think of raiding as some holy way of life like many of them do. He's even helped fellow raiders when they're in danger or need anything. Will gladly help them with anything that doesn't involve "raider things". For the most part most of the others see him as weird but because he enjoys doing what they do they just wave it off. He kinda walks the line between raider and wastelander fairly easily.

Now, when he first met Jelani he could'be just walked away but Jela was injured and Angelus could just tell there was something wrong with him so he was sympathetic to him (and to be very honest he thought he was hot so you know). He helped him by bringing him over to Ginger and Genevieve's settlement where they in turn helped him. Again, he could've walked away but it felt rotten to him to have left him there. He's also appreciative when others help him. Second time he ran into Jelani he helped him when some settlers caught him stealing shit.

This leads to him accompanying Jelani on a job to kill a Gunner and because he helped Jelani gave him half of the pay and that night Angelus kinda saw just how messed up Jelani was.

This leads nicely into MY personal problem with the world in FO in concern with raiders. FO treats people completely black and white. You're either a good guy or a bad guy. And I get that raiders are supposed to be these lower than low pieces of absolute shit that deserve to be killed on sight and for the most part a lot of them are but in my opinion not every raider is your run of the mill Cook-Cook (if you know you know).

Like I said before Angelus only knows how to express himself through physical affection + he's extremely hypersexual so his way of thanking Jela for saving his life was through sex which led to Jelani panicking when Angelus kissed and touched him, specifically grabbing him by the hips. That is a huge no-no for him. Doesn't matter how safe he feels with someone, doesn't matter how much he trusts someone. That is strictly off limits. So when Jela asked him to stop he stopped. Angelus is a raider, not a piece of a shit. He noticed Jelani went into a panic attack and helped him through it.

Third time they run into each other is after Jelani tried to do a sort of experiment that backfired horribly and it ended in yet another panic attack that dissolved into a massive mental breakdown. Angelus found him and a lot happened but Angelus felt that he needed to help him somehow and he tried to. From that moment on he didn't wanna leave Jela's side for a lot of reasons but one of them was definitely due to him feeling like Jela needed help and even though he wasn't sure of what he could do to help he still wanted to try.

Even though he's very well aware that he's caused his own share of misery with time he stopped doing a lot of "raiding" especially after that third encounter with Jelani. His alliances were, unbeknownst to him, switching and he was even considering staying in Boston indefinitely.

I still wanted to add Nuka World events into the timeline so I did and as a way to repay Angelus for all he did Jelani took up the massive chore of cleaning up the park and claiming it for the gangs. Angelus was ready to just quit, he found something better, but it did hurt him to see his gang and former home in the state that it was and Jela noticed. So both of them spent weeks taking on that task.

Now, in a sort of twist Jelani did this for two reasons: to repay Angelus and to keep him alive.

Jelani did some digging and found out that there had been plans to eventually move into the Commonwealth once the NW raiders sorted their shit out. He's not a raider, tbh he's hated them his entire life and he pretty much made it a career to kill 'em. Most of the jobs he was hired for were for killing raiders. So basically a contract killer in a sense. Sorta. He's killed raiders, Gunners, Triggermen and others not affiliated with any groups but had wronged someone in some way. After taking back the park he, Angelus and Varg made a contingency plan to make sure the Commonwealth had a fighting chance in case NW ever decided to set their eyes on Boston. Angelus was pretty much done with being a raider especially after meeting Loke and Uthorim.

He permanently moved to Ginger and Genevieve's settlement where he stayed with Jelani, Loke and Uthorim. There was a lot of distrust from Loke's part especially after people in the settlement found out he was a raider. Usually he would've just up and left but he stayed because at that point he and Jela were actually together and he cared enough about him to stay with him and try to earn the other's trust (in some cases re-earn).

Uth was the first to ease up on him. I think that makes sense given Uthorim's ability to be calm and collected enough to see things from different perspectives and let's be honest here he's a hell of a lot more mature than most others. When Uthorim started talking to him in a more civil manner and not as defensive as the others other people sort of started to take it down a notch. Even Loke came around when he saw how attentive he was of Jelani, even going so far as to knowing seconds before Jela would have a panic attack and helping to calm him which honestly impressed him. A lot. So he and Angelus had a talk in which he told him he was okay with him being with Jelani.

In turn Angelus grew to care about and love both Loke and Uthorim. Like this might sound corny but he really did get why Jela said both of them were really special and amazing people, even he came to be as protective of both of them as he was with Jelani. He still has a little bit of a raider in him but that's just because he's a little shit but he means no harm, at least not anymore. He's just trying his best with the family he gained.

[frecklenog]

rewatching tas yesteryear for the second time today to pull some of the stuff that Stuck Out To Me

"i regret you were witness to that unfortunate display of emotion on the part of my son"

sarek this is why people say you're a bad father. he's being mercilessly bullied by the other kids and chastised for being upset by it? HES SEVEN.

"is something wrong, [sarek]?" "no no. it was only that... it seemed i know you."

yeah. you do. that's your son age 35 lmao (and spock brushing it off as looking like a shared ancestor he's so. i'm biting himgn,)

why do the adults wear full clothes and the kids wear speedos and seatbelts. what's happening on this planet

"once on the path you choose, you cannot turn back"

actually-

"it is difficult for a father to bear less than perfection in his son"

babygirl you have so many problems. what edition of the dsm are we on in 2269 or whatever the hell because i think you need to look through it

still so insane that vulcans do the kahs-wan at all tbh. like yeah sure it keeps them connected to their roots but these are prepubescent boys and you're just leaving them alone in the wilderness for over a week with zero supplies. how is that not institutional child neglect.

"to fail once is not a disgrace -- for others. if you fail, there will be those who will call you a coward all your life."

but like. no pressure or anything. single digit age baby child boy.

"i do not expect you to fail." "what if i do, father?" "there is no need to ask that question. you will not disappoint me. not if your heart and spirit are vulcan."

this fucking. exchange. it's so short. combined, it's all of six sentences. but even the first time i watched it i could pick up on the two distinct interpretations by both sarek and spock.

sarek seems to think that this is a comfort. an affirmation. he believes in his son. he has complete faith in his abilities. there's no doubt in his mind that spock will succeed. it's the logical conclusion.

spock however. spock has anxiety borne of his status as a mixed, neurodivergent child and his actual life experiences. he's so used to people thinking less of him. used to not being good enough. not being vulcan enough. he's been bullied by his peers his whole life, and earlier in the episode the other vulcan boys openly insult his mother by saying that sarek brought shame to vulcan by marrying her. he knows how people think of him, and he's reaching for reassurance that it's okay if he, like many other vulcan children, needs to undergo the kahs-wan again. just telling him that he will succeed, and leaving no other option, only puts further pressure on him and increases his anxiety, as is evicenced by him immediately going to i-chaya to vent and seek comfort. no wonder he runs away all the time, fucks sake.

in other news, i still hate this fucking fountain. we're on a desert planet where the only oceans are of lava. what the fuck are you doing, sarek? this thing is a massive waste of resources for absolutely no good fucking reason! where is your precious "logic" now, you green blooded cunt?

"of course. i should have remembered. it wasn't the actual kahs-wan ordeal."

bold for emphasis, and. i. how fucking spotty is spock's memory of his childhood??????

"you don't think he'd harm spock?" "i don't know, amanda."

[anguished groan as i think too hard about time travel implications]

..when spock does the nerve pinch to that big green bastard its fucking head vanishes for a few frames SDJFJSD

"do you think i'll ever be able to do that neck pinch as well as you?" "i dare say you will."

"...you are worried about the kahs-wan ordeal." "i had to see if i could do it. a personal test. i cannot fail." "that is your father's wish?" "yes, and my mother's. they... they confuse me. father wants me to do things his way, and mother says i should. but then she goes-" "she is a human woman, with strong emotion and sensitivities. she embarrasses you with those traits, and you are afraid when you see them in yourself."

spock really took "reparent yourself" literally with that whole speech about the reality of vulcan emotion huh

also. who did baby spock prank that one time lmao i bet sybok played a part in it

the zoom on amanda when baby spock says he chose vulcan.

and then he goes off to get in another fight after announcing his intentions to both of his parents and his alleged cousin. none of them stop him. vulcan is such a mess of a planet

"one small thing was changed this time. a pet died." "a pet? well that wouldn't mean much, in the course of time." "it might to some."

post over thank you for listening.

