#but man. she deserves to reclaim her name

[hostilemuppet]

people in the comments were saying that specifically bc of this sequence

minwoo is the main character. and first off: if a comic about female friendships and #womensupportingwomen decided to do a 180 and make some random guy the main character i would eviscerate myself! minwoo is rinas little poprock and seonwoos brother ONLY.

second he is. literally Not the main character of I'll Love You Every Day. hes explicitly said to be the "secondary male love interest that chaerin doesn't end up with". hes obviously SUPER important yes but hes not equivalent to The Character Who's Eyes You See Everything Through

the conflict that was being raised was whether huisu is counted as the main character bc shes been fulfilling that role, or the actual character chaerin eun since huisu is her own person

i think a BETTER plottwist than "one of literally Two Guys is actually the main character" would be any of the characters who have gained a soul count as the main character, since theyre just as alive as huisu. maybe it could even be #drama as the characters who havent gained a soul yet might still be stuck in the school regardless of whether huisu is with them

[transfemswagbracket]

are people really mad about team rocket winning because its "just going oh gender!" because that is not true. vivian is canon trans but meowth was for nearly a decade voiced by a trans woman (maddie blaustein) that credited the experience to part of why she was able to come out! a significant amount of the votes towards team rocket will be a result of this (and the common man in a dress jokes around james, something that while intended as just a repeated punchline is commonly reclaimed by trans fans.)

YEAH no absolutely, couldn't have said it better myself

[azrielsdove]

Love and Loss Ch.3

Warnings: Angst, Some Smut, 18+

Ch.2 Here | Ch.4 Here

***

Rhys spent the next few days doing everything to make up for the way he acted. He took you out to the fanciest restaurants in Velaris, walked you along the Sidra, flew you high into the sky. He took his time with you, slow touches and long kisses. You knew he needed to reclaim his own body, using yours to help him gain that confidence.

You were happy.

You were sitting at lunch with him, pleasantly talking and eating when he suddenly stilled. His hands gripped tightly to his cutlery, his eyes glazing over. You stood and rushed to his side, calling his name. “Rhys! Rhys? What’s wrong?” You were tugging on his arm, begging him to snap out of whatever had a hold of his mind.

His eyes shot to yours, a visible panic taking over them. “She needs me.” He said, hardly above a whisper. You couldn’t help the rush of cold that ran through your body at his words.

“Who?”, you asked calmly, already knowing the answer.

A shadow of guilt fell on his face as he responded; “Feyre.”

You nodded, unsure how to respond. Rhys grabbed your hands in his, pulling you close. “I know my love, this is nothing more than helping her when she needs it. As a friend. You are the only one in heart, I promise you.” You softened at his words, leaning down and giving him a gentle kiss.

“Fine.” You said, pulling back from him. “What does she need saving from?”

He looked down, shame radiating from him. “Her wedding,” he whispered, refusing to look at you.

“I see,” you said, removing your hands from his. “And is she asking to be saved, or do you just want to ‘save’ her?” You knew you were being unnecessarily cold, but how were you supposed to feel when your husband wanted to rush off to interrupt his mates wedding?

He stood quickly, a slight anger to his form. “Enough. She is asking. Begging. Am I supposed to let a helpless female get trapped in a toxic marriage?” Rhys’ eyes were dark, looking at you in a way they never had before. You wanted to shrink down against him, to run and hide.

You chose to stand strong. “You can’t pretend you don’t know how it sounds, Rhysand.” You said coolly, crossing your arms in front of you. “If you must go, then go.” You waved dismissively, turning to leave the room. A hand on your arm stopped you.

Your husbands eyes softened, an internal war going on behind them. “It is nothing more than helping her in this moment. Nothing. I love you.” He said, hand holding tight to you. You nodded, pulling out of his grasp.

“I believe you,” you sighed, “now go save her.”

***

Rhys didn’t bring Feyre to Velaris, a fact you were glad of. Unfortunately, he chose to stay in the Moonlight Palace with her for the week she was here. You heard from Mor how their initial meeting went, snorting at Feyre throwing her shoe at him. Good. He deserved it.

A part of you felt guilty for being upset with him, knowing he was trying to help someone who was at her lowest. You knew your husband had a good heart and was a kind man. You had heard of how sickly Feyre looked, how damaged she was from what happened Under the Mountain.

The angry snake of jealousy in your heart didn’t care about any of that.

All you could focus on was your husband living in the palace with his mate. The Cauldron-Made being, just for him. Was it selfish to keep him from being with her? No, you thought, shooing that idea away. Just because they were mates did not mean they would be happy together. Look at your husbands own parents, mates sure, but happy? Perhaps not.

You tried to distract yourself with reading, falling into story after story. You spent lots of time sitting in your townhouse, waiting for your husband to come home. You heard the front door open, running to it in excitement.

You tried not to let Azriel see the disappointment on your face.

“Good morning, Az. Rhys isn’t here.” You greeted, welcoming him inside. He stepped in and nodded at your words.

“I know,” he said, “I came to check on you.” You looked up at him, stunned.

“Me? What for? I’ve just been…here.” You spoke, hating how dreadfully dull you sounded. The ever-dutiful wife of the High Lord, patiently waiting for him to return.

“No, I know. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It can’t be easy knowing he’s there with her.” Your friends words were true, a sharp stab to your heart. It wasn’t easy.

“Oh, I-,” you paused, thinking over what to say. “I know he just wants to help her. They both went through a lot, down there. I would never dream of making it harder for her,” you answered politely. Truthfully, you couldn’t remain upset with Feyre. She had done nothing to you, she didn’t even know the mating bond or you existed.

Azriel shifted on his feet, not seeming to know what to say. “You’re a very good wife to him, truly. He is lucky to have you.” He finally said, giving you a small smile. You returned it with one of your own, shrugging your shoulders.

“I try to make things easier for him. Being High Lord brings lots of stress to his mind. I know you understand that too.” You replied, moving to sit in the living room. Azriel followed, making himself comfortable on the armchair. You tucked your legs underneath you on the couch, watching the fire in front of you.

“He wouldn’t hurt you.” Azriel said, breaking the silence. You looked at him, sighing at his words.

“I know he wouldn’t. Not intentionally at least.” You spoke the second part softer, embarrassed by how jealous you were of Feyre.

Sympathy flashed across Azriel’s face, a look you could’ve gone without. “He just wants to help her. None of us were down there-,” he began to say, cut off by your sharp voice.

“I know that, Azriel. You think I don’t remind myself of that a hundred times a day? That I have no reason to be jealous of a girl who was tortured and killed, when I have been his wife for 150 years? I know it is selfish and irrational to be so upset about him helping her, but I can’t stop.” You buried your face in your ands. “I can’t stop.” You whispered, hot tears flowing down your face.

You felt the cushion next to you sink down and a strong arm wrap around your shoulders. You melted into Azriel’s hold, letting all the conflicting emotions take over. He held you close, his other hand holding onto your arm, rubbing soothing circles over it. You cried until you fell asleep, comfortable in the safety of Azriel’s embrace.

***

AZRIELS POV

He loved her. He knew it was wrong, that he should not feel this way about his brothers wife. However, that very same brother was currently entertaining his mate in a different city. Azriel knew Feyre was innocent in all of this, but that did not mean he was.

Rhysand.

He was disappointed in him. He could understand saving Feyre from marrying the Spring Court High Lord. He could even understand the deal they made Under the Mountain, knowing all too well how Rhys will do anything to get under Tamlin’s skin. He didn’t understand why he stayed there with her, not coming home to check on his wife.

His wife who had waited for him for so long, praying for his safety everyday. His wife who always stood by his side, even in the darkest of times. His wife who was curled up against Azriel, sleeping with fresh tear stains on her face. It shouldn’t be him sitting her holding her, it should be her husband.

Azriel was interrupted from his thoughts by the sudden appearance of Rhys in the living room. He noticed the anger in his eyes as he took in the sight of his wife sleeping on the shadowsinger. “What is going on here, Azriel?” He asked, his voice cold.

It took everything in him not to roll his eyes. “She was upset, I helped. Much like you and your Feyre, no?” He knew it was a bad idea to get the High Lord riled up, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The room darkened, Rhysands magic creeping in. “You don’t speak to me like that, Shadowsinger.” He growled, teeth barred.

“I will speak to you how I wish if you continue leaving your wife to cry all alone.”

The words sucked all the air out of the room. Rhys stilled, his hands tightened into fists.

“Get out.” The demand was quiet, deadly. Azriel knew what Rhys could do, the power he could throw at him.

“Why? So you can suck up to your pretty little wife, beg her forgiveness for spending the week entertaining your mate? Never once coming to see her?” Azriel shot back, keeping his voice low as to not disturb the sleeping female next to him.

“I’m warning you once, do not provoke me today. Leave.” Rhys commanded, taking a step closer to the couch.

Azriel couldn’t help the way his arm tightened on her shoulders. An action that Rhys so meticulously noticed. He stepped forward, pulling his wife out of his arms. He cradled her close to his chest, moving to take her up to their room.

Azriel stood, shadows swirling angrily around him. “You will lose her if you are not careful, Rhysand.”

The High Lord turned, an unmovable darkness in his eyes. “Is that a threat, Azriel?”

Silence. Then; “No. But when you break her because you are too busy playing with Feyre, I will be there to pick up the pieces.” He knew he shouldn’t push this subject, not when it had been an almost friendship-ending fight 155 years ago.

“You are not the one she chose, Azriel. You would do well to remember that.” Rhys spat at him before walking up the stairs and out of view. Az was left standing in the room, anger and embarrassment swirling around his gut.

***

READER POV

You woke up, snuggling closer to the figure holding you tight to them. “Mmm, Az?” You said, not yet opening your eyes. The figure went rigid, arm loosening ever so slightly on you.

“No,” came the cold voice of your husband, “sorry to disappoint.”

Your eyes shot open, an excited “Rhys!” coming from you. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Don’t ‘Rhys!’ me now, sweetheart. What game do you think you’re playing, messing with him like that?” He demanded, moving to stand up next to the bed. You sat, draping your legs over the edge.

“What do you mean, my love?” you asked, confusion on your face. Rhys scoffed.

“I come home, excited to see my wife, only to find her tucked under my brothers arm like she belongs there. Like she had found a way to replace me.” His voice quieted at the end, a pain to his words.

You shook your head, reaching out to grab his hands and pull him closer. “No, Husband. Never. Azriel is just my friend, as we have been over so many times. He was consoling me, I just missed you so.” You spoke earnestly, catching Rhys’ eyes.

He sighed, stepping in between your legs. “My love, my life. I know you understand how I feel, don’t you?” He leaned close, hand coming up to wrap around your throat. “You reek of jealousy.” His words were a deadly whisper, a jolt shooting through your body.

“Darling wife, how naive you are. How could I think of anyone else when I can come home to this perfect pussy anytime I want?” He growled, his other hand shooting up the slit in your dress, finding how wet you were for him. An embarrassingly needy moan fell from your lips as his fingers explored you, teasing you.

“Could Azriel make you feel like this? Fall apart at the barest touch?” His words were heated, a fiery passion in his eyes.

“No,” you choked out, his hand tightening on your neck. Rhysand gave a cruel smile at your gasping word, two fingers sliding pleasurably inside of you. You opened your mouth in a silent scream, melting into his touch.

“Mmm,” Rhys hummed, enjoying the feeling of you around his fingers. “How obedient for me.” His thumb came up to circle you, your hands gripping onto the bedsheets below you. You gasped out, breathing hard from the pressure Rhys had on your neck.

“You are the only one who gets to feel this, love. Not Feyre.” He groaned out her name, thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “You enjoy being a selfish, dirty slut, don’t you?” He asked, tilting your head up to him. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You moaned, lost in the pleasure of his anger. His thumb circling faster, the increase causing your legs to shake.

“Open.” Rhys commanded, watching as you opened that perfect pink mouth for him. He spit into it, forcing you to swallow. “So obedient. So perfect.” He murmured, fingers pulling your pleasure from you. You moaned out his name, shaking as your orgasm took over. He worked you through it, only stopping to remove his cock from his pants.

“Now,” he said, picking you up and turning you around. “You’re going to place those hands on the bed, and I am going to fuck you so hard your screams are heard in the Spring Court.”

***

Here is Ch.3!! I have lots planned for Ch.4, i’ve already begun writing it. I have a request to do, and then I will get it out for you all!! Please keep leaving your comments!! ALSO if you want to be on a taglist for this story, please reply here!

Tags: @amara-moonlight @tothestarsandwhateverend

[cleabellanov]

Fighting for good, one widow bite at the time: Black Widow's cultural impact

Critics scoff when I call the Black Widow movie a favorite, but hear me out. It deserved a better release window, maybe at an earlier time, when things would've been viewed differently. Sure, it doesn't rise up what it could've been, leaving so much lingering dreams in the hearts of us, fans. So much potential remains untapped, so many questions unanswered... but Natasha Romanoff? She rises above it all. If you doubt her power, think again, and as I said, hear me out.

Black Widow, the assasin with steely eyes that hide and protect a heart of gold, has transcended the screen to become a cultural icon. From her first appereance in the MCU in Iron Man 2 (2010) to Black Widow (2021), she truly went through a lot, took us with her, and thaught everyone some lessons on the way.

Shattering the mold of the damsel in distress: She's no sidekick, she's a strategist and a fierce fighter. She is a vital member of the Avengers, that's a fact we saw in the 2012 movie. After all, how many characters can you name that tricked the God of Mischief? Nat didn't only do it exceptionally, she is the first we saw doing this on screen.

Reclaiming Narrative: Unlike many superheroes defined by singular origins, Black Widow carried the trauma of a dark past, manipulated by the Red Room, a notorious spy program. Her movie explored this narrative, acknowledging the exploitation and abuse she endured. This resonated with survivors of violence and abuse, offering validation and representation. Her journey of breaking free from her past resonated on a broader level, highlighting themes of resilience, empowerment, and overcoming hardship. Furthermore, she hasn't always been a hero, an avenger. "Regimes fall everyday. I tend not to weep over that, I'm russian" and "I've got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out" show how she's not just using the power she already has, but has the power to change as well. This isn't about brute force, it's about internal struggle and choosing to become a better version of herself despite her history.

Sisterhood and Solidarity: Black Widow's story wasn't solely focused on herself. In "Black Widow," she teams up with other women who share similar experience, even if at first this doesn't seem to work, indoctrinated as they are in the Red Room programme. This depiction of female solidarity resonated with audiences, particularly feminist movements advocating for women's support networks and collective action.

Representation Matters: Black Widow's portrayal as a skilled leader and strategist challenged existing portrayals of Russian characters in Hollywood. They are often depicted as villains or stereotypes, but her complex identity sparked conversations about diversity and representation within the superhero genre.

Defying stereotypes: As the sole original female Avenger, Black Widow carried a unique weight. She didn't need superpowers or a revealing suit — her determination and arsenal spoke for themselves. That's true power. I mean, in some situations she only had two cool firearms, but did better than Captain America with a vibranium shield! I also love how her costume evolved over time, prioritizing functionality over sexualization. Ditching the impractical neckline in her solo movie? A much-needed win! It shows that Black Widow commands respect through her actions, not her body.

Her impact and importance punches like her combat skills, if you ask me.

So, the next time you see the Black Widow, remember, she's more than just a character. She's a symbol of strength, resilience, and the unwavering human spirit. Thanks for being a constant source of inspiration, Nat ❣️

[bengiyo]

Marahuyo Project Eps 7 & 8 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

Last time, the kids struggled to pick a name for their LGBTQIA+ organization while discussing their strategy before the school board. They eventually decided to focus on connecting their hopes for the island's future with its past, and set about researching. Archie gave Venice some files from the church, Lorie looked through files her dad had, and Ino suggested interviewing people after providing equipment. We learned that Archie is struggling with the path to holy orders (manifested in his neck scratching), Ino said aloud that he was gay and kissed King, and Lili is probably intersex. Each of our our kids is holding confidence about this. Lili read Marco for filth, read him for blood, but unfortunately we left at Marco outing her.

Episode 7: Aswang

You know King isn't the violent type, because some of my people would have curb stomped his ass by now.

Oh, Ino. I understand.

Okay, Lili's story is so sad and lonely. I'm glad she told Lili before this.

Oof, Lorie was not ready for the friends to lovers kiss.

That was difficult, but King is right. He shouldn't ask Ino to come out, but it doesn't stop him from getting hurt.

King's grandmother is great. It's making me sad that Ino has no one else to talk to after that.

Wow, Marco is really doubling down on being an asshole.

I appreciate this show now disguising the kinds of casual homophobia you run into.

It's hard to recognize when you need to give someone you love space when you want to help.

I do like the idea of them reclaiming the balagtasan as a way to present their ideas to the island.

I knew it was Ino who graffitied the mural.

Gay people really will turn their relationship problems into a public spectacle.

This poetry is beautiful.

Oh, Ino, I'm proud of you.

My boy is bleeding!! Marco, it's on sight!!

Man, what a concise breakdown of how it feels to know your truth and have your caregivers try to stifle that in you for the sake of appearances.

Episode 8: Babaylan

Ino and King opening up old wounds.

Yes, King, tell your mom. Shame is learned at home. A kid can face the world if they're safe at home.

I love King so much for not sugarcoating how bad public scorn can get.

Swimming at night is very dangerous, but I'm always happy to receive an underwater kiss BECAUSE IT STILL BELONGS TO THE GAYS.

Oh good. Lorie and Lili are finally talking.

See, this is the thing about doing queer media versus making QL sometimes. Apologizing for loving someone is such a queer experience. Your love isn't something that you should be ashamed of, and you shouldn't have to apologize for caring a lot about someone.

This feels like the right place for these two as friends to possibly more.

Oh shit Lili got me when she held back tears at getting best friends.

It really is exhausting how hard authority works constantly to police and enforce heteronormativity. There are so few of us. Why is it always this constant bullshit?

Oof, I actually like this choice to have Archie vote to impeach Ino, become the new president, and then immediately return to the site where they honored Christina to cry about it. Venice understands that taking care of other queers is a long term project. At least Archie said her name.

Many of my beloved elders have passed. I wish I could talk to them sometimes. Especially Barry.

I love that Venice is eating in almost every scene.

Hey! They finally picked a name!

I love how homophobes talk about history, and then storm out when confronted with uncomfortable truths.

Crying over these outfits. They're so right. Formal acceptance by the status quo doesn't erase our existence, or the bonds between us. We will make space for ourselves and those like us.

Oh, Archie. I understand you, too. I hope you find peace with yourself and others.

I love Sue Prado, but does the mom really deserve to be here? I'll accept them trying to extend grace to struggling parents since Grandma has been with them the whole time.

This march works though. Before it was only three of them. Now look at them.

A post credits scene! Wait, I love the idea of Juvy and Jose going to visit them!

Final Verdict: 9.5, Finally Some Good Fucking Food. I am just so relieved to have another show from JP Habac. It's clear he and his friends have such strong ideas about where queer people fit in our society today, and I love that his work is never about defeating homophobia and is instead about connecting others to queer joy. Despite how this show stirred up all sorts of old hurts in me, I feel so much love for these characters, and I'm so thankful that I can point to a show with a wide spectrum of queer experiences delivered in such a beautiful package. It's so rare to see a show treat the closet seriously, and I will be thinking about this show forever, alongside JP's previous work: Gaya sa Pelikula (aka Like in the Movies).

[apritellointeractive]

Sworn to Devotion: Chapter 2 - Part 5

>> Donnie explains his convoluted, drama-filled family tree.

(Art by @lovelyladylavie)

April gasps. “No way! But… how?” 

She pauses for a split second before her hand shoots out to grasp his arm, shaking it. “Are you a prince?”

For a moment Donnie’s eyes are transfixed on her hand, her dainty little fingers barely covering a quarter of his gauntlet. 

She’s touched him several times today. First when she rapt her knuckles on his armored plastron, then when she gently tapped his cheek as they hid from their enemy, and now when she reached to hold his arm. Each time caused his breath to hitch in his throat. 

“Donatello?”

Donnie’s gaze jolts back up to hers, and a blush covers his cheeks as he clears his throat. “Ahem! No, I am not a prince. There are only two: Prince Raph and Prince Mikey.”

The princess tilts her head. “But… then–”

“Leo and I are half-brothers to Raph and Mikey. It’s, ah, complicated.” He rubs the back of his head before resting his large hand over hers, completely covering it.

Her hands are so small compared to his.

He shakes his head—he needs to stay focused. This is a serious topic, and she deserves the complete, unobstructed truth.

And he can’t keep getting distracted by… her.

He takes in a deep breath and looks up at her face. “Do you recall learning about The Crisis of Queens in your history lessons?”

April hums, “Yeah, vaguely. I always thought the name was silly, as it only involved your Queen, right?”

“Correct. Do you remember anything about it?”

“Well, I was about two at the time. Your Queen unexpectedly and tragically died, and your kingdom swore my kingdom was responsible for her death. Our two kingdoms almost went to war, but then your King suddenly called it off, and we were never given a proper explanation.” The princess looks at the knight’s face, eyebrows furrowing. “What really happened?”

Donnie takes a deep breath and cuts right to the chase. “Our queen was murdered in cold blood by one of our kingdom’s most trusted advisors.”

April’s free hand flies to her mouth as she gasps, “No! Really?”

“Yes, really. To properly explain this story, I’ll need to start with the yokai behind it all. Baron Draxum,” Donnie sneers, “He was once one of our kingdom’s most trusted advisors. The yokai was an expert on all things military, from our kingdom’s defenses to army recruitment and training. He also led all the scientific endeavors, as his knowledge in biology and engineering was unmatched. But… he disagreed with our King and Queen’s decision to pursue peace.”