[rhysgfrelsa-eudyptula]

No reputable doctor would allow elective hysterectomies. It's not the first line sterilization procedure. Did you mean, tubal ligation?

"No reputable doctor"

And that is the issue I have.

Why can't a person have a say in what the hell happens to their own bodies?

"You might want children." Is the answer I am given. Excuse me? The fact I am not allowed to voluntarily have something removed that I do not want is not allowed because people think *I* might want children?

Yeah the fuck right. *I* don't want children, never have wanted children. I am Aegosexual, which for those who don't undersrand... it means I am good with B.O.B. but do not want sex with another human being ever. So that baby factory in my body is nothing more than a useless part of my anatomy that gives me painful as hell ovulation and a blood flow that often looks like I damn well murdered someone.

What Asexual in their ever loving right or left minds would want to be shackled with that because some male doctor says "You might want kids."? Yeah and that doctor might want a swift kick right in the very tender and weak longshorman & 2 buoys.

Added to the fact of being an Autistic, PTSD, ADHD, Bipolar, Agoraphobic, Schizoaffective Hermit with a family history (Maternal side) of borderline intellectual functioning (see also borderline mental retardation)... why would I subject a child to that possibility? The Autism and or the Borderline Intellectual Functioning shit not to mention the Schizoaffective issues.

And no, I didn't mean tubal ligation. I meant a full on "take this bs out of me because I don't need it nor do I want it" hysterectomy.

---

"You may want to have children later."

Is their excuse.

As if I don't know what I want or don't want.

Just like how anyone with female anatomy in the USA now has less power all over again over their own bodies because the all powerful patriarchy and the fucking church/religion I don't believe in says that abortion is wrong and now illegal.

I have had 20+ years of built up "pissed off" about a body I don't feel right in, not being able to have this Alienware taken right the hell out of me because I don't want it.

Even my body agrees with me as thanks to that lovely pituitary gland in my head that has me have as much testosterone as a prepubescent male. Which, by the way, is higher than female bodies usually have.

So... it is highly likely that I am already sterile to begin with (thank the Creator), but still can't get a fucking hysterectomy. How great is that? Likely can't have kids anyway but you still have to lug around the useless stock parts because "no reputable doctor" will let me have my say on MY BODY.

[cryptmonsteruniverseimagines]

How would Look-see, Soot, Kinderfänger, and the Mordeo Queen take care of their s/o while she’s on her period?

Hope these are to your liking! College is a bitch.

Look-See, Soot, The Kinderfänger, and the Mordeo Queen taking care of their fem!s/o on her period

Warning: mentions of blood

The Look-See

Will be at your beck and call for the entire week. Too wrecked by cramps to get up and go anywhere? He’ll go and get stuff for you. You’re too hot? Off go the blankets and on goes the AC.

100/10 will sneak out of the house and steal whatever you want. If you make a passing comment about how you wished you had some mint chocolate chip ice cream, he’ll be out the door and come back with a shit-ton of ice cream. Just... don’t turn on the news. You don’t wanna know what he did to get it.

If you can’t get out of bed, he’ll just flip down there with you and snuggle you. He’s a very touchy-feely monster, so this is his element. He’ll hold you to his chest, stroke your hair, and purr to lull you to sleep.

Soot

He will immediately roll with the punches the second the red devil hits the house. He’s no stranger to blood at all, but he still gets worried when he comes to your house one day and smells a suspicious amount of iron in the air. He finds you on the couch, curled up in a ball with bags of junk food at your feet, and is thouroughly confused. This is... not how bloodied humans usually react when he finds them.

He’ll freak out and once you explain things to him, but will still be confused and scared when you say that you’re dying while experiencing a particularly awful cramp. What do you mean you’re dying? No, no, that can’t be right. You look just fine!

Oh, god, you’re bleeding out and don’t know how to tell him — those kinds of thoughts go through his head. His job is literally to get people who were supposed to die — you can’t blame him for getting paranoid when he hears stuff like that.

He can’t exactly go out and buy things for you, but after the first time he experiences shark week with you, he makes sure you’re absolutely gonna be prepared for the next one that hits.

The Kinderfänger

Because Kinderfänger spends most of not all of his time around prepubescent children (nobody really knows what his song would do to teenagers. Frankly, we don’t wanna know.), he does not know what a menstrual cycle is. Which is why he immediately starts freaking out the first time it starts around him. He smells blood on you, and he flips the fuck out. Who hurt you?! Who drew your blood, little maus?!

When you finally calm him down enough to explain it to him, he’s both shocked and disgusted. Excuse me??? You bleed from your where now??? And this happens how often???

Once he’s gotten over the initial freak out, he refuses to let you out of the lair. His children are sent out to steal things that would make you feel better. Keep in mind that this is a likely-centuries-old smoke monster that has no idea what Google is, so he’s only going off what you say will help.

Hovers constantly. When you’re particularly moody, it does far more harm than good. If he senses that you’re upset, he’ll try to cuddle you to help you feel better. This will lead to his children coming up and hugging you with him. They may be mind-controlled demonic kiddies, but they love you almost as much as he does.

The Mordeo Queen

Honestly? The least useful. As much as she hates to hear about how much you’re in pain from cramps, she wouldn’t be able to help you if she wanted to. Not only is she in the woods, practically isolated from you if you live in the city, but the smell of blood is enough to send her predator instincts into overdrive.

It hurts her so much to hear how you suffer on in this time of the month, she’s worried that if she goes near you, she won’t be able to control herself and attack you. It’s not fun for her, either.

The best she can do, if you happen to live within the vicinity of her woods, is keep other Mordeo away from your house. She’ll sit outside your cabin like a guard dog and attack any Mordeo that comes investigating the intoxicating scent of blood. As the most sentient Mordeo, she has the most control over her beastly instincts, and really, are they gonna argue with the leader of the pack?

[salemwritesxx]

isn’t bakugo still like in high school? he’s like 15-17. a minor— shouldn’t be thirsting for him to that extent ._. especially if you‘re 18+. paints you as some sort of pedo, don’t you think??

bro.... he is a fictional character, non living, non breathing thing... since fucking when can I not thirst over something THAT DOESN'T EXIST???

People like you really love to throw around the word way too much and accusing everyone of being one. Look up what a pedo REALLY is, someone who is sexually attracted to PREPUBESCENT CHILDREN, and fight for LIVING BREATHING HUMAN BEINGS that are actually affected and leave me and other blogs who write nsfw with fictional characters alone ESPECIALLY when we already claim everyone is also aged up like fuck off dude

[stovetuna]

This is for @bardingbeedle who yelled at me in the tags and then on messenger and ultimately inspired me to write some “lorge soft steve” and tbh who am I to refuse. (also high-key inspired by this masterpiece of fanart I RBed [again] earlier today)

(takes place shortly after the events of Avengers Assemble episode 2x07, aka the best fic none of us ever wrote)

(heed the READ MORE!)

***

Tony is hustling from one meeting to the next, all but literally running into the kitchen for a cup of afternoon coffee, when he spies Steve Rogers bent over the communal living room coffee table. That in and of itself isn’t exactly outside the realm of normal Steve Rogers activities—the man does love a good brood, even if he won’t admit it and doesn’t do it as often as he used to.

But Tony wracks his brain for possible reasons why Steve would be hunched up around the shoulders like he’s expecting a body blow any minute and keeps coming up empty. Not even fresh coffee makes his synapses fire faster. Did they forget his birthday? Impossible. Did someone send Captain America hate mail? Uh, doubly impossible, especially because Tony’s got lawyers screening their mail for that kind of stuff (they’ve got more than enough pressure in their day-to-day lives, time-slip dinosaurs and age regressions notwithstanding).

Maybe Steve found a piece of upsetting news, or some fact of modern history that isn’t sitting well with him? That’s a lot more likely.

Before he can remind himself that Pepper’s waiting in his office to put him on a call with the president of MIT—something about a commencement speech, if memory serves—Tony is sauntering into the living room, nonchalant, tongue already prickling with some smart remark. He’s got it all written out in his head like a perfect line of code up until the moment he’s standing in front of Steve and sees the expression on his face.

“Whoa, who ran over your puppy?”

Tony winces, wishing for the millionth time that his mouth and his brain could work together simultaneously, but no. Worse, Steve doesn’t even answer him—he just frowns harder, if that’s even possible, and folds in on himself like his shoulders alone don’t take up half the length of the massive couch. Tony lowers the hand holding his coffee and blinks.

“Steve?”