“But… why?” April asks, exasperation heavy in her voice.

Donnie completely understood her confusion. Quite frankly, he didn’t understand Draxum’s decision-making process either. 

“He was not satisfied with what we had within our territory. He wanted to reclaim the isle we had lost in a war to your kingdom nearly a century ago, among other bloodthirsty conquests. The King and Queen of Terrapathia disagreed, arguing that the tentative peace was worth more than any piece of land gained.” Donnie looked around them, double-checking for any threats.

“He sounds like a miserable man, er, yokai to be with.” April comments. 

The purple-clad knight chuckles. “I’m told he was. But he gets worse. Since the King and Queen refused his requests for military conquest, he devised a plan to steal the throne. With a few other traitors, he killed the Queen and kidnapped the King. He would have killed the young Prince Raph and Mikey, but through some ‘divine intervention’ they were not in their bedrooms that night.”

“Oh, that’s awful!” The princess’s voice quivers. “The poor young princes! But why didn’t he kill the King?”

“Simple. His genetics.” There’s a pause, and Donnie realizes he needs to explain himself a bit more. “Erm, my father, the King, was once one of the best, most well-respected warriors in the kingdom. His ninjitsu and weapon mastery were simply unmatched. To kill the King would have ended all of Draxum’s plans.”

“Well, that sorta makes sense,” April admits, though she didn’t seem convinced, “But why would the King fight for him? And how do you and Leo fit into all of this.”

“Baron Draxum was one of the best biologists in the kingdom. And if he couldn’t get the King to agree to his bloody conquests, then he planned to usurp the throne by creating his own princes and army.” The princess gasps, but Donnie continues. “He injected my father’s mystic essence into two freshly hatched wild turtles—myself and Leo.”

“You were Baron Draxum’s princes?” April asks quietly, as if she’s nervous someone might overhear.

Donnie nods. “Yes. He thought we could easily replace them since we were all turtles. But, all of Baron Draxum’s plans were short-lived. The King’s Guard quickly found Draxum’s secret lab, and he perished in the fight that followed.” Donnie makes a slicing motion over his throat in emphasis. “While the royal guard wanted to destroy everything tied to Draxum, including his lab, a few books and pieces of equipment were saved. My twin and I were also spared—the King could not bear the thought of killing two babies who didn’t ask to be usurper princes or bloodthirsty monsters. So he kept us.” 

The knight places his hand on his chest. “My brother and I were raised by a lovely couple in the royal staff. They couldn’t have children of their own and were very eager to raise us. The King arranged for us to visit him and our older brothers as frequently as he could get away with it.”

“That’s… incredibly kind of him,” April says, her eyes cast toward the ground. 

Donnie leans his face down, brow furrowing. “Is… something wrong?”

He bites his lip—he knew telling her the story would be risky. But… he also isn’t sure what upset her.

“I… It’s just… your family—even if you are only partially related to them—sound just so nice and kind.” April’s voice wavers.

Despite the fading light, Donnie thinks he sees her eyes watering with tears.

The knight bites his lip harder, and the slight tang of blood hits his tongue.

He expected a fair number of reactions to his convoluted tale. Anger was one of the emotions he anticipated, along with shock and concern.

Sorrow? Donnie made no preparations for it. 

“I-uh, yes?” Donnie starts, leaning over and awkwardly patting the arms of his ward. “Raph, Mikey, and my father are kind, and they’ll treat you well! I promise.”

“I know! I know…” The princess starts sobbing, her face falling into her hands as she collapses against her knight’s chest. 

Donnie hesitates, but soon his arms wrap around April, his hands awkwardly patting her back as his armor clinks. He has no idea how his story caused this.

Donnie... >> Asks April what’s wrong.

[beanghostprincess]

Hey sweetie!! I realized I have been absent from your inbox for quite some time and that simply will not do, I am legally required to annoy people I like, it's the Law.

Therefore, I thus drop even MORE transfem Buggy ideas, silliest, and snippets in the hopes of making you smile and/or laugh bc you deserve nice things I wanna throw them at you ♡♡♡♡♡

• Buggy coming out as trans over the course of a loooooong time, where she had Inklings of it young (Buggy+Toki bonding my beloved), and for a while just went "it is what it is, it's my nose that makes me hate mirrors so much-" and thus reclaiming the nose with the clown aesthetic and commitment to the circus bit. And it's enjoyable, really, the colors and patterns are So Good, and the makeup feels WONDERFUL, and all dolled up, Buggy doesn't want to punch the mirror quite so much.

It's only with Alvida and their Mean Girls Gossip Club being founded that there are some late night, semi-drunk conversations and Buggy says something like "everything sucks but I think things would be better if I were born a girl, ya know-?"

Cue Alvida taking that as a "women have it easy" type of thing (it's not), and so she and Buggy make a bet - dress as a girl, go out for a night, and play the part. They pick a small, no name island, pick an equally small, no name town, and hit the bars there. And Buggy is.... thriving.

It's not all sunshine and daisies, and Buggy sees first hand what women experience, but there's a shift in the movements, in Her Chest, and suddenly things are clicking, she's stepping aside, she's off to the restroom, and she is staring into the mirror there, blue eyes wide and hair loose around her shoulders and she really Looks. Fingertips brush the cool, smooth surface before her, trembling with fear, with anticipation, with joy and grief and anger and love. She barely notices when Al comes up to her side, when a pale hand brushes her shoulder. It's the question which throws her.

"What are you thinking?"

And in the tiny little bar bathroom at Seas-knows-what-time, Buggy has a sudden accidental baptism, and Alvida takes her hands through it all.

Buggy comes home to her ship, her crew, with knowledge, with a new awareness, a new fear, a new joy.

Her crew are nothing if not welcoming, and when she tells them, faux-casual and already edging into defensive aggression, they are simply delighted. They are ecstatic. They don't even question it, just beam and offer hugs and ask if they should still call her Buggy and Captain and Ringmaster, because she is theirs and they are hers they will be as good for her as she is for them, by the Seas as their witness.

And Buggy is happy, is safe, is emotional, is loved.

• coming out publicly is an ordeal, especially with the media storm already occurring elsewhere. She doesn't even think to do it. It's her crew that bristle when someone misunderstood her, the first two times a passable correction, then a point of disrespect. People do not disrespect their captain lightly.

• An article is written about her, and the contents are.... unkind at best. Interestingly enough, another article is never published by that journalist, and there is now no trace of their existence beyond that point. It was not Buggy and her gang who did it, though.

• Crocodile and Mihawk are both bisexual, and they do not initially know of Buggy's gender identity until well into the Guild's existence, after that article full of heresay and guessing. Not many want to correct such powerful men, after all.

When it DOES come out, they don't even really treat Buggy any differently. Just nod, verify name, ask for pronouns, and it's back to business. It's refreshingly normal and bittersweet.

• when they eventually being courting Buggy asks if her gender is.... going to be a problem. Crocodile just sneers. "It'd be hypocritical of me to not date someone transgender. I may pass as cis, but I made myself into the man I am today. Who cares?"

Mihawk just kind of laces his fingers with hers and states that "your body is but a vessel, and I care only for the wielder. The forms of your body matter not to me beyond your own joys in it."

• they also go on to be rather protective of their girlfriend. Business transactions have, and will, be dropped if a group is not respectful of her or has a history of it. Money is money, certainly, but business is a gamble and the deck is stacked against them with such animosity. After all, would you trust someone visibly aggressive with you over an ambivalent stranger when both hold a gun?

• just for shits and giggles, open relationships, and Shanks being fucking FERAL for Buggy and it's an absolute hot mess because he loves his clown wife so much-

• extra funnies, many others ALSO love his clown wife. Including, to his dramatic betrayal and theatric tears, many in his own crew.

• Rayleigh shows up at Karai Bari without warning to give Buggy a piece of his mind - not about her being a woman, no, that's fine, he loves her regardless, but about how she hasn't called him even ONCE just to give him the news that he has a DAUGHTER, she KNOWS he wanted a little girl, Buglet, why have you hurt him so-?

"You never gave me your number???"

"I didn't??"

"NO?????"

"Oh."

"Yeah, OH, you senile old fart!!!"

"Hey, missy, no need for that kind of disrespect-"

• Luffy, Zoro, and Ussop bond over "my dad/dad-figure has done it with the clown lady" and Sanji is just laughing at their misery while Jimbei is trying so hard not to make eye contact lest they see his own clown fucking history ((it was one time but he wouldn't be against a repeat-))

I'm eepy so that's all I have now but ily nini ♡♡♡♡

HELLO SWEETIE HOW I'VE MISSED YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💖💖💖🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 I am so glad you're back for more ideas and headcanons of our wonderful Buggy 💖💖

Toki and Buggy bonding my beloved but I absolutely adore what you said about Buggy blaming her nose at first instead of like, actually thinking why her image bothers her so much,,, She doesn't want to think further about it so she just guesses it had to be the nose because it's the one thing that's wrong with her,, But then she has the whole "I wish I were a girl because it would be easier" mindset still after claiming the clown aesthetic,,, My girl,,,

And the way she finds out I am,,, Gonna cry,,, The way it starts as a bet and Alvida is genuinely mad at her at first for her commentary about women but then she sees Buggy visibly upset because she's having the realization™ in the middle of a crowd. And I can't stop thinking about how it'd be sweet and comforting and,, You know. It'd feel like a family, something they don't really seem a lot of times because of their catastrophic dynamic. But Buggy would feel seen and loved and she knows Alvida will be there for her through it all no matter what. It's kind of weird to be comforted by a younger woman and I think Buggy would feel a bit ashamed for that?? But Al would tell her that there is no age to support each other, especially in womanhood.

I love how protective her crew is but mostly how little Crocodile and Mihawk care about this 😭 They really said "well if this doesn't affect us I don't care what you are but at least we are going to refer to you properly because we are not monsters, thank you". And also Crocodile is trans so it just makes sense. And what the hell with Mihawk's words??? This man is so romantic when he wants to--

My favorite thing about this is everybody being extremely protective of Buggy. She deserves it. She's a queen. An icon. And everybody is in love with her. And Rayleigh is soooo father and I adore him,, He'd go there solely to see his girl.

And never forget Zoro and Luffy bonding over this, but the funniest part of all is how I am 100% sure that after transitioning Buggy is wayyy hotter and way more confident and Sanji would be head over heels for her like everybody else. So yeah, he laughs all he wants but he wishes he could pull Buggy like that-

And I hope you slept well!!! Mwah mwah mwah!!! Loved to see you here again sweetie 💖💖💖💖💖

[bitchlessdino]

repeat rebound (m) Ch. 2 : repeating regrets

Chapter list

Pairing: Fem!reader x fwb!soonyoung

Genre: suggestive, kinda crack

word count: 3.4k

tags: more bestie!jeonghan, hookup!wonu, suggestive, mention of alcohol, mention of eating ass lol, sexual innuendos, insinuates sex

Summary: The best way to get over someone is to get under someone. Again and again and again.

author note: hi hehe, she’s back

tag list @nikkell @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @i-dont-give-a-fok

“FUCK YOU LEE JUNG CHAN.”

Thinking back, it was embarrassing how quickly you accepted him back in your life. 

You toss books at the naked man, who rightly reclaimed his title as your shitty ex, as you clutch the duvet to cover your bare body underneath.

You thought you couldn’t take the long night alone anymore no matter how many strangers you’d sleep with. You thought you wanted and missed Lee Chan. You thought that deep down this was what you needed. You thought you needed your boyfriend back.

“You think I wouldn’t notice you moaning another person’s name while we fuck?”

“Baby—ow—it was a mistake. Honest!”

“Your mom made a mistake when she had you. Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

You were the first time around when he left you. Your ex-boyfriend was a piece of shit that didn’t even deserve to be the gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe. 

You admit, it was satisfying to be the one to dump him, not forgetting to mention, kicking him out with no clothes on his back but the underwear he came with, and finally dumping his shit out your window. Getting back together with him was worth it for that alone. You sigh a breath of relief to have the part of your life over. Again.

No tears came this time around, just shame. Were that desperate to not want to be alone?

The answer was a fat yes.

“Yn, what are you doing here? You remembered my address?”

You stare back at a shirtless Soonyoung, body as beautiful and toned as ever, with eyes looking back at you in confusion.

It’s been roughly a few weeks since you last saw him, aka the one heavenly railing that gave you the push you needed to fucking realize you’re better off without your loser ex, even if you did cave in for a measly moment. You were done for good now. You were all about your present and forgetting the past.

You smile sheepishly back at him, “Haha, funny thing. I remembered because I know Jeonghan and you guys live in the same building, but forget that. I know what I said last time but—“

“Babe, who's at the door?”

A girl in an oversized shirt makes herself known, clinging to Soonyoung’s bicep. She peers at you curiously. “May we help you?”

By the sheer confidence of her posture, she wasn’t your average hook-up, and by the term of endearment, they were more than familiar with each other. She carried the atmosphere of a girl next door with the attitude of the perfect model citizen and the smile of a thousand lights. This girl radiated girlfriend material and was no doubt was, maybe is, Soonyoung’s girl. You had to act fast on your feet. What exit strategy can you make without exposing yourself and your relationship with Soonyoung?

“Uh,” You straight up your posture, thanking your past self for actually getting dressed normally in a muted cardigan for once, “have you found our lord and savior Jesus Christ?”

Soonyoung had to choke back on his laugh, clasping his hand to the mouth to feign a cough. “She’s one of those missionary people? I don’t know.”

Oh, you did more than missionary that night, his lying has got to be better than that.

She tightens the grip on his arm, a firm grin on her face. “Um, sorry, we’re atheists.”

You have an exaggerated shrug. “Well, worth a try. Have a blessed day.”

You don’t even let the door shut to speed walk and then sprint past them in an instant, shutting your eyes in embarrassment and not bothering to look back. There wasn’t a way you’d come back from it, but what’s done is done. You were just going to find another way to get over your predicament.

Jeonghan winces and then laughs the first time you tell him that story over the phone. “What you get for fucking one of my friends.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You collapse on top of your bed, taking in a self-care day from the self-loathing. “Let’s go out again. I need fresh dick.”

He scoffs, “Haven’t you had enough dick to go around with Soonyoung and eating ass of the last months’ leftovers you should’ve thrown away in the first place?”

“...I regret ever telling you about my sex life.”

“Yeah, well now you’re more educated and sexually woke,” you hear him smile on the other end, “you’re overdue for a break sweetheart. Too much dick can’t be good for you.”

“On the contrary, Jeonghan, this is my whore era. I will suck and eat all the ass I want because what? I’m hot and I can. You taught me that, remember?”

He sighs. “I knew taking in disciples would fuck with my free time. Okay, we can meet at the Wasted Unicorn tonight.”

“Uh, no, no. That’s where I met Soonyoung. I told you, I need a hot, new dick.” You emphasize, already doing your makeup while you listen to him on speaker.

“You said they’re back together, ergo, they won’t be there.”

“You idiot, I am not trying to look for a knockoff Soonyoung. I already associate him with that club—Let’s fuck around at that bar that opened up next to Minghao’s. I heard their drinks discounted for opening week.”

“Fine by me, Nympho. If it sucks ass, you’re paying for my Uber back.”

You knew Jeonghan was your ride-or-die the first time you met him. You crashed parties together, got drunk blackout together, and got hungover together. You love this man to death. Despite the shit he says, he made things feel okay in the moment and it feels like just the two of you. He was your platonic soulmate. He made your breakup just a bit more tolerable.

“How about skinny jeans over there?”

“He’s obviously fruity, the fuck are you on?” You slap against the marble counter, harder than anticipated, but didn’t let the pain show on the surface. “Are you sabotaging me, Yoon?”

“You can’t assume shit like that!”

You shot open your eyes. “He literally walked hand in hand with a man!”

“Besties can do that!” He shrugs nonchalantly.

“And now they’re making out.”

He rolls his eyes defeatedly, leaning against the counter. “Fine. Fine–Oh, hot Clark Kent, six o’clock.”

Your eyes were locked on that prospect and your eyes immediately shot open when you figure out what made this supposed undercover superhero hotter than the original. He was tall, lean, and built. His frame hugging in high-quality fabric, his biceps bulging out intoxicatingly, and his low neckline reveal a tasteful amount of his chest. “Fuck, he’s fine. I’m gonna be on him like butter on popcorn.”

He pats you supportively on the back. “Get ass, kid.”

You approach the unsuspecting man similarly to how you did to Soonyoung, talking him up a storm, letting your charms peak through effortlessly. You were set on charming the pants off this man, quite literally. Fortunately, your efforts were proven to be effective once again as you find yourself in the illustrious ‘Wonwoo’s’ place soon after.

“Would you like a drink?”

“What do you have?”

He scans through his collection, a hand over one bottle cap at a time. “I have something bitter like whiskey, something sweet like wine, something mild like beer.”

“Maybe something hot like you?”

He snickers, pulling away from the liquor cabinet to take you by the hand, tugging you in his direction. His hands slide over the shape of your body, comfortably settling on either of your hips, “You’re cute. I like that.”

“Really?” Your arms drape over his shoulders, pressing in a little closer to him. “Tell me what else you like about me.”

“I'd rather show you.” He smiles before pressing his lips into yours, the heat of his body flushed against yours.

He leans over, digging your back into the bar counter, but slips his hand behind you to take the pressure. They crawl down to the skin of your thighs and heave you up to place you on the counter. He stands between your legs, chuckling against your lips, digging at your hips. “You smell so nice. Jasmine?”

“You have a good nose, sir.”

“Guess I know a thing or two,” He kisses down your jaw, giggles erupting on your end, as he played with the hem of your blouse, “I’d still like to get that drink for you though.”

“Wine then. Red.”

He gives you one last kiss before reluctantly pulling away from you to retrieve the wine. You observe him as he does so, catching the quick glances he gives you, and notice the sheer elegance he holds carrying both glasses and a bottle in either hand. He pops it open in front of you with ease, filling glasses halfway, and hands one to you, all while returning back to the place he’s meant to be: between your legs.

“Mmmh,” you lick your lips, catching the spilled wine from the corner of your mouth, “you have good taste.”

Your legs hook around him strategically, glass dangling from your fingers. You let your gaze fall on him intently, seeing how his expression matches yours through his thick frames as he’s sipping the bitter red. He sets it down away from you, cupping your face, and reunites your lips tenderly, but tongue entangling with yours playfully.

Your mind fogs in the thought of this dark and handsome stranger. You hardly had much to drink, but the closeness you felt with him made you feel drunk all on its own. Your grip loses from the wine glass and you end up spilling red on his shirt, letting him go in a panicked gasp, “S-shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he starts unbuttoning his top, worrying about the stain it leaves, not minding that he was exposing his muscular torso right in front of your very eyes.

He didn’t care how he impulsively flexed getting the shirt off or the light layer of sweat on his skin.

“W-wow.”

You hover your hands over his firm chest, a smug smile appearing on Wonwoo’s face.

“I should treat this stain before it gets worse. I’ll be right back.” He plants a final kiss on you, letting it linger, before disappearing behind a bathroom door.

You giggle to yourself, thinking how lightning can’t strike twice in the same spot but you managed to catch two hot guys so soon after ending a serious long-term relationship. The self-esteem in you is shooting as high as skyscrapers right now.

It was then your happiness was cut short after spotting a little picture frame in a corner. Initially, you peered over it at curiosity, but upon further inspection, it looked like a family portrait. A portrait where Wonwoo, the man of the hour, was a doting husband and a father.

“Fuck.”

You sneer at the door Wonwoo hid behind and decide to gather your belongings before exiting his apartment. You slam the door behind you, running your hand through your purse for your phone. You dial Jeonghan, the one guy you could trust, hearing the dial tone on the other end.

“Stupid. Stupid. Pick the fuck up already.”

You had it up to here with men. You were ready to go home and wallow again. 

No answer. 

You ended up calling yourself another Uber, whining to yourself about how much money you’ve spent, already breaking the budget for the week. To make matters worse, you had to be locked out of your own apartment. No emergency key, and no other way in, you were fucked instead of getting fucked as you intended.

You had to take the streets again, this time getting to Jeonghan's place, hoping he was already home. Your feet were hurting from your heels, skin digging into the back of it, a premature walk of shame, but a whole different level of shame if there ever was one.

“Y/n?”

And there’s that lingering embarrassment coming back to bite you in the ass.

“Oh, hi, um again.” You awkwardly wave from the ground.

Soonyoung peers down at you curiously, noticing your fresh getup but worn-out hair and makeup, making his own assumptions about where you were coming from. “You’re not like, coming to visit my place again are you?”

You shake your head defensively. “Oh, no, no. Jeonghan. I'm going to see him.”

“At 11:36 pm?”

You respond back with a tight grin. “Yeah, um. I got locked out.”

It was starting to make sense. “So, you’re just waiting on him?”

“Uh yeah, he has my apartment keys so I thought I’d stay back and wait since he wasn’t picking up my calls.”

“How long already then?”

“Not that long.” It had only been an hour since you arrived.

“Okay, well…want to wait at my place, for now anyways?”

You would be lying if you said you weren’t tempted, better than being on this scratchy dirty carpet. “What about your girlfriend?”

“…she’s out.”

His initial silence worries you. “I don’t know how she’ll feel knowing I was alone with you”

“She won’t have to.”

“That’s so sketch,” You chuckle, “but…ok. For now, just until Jeonghan gets back.”

“Of course.”

His hand stretches out towards you, offering to get you up, to which you accept. “Thanks, Soonyoung.”

He grins, “Hey, you do know my name.”

“Shut up,” you retort, rolling your eyes with a relaxed smile.

You scan the man’s apartment like it’s the first time, processing it since the previous events prevented you from doing so. Its blueprint was similar to Jeonghan’s in a comforting way but had Soonyoung’s own flair and color palette.