“Oh!” Steve jumps upright, and quick as a flash moves something vaguely folder-shaped behind his back. “Tony! I didn’t hear you walk in—don’t you have a meeting right now?”

Something in Tony’s chest squeezes at the sight of that smile and at Steve’s impeccable attention to detail. But really, ever since the incident with the Time Stone, when he’d jolted back into his adult body and come to in Steve’s arms, he’s felt completely knocked off-balance. Now everything about Steve Rogers—the man, not the superhero—is a revelation. Every smile, every word, every look has Tony tripping over his own feet, tongue, thoughts. He may be back in his adult body, but he’s never felt more like a prepubescent teenager with a crush, fidgeting in place under Steve’s gaze.

“It got postponed,” he lies, because whatever has put that pinch between Steve’s eyebrows is way more important right now. “What’s up?”

“Nothing!” Steve replies, too loud and too quickly. Tony gives him a look. Steve flushes, shrinking in on himself even further, like he wants the couch to devour him. “Uh, nothing important. Just an anniversary I forgot about.”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to frown. He likes to think he’s got a solid mental calendar of important dates for all of his teammates memorized at this point—Natasha’s move-in, Bruce’s lab incident, Sam’s SHIELD acceptance, Steve being found in the ice—but none of those are today.

“Got room for one more?” Tony asks, nodding at the scant space next to Steve on the couch when the man gives him a questioning look. Steve’s cheeks immediately go a charming shade of pink, which churns the coffee in Tony’s empty stomach with a vengeance. Steve shifts to press himself against the arm as Tony moves to sit down next to him, almost crushing the folder Steve had hidden earlier in the process. There’s a gasp, and a lightning-quick hand, and then Steve, pale and breathless, is holding a manila folder against his chest like it’s the secret to the Super Soldier Serum.

It’s weird—Tony knows Steve trusts him, and vice versa. They wouldn’t have solved the riddle of the Time Stone if they didn’t trust each other. So to sit next to Steve, who’s gone from morose to terrified in the three minutes since Tony walked into the room and feel a wall between them is jarring. And upsetting. He’s only been nursing this crush for a few days, and Steve’s not that perceptive…is he? Maybe he is. Maybe this is Steve weeding out Tony’s feelings before they’ve even had a chance to grow.

Tony shakes his head at the thought. No, Steve’s a lot of things, but cruel isn’t one of them.

“Care to share with the class?” he asks, gently so he doesn’t spook Steve. It seems to work: Steve relaxes, tension falling from his shoulders as he eases into Tony’s presence. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, but keeps the folder pressed securely against his sternum. Tony tries hard not to steal a glance at the way Steve’s shirt pulls across his broad, thick chest as he breathes.

“It’s nothing.”

“Cap, if it was nothing, you wouldn’t be trying to Honey-I-Shrunk-Myself into the couch right now.”

Steve Rogers in active wear doesn’t cut quite the same figure as Steve Rogers in full Captain America regalia, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean he’s small. Like this, he’s just as large and has just as much presence as he does in uniform; it’s just…more human. Less Captain, more Steve. Both are devastating in their own way, but only Steve—friendly, blushing, awkward, unassuming Steve—makes Tony acutely aware of the distance between their bodies, down to the last electrified hair.

Catching his own breath, Tony puts his full mug on the coffee table and drops his hands into his lap, turning his head to watch Steve chew on whatever words are fighting to come out. Be patient, he tells himself. Whatever this is, Steve’s struggling with it, and Tony can have some tact when he wants to.

Finally, Steve closes his eyes and sighs. When he lowers his hands, the folder goes with them. Tony glances at the cover and almost swallows his tongue.

“Is that—?” Steve makes a noncommittal sound, like a ‘yes’ but softer, uncertain, like he’s not sure Tony’s reaction is a good one. Tony swallows his excitement with a wince. “Is that the Project Rebirth file? I told Fury to give it to you a long time ago, but I wasn’t sure he did.”

Tony is so preoccupied looking at the folder he doesn’t hear Steve’s gasp or notice his eyes lock onto him. “He did,” Steve replies quietly after a pause. “But that’s isn’t…that’s not what this is about.”

That’s kind of a surprise. The sudden appearance of the Project Rebirth file would explain Steve’s face and body language, but if it’s not that…

Steve hands the entire folder over to Tony without another word.

“Uh,” Tony gapes, too awestruck to achieve any kind of higher brain function.

“Look at the date,” Steve says. It’s not an order, just a gentle request, but it doesn’t prevent a shiver from rippling down the length of Tony’s spine. If he was hyperaware of the space between their bodies before, it’s even worse now with Steve leaning every-so-slightly toward him and reaching out a hand to point directly at the date written on the faded label.

22 June 1943

Tony blinks. “It’s the anniversary…of you?” He opens the folder without a second thought, and the first thing he sees is a picture of Steve. There are other things in the file—sheaves of what look like medical reports, heavily redacted memos, and carbon copies of typed letters—but the only thing Tony can focus on is Steven Grant Rogers circa 1943. The Steven Grant Rogers of before.

He’s touching the photo before he can stop himself, being so, so careful as he traces the narrow shape of the man in the photograph while the real, supersized thing sits next to him.

“It’s the first time I’ve really had a chance to sit and think about what it was like, before,” Steve says, unprompted. “Everything happened so fast once I got the serum, I didn’t have time to just…take it all in. And then I went into the ice and—well. You know the rest.”

All skin and bones, this man, back then. But the jut of his jaw is the same; the serum didn’t change that, or the flinty stubbornness in Steve’s eyes, or the proud set of his shoulders, just daring the world to try and fuck with him. Tony smiles—Steve before the serum is like a matchstick, short and thin and always one spark away from bursting into flame. He really didn’t change a bit.

When Tony finally looks up from the photo (not gazing, of course not), he sees Steve’s expression has gone pinched again, his arms now crossed in front of his chest.

“Alright, there’s that face again. Out with it, Cap.”

Steve really shouldn’t bite his lip—it’s bad for Tony’s health. But Tony’s comment does get him to smile a little bit, which is good. “I guess…it’s been over seventy years since I got the serum, but most days I still feel like that skinny guy in the picture.” Tony watches him as he speaks, taking in the faraway look in Steve’s eyes, the shrinking posture, the downward turn of his mouth—who says I can’t be observant, Tony thinks—and wishes he and Steve were the kind of friends who hugged outside of catastrophic cosmic events. God knows it looks like Steve could use one, as wound up and tense as he is right now.

“I’ve broken so many things by accident because I keep forgetting I’m this, now,” he says, gesturing broadly at himself with one hand. Frowning, Steve uses that same hand to brace his forehead, elbow dropping down onto his thigh. The man is the picture of misery, and Tony aches to comfort him. It’s a physical pull in the pit of his stomach, urgent and needy—like if he doesn’t get his arms around Steve Rogers right this second, something important inside him is going to malfunction.

Tony shoves his hands under his thighs and nods. “Dr. Erskine could turn you into a super soldier,” he says softly, “but he couldn’t erase the first 27 years of your life.” He doesn’t speak his next thought aloud—that if there was in fact a way to erase those years, Tony would have signed up for the very first clinical trial. It’s a grim thought, and not something Steve needs to hear right now, but it’s been on Tony’s mind ever since his brief return to adolescence, and it’s a hard one to shake.

But what Steve heard seems to help. He peeks at Tony through his fingers and swallows loud enough even Tony can hear it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “something like that.”

“What else?”

“What?”

“What else is bugging you? About this?”

Steve lowers his hand and stares at Tony. Stares. It’s such a feeling, being stared at by Steve Rogers, Tony can feel the heat climbing up from underneath his t-shirt. Even the arc reactor feels a bit warmer in his chest.

“How could you tell?”

“You’re still doing your level-best impression of a Shrinky Dink, Cap,” Tony replies. “Kind of hard not to notice.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Steve laughs, a hoarse, dry sound, “but you’re not wrong. I guess…I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words.”

“Try.”

Seriously, when Steve looks at him like that—like he did when Tony soared through the air as Iron Kid, all awe and pride and warmth—Tony feels capable of anything. Anything. He’d bottle that feeling, if he could, just like he’d bottle the color of Steve’s hair in the afternoon light coming in through the living room windows right now, all warm, pale yellows shot through with gold. If the photo in the file were in full color, Tony would bet his fortune Steve’s hair would be the same shade it is now.

Because Steve Rogers has always been perfect. Damn him.

“I still feel small,” Steve says, and any thoughts of hair and perfection derail abruptly. Looking into the middle-distance past his nose, he continues, “I don’t fit in this body. That doesn’t make sense, but—it’s like the super soldier is a mold, and I’m just there rattling around inside it, too small to fit. Does that—does that make any sense?” He looks at Tony imploringly, begging him with his eyes to understand. Tony feels that tug again, worse now, to wrap his arms around Steve and hold him tight. Call it returning the favor for the other day with the Time Stone, call it acting on his crush, whatever.

No one so large has ever looked as small as Steve Rogers does right now.

“It does,” Tony croaks.

“Really?”

“Really. I mean, how do you think I feel inside the suit?”

Steve makes a sound at that—not a whimper, not a gasp, but something hovering between the two that splits Tony’s heart right down the middle. “I never thought of it that way,” he whispers. “But that’s it. That’s exactly it.” Visible relief fills Steve’s lungs and makes his entire body go lax, leaning closer to Tony in the process. Tony, of course, is hyperaware of Steve’s size—everyone except Thor and Hulk is small compared to him—but now he’s equally aware of who’s operating the Cap-suit, so to speak.

“The only difference is, I can take my super-suit off,” Tony says, pinching the underside of his own thigh to cut off a laugh—Steve hasn’t seen The Incredibles yet—and continues, “you can’t. That’s bound to make a guy feel uncomfortable, even you, Mr. ‘I can handle anything you throw at me.’” He elbows Steve a little, good-naturedly, for emphasis, and gets a full, beautiful smile for his efforts.

God. Skinny or huge, Steve Rogers is gorgeous. It really shouldn’t be allowed.

“Yeah, good point.” Face still split by a smile—I put that there, Tony preens—Steve leans against the back of the couch and sighs. “There are things I miss, though. About being small. I didn’t think I did, until…” He glances at Tony, then, and there’s no missing the blush creeping up his neck.

“Until?”

“The other day,” Steve replies. “When you de-aged, and I—when we—” Tony bites his tongue so hard he’s pretty sure he tastes blood. Don’t interrupt. Let him get it out. Steve laughs breathily. “When I hugged you, I was so glad I was in a position to protect you, physically, like that. But later on I kept thinking about how much I miss being the protected one, sometimes. Not always, but. Sometimes.” Steve looks at the photo and sighs. “I keep thinking about what it felt like when ma looked after me when I was sick, or when Bucky put himself between me and the bigger guy because he knew I couldn’t take another hit…sure I resented it a little, being so weak, but I liked…that.”

“You liked being cared for.”

The look Steve levels at Tony could drive away a storm.

“Yeah,” he husks. “I did.”

“And now that you’re—” Tony waves a hand at Steve’s everything, “—this, you think you don’t, what, deserve care?”

“Maybe?” Steve blinks. “I don’t know.”

“Cap—Steve,” Tony says, putting his hands palms-up in his lap so Steve can see all of him. No threat, no judgment. “Everyone wants to feel cared for. It’s human nature. And just because you’re superhuman doesn’t mean you’re inhuman.”

Damn if those therapy sessions Pepper forced him into aren’t paying off big time right now. If the sheen in Steve’s eyes is anything to go by, Tony’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Oh,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Tony smiles. Butterflies be damned, he moves the project file onto the coffee table next to his now-cold mug and turns toward Steve. Slowly, he opens his arms. “C’mere,” he says, so quiet only Steve would hear if anyone else was around. As it is, they’re alone in the tower, and Steve doesn’t hesitate—one moment Tony’s arms are empty and the next he’s got 240 pounds of solid muscle curling into his chest and Steve’s tucking his big head under Tony’s chin like the world’s neediest Bernese mountain dog.

Thankfully, Tony’s arms are just long enough to fit all the way around Steve’s massive shoulders. And even if they weren’t, he’d find a way to make it work.

Knees knocking together, feet brushing up against each other on the carpet, Steve shifts and adjusts until he can wrap his arms around Tony’s waist. Once he settles in, he sighs right into the notch at the base of Tony’s throat. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Anytime, big guy,” Tony replies, softly with a warm smile he thinks Steve can’t see.

[anjumstar]

out

Bkdk pride week day 5: out / blue

2.5k, rated g

chronology: love -> out -> happiness -> pride -> small victories

master list

It was a simple bowl of ramen.

Well, maybe not simple. Izuku had been living on his own for nearly four years now and barely cooked for himself, so he wasn’t sure exactly what went into making a ramen broth this sumptuous. All he knew is that Kacchan had been cooking it before Izuku had gotten there and had kept cooking it for a good fifteen minutes after. Already, that was more than five times the amount of time it had ever taken Izuku to make ramen.

It was the best meal Izuku had eaten all week, but it wasn’t just the food. It was being invited to Kacchan’s apartment for just the third time since their patrols had serendipitously lined up so many months ago. Even during the peak of their friendship third year, the only times he’d managed to breach the boundary that had been made in prepubescence around the Bakugou household was when Mitsuki had invited Izuku and his mother. It had been wonderful and heartbreaking, and Izuku had been thrilled and cried a little in the bathroom.

Today, he was trying desperately not to cry fat, salty tears into Kacchan’s perfectly seasoned broth.

*

It was just fucking ramen and Deku was acting like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

He probably might as well not have, for all Katsuki could guess that he’d eaten all week. Probably rotated meals from the convenience store and maybe some prepared dishes that auntie had brought him, if Katsuki knew Midoriya Inko.

He’d fried some pork to go on top of their helpings, despite the fact that the panko would get soggy from the broth before too long. Not that Deku was giving it a fighting chance of reaching that point.

Katsudon was Deku’s favorite meal—everyone knew that. But that would have been overkill, so Katsuki simply suggested the meal with the fried pork, to make sure that Deku liked it. It wasn’t like this was a date or anything, so he wasn’t about to go the extra mile for the nerd.

*

It wasn’t that Izuku was sad! No, no, he was happy. A little too happy, if his tear ducts had anything to say about it. And, okay, maybe he was a little overwhelmed.

Izuku would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed Kacchan. He’d also be lying if he said that missing Kacchan hadn’t given him a very frenzied internal monologue for the last three years.

There were no two ways around it—Izuku was a workaholic. He chose work and being number one over everything and everyone else. His mother would answer his scattered phone calls with, “Izuku! I was worried!”

But at least she got phone calls. All Might too. But his friends, Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki…

Kacchan.

But if Izuku wasn’t maintaining his friendships, did that mean he was a bad friend? A bad person? Did that, in turn, mean he was a bad hero? Human interaction was a vital part of mental health, so was he running himself ragged and not realizing? Would it impair his ability to relate interpersonally with victims?

Oops, that was the inner monologue.

*

Katsuki had lost Deku somewhere between the his last bite of pork—still crispy, thank you very much, if Deku’s gnashing was anything to go by—and the single piece of green onion the dork had been chewing for the last minute.

He wasn’t muttering, but he might as well have been. Those annoyingly bright, shiny eyes were pointed at one of the corners of Katsuki’s ceiling, thin eyebrows furrowed so they disappeared behind creases in places, and motor mouth chewing excruciatingly slowly.

It was not normal for the two of them to be together and Deku’s attention to be anywhere but on Katsuki. It was what had annoyed him as a brat and what he’d come to rely on as he’d gotten older. And the shitnerd not listening to him while he was talking was just unacceptable.

*

“Hey. Nerd.”

Izuku blinked. Kacchan’s face was flush across his cheeks and up to his ears, probably from the deep red of his broth versus the gentle yellow of Izuku’s own. His tone was also loud enough for Izuku to know that this wasn’t the first time Kacchan had tried to get his attention.

“Oh, sorry, Kacchan!” Izuku said, Kacchan’s glaring eyes bringing him right back to reality. “What were you saying?”

Kacchan’s jaw was clenched, like he was debating telling Izuku to fucking forget it, but Izuku wouldn’t stand for that. He would beg and nag and wasn’t above groveling to get every crumb of dialogue from Kacchan that he could. And Kacchan must have known that, because he bit a piece of meat and chewed it aggressively before starting again.

*

He’d have to say this shit again if he ever wanted a moment of peace in his life. Although the part of him that was hesitant to repeat himself figured that he might not have a moment of peace again either way.

Still, he pushed forward.

“I thought that maybe your nerd self would have thoughts about what it would mean if someone in the top ten came out.”

Katsuki hid the redness of his face in his food. Deku might have slurped his nearly gone, but Katsuki knew that it was better for digestion to eat food at a respectable pace. So there were still plenty of noodles for him to suddenly be super interested in while Deku gaped at him.