“Make yourself at home, nothing you’ve never seen before.”

“I actually never got a good look at your place entering or leaving. You really like tiger print,” you mention picking up a coffee mug painted in orange and black jagged stripes.

He takes away from you, putting the mug back on the counter, “No, but I like tigers. They’re just a vibe, I like their energy.”

Your eyes waver over at him cautiously, “…right.”

“Don’t you have anything like that? A fixation?”

“What is this, 101 questions?” You snicker.

He shrugs with a playful grin, “Just killing time. Didn’t really learn much about you doing…well, things that kept your mouth busy.”

You roll your eyes, feeling the heat creep up your cheeks. “Y-you’re so…weird.”

You threw yourself against the leather couch, arms crossed, avoiding the man’s eyes. “Where did you come from?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he chuckles, bringing out a water bottle and sitting respectfully away from you on the couch, “Work.”

“What do you do,” accepting it and taking a swig.

“Hard labor.”

You scoff. “That’s specific.”

“I just put my body at work, okay?”

You gasp dramatically. “Oh my god, you’re an exotic dancer.”

He rolls his eyes, laughter flowing out from his lips, “No, I’m…you’re gonna think it’s silly.”

“Try me, tiger boy.”

“That’s my insta handle. Go figure.”

You pay no mind to the change of topic, looking back at him expectantly with a raised brow.

“I’m…an event planner.”

You hum a sound of thought, “Did not expect that, but, considering your apartment, that all makes sense. And it’s not silly.”

He can’t help but smile a little harder. “Thanks. I actually really like my job. I get to see people’s dreams come to life.”

“That’s actually pretty cool.”

“Yeah? Wanna see my portfolio?”

He pulls out a box full of albums and files from his previous events, seeing pictures of smiles and happy faces, swatches of colored fabric, and even thank-you notes he received after the planning had all ended. You caught Soonyoung in some of the photos, having a great time, laughing, chatting up some patrons, and having a drink in a glass flute. He looks put together in a different way than you met him that night, somehow more neat and well-groomed.

“You look really nice in these photos.”

“I know a good stylist and dresser,” he humbly brags.

You pick through the pages, always finding more to see, and you stop at a set of photos Soonyoung seemed more prevalent in, one where he’s wearing a suit, looking like he was actually part of the event and not planning, so you can’t help but ask. “What’s this?”

“Close friend's wedding, I was the best man, and co-planner.”

In one of the photos, he stands next to the girl you saw him with that morning, arm in arm, and you’re overwhelmed with emotion, something that made you uncomfortable thinking about.

“You guys look cute here.”

“Thanks, I would hope so, getup got me a whole couple grand.”

Your finger trace over the outline of her dress, “She looks really pretty.”

Soonyoung realizes how you fixate on such a detail, eyes glued to the book as if it was filled with words, and he starts to grow self-conscious.

“…yeah.” He closes up the book and starts putting it away.

“Hey, I was looking at that!”

“I have something better to look at.”

You sneer at him, and the pit of your stomach churns at his choice of words. “What?”

He can’t help but laugh at how easily you caved, an arm falling against your shoulders, “Romcom or action?”

Soonyoung thought a movie was an easier distraction, and although it worked (your eyes were practically glued to the mounted tv screen), he was dead tired from his day job, drifting off to sleep. Yet, there was still no sign from Jeonghan. You can’t help but notice Soonyoung in his state, thinking about how he didn’t even bother showering despite how late it was, but how cute he did look asleep.

You tried ignoring him, he’s a taken man after all, but his soft snores started to drown the sounds of the TV, and his head hit the surface of your shoulder. Air seeps out his nose and tickles your collarbone. You nudge him, or try to, whispering, “get off.”

He doesn’t in fact get off and only snuggles closer, now leg draping over your legs.

“Great.” 

You grip his limbs, trying to tear him away, and he just falls against you on the couch. Chest to chest, cheek to cheek, arms embracing you naturally. His eyes finally crack open, vision blurry, mumbles on his tongue, asking if he had fallen asleep and then he sees you, blinking back up at him, feeling your heart race against your rib cage.

“Shit, I’m…so–”

You exhale. “It’s okay, just, um…”

“I should just…”

The air gets tighter and the distance between you both gets shorter. Your eyes flit over the sweat on his pierced brow to then the pink of his lips, heat taking over your body, and arousal flooding inside you, now seeping out of you. No words imaginable could express how much you needed him inside you right now.

You shift underneath him, brushing against the crotch of his pants, to which he softly grunts, cock twitching on top of you. His lips lean in to ghost over yours and temptation playing with you both like a fiddle. The tension is soon cut with a ringtone and you come back to reality soon enough to push the unavailable man away from you. You grab your phone from the coffee table to answer it, hearing Jeonghan on the other line. “Took you long enough…Cool, so I’ll just sleep over at your place.”

Soonyoung’s hand wipes his mouth, cursing himself for letting that happen. You were dangerous.

“Bye.” You click away the call soon enough and turn back to the welcoming party, smiling sheepishly. “I gotta…you know.”

“Yeah. Bye.” He picks himself off the couch and leaves the room avoidantly, not even sparing you another glance as he hides behind his bedroom door.

You expected that and you don’t blame him. A long, heavy sigh leaves your lips and you make your way out of his apartment, closing the door with a bad taste in your mouth, and storm off to Jeonghan’s door. It takes you not long for it to fling open once you knock against it, revealing the man alone and dressed down to his comfort in sweats and he lets you in with a smile. “Hey? Fun night?”

You let the door shut behind you, not answering. You stand in front of Jeonghan, a determined glint in your eyes. “I want to use my coupon.”

“Your coupon?” An intrigued look appears on his face.

“Yes. I still have mine.”

Jeonghan’s lips quirk up mischievously before nodding. “Fine.”

You take quick steps towards him, arms thrown over his shoulders and around his neck, you latch to Jeonghan, kissing him hungrily, to which he does more than reciprocate. His hands slide over your back to fall on your posterior, deep moans vibrating against your lips as his digits kneaded into your flesh. Both your feet have a mind of their own, taking yourselves on to the trail of his bedroom, hitting the wood of the door before disappearing behind it, now finding your plans for the rest of the night.

[myreia]

wip whenever

tagged by @galadae and @coldshrugs, thank you! 💖

tagging @bearlytolerant, @thevikingwoman, @impossible-rat-babies, @hylfystt, @allaganexarch, @birues & @roguelioness.

I'm lost in an Echo scene from Chapter 5, Aureia's family sucks. ✌️Stormblood spoilers-ish.

Laughter hums on Elgara’s lips and she returns to her paperwork with smooth, controlled movements. Kallias has always been easy to rile up. It is his greatest weakness—and it is easy to exploit.

“That possessive streak will be the end of you,” she says, tutting lightly. “Go about it then, if you’re so inclined. You don’t need my permission. I’m sure the legatuses would be overjoyed to hear of the death of the Warrior of Light. Perhaps if you offer them proof, they would even reward you.”

He snarls under his breath and bites his tongue, his riposte contained.

“Or does the thought give you pause? Do you fear, perhaps, that you aren’t strong enough? Is that why you’ve come here, crawling back to your mother, riddled with doubt and uncertainty?”

“I don’t doubt, I—”

Elgara sets her pen aside and rises from her chair, unfurling to her full height. She towers above her son, casting a long shadow across the observation deck’s floor. “Kira has something you don’t,” she says. “She has had it her whole life, it is what made her unique. Special. An asset. Your father and I sought to tap it, but we did not have the knowledge or the foresight to understand what we were dealing with. But Aulus mal Asina did. He was a visionary. And someone must continue his work.”

Red. Blue. Red. Blue.

The lights cycle, flashing over Elgara and Kallias, casting them into darkness. The solider inhales once more, her breath as sharp as ice. She presses herself against the door, gazing inwards, her form unnoticed in the shadows. A shiver ran down her spine at the mention of Aulus’ name. She recalls him, of course she does. She remembers his youth when she met him near two decades ago, bright-eyed and intense, speaking theories dismissed by his superiors as fanciful dreams at best and psychosis at worst. It was he who first spoke of Echoes and Resonants, of gifting the Garlean people the ability to control aether.

She recalls what he did to Krile. What he did to Fordola… and Zenos, too.  

How his life ended, screeching about data and souls with his dying breath on the floor of the Ala Mhigan palace. Forgotten and abandoned by the prince he had devoted himself to.

His research, as he called it, should have ended there.

Inside the observation room, Elgara approaches her son step by dreaded step. She may be no soldier, and yet she engulfs him. Outmatches him. Outwits him. Kallias is no small man, and yet compared to her imposing height he is so small. So insignificant.

“Don’t you see, Kal?” she says, her voice low and strangely soothing in its intensity. The voice of someone who can lull others into implicit trust by the sheer power of command and self-assurance. “Kira is a liability, but liabilities can be exploited. Her usefulness to Garlemald has not ended. You wish to kill her; I will not doubt your thirst for vengeance, it is more than understandable. But think on it. Kill her and we lose her forever.”

He grunts, the panicked sound strangled in his throat. “Have you forgotten what she’s done, mother? What she—”

“Shh.” She arrives before him and places a hand to his chin. It’s a gentle gesture; on anyone else it would be caring. But on her it is empty, a gesture of inspection and observation. “Capture her and our opportunities are thrown wide. We can reclaim what we have lost, you and I. Theorzen will be a name to be respected; no longer will it be spat upon like the rest.”

He closes his eyes, his expression still.

“You deserve more than the lot you have been given, Kallias. And she can gift you the strength you deserve to carry. The skills and talents that should have gone to you. A transference. A replication. A Resonant of your very own, one derived from the Warrior of Light. With it, you can have your vengeance. With it, you can outmatch even Zenos himself.”

His eyelids flutter and he grimaces, lip curling back. Then he crumples into her and clings, shoulders shuddering with the aftershock of silent tears. In this moment, there is no sign of the operative and the spy. In this moment, he is a child coming home.

It makes the soldier’s blood boil. Lost in her anger, she slips and cracks her forehead against the door, helmet banging against the glass. Her vision blurs red and her knees give out from under her. When she finally clears her vision, she finds herself huddles on the stairwell floor, looking in as Elgara enfolds her son into her embrace.

A spike of jealousy flares in the pit of her stomach. Unwanted. Unneeded. Unexplained.  

She curses her inability to do anything but observe.

Elgara cradles him, a hand resting against the back of his head, stroking his matted hair. “Bring your sister to me, Kal,” she croons. “Bring her to me and I can make it happen. I wish for it to happen. It should have been you all along.”

Kallias stills. His expression hardens, his lips pressed firm together. Slowly, one by one his fingers lift as he loosens his grip. The danger and the malice return, blazing bright in his red eyes. “No,” he breathes.