Goddamn him, why had he asked that?

*

…Why had he asked that?

Izuku’s heart was suddenly beating wildly. When he and Kacchan had reunited not even a year ago, Izuku had been worried that there would be a stiltedness in their interactions. They’d seen each other essentially every day for fifteen years and then slipped into three of near radio silence. Izuku had nothing to relate that to and had been deeply concerned that he’d have to start from scratch again with Kacchan.

“Oh!” Izuku intoned, begging his face not to blush. Unlike Kacchan, he didn’t have any spicy food to explain it away with. “Oh, that’s actually an interesting question.”o idea—and that had led to meals together afterwards or grabbing some boba if their shifts ended together. They talked about work and strategy and never missed an opportunity to gibe each other over who would make number one first.

This was not what they talked about.

“Oh, I, uh, are yo—is someone gay?”

*

“No,” Katsuki said quickly, food tongued into one cheek. “I don’t know. It’s fucking hypothetical, dipshit.”

It wasn’t a lie, technically. He wasn’t gay because, frankly, he didn’t know what he was. Twenty-two years old and he didn’t know something that tweens were posting in their goddamn Instagram bios.

Because he wasn’t attracted to men. He was attracted to…man.

*

“Oh!” Izuku intoned, begging his face not to blush. Unlike Kacchan, he didn’t have any spicy food to blame it on. “Oh, that’s actually an interesting question.”

“‘Course it is. I’m an interesting person,” Kacchan mumbled.

“Well, it would be a really big deal,” Izuku commented, his brain already swimming with the possibilities. “It would depend on how it was handled. Is it a scandal or do they come out willingly? Are they in a relationship? And it would definitely depend on who it was. Is it a surprising revelation? Is this person seen as a good role model? Gosh, so many factors…”

Most of the pros who had been in the top ten for any substantial period of time had dealt with internet murmurings—or screaming, depending—about their sexuality from Best Jeanist to Endeavor. But no one remotely close to the top ten had ever confirmed anything, and Japanese media was too conservative to ask point blank, with heroes more so than any other celebrity.

Izuku continued. “It would be a PR nightmare regardless.”

*

“But I’m also sure it would be a good thing in the long run. Probably even in the not-so-long run.”

Deku seemed very sure of the whole lot of nothing he was flapping his gums about. Not that Katsuki should have expected anything else out of Deku. A fucking million answers for one stupid question. Classic Deku.

He was blinking at Katsuki, clearly waiting to see if he was going to weigh in. When he didn’t, Deku kept on talking.

“It’s complicated to say with it being so hypothetical. I wish it weren’t, though. It should be easy and good for everyone. It would be very heroic.”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes.

“So it would be villainous not to?”

*

“What? No!” Izuku waved his hands wildly in front of his face, feeling suspiciously like he’d just misstepped. Like Kacchan had turned one of his explosions into a landmine—wait, could his quirk actually do that?—that he’d walked into. “No one ever has to come out, Kacchan!”

“Would you?” Kacchan asked, seemingly doing everything he could to turn Izuku’s face red as a beet on this particular evening. “Hypothetically.”

*

He was a coward, alright? All this time, and there were still moments where he couldn’t look Deku in the eye. He was willing to show a lot more vulnerable sides in front of the nerd than he’d been capable of at fifteen, but some things needed a little bit of assurance first.

Besides, he wasn’t pulling it out of the guy. Deku was right. No one had to come out, and if Deku had anything to come out about, he didn’t have to do it here and now. The hypothetical aspect of the question was doing double duty, protecting them both in that way.

But still, Deku had never, not once, lied to Katsuki. He’d been ignorant to that fact as a kid, but now it was a core tenant in his life. From time to time, there were things that Izuku couldn’t tell Katsuki. This might be one of those things.

But he would not lie.

*

Izuku liked women.

He’d liked Uraraka, even dated her for three months twice over at U.A. They’d been pulled apart by, first, the awkwardness of it all and then by time. And, realistically, Izuku’s workaholicism that had manifested long before graduation.

Women were beautiful and confusing and captivating and strong and frightening and they made Izuku panic in that way that wasn’t all bad.

Men were men.

But…Kacchan was Kacchan. And Izuku had never quite let that go.

“I think…if I were in a confident relationship with a man, I’d come out.”

*

Fuck Deku and the whole lot of nothing he was serving Katsuki today.

Three qualifiers aside in that sentence, it told Katsuki absolutely nothing about Izuku’s preferences.

Well, fuck.

*

“If you were with me, would that be a confident relationship?”

Izuku’s mind stopped working.

*

Shitnerd’s brain short circuited. Katsuki should have expected that.

Katsuki pressed onto his knees—god, they were numb from sitting cross legged for so long—and snapped his fingers in front of Deku’s slack face.

“Hey. Nerd. Hypothetically.”

*

Dating Kacchan. Dating Kacchan hypothetically. Hypothetically dating Kacchan. Kacchan and him dating. Hypothetically.

It was not normal for Kacchan to ask hypotheticals about things that would never exist.

*

“I would come out if I was with Kacchan,” Deku said, his voice quiet.

Katsuki’s heart was pounding. He’d been dealing with this shit for months, but this was the first time that he thought maybe Deku could hear it. Usually they were outside in the city ruckus or working out, hearts pounding anyway for the sensible fucking biological reasons. But it was louder than ever and the apartment was silent.

Gods, couldn’t villains have decided to attack his neighborhood tonight?

*

The minutes passed in silence. Izuku had been in the city for so long that he rarely noticed the sounds of cars and trains anymore. To him, silence usually included the sounds of honking horns and crosswalks beeping for pedestrians to pass.

But this was dead quiet.

Not usually something that happened when either Izuku or Kacchan were around.

“Kacchan, what is this about?”

*

“I wouldn’t know how to do it,” Katsuki admitted, because this part of the equation didn’t seem like a strange thing not to know. “I wouldn’t say that I’m gay, but if I was with you, then it would have to be something like that, right?”

The public was full of idiots after all. It’s not like he could say I’m aromantic with a boyfriend. That would make the gatekeeping liberals absolutely shit themselves and the traditionalists rip him from the rankings like they’d been dying to do since the first time he managed to get an uncensored “fuck” on national news.

“You wouldn’t have to say anything that isn’t true, Kacchan,” Deku said, his voice so soft and gentle that Katsuki wanted to rip his nails through it. “All you’d have to say is this is my person, and I love him.”

Okay.

*

“Okay,” Kacchan said, in a response that Izuku couldn’t quite connect to the words that he’d just said.

“Okay?”

Kacchan nodded. “You’re my person, and I love you.”

*

Some idiots online had tried to say that the reason Katsuki had such a hair-trigger temper was because the nitroglycerin-like substance his quirk produced lowered his blood pressure, and so he had to be angry all the time to keep from passing out every day.

If that were true, then the way his heart was racing right now would be his normal.

Shit was not normal.

*

If Izuku hadn’t been half expecting this five minutes earlier—but never in his wildest dreams for a second before that—he might have passed away right there. Even with Kacchan’s CPR training, nothing would have brought Izuku back to life.

But that five minutes was saving him, and Izuku could actually think. Or rather, he could hear the echoes of I love you, I love you, I love you again and again in what he hoped was a processing method that meant he would never forget this moment.

“So, three months?”

*

Katsuki deadpanned. “What?”

If he didn’t love this nerd, he’d have already strangled him.

“If we start dating today, I think I’d be ready to come out in three months,” Deku clarified, looking like he was doing math on his fingers to double check the logistics.

Three months. That was the same amount of time Deku had dated Round Face—both times—and how long it had taken most of the shitty U.A. relationships he’d seen to implode. Fuck that, he’d beat the fuck out of that.

“I think that’s how long it would take to be sure we don’t kill each other,” Deku continued, his smile teasing and annoying.

“If you don’t stop saying if and I think,” Katsuki growled, “it won’t take three months.”

*

Izuku was suddenly acutely aware of all the time they’d wasted already. All evening, the past few months, their whole lives.

Maybe not that last one. Maybe.

“You’re my person too,” Izuku said, the certainty ringing out like bells. “And I’ve always loved you.”

*

Always?

Katsuki wasn’t sure about that. Not for himself at least. But, in this moment, he felt pretty damn sure about the other direction.

Not always. But forever.

Katsuki pushed onto his knees again, confidence belying his relief as he rose over their bowls and leaned forward.