[lightning-witch-jenny]

My stupid metatextual analysis of Pokemon's Teal Mask DLC

I MIGHT BE WRONG ABOUT EVERYTHING I SAY HERE THESE ARE DERANGED AND INSANE RAMBLES. if you have anything to add or reason to think I'm flat out wrong please tell me!

You know it, I know it, the Teal Mask DLC is based on the story of Momotaro. For those who don't know what the hell a Momotaro is, here's a video that explains it because I don't want to have to explain what it is!

I'm going to assume you already know the story or watched the video and now know the story. If otherwise what the hell are you doing here

SO ANYWAY it seems to me that The Teal Mask is an anti-nationalist message. The story of Momotaro represented Japan taking down the west and getting fat loot at their expense. The Teal Mask takes that story and flips it on its head and says the Oni was good and Momotaro's crew were bad. Follow this train of logic and the story takes on a new meaning.

Ogerpon, as with the Oni in the tale, represents the west, or at the very least a foreigner from the west. Take into account "Ogre" is an english word which Oni is often translated as, and yet even in japanese her name is still OGERpon, and she is still referred to as "an Ogre," even though she is clearly based on the Oni from Momotaro. Almost like there's a reason they'd want to use a western term for Ogerpon's name. And considering its implied she and her friend were from the future and sent back to ancient Kitakami (Japan) that checks out. If we examine it from this angle the story has a new layer. Suddenly the backstory of Ogerpon is about how she and her friend were rejected for their cultural differences. They were an outsider in a land so different to them, they couldn't be accepted this way. Them wearing the masks is probably representative of them as foreigners trying to fit in with the new culture they find themselves in and finding acceptance in their conformity.

And In Come The Loyal Three (I will not be discussing "Dokutaro." I will take the story as is currently presented)

I don't think the Loyal Three literally represent all of Japan's people, I think rather, they represent Japanese nationalists. Their name of "The Loyal Three" might represent how on a meta level they represent loyalty to their home and culture. So in a literal story sense they steal the masks and kill Ogerpon's friend because they want that Fat Loot, but I think what this represents is nationalists refusing to accept foreigners into their culture and taking back what is "theirs." They are reclaiming their culture from someone they think does not deserve to be a part in it, even though they have been living there for some time. The Loyal Three KILL this man over it!

I uh... I don't know what Ogerpon killing The Loyal Three in retribution is meant to map to. Or if it represents anything deeper. And YEAH you can say "oh it represents how the usa dropped the bombs on japan which is why ivy cudgel is busted!" but you're WRONG and STUPID. So far the plot seems to suggest something more small scale. Ogerpon seems to represent an immigrant to japan, and The Loyal Three represent nationalists. You can't then turn around and say that in this specific point in the backstory they default to the roles they have in Momotaro where Ogerpon is the whole USA and The Loyal Three are all of Japan.

That out of the way it's easy to see in this reading why the people believe Ogerpon to be the villain, a foreigner just killed three native people. In-game it's just "they got confused and thought the Loyal Three had just defeated the vile ogre" but with this reading their reactions make more sense

And then of course the actual events of the game. Your two rivals are one Kitakami native who hates outsiders and wants them to stay away and seems to respect the Loyal Three, and one who to the contrary is obsessed with Ogerpon and you, the player, a foreign westerner

Now it's important to note at this point in the story, The Loyal Three and Ogerpon are not active players, they are ideas clouded by lies. So I think IN THIS CASE, The Loyal Three and Ogerpon represent Japan and the west. Specifically in the context of Carmine and Kieran's opinions of them. Considering Carmine is distrustful of you on the grounds that you are a foreigner and Kieran is fascinated by you (and very quickly becomes obsessed to a toxic degree)

Over the course of the story as the truth is revealed, Carmine learns that foreigners deserve a fair chance, while Kieran downward spirals. I believe this is meant to represent how one should be accepting of foreign cultures but not obsessed with a culture that they aren't a part of.

And of course, while Ogerpon gets its masks back, it ends the story being allowed to visit the village without them. This probably is meant to symbolize that Ogerpon is now free to partake in the culture it was shunned from, but she does not have to conform to that culture and can still be herself.

There are probably a lot of things I missed, and I feel both as if this is a reach AND a surface level reading. But overall it really comes across to be as if The Teal Mask is an anti-nationalist allegory, flipping the tale of Momotaro on its head to show such thinking is wrong, and rather than see foreigners as enemies to defeat, one should respect them and welcome them.

[ceoofhelaegon]

Idc how popular/unpopular this opinion is but Helaegon in the show deserves to be portrayed as a complex relationship and not as Aegon/Naerys 2.0 that this fandom desperately want.

Not to be offensive to anyone but saying that A*mond/Helaena are the original Naerys and Aemon is a braindead take

Received similar asks and I thought it was better to reply to both at the same time…so here we go:

Aegon IV:

Aenys was weak and Maegor was cruel and Aegon II was grasping, but no king before or after that would practice so much willful misrule.

—writings of Kaeth in Lives of Four Kings

'Fire and Blood' were the words of House Targaryen, but Dunk once heard Ser Arlan say that Aegon's should have been, 'Wash Her and Bring Her to My Bed'.

—thoughts of Duncan the Tall

Naerys: I have done my duty by you, and given you an heir. I beg you, let us live henceforth as brother and sister.

Aegon: That is what we are doing.

—Naerys and Aegon IV Targaryen

Nine mistresses:

Falena Stokeworth

Megette

Cassella Vaith

Bellegere Otherys

Barba Bracken

Melissa Blackwood

Bethany Bracken

Jeyne Lothston

Serenei of Lys

Other:

Daena Targaryen

Elaena Targaryen (rumored)

Daughters of Lord Butterwell (rumored)

Many others

Aegon II:

“When his grief had passed, King Aegon Il summoned his loyalists and made plans for his return to King's Landing, to reclaim the Iron Throne and be reunited once again with his lady mother, the Queen Dowager, who had at last emerged triumphant over her great rival, if only by outliving her. "Rhaenyra was never a queen," the king declared, insisting that henceforth, in all chronicles and court records, his half sister be referred to only as "princess," the title of queen being reserved only for his mother Alicent and his late wife and sister Helena, the "true queens." And so it was decreed.”

“Though Blood and Cheese spared her life, Queen Helaena cannot be said to have survived that fateful dusk. Afterward she would not eat, nor bathe, nor leave her chambers, and she could no longer stand to look upon her son Maelor, knowing that she had named him to die. The king had no recourse but to take the boy from her and give him over to their mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, to raise as if he were her own. Aegon and his wife slept separately thereafter, and Queen Helaena sank deeper and deeper into madness, whilst the king raged, and drank, and raged."

I was going to put Aegon II’s lovers here but we don’t know them, he’s alleged to have 3 bastards, and none of them are confirmed.

Aemon:

Arianne: And the Dragonknight? The noblest knight who ever lived, you said, and he took his queen to bed and got her with child.

Arys: I will not believe that. The tale of Prince Aemon's treason with Queen Naerys was only that, a tale, a lie his brother told when he wished to set his trueborn son aside in favor of his bastard. Aegon was not called the Unworthy without cause.

—Arianne Martell and Arys Oakheart

Not every man has it in him to be Prince Aemon the Dragonknight or Symeon Star-Eyes...

—Wyman Manderly to Davos Seaworth

When he was born they named him for a hero who had died too young.

—Samwell Tarly recalling Aemon's namesake

Aemond:

Prince Aemond Targaryen, also known as Aemond One-Eye and Aemond the Kinslayer…

One-eyed Prince Aemond, nineteen, was found in the armory, donning plate and mail for his morning practice in the castle yard. "Is Aegon king?" he asked Ser Willis Fell, "or must we kneel and kiss the old whore's cunny?"

Helaena:

"Helaena was a pleasant, happy girl, and all agreed she would make a fine mother. And so she did, and quickly."

Naerys:

She almost died in the cradle and was sickly for most of her life, finding most physical activity to be very taxing. She ate but little and was painfully thin, almost emaciated.

She was also devout in her faith, and often found solace in the pages of The Seven-Pointed Star. She would have become a septa, had her father allowed it.

Aegon IV DESPISED Naerys, he disrespected her and by extent his own trueborn son because of that.

No matter what gaslighting the show tries to do, or other greenies that hate our Aegon…Aegon/Naerys/Aemon will NEVER be Aegon/Helaena/Aemond and in the words of Tywin Lannister:

Is not an opinion, it’s a fact!

[bcbdrums]

Hope

A Soul Eater fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

Third in a series of 31 prompt-based one-shots. Prompts from this list.

---------------

A/N: I do not like the name Kami aesthetically, but it seems so deeply rooted in fanon that I don't know what else to call her. So that's it for now... Or Kamiko because it can be a name or an affection, since the suffix -ko means child and it's often added to Japanese names... Also do like the translation of Kami to English, it's fitting given the context and some personal headcanons about her... Eh. Anyway. Oh yeah, this is like...based on manga canon but can be applied to anime cuz we know nothing about this scenario in anime. But we do in the manga... No spoilers. Enjoy. Fanart for this story here. 3. Love begets love

"...And she has ten toes, and ten tiny toenails... They're perfect. Oh! And her hair is the softest you've ever felt, I've never felt anything like it! Except her skin, and her eyelashes. Did I tell you about her eyes? I think they're going to turn out green. They're so perfect and pretty, my little Maka..."

Stein stared at the weapon as he all but pressed his face against the glass of the hospital nursery, looking in to where there were well over a dozen identical bassinets containing to Stein's eye identical babies but for the blue and pink blankets they were each wrapped in.

"Why isn't she with Kamiko?" Stein finally interrupted to ask, unfamiliar with this practice of displaying babies behind glass like specimens to be observed in a laboratory.

"So she can recover from the delivery. And so I could show you Maka as soon as possible," Spirit said, finally turning his bright eyes onto Stein. His breath had fogged the glass and Stein watched the spot rapidly vanish in the cool of the hospital air.

"To show me?" Stein said, genuinely surprised.

"They want to protect the newborns from germs, so they have the nursery to show them to visiting family."

'Family...?' Stein thought.

Spirit had finally gone silent, his nose nearly touching the glass again as he stared inside at one bassinet holding a pink-wrapped tiny bundle. Stein wasn't sure which one the weapon was staring at, but he wasn't going to ask.

The day had already been confusing enough, first with Spirit's frantic phone call not twenty minutes after returning from their assignment that Kamiko was in labor and that he needed him, Stein's genuine panic and confusion over the various implications of those words and the request that he meet them at the hospital, and then everything culminating in his holding Spirit's hair back as he vomited into a trash can in the hallway after witnessing the birth, his own hair still wet from the shower.

The eighteen-year-old new father had clearly recovered from the initial trauma and had been babbling for at least ten minutes straight after he'd come back out of the delivery room and the baby had been moved into the nursery. He had described every one of the newborn's features at least twice and proclaimed it perfect, and Stein simply took in this new and unique behavior from his former partner of five years. He had never seen anything like it, and it was something that at least deserved observation.