“That’s all you had to say, nerd.”

[monst]

Forgiveness and Redemption

A Bnharem Collab 

Endeavor: Enji Todoroki x Reader 

Warnings: Harsh sexy time actions, Angst, Hard Femdom, Impact play, power play degradation, sounding, spanking, masochism, Sadism, horrible coping methods? All in all it’s fucked up. Enji tryna basically punish himself type of thing….And I apologize in advance for the copious use of the word deserve.. You have been warned. 

(Main post -> Is Here!) Concept stuck in quarintine so tryning out new kink/s. And I think that’s everything so let's get it!

           Being a hero. The number one hero to be exact Enji Todoroki was exempt from quarantine, he was after all a very essential employee in the Japanese government. Granted he wasn’t obligated to patrol the streets, he had the option to self-quarantine for his own health and protection. 

However, after spending a couple of days in self-quarantine with his family he wanted out. His eldest son Natsuo had been ‘evicted’ from his home due to contamination on his block and he had no choice but to stay in the family house. Now Enji did care for his family, sadly he had a funny way of showing it but it was still there.. 

He should have known that strife was bound to happen. In fact he did know and he believed himself to be prepared for his son’s blade-like tongue. And, even the thickest of skins couldn’t stop words from cutting into your skin and settling into your bones. Natsuo had made his distaste apparent throughout the whole ordeal whereas Shouto had only treated him with indifference, while making sure Rei never came in contact with him.

He was foolish to believe that in this time he could make amends. It was too soon the wounds were too fresh and still healing. And some would never heal and they’d remain open and continue to fester. Fuyumi tried her best to keep the peace and Enji was grateful for that but the words had already been said and they had penetrated his muscular chest and seeped into his bleeding heart. 

He didn’t make a sound the following morning and as he laced his boots he couldn’t help but recall something he had heard in his prepubescent years ‘Sticks and stones may break my bone but words will never hurt me.’ He couldn’t help but think it was a lie. Nothing had hurt more than what Natsuo had said to him during dinner. And as he walked out of the door decked out in his hero costume he knew that it would plague his mind for days to come. 

“There’s really no need for you to be out here old timer.” He ignored the snide remark from a fresh-faced newbie. “Hey, I’m talking to ya! Go home Endeavor. We don’t need ya out here.”

He sent the hero a half-hearted glare. He knew that he was right. There was no one out  Hell, even the villains seemed to be holed up in whatever crevices they dwelled in. There were just a few people going to work, to the grocery store, the pharmacy and the hospital. 

“Oi don’t talk to him like that!? Do you know who he is!?” Another hero quipped. 

“Tsk Yeah? Do you? The things this guy’s done.” He spat “Makes me fucking sick.”

“He’s a hero you dipshit he has been saving people for years! You're just mad that he’s actually popular.” The other defended. “What rank are you huh? You meddle in the thousands?” 

He was just standing there.. Watching as people jumped in to curse him and others came to his defense. ‘He’s trying to redeem himself!’ ‘It’s too late for that’ ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong!’ ‘Do you not read the news?!’ ‘Those are rumors’ ‘He’s a hero!’ ‘He’s no better than a villain’ ‘He saved my life!’ ‘And mines!’ ‘So we’re just going to ignore what he’s done?’ ‘He’s so cool’ ‘He’s hot’ ‘I’m his biggest fan!’ ‘I hate him’

His head spun. Where had all these people come from? What on earth were they arguing about? What were they saying? Fuck he had never been so unsure in his whole life… “What.. What am I..” he mumbled to himself. His moving lips caught the crowd's attention. 

“Speak up, what was that?!” Someone called out. 

“I said go home! There are too many of you gathered here! We are trying to enforce social-distancing! And this ridiculous argument isn’t worth your health!” He roared. He ignored every comment of gratitude, every sneer or quip. He really wasn’t himself that day. Hell he didn’t even know who he was anymore. He had stopped knowing the day All Might had resigned. 

He had made the strong blonde his life’s purpose and blinded himself to everything else and now there was just a hollow feeling in his chest. An ache and a pain not physical. He wondered if he would have ever realized these things if All Might were to still be number one… Frustrated. Frustration filled his being. He wanted to tear his hair out! He wanted to scream! To cry! To lash out to SOMETHING!  

He wanted these feelings gone. Even if it were just for a moment… Maybe that’s why his feet dragged him to the only person who could accomplish that. In a physical sense at the very least….

He stood outside the wooden door contemplating on whether he should knock. But he quickly grasped his knuckles against the male before he could punk out. He heard you on the other side sliding all the locks out of place. 

“Enji?” You yawned. “What are you doing here?”

His silence spoke volumes. You only had to glance up at his face to see the color blossoming at the apples of his cheeks and you instantly knew why he was there. He averted his eyes as you let him in. You sighed and looked up at him while pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“You can’t keep doing this.” You huffed motioning him to the couch. When the soft cushioning dipped under his weight and he was finally eye level with you he bowed his head. 

“I know.” Weak. Whoever would have heard him speak would have been in shock at the tone. 

“You're not even supposed to be here, we're in quarantine.” You chided, crossing your arms under your chest. 

“Please, I just need to… I just..” His voice shook and you once again heaved out a sigh. 

“Fine. But this is the last time. You can’t keep using me like this, you need to get actual help, not a distraction.” You reprimanded. “Well? Get up you know where to go, I’m going to go get changed and your ass better me naked and spread when I get in there.” You ordered. 

He replied with a nod and when you glared at him he piped up “Yes, Mistress.” And so while you went to change out of your sleep clothes he walked down the corridor and unlocked your ‘special room’.  When he walked in he saw the usual setting. Low lights, different contraptions, an arsenal of whips, rope and chains. Your ‘dungeon’. 

He worked at his clothes briefly recalling the first time he had purchased your services. He scoffed at the thought. ‘A dominatrix?’  He topped, he was in charge, He… never knew how much he needed this.. How much he needed a place to drop all pretenses and submit himself. It felt good. And he kept on coming to you. However, you had quit the business in favor of doing something else with your life. 

He was disappointed at first as he was quite taken to his mistress. He loved venting to you, he loved kneeling before you as you stepped down on his head, it made him feel as though that were his real place. On the ground like a worm. No on the ground like a broken man. A man who needed to atone.. A man who needed to be punished. You were the only one who would punish him and so he contacted you. 

You took him up on the offer. He was an attractive man, obedient, sturdy and he paid you handsomely. And then the lines blurred… The two of you went past the thin line and now neither of you knew what you were to each other. Were you his carnal drug? Was he your human toy? Were there feelings? When his rough hands would wonder on your form was that a sign of more? Was it just him following an instruction? When you struck his face was that your way of telling him he was scum? When you pat his head was that genuine affection? 

The play had been blurred and sadly neither of you wanted to admit that there was more. And when you walked into the room and saw him bare before you, you denied that you deeply cared for him. And he denied that he trusted you more than anyone else and that you did in fact hold a higher place in his heart than just being a quick fix. 

Enji’s body quivered with anticipation when he heard your heels clack softly on the ground. His eyes were glued to the ground beneath him as he knew he couldn't look up at you without permission. It was when he saw the glossy black leather of your heels that he licked his lips. 

“Look at you.” You sneered. “You're practically trembling.”

Your eyes looked down at him and you couldn’t help the smirk that touched your lips. Every time you saw him like this no matter how many times you’ve seen it, it never failed to fill your veins with unbridled delight. And you always vocalized the pleasure you got out of seeing the large imposing man so submissive before you. 

“To think that this is Japan’s number one hero.” You scoffed, walking around him while dragging the riding crop across the expanse of his skin. He maintained his balsana pose, trying to contain the shivers the drag of the leather procured. You bit your lip contemplating on what you were going to say… You knew it was something that he wanted to hear but that didn’t make it easy. 

“You don’t deserve that title.” You quipped bringing down the crop. The sound of it meeting his skin was accompanied by a low groan and you brought it down once more. “Do you deserve it? Do you deserve to be number one?” 

“N-no.” He whispered. 

“I can’t hear you speak up.” You hollered snapping your wrist allowing the dark material to mar his pale skin once more. 

“No!” His fists were clenched tight in anticipation for another blow that never came. 

“And why is that?” You cooed. 

“I..I’m not. T-that’s-” He was cut off by your fingers threading into his crimson locks. And with a harsh tug you yanked him back, his azure eyes widening in surprise. 

“Pathetic.” You sniggered “You can’t even speak. Why the hell are you even here?” 