It was also an acceptable distraction for the moment over the fact that with this birth, any hope he had of reclaiming his weapon partner was well and truly lost. Nothing sealed two people together like a baby did, and he was honestly surprised that Spirit had asked for him to be there at all. Especially considering the animosity between he and Spirit's...wife.

The word turned his mouth to cotton even in thought, but he ignored his own feelings as he always did and refocused on the young man next to him whose excitement suddenly buoyed again.

"We can go in! Do you want to hold her?"

If Stein hadn't been partially wrapped up in the turmoil of his own emotions, he may have said yes simply due to the infectious joy in his former partner's eyes and voice.

"Some other time," was what he managed before Spirit whirled around and practically skipped through a door adjacent to the nursery, and Stein stared into the blank space left in the weapon's wake. The still, silent air seemed somehow to lack oxygen without Spirit's presence, and Stein knew from experience that his mind would quickly fill the void with static if he didn't seek distraction soon.

However, distraction was provided for him within moments as Spirit and a nurse, the former now wearing a mask and gloves, emerged from the side-room but within the nursery this time. Spirit's stride was quick, and he reached the bassinet before the nurse had closed the door behind them and was reaching down to pick up the pink bundle. The nurse said something that Stein ignored as Spirit hurried back to the glass where Stein was waiting, holding up his tiny prize so that the meister could see her face.

The baby was asleep, and swaddled up the way she was all that Stein could see were chubby cheeks, well-formed and startlingly familiar bone structure, and wisps of flaxen hair from beneath the pink cap the infant wore.

"Isn't she perfect? She's so beautiful!" Spirit said, his voice muffled but spilling over with excitement as Stein gazed down at what was the final nail in the coffin of his and his weapon's five years of partnership.

At that moment the infant's rosy lips parted, pressed together briefly. And then dark lashes lifted to reveal eyes exactly like Spirit's.

A choked sob drew Stein's attention upward, and he watched the hospital mask Spirit wore begin to stain with tears that streamed down the weapon's face as the nurse hovered nearby saying something that Stein filtered out almost entirely, seemingly scolding the very young father for his emotional display due to the potential contamination. But Spirit's happiness couldn't be contained, nor could Stein ignore it.

He looked down again into those dilated, teal eyes that seemed to be gazing back into his and forced himself to relax in order to really look at the baby. And of course, there cradled in Spirit's arms and held protectively between his hands, was a tiny soul. It was bright, fresh, and new... The little wavelength seemed to reach outward in every direction, searching blindly, but without fear as she remained safely under her father's protection.

Stein looked up from the tiny spark in the baby's chest to her eyes again that somehow seemed to see through him even though it was impossible for there to be a cognizant thought in her head.

"I, ah...don't tell Kami, but I... Would you... Stein I'd like you to be her godfather," Spirit said through his messy tears.

Stein looked up to the weapon's face.

"It's not actually a religious role or anything, just...just someone she can look up to, and count on... To help teach her. To be there for her," Spirit continued. His voice had leveled out and his eyes were unblinking as he stared down at Stein, the younger meister still shorter by a few inches even though he was fast catching up.

Spirit fell uncharacteristically silent, and Stein replayed the words in his mind over and over, unsure he'd heard them clearly.

'Someone she can look up to, and count on...'

For all those things...for his child, Spirit wanted him?

Stein looked with his soul's sight again at the tiny, pure wavelength in Spirit's arms and then beyond to the soul as familiar to him as his own. Spirit's wavelength was radiating joy and warmth greater than Stein had ever seen, and while most of it was due to his daughter, there was a good deal of it directed at him.

He hadn't dared to hope any longer for his own happiness...

"I...accept," he said, the words coming out almost as a question.

Relief flooded out across Spirit's wavelength, and Stein was perplexed. He knew he could get answers to all of his questions and that Spirit would give them. It would take but a breath to touch his wavelength to his former weapon's, meet him in the resonance that had been abandoned and had left his soul starving for months.

But he couldn't. Not with her nearby. She would know.

Stein could feel the other meister's soul now that he was looking properly, and even from another room in the hospital he could sense the massive tangle of her wavelength. He supposed it probably happened to many women after a trauma like giving birth. But then again he'd always found her wavelength to be erratic.

He let his vision of the souls in front of him fade as he looked down at the infant, unable to meet Spirit's eyes anymore. His chest had gone tight, and he was certain that to actually see the love in the weapon's eyes that he felt radiating out of his wavelength would be his undoing.

He had to stop being selfish and think of his friend.

"Thank you," Spirit said gratefully. "I'll...keep working on Kami, but..."

"You're right," Stein interrupted before Spirit could say something else to send his emotions spiraling even further out of control. "She's beautiful, Senpai."

Spirit blinked and looked down at his tiny daughter, who still seemed to stare at Stein. The young meister lifted a single finger toward the glass.

"Welcome to the world...Maka Albarn."

[reflectionsofacreator]

potential au game: cylva got yote out of the first all the way to the source and became the warrior of light (timeline discrepancies DNI)

[Send me a potential AU and I’ll tell you five fun facts that would happen in a story]

okay okay okay

But Ardbert, dear Ardbert, would not forsake his heart. In the end, he chose mercy. His fight lead him to the twin shadows that guided Cylva, and her world disappears in a pillar of Light that she was afraid would never happen. She wakes in Carteneau, wakes to see Bahamut ripping his way out of the moon, to the bright light of Phoenix battling him, and knows that her task succeeded, that she brought about a Calamity. (She is wrong. She won't know for some time). At least she can take some small comfort in knowing she did her job, that her dearest friends didn't die for nothing.

Five years pass in feverish haze, her body struggling under the enormous weight of the Shadowkeeper that was brought forth to facilitate a final battle. She never was supposed to survive, her role was to be defeated and die. Yet lives she does, and the kind doctors of Ul'dah's medic halls ask her name and tell her she can live. Cylva does not deserve to do so, but... maybe if she does, she can find the Ascians, and make them pay. She didn't have a choice, she had to kill her companions on their orders, but she isn't beholden to them anymore. Her legs wobble like a newborn colt's as she forces herself to her feet and pick up the sword she destroyed a world with.

Cylva meets Lahabrea in the bowels of an old Gridanian prison and does not hesitate to sink her blade through his chest. "Does it make you feel better, Shadowkeeper, to know that you've destroyed this vessel of mine?" He asks, his lips rosy with bubbling blood. "You are more alike to us than you wish to admit. You cannot stop the darkening tide. You will be there, deathless and eternal, to witness as our Lord Zodiark reclaims all. It is your reward." The body that thuds to the ground and squelches against the tacky viscera of the diremite does not absolve her.

She never used to worship the God of Light like so many others in Norvrandt, yet it is hard to witness as crystal after crystal comes to her. She cannot let herself think that it means anything. It is an involuntary reaction from Mother, the same as how her Call is neverceasing and unending, and only needs to be listened to. Mother does not know her, Cylva is simply one of many that heard the Call. (And if she sometimes clutches the stones to her chest and cries in great heaving sobs over the memory of the friend that should've held the stone, then that is her secret to keep.) (How dare she take comfort in God's answering machine.)

Minfilia and the others name her Warrior of Light, and it is a wound, throbbing and raw and she's stuck in it. It's not her title, she didn't deserve this. She's thanked for saving Thancred (as if she would ever let him stay in those bastard's clutches) and for defeating Ultima weapon, and Cylva knows she's tricked them somehow. She can't live up to Ardbert's example, she's spitting on his memory by pretending otherwise.

She isn't a hero, not through the Bloody Banquet, not through the Dragonsong War, certainly not at The Vault. She's just doing her miserable best, only feeling marginally better as she takes down a pair of Ascians that were too much like Lohgrif and Mitron, makes sure two more of those things won't be bothering this world again. It lasts for scant moments, until Estinien - a man just as consumed by grief and rage as she - is taken. She isn't a hero.

She isn't, she isn't she isn't she isn't, right up until her feet skid on gravel and she sees a familiar axe swing, sees his bright blue eyes land on her with disdain and souldeep pain that she knows too well, sees him slaughter an innocent Vath and declare himself a Warrior of Darkness.

She isn't, but for him? To spare him the same pain she knew? She will be.

[leftistfeminista]

The new book by the Argentine journalist, published by Anagrama, narrates the life of Silvia Labayru, a former Montoneros militant kidnapped by the military, tortured, raped, forced to accompany Astiz in his infiltration into Madres de Plaza de Mayo.

A passage that really stood out to me in the article was-

Each person incorporated into this process was in charge of a responsible soldier who, sometimes, was the same one who had carried out the torture. If it was considered that the recovery process was giving results, the prisoner began to make some sorties. For example, he could stay a few days at his relatives' house. The kidnapped women were forced to dress "femininely" as a demonstration that they were willing to leave behind the unisex life of militancy—all those unsexy shirts and jean pants—and taken out to dinner or to the beach. fashionable bar , Mau Mau, owned by a jet-setting man named José Lata Liste.

It reveals how the forced intimacy between leftist women captives and Junta guards was not just about lust, but was a deliberate plan of systematic control. An intimate relationship between man and woman, would keep her in total control at all times. Also the way in which "unsexy shirts and jean pants" was seen as a problem in leftist women. Being unsexy was part of revolutionary women's gender subversion. The "unisex life of militancy" with equality between mal and female comrades. They had to leave that behind. They were taken out to places the very opposite of unsexy unisex jeans, like beaches and bars. Beaches where they were expected to show off their bodies in bikinis. Bars where they were expected to get drunk, loosen their inhibitions, dress sexy and shake their bodies. And typically it was a club owned by a "jet-setting man". The revenge of the capitalist class on the Marxist women who would have stolen everything from him. Making revolutionary women "sexy" against their will was the key to rehabilitating them. And it was in an everyday ordinary way like a girlfriend going to the beach or club to dance with her boyfriend. It reveals how everyday patriarchy is itself a dictatorship. If we are to understand capitalist patriarchy in its rawest form we must see the tools it used to break Marxist-Feminist women who most challenged it.

The unsexy clothing of Marxist women was seen as a problem that needed to be corrected. In a passage from the book she refers to the sense of protection her jeans gave her. And how her Junta caretaker took her to a fashionable store to get her more feminine attire

Cover photo: Silvia Labayru and her daughter Vera in Madrid in 1978. Wearing jeans again was a way for her to reclaim her political identity from the trauma. Photo by Dani Yako extraday from her book 'Exilio 1976-1983'

From the recollections of Silvia Labayru

"Where are you taking me, Alberto?" I asked authoritatively as I finally turned up my head to face the man sitting next to me. A man who in that moment was dressed in a military uniform with a pistol on his hip, and who put these cuffs on me. His response was a harsh slap on my face.

"That's Lieutenant to you, puta." He responded, laughing heartily. "God, I don't think it'll ever get old knowing that I can finally treat you like you deserve." He added as he leant forward, riding a hand along my thigh and up to my crotch amidst my uncomfortable groaning. I don't think I've never been or ever will be so grateful for the protection that my jeans offered there, and I was even more grateful to hear the car stop. Well, grateful at the time.