“B-because.” He gasped, licking his lips feverishly as his face had already taken the same hue as his hair. “Because I don’t deserve forgiveness and I want to be punished... Punished me Mistress” 

Your eyes narrowed down at him. You stood silent as you watched his adam's apple bob when he swallowed thickly. 

“Please.” He whined, crystalline liquid rimming his eyes. 

“Get up.” You ordered. 

He didn’t hesitate. His body was burning. Liquid heat was being spread by his veins as he walked over to the spot you indicated. It was shameful. Bending over for someone the way he did. His knuckles were white as he held onto the bar at the corner of the room. He could see you clearly from his spot. You looked fantastic. You always did. Your bodice was tight against your torso and the skirt you wore was straining against your ass. 

He avoided looking forwards and continued to look at your reflection in the mirror watching as you grabbed a sizable paddle. He felt his cock strain at the sight and when your eyes caught his from the mirror his breath caught in his throat. You looked dangerous. 

“Why aren’t you looking forwards?” You asked sweetly. It was a complete contrast to your now bruising grip of his roots. “There’s a dirty bitch just dying to look you in the eye.” 

Blue eyes met as he looked at his reflection. “Don’t worry he gets even more pathetic, if you keep watching.” You teased. 

-Slap- 

“Hahngh” It was without warning that the paddle came down on his muscular cheek. It was followed by another to it’s twin and he had a clear view of how his face scrunched up at the sting. 

“This is what you wanted right?” You huffed bringing down the paddle in rapid succession. 

His legs trembled at the feeling. The saline liquid had already begun to spill from his eyes and they rimmed his strog jaw before dripping off onto the floor. 

“Y-yes!.” he cried back. “More! Please” he sobbed. 

Your hand went around his waist to grab his weeping length as you abused the skin of his ass. He was as stiff as a board in your hand. Pulsing with heat and dripping with need. And when you squeezed down his head bowed down. 

“H-harder.” he choked, drool spilling down his chin as you pumped his length and rubbed the material of the paddle on his crimson ass. His large girth twitched in your palm as you gripped him tighter. 

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” He panted deliriously. He was drunk of the pain and numbing pleasure. Whenever your thumb would tease his slit you’d bring down the paddle and it had him babbling and drooling. 

You felt every twitch, every shake, sudder and moan. You were positively soaked. You could feel your pussy drool and clench at the sight of him coming undone before you. 

“I don’t deserve it.” He gasped. He repeated it in a haze as he drew near his end. “Please don’t let me cum!” He cried. “I don’t deserve it.” he salivated. 

“If you say so.” You shrugged, pulling back from him before he could release. It looked painful his swollen red tip throbbing with the need to release but having known Enji for a while you knew he was a big “Fucking pain slut.” 

“Look at how sloppy you are.” You chided, using his hair to push his heated face against the cool mirror. He whined at his expression. “Is this the look of a hero? It looks more like a bitch in heat. Are you a bitch in heat Enji?!”

“N-no.” Your fingers found solace on his balls and you squeezed none too gently. “Yes! Yes I’m a bitch in heat~ Please Mistress Please use me, please fuck me, ruin me. I’m scum I want- I want-”

You shut him up by pulling him back. He whimpered pitifully when his ass met the cold ground. He didn’t get to complain as a loud moan slipped past his wet lips. He gripped his meaty thighs tightly as you stepped on his cock. His watery blue eyes looked up at you pleadingly. You leered down at him. 

“Does it hurt?” You asked. He nodded not trusting his voice. “Do you want me to stop?” He shook his head. 

“Hurt me. Hurt me like I hurt others.” He pleaded. “Suffocate me please.” He begged. 

You stroked his hair back and out of his face. You knew Enji was far gone at the moment. He was deep within his subspace and you were thrilled that he trusted you enough to be so open with you. 

“Suffocate you?” You mocked. “You think you deserve to have my pussy drown you?”

“No I don’t Mistress.” He whined. 

“You know what I’ll indulge you.” You grinned while stepping off his throbbing length. Enji licked his suddenly dry lips as he watched you slip off your thong. You teasingly slid your skirt up and positioned yourself over his face. 

“Fuck” You gasped when his tongue sliped pasted his lips to lap at your folds. Your grip on his hair tightened as the thick muscle circled the hood of your clit. It was embarrassing how wet you were. Your stringy slick quickly making a mess out of his face. His thick fingers traced your hole teasingly. 

“Inside I want them inside.” You sighed. You felt bolts of pleasure run up your spin when he spoke a mumbled ‘yes mistress’ against your clit. And when one meaty finger entered your tight cunt you mewled. You pressed down harder against his face as he began to suckle your clit and another finger slid in. 

“Enji~” You gasped, while grinding down on his face. Said man was growing light headed from the lack of oxygen but he never stopped. And when he heard you cry out again he knew his fingers hit the jackpot. Your body trembled a top of his as he brought you closer and closer. When you felt his other hand slide down to touch himself you pulled him off. Sure it cut off your orgasm but there was no way you were going to allow him to blatantly disobey you like that. 

Your hand came across his face harshly, so much so that his cheek pulsed when his head was turned to the side. 

“What the fuck were you doing?” You spat. 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, laying his body down before you. You placed your foot on his head and glared down at him.

 “You're just so greedy aren’t you? You know what I do to greedy disobedient brats?”

He shook at the thought of more punishment. And when you learned down to whisper in his ear he moaned like a needy bitch. 

“I give greedy bitches exactly what they want and I stuff their slutty holes. You want me to fill your slutty asshole?” He whined. “You see I was going to fuck you. See you whine as I dragged my thick cock in and out of that tight ass but I feel like you don’t deserve it.” 

“I don’t, I don’t want pleasure, punish me. Fuck (Nmae) please”  He cried; rivets of tears spilling down his cheeks. And so you did. You found the thickest plug you owned and his ass received it with little resistance. 

“You’ve been playing with your asshole haven’t you.” You teased. “To think that the great Endeavor likes things up his ass.” 

“Full.” he drooled “I want to feel full.” He panted. “I feel so empty.” You paused. 

“Enji..” You mumbled. 

“No.” He shook his head and moved so he was sitting up. “I don’t want to think, just fill me up.” 

His big hand grabbed his throbbing length. He had been holding off on cumming so it was incredibly hard it must have been painful. But what he said next surprised you as you had never attempted that kink with him before. 

“Stuff my cock too” he asked. “I know you’ve done it before.” He mewled. 

You felt your face heat up at what he was acting. You knew that you had him at your mercy most of the time during your play but this! This was something akin to laying your life down at one's feet. 

“Are you sure? It might hurt since you're hard.” He nodded. You left him with the instruction ‘Don’t touch yourself’ as you went to go sterilize the probes. When you came back you let him choose. 

“Relax yourself and don’t move.” You ordered taking the hot flesh into your hand. You position the bougie at his tip and he whined holding his thighs tightly to avoid moving. It was different. It stung a bit but the pressure he felt in his prostate when it brushed against his bladder was incredible. When it was finally all in he panted. 

“F-full I’m so fucking full.” He gasped. Tears blurred his vision when you tugged at the butt plug in his ass. With painfully slow movements you pulled it out only to push it back in. 

“Fuck, Look at you Enji.” you breathed, your fingers pinched his hardened nipples as he began to grind against the plug. And when you bit down on one and slithered your hand to play with the bougie in his cock he melted. His eyes rolled back as he came and you were careful to pull it out and watched as his cum spilled off the side of his length like a volcano. Your fingers dug into your unt at the sight. One hand drew frantic circles on your clit while the others thrust inside of you in quick succession. 

“Fuck Enji look at this fucking mess.” You whined dragging your fingers against the deep grooves of your cunt. “Clean it up, you fucking pain slut.”

A bit shaky he got to his knees and leaned down to lap at your cunt again. You held him against your pussy as you ground yourself against his face.  

“Hnngh this is what your good for, This is your only fucking purpose right now.” You panted. You continued to degrade him as your orgasm washed over you. A sudden calmness reigning over the room as Enji slurped up your release. Your fingers carded through his hair as you came down from your high. 

“I want to try the Van buren now.” Your jaw dropped. And then you shook your head. “Your really intent on this punishment shit aren’t you.” He nodded. “Don’t cry when you get hard and it starts to hurt.”

.

.

.

.

You rolled your eyes at the large ginger as he pushed you away saying that he was undeserving of aftercare.  He curled up into himself and you huffed in annoyance. 