As we stopped and the doors opened, I expected to find some horrible torture dungeon on the other side, but instead I saw something far, far worse. A Lingerie store. Rather than whips and nails on the walls, it was panties and lacy bras, and I honestly don't know if I felt relief or even more terror. I got pushed inside, flanked by soldiers and a salesgirl marching forward as if she anticipated our arrival.

"Good morning, Sir! How can I help you today?" The girl asked in a cheery voice as she faced Alberto, her eyes occasionally darting towards me but only to offer disapproving glares rather than the sympathetic eyes I hoped for.

"This little Communist needs a new outfit. Can you help?" He replied, smiling at my misfortune and jumping his gaze between me and the salesgirl.

"Of course! These reds used to cause quite a bit trouble for us, and for my family. I'm very glad to help them reform." She replied back with no hesitation. I had to wonder if this was genuinely how the public felt about us, or if this was just some pre-selected sympathizer. I hoped the latter. "What size is she?"

In response to that question, I immediately felt a tug on my back. "Let's find out!" my captor shouted, before signaling the guards to grip me tightly. I could barely process what was going on as I felt those jeans I valued so much get torn right off of me, before the rest of my clothes quickly followed. With each piece that got thrown onto the floor I hoped it would be the last, but the ravenous hands of Alberto's men never stopped grabbing.

A minute later, I was lying on the floor completely naked, my entire body on view for the whole shop to see. The salesgirl calmly stated my measurements, before walking off to collect her cloth torture device.

"I've always wanted to see that lovely body of yours, slut!" Alberto shouted with glee as his men pulled me to my feet and gripped my arms to deny me even the slightest bit of dignity. "Why did you hide it for so long when you knew it could make me so happy?" He continued, pushing himself against me so that I could feel the hard bulge already growing in his pants.

The salesgirl returned quickly, carrying a handful of outfits that were all equally degrading. One was little more than a few straps that didn't even cover my nipples. Another was a thong so thin that I wondered if it actually covered anything or was just designed to make the user feel uncomfortable. The next was a lacy bikini that you'd see on the front cover of a porn magazine, but never really expect to see in the real world.

"What would you prefer, sir?" The woman asked, facing toward Alberto as he carefully eyed the outfits. The only time that anyone faced towards me was to take a look at my nude body and laugh.

"Give me the bra from that one, and the thong from that one!" He replied as he decided there and then the only clothes I'd be allowed to wear for the next year or so. Moments later both were forced on, and while I appreciated the limited protection that the bra offered, the thong just felt like an insult, which was fitting given how everyone was treating me.

There were at least a dozen eyes on me as I stood there in my new costume dressed as a whore, my old outfit now lying in pieces on the floor. I never saw it again. I did see the inside of that shop about three or four more times after I left though.

After letting me wallow in my humiliation for a few minutes, I was dragged back outside into the freezing wind before being thrown into the back of the car, shortly joined by Alberto. As the door locked itself shut and the car began to move, I felt his fingers land on my thigh yet again.

"Now you finally look like you did in all those fantasies I had about you." He announced, but in a way that made it sound more like he was talking to himself than to me. As his hand rode it's way up my thigh and reached my crotch, there was nothing I could do as his fingers slid underneath and began burying themselves inside of me. I let out a cry, but that only seemed to encourage him.

I locked my eyes shut, but easily heard as his belt fell to the floor of the car. "I'm going to enjoy this. You should try to as well. It'll be happening to you a lot." He explained as that small protection the thong offered was brushed aside, and a painful journey back began…

[aquadestinyswriting]

By Any Other Name

Summary: Meredith finally loses her temper after a Lord on the Fangthane Council continues to us a name and title she is deeply uncomfortable with after being told not to

Words: 624

Tags: @druidx @homesteadchronicles @sparrow-orion-writes-orion-writes,@warriorbookworm, @odysseywritings, @blind-the-winds , @thesorcerersapprentice ,@writeblrcafe , @ashirisu, @flashfictionfridayofficial

Warnings: None.

Notes: this is more or less directly followed by 'What's in a Name?'. This just gives more context as to what Yoruk is despairing about there.

"Lady Copperheart!" I freeze and glance around for the tell-tale jangle of jewellery or a snide remark from somewhere nearby before I finally realise that the call was, in fact, meant for me. I take a breath to calm the flare of annoyed anger in my heart before turning in the direction the voice had come from. 

The middle-aged dwarven merchant now standing before me is gazing at me with a befuddled confusion. I take another moment to school my expression, lifting the glare from my face a little. Despite my repeated requests not to call me by that accursed name, several members refuse to discontinue old habits. Actually, I'm fairly certain the man now asking me some inane question about the budgetary report for the Church Inquisition is one of those who take great delight in deliberately ignoring such requests. I listen, politely, and answer his question in the same manner. I'm just about to take my leave, when he decides to make one last comment;

"In future, High Inquisitor, you would do well to acknowledge the other members of the Council the moment they call for you." He remarks, "I'd also advise you to refrain from glaring at them as though they've done wrong." He adds with an imperious sniff.

It takes all the willpower I have not to punch him, never mind keeping my expression as neutral as possible. I manage a tight smile,

"My apologies, Lord Stenskärare, but I am quite sure I have previously requested that the Council refer to me by Gruksdottir where possible." I tell him. The nobleman scoffs and shakes his head, sneering at me,

"Refusing to acknowledge the prestige of a House you now belong to is a dishonour to your husband." He snaps, "Then again, I wouldn't expect a peasant girl like you to know anything about that." 

It's a very good thing for Lord Stenskärare that we weren't the only people still in the antechamber of the meeting room. I dread to think of what might have occurred were we alone. As it is, I do finally lose my temper. I’m not really all that aware of what I yell at him, I only know that I’m swearing in at least four different languages and he doesn’t understand the majority of them. I only stop when Captain Bloodvein finally shoves me out one door and gets one of his guard to shove Lord Stenskärare through another. I’m still fuming even as I apologise to His Majesty, Her Highness and Captain Bloodvein and storm out of the palace.

It's not that I don't want to acknowledge the honour and legacy of the Copperheart name – by all accounts, the late Captain Copperheart was a highly regarded Kingsguard – but I cannot rid myself of the memory of her every time I hear that name and title in combination with one another. There are just too many bad memories associated with it. Especially given everything she did during her relatively short reign of terror, which the entire Council are aware of. I did go into great detail in my report to King Storri once all was said and done. It's ridiculous, she's gone for good, locked in the deepest recesses of the Pit for the rest of eternity. By all rights I should be glad to reclaim the honour that the title deserved this whole time. And yet.

It's no good. I'll either have to talk to Yoruk about changing the name, or just learn to live with the dread that climbs up my spine every time I'm in a damned Council Session. In the meantime I think Uncle Snorri's boiler needs bashing back into shape, I can practically hear the thing chugging and sputtering from here.

[roobylavender]

Why don't you like modern takes on Selina?

i don't think she really has the capacity anymore to survive as a character without needing to be supplanted by bruce. the long halloween gets a lot of praise as a standalone story but i think bringing it (and dark victory and when in rome by extension) into canon with hush was one of the worst editorial decisions made with regards to her character bc not only did it reframe the nature of her relationship with bruce entirely, it also hugely undermined the independence selina had developed as a character in the first decade of post-crisis canon. there's a recurring theme in that trilogy of books of selina looking to be saved by someone: falcone, bruce, even her brief italian lover who is so inconsequential i can't remember his name. it stands as a stark contrast to the selina of catwoman (1989) and catwoman (1993) who recognized that the only way she could survive in the world was to fend for herself bc no man would respect her first as a priority. the entire thesis of selina's grand entry into post-crisis canon rests on the idea that catwoman is an identity birthed from a defiance of men and their violence and greed. the humiliating cat suit her pimp tells her to wear is repurposed and reclaimed bc no man owns her or can control her at their leisure

i think a lot of people, esp these days, tend to argue that they're tired of women needing to be fierce and strong and cold and that they deserve to be soft, but i can never really swallow that argument when it comes to selina bc of how clearly it's framed to support a certain interpretation of her relationship with bruce. no person who genuinely cares for selina can say she's only capable of ferocity and coldness. she has her moments of compassion and love but they're merely kept for the people she truly cares about rather than doled out at leisure. people have an issue with selina being fierce and cold bc it acts as a direct obstacle to her relationship and qualms with bruce. i'm always surprised by how people are so eager for her to rightfully call out bruce's hypocrisies only to want for her to be falling at his feet the next moment. there's a running joke that the ideal relationship between them is cohabitation where selina gets to go on heists at leisure. on a surface level i understand it's entertaining, but it offers no real narrative value beyond fan service. even more than that it's not realistic. the selina of the early 90s would never have been comfortable in that world of riches knowing how she had lived and struggled her entire life. she wanted to survive and she obv stole to survive but wealth wasn't her goal for the costume; her goal was notoriety and recognized defiance of the system and more than anything a life lived on her own terms. i'm always confused why there's such an aversion to selina standing her ground and making bruce do the work to come to her side of things when it would make for far more compelling storytelling that would challenge bruce as a character in ways that are desperately needed and it would honor selina's integrity as a character by prioritizing her needs over those of fans who simply want to see their two favorite characters together. there is an enormous potential to write a compelling romance between bruce and selina that balances their contrasting sociopolitical ideologies but bc the popular perception of romance is consummation and marriage readers aren't satisfied by anything less or anything more complex

on a more minor note: i really really hate the plot development towards the end of catwoman (1993) where selina becomes obsessed with wealth and power. i'm not sure if it's a consequence of writers trying to bring in more of the queen of the underworld vibe from golden and silver age depictions of selina but i don't think it really fits with what selina is crafted to be in the early 90s. to me it's more than enough of a clever nod to older iterations of selina that notoriety and defiance are priorities for her in the costume. those are very much character traits the golden age catwoman exemplifies down to her last appearance written by bob kane. i don't think pursuit of wealth for wealth's sake needs to be added to her character at all and while i understand readers love her role as a philanthropist millionaire from catwoman (2002) onward i, again, don't think it does anything for her as an individual. it is very much a development used to parallel her to bruce rather than afford her personal worldview anything of substance (well, beyond her brief phase of remorse). and this may be stretching it a bit but i think it reflects on the shame some readers feel at the idea that selina is from a working class background. it kind of goes back to what i was saying about how people want selina to call out bruce's hypocrisies but they don't want her to actually have to exemplify any of them. they want her to be able to criticize bruce within the comfort of her own mansion rather than be witness to any of the circumstances that make her so angry and fiercely protective of the people like her. and when i pointed that out once for some reason people got angry and thought i was implying selina deserves no stability in her life whatsoever, but that's not what i'm saying at all. she does deserve to be stable. more than anyone in fact. but she doesn't need a mansion to be stable, and she knows that. if she could live in peace with the people she loved without the threat of violence from men she would be content. she's never asked for more than that and i don't see why she needs to