  “Don’t be fucking stubborn “ you hissed applying a soothing cream to the raw flesh of his ass. “You did good.” 

“I don’t want praise!” He whined, trying to get out of your hold. Your fingers rubbed circles into his back as he began to cry. He spilled his thoughts to you, his insecurities, his worries, his struggles, his self-loathing...everything. You were silent as he did so and only when he was reduced to sniffles did you speak. 

“You have a lot of faults Enji… Redemption? Forgiveness? It may not be impossible but it sure as hell isn’t going to be easy….. Next time you feel this way I don’t want you to come to me. You can’t avoid these feelings with sex. You can’t get better by ignoring it. Like I said before I know a good therapist, You’ll be alright, I think the first step to getting better is admitting you have a problem and if you work hard at it you can be a better person for yourself and those around you.” 

“Will you… Will you help me through it?” He asked. In that moment he was more vulnerable than he had ever been. 

Your fingers curled into his and you gave him your honest answer…. 

[bkdkology]

I’m rewatching 7DS and I’m thinking man, what kind of fucked up shit was this creator on when they decided to write this series?

Like, The story line is so GOOD but the relationships are just— fucked.

First of all, why in fucks name, if you were planning to have the fairy race be romantically involved with other races, make them look like literal fucking CHILDREN?

It sounds ridiculous to make a big deal out of it but.. It is BEYOND fucked up for Ban to confuse a HUMAN CHILD with his fucking GIRLFRIEND. No, I’m not kidding.

BAN, THAT IS A FUCKING BABY. A PREPUBESCENT CHILD.

And then you have King and Diane who are a thing, but King watched Diane grow up from a baby to a woman, how is that type of involvement.. ROMANTIC? He was pretty much an adult watching her grow up, and promising to protect her and all that shit, so it would make a LOT more sense for him to have a fatherly/brotherly bond with her. Come on man.

And it’s not even subtle, there are CLEARLY more suitable love interests for both Diane and Ban that could’ve been relatively normal in the sense that they don’t give off pedophilic vibes, but they purposely went nowhere. Bottom line is, if you are planning to involve the fairy race in romantic relationships with OTHER races, you should reconsider having their designs reflect toddler age humans.

And no, I don’t think you get to use the excuse that fairies are thousands of years old. Their anatomy is purposely meant to reflect that of human children, because the other women in 7DS are appropriately developed to reflect their age. Fairies are stuck looking like 6 year olds from the get go. I mean, don’t Ban and Elaine have a kid later?

In conclusion, Ban should’ve known better because he’s human and even the dumbest humans have a clear base understanding of the developmental stages in their species and everyone in that fucking series is sus.

I’m still writing a bnha AU about it tho. I mean, demon/goddess AB lovers destined to meet for eternity, A cursed with eternal life and B with eternal reincarnation?

Juicy.

[fishmongeringstudies]

eleven: before the first day of the world

i always thought the quote 'we contain multitudes' was a john green quote because of the way its use had, over time, evolved from unironic to deeply ironic to some weird squeamish mix of the two that meant half of the audience would cringe when it was deployed while the other half would nod very seriously and lean back in their seats, thinking fondly about the summer of '97. for the record, i've always been part of the former. except for this one time in my anthropology class this spring where we were talking about the complexities of human behavior in different environments and i, seeing a glowing opportunity to inject some 2012 tumblr-era humor into the room, typed into the zoom chat: we contain multitudes.

unfortunately, we do. but not in the john green sense, which would mean we smoke cigarettes and want to contribute to world peace, or we crochet blankets and simultaneously want to destroy the small backwater town we grew up in with an electric chainsaw. i'm talking about something less looking for alaska and more i will rip all your hair out with a screwdriver. something that cuts at the fabric of your relationship with the people around you, something that makes it hard to figure out which path to take back to your dorm.

have you ever been ruined by someone who, after ruining you, skipped off happily to lunch with jessica who lives down the hallway and whom you would trust with your bank account number, and found yourself unable to do anything but give half of the lunch parade your blessings?

let's make it simpler: sometimes people are more fucked up than they're worth.

and yet i believe that there is no such thing as a bad person. the adjective-noun combination assumes that the noun always possesses the quality of the adjective, while the people who elbow you down the stairs and into the yawning mouth of hell and then wander off singing cheerily into the woods are the same ones who bring friends care packages when they're sick, who entertain long, thoughtful conversations about philosophy and the flaws of the world, who make great lab partners in group projects. the girl whose definition of love is a chain around the neck is a wonderful orator. the boy who only knows how to understand other people by cutting them up and putting them back together wants to design buildings that will save lives. people are inconsistent. we contradict ourselves and then, upon noticing the contradictions, panic, knock over a vase of flowers, and burn the whole house down.

it always comes back to fire when i write about the last fourteen weeks of spring. we're incredibly flammable, you and i. we're instant fire-starters. we're chemically insane.

at the start of the semester when i allowed someone to tell me in an awkward, prepubescent voice that i was broken i wanted to hate them. then i wanted to forgive them; then i wanted to be their friend. three months later i discovered how hard it is to stay on good terms with someone who knifed you without even realizing they were holding something in their hand to begin with, and yet he's still here. talking to the person who lives at the other end of the hallway. walking to the dining hall with the alligator stairwell, his hands shoved in his pockets. trying to graduate. trying to stay alive.

dear friend: i don't want to be your friend anymore. but don't die on me.

that's the sentiment i leave spring with. a bittersweet note that's more bitter than sweet, like ninety-seven percent cacao chocolate, the really awful shit, the stuff i like to think only white american yoga moms with fat apple-faced babies tied to their hips are willing to eat, and even then, only for the instagram sponsorship. when i think of spring i think of the aftertaste, because everything was sweet in the moment, in the immediacy of the screaming sun and the shifting sky above your head. everything looked like it was made of stars. it was only after i'd chewed up the burnt thing you picked off the ground and gave me, swallowed, and walked the long way back to my dorm, that i realized you'd handed me a pile of dirt.

it was pretty good dirt though, and you know the other day someone asked me, after scrolling through this blog with an eye on their watch and the other on the words flying across the screen, if i hated it here after all. if i wish i'd stayed in singapore, among the palm fronds and the pale, moon-white butterflies. no, i said incredulously, my spoon jammed in my kool-aid jello cup. this is the happiest i've been in ten years.

lately i've been trying to articulate the sense of hopelessness i experienced while growing up. how does one even begin to describe the endless staircase of the days, how each week yawned before me like an abyss with an immortal, unbreakable heart? how do you give a voice to despair?

this morning i went to target with my friend. we didn't find a rectangular frying pan so i bought a bag of mandarins instead, and it was sunny on the way there but on the way back a smear of white cloud dashed across the sky and wrapped its soft fingers around the sun's mouth, by which i mean it got colder, by which i mean that for a while, it felt like spring again. when we got back to our dorm i put the mandarins in the fridge and wandered back into my room and then put on the podcast i've been listening to all week, listened to them talk about monsters and knights and the intricacies of war, love, forgiveness. today i didn't sleep through lunch like i did the day before. today i sat in the garden and read a book.

i think the thing about growing up the way i did is that by the time i was fourteen it felt like it was all over. like i'd ruined everything before it'd ever really begun, and even knowing what steps i might take to mend the god-sized crater i'd dug in my backyard, i couldn't bring myself to take them. so things ended. and because life is a bitch and forgiveness never comes from those you most desire it from, you just kind of laugh and drag yourself through the debris.

i think this is why, in spite of the shouting and the cherry-flavored regrets and the hallways full of footsteps like thunderstorms, and the girls and the boys with their teeth like claws, their claws like daggers, their words careless enough to kill, i feel like a person here. because i came here with nothing. two suitcases, one weighing twenty kilograms and the other weighing nothing at all. i repeat: this is nothing at all. do you understand what i am saying? i was no one when i got here. and now i am no one with some prepubescent mistakes scratched into my forearm and a few ideas about self-preservation. but the pages of this book are still blank. they are inviting me to fill them with the illegible dancing chicken scrawl that is my specialty and the bane of every english professor's existence.

i look over my shoulder and my old bookshelf full of journals, red journals, journals packed with the misery of the last nineteen years shrugs its shoulders. it says they gave you bad books and you wrote half-decent stories; what else could you have done? you did the best that you could in the circumstances you were given. you're still doing that now. then, satisfied with its little speech, it burns itself down.

and that's all i need, really, to keep going.

05.31.21