#putting this here since. i figured i should have one

[ham1lton]

NASTY GIRL!

— pairings: oscar piastri x reader.

— faceclaim: rihanna <3

— summary: slut, whore, bitch - all the words that have been used to describe famous party girl yn yln. so when you show up to the grid with a shiny diamond ring on your hand, people are trying to figure out just who would choose you.

— warnings: misogynistic language and attitudes about yn’s behaviour and actions. not from any of the main characters in this au though!

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enews: y/n may not be releasing new music anytime soon, but she’s definitely making waves—this time under the sea. the party girl was spotted scuba diving in italy with her usual mixed-gender crew, proving once again that vacationing is her real full-time job. 🎶 or should we say, lack of? #priorities #wherethemusicat?

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badgalyn: y’all stay on my dick 😭 hop off.

-> user1: LMFAOOOOOO

user2: can a girl not holiday now?

user3: idgaf if she’s partying. she’s been working since she was 16. have a mimosa for me babe <3

-> user4: bffr. she just sings into a mic for a living. that’s not a job.

-> user5: every job is a job. and every job has it’s downsides. she’s been touring every year since her debut almost ten years ago. let her breathe 😭

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liked by ynupdates, ferrarigirlies and 2,737,839 others.

f1gossip: look who’s in the ferrari garage today! the singer/songwriter yn on break from… well, her eternal break. and what is that we saw on her hot girl walk through the paddock? a diamond ring? oop 🙊

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user1: LEAVE YN ALONE !1!1!1!111

user2: she’s engaged to charles and they’re gonna have the most gorgeous kids!!

-> user3: um… could be carlos?

-> user2: no 😜

user3: nahhhhh no way she’s engaged 😷

-> user4: like c’mon. it’s probably a rich ceo from behind the scenes. no self respecting f1 driver would want HER 😒

-> user5: like who would actually marry her?

-> user6: u sound so miserable 😭

-> user7: like what fucking weirdos LMFAO 😭 focus on yourselves.

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liked by ynsgirlie, oscarspiastri and 1,108,890 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: singer/songwriter yn was invited by ferrari to watch the baku grand prix but was seen relaxing in the mclaren garage after a photo op. the moment went viral on social media, what do you think of yn’s disappearance ham1ltons?

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user1: idgaf. she can do whatever she wants.

user2: she’s so fucking ungrateful my god.

user3: love her!!!!

user4: who cares?? i just wanna know who put that ring on her finger???

user5: RELEASE THE ALBUM @/BADGALYN

-> user6: RELEASE THAT SHIT NOWW

badgalyn: is it illegal for me to move from place to place now? like damn 😭

-> user7: they stay on ur ass like

-> user8: WHO DOES THAT BIG FAT RING BELONG TO ?!!?!!

-> user8: I KNOW U SEE THIS SHIT

-> user8: ANSWER ME 😭😭

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liked by landonorris, badgalyn and 1,090,123 others.

f1: oscar piastri is your ‘24 baku grand prix winner!

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user1: OSCAR GIRLIES EVERYWHERE CHEERED

user2: YASSSSSSSS

user3: SO PROUD WOOOOOOO

user4: YN WHAT ARE U DOING HERE 😭

nicolepiastri: that’s my son btw 🍾🥂

user5: DID Y’ALL SEE YN RUNNING OUT TO KISS OSCAR?????

-> user6: WHAT?2&2&

-> user7: GIRL IT’S ALL OVER TWT

-> user7: https://twitter.com/ynsgirl/status/827373832992125

-> user8: oh… they in love frfr

-> user9: SICK OMG SICK SICK SICK

-> user9: HATE SEEING HAPPY COUPLES

-> user10: the way he carries her?? ims ick

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INTERVIEW W/ YN YLN.

by james collins.

she walks into the room like she owns it, a diamond-studded one of a kind necklace hanging off her neck, and a confidence that can only come from being at the top of her game. y/n yln is more than just a household name at this point—she’s a cultural phenomenon. whether it's topping the charts, turning heads with her bold fashion choices, or making headlines for her unapologetic lifestyle, y/n is everywhere.

GQ: let’s get right into it. you’ve never been one to shy away from controversy. you've been called everything from a "party girl" to… well, a lot worse. how do you deal with the constant slut-shaming?

Y/N: (laughs) i mean, what can i say? people are gonna talk whether i’m out at the club or chilling at home in sweats. they see me having fun, and they can’t handle it. honestly, i don’t care. i love my life. if i want to party, i’ll party. if i want to make a million-dollar deal the next morning, i’ll do that too. being called a slut? whatever. it’s just a word. a word can’t hold me down.

GQ: that’s the attitude that’s made you so iconic. but it seems like the more successful you get, the more people try to tear you down. how do you stay grounded amidst all the noise?

Y/N: honestly, it’s all about knowing who you are. like, i know what i bring to the table. the opinions of strangers on the internet? they don’t pay my bills, they don’t run my career. i’ve got a solid circle around me—my family, my team, my people. they keep it real with me, and that’s what matters. plus, i’ve got my own inner voice. if i let every hater get to me, i wouldn’t be where i am now. you gotta block out the noise and keep doing you.

GQ: you’re definitely doing that, and it shows in your music. speaking of which, your last album broke records and you’ve hinted that the next one’s even more personal. what’s the inspiration behind it?

Y/N: oh, this next album is gonna hit different. it’s like a reflection of the last few years—everything i’ve been through, the highs, the lows, and the lessons. i’ve been writing a lot about love, discovery, identity, and power. there’s a track on there that’s straight-up about how people have tried to label me my whole life, and i’m just like, ‘f**k that, i define me.’ there’s some deep stuff in there, but also bangers that’ll make you wanna dance your ass off. it’s a mix, just like me.

GQ: there’s been a lot of talk about one specific song that fans think is about your alleged relationship. care to spill the tea on that?

YN: (smiling) oh, you mean *that* song? (laughs) yeah, people are good at picking up on things. look, i’m not saying too much, but let’s just say it’s a vibe. relationships—especially when you’re in the spotlight—are complicated, and i’m not afraid to write about it. but you’ll have to listen to the track to get the full story.

GQ: fair enough. now, let’s address the gorgeous and expensive elephant in the room—that ring. fans have been speculating non-stop about your engagement. can you confirm or deny the rumors?

Y/N: (grinning) ah, you’re nosy! but yeah, the ring’s real, and it’s from someone very special. look, i’ve never been one to hide anything, but i also love keeping certain things close to my chest. all i’m saying is… things are good. real good.

GQ: the internet’s been trying to piece it together, especially after you were spotted at the mclaren paddock with oscar piastri. any comments on that?

YN: (laughs) you are really trying to get me in trouble! look, i support my friends, i show up for them, and they show up for me. that’s all i’m saying for now. but if people want to talk, let them talk. i’m busy living my life.

GQ: fair enough! last question—what’s next for y/n yln?

Y/N: taking over the world, obviously. (laughs) but for real, the album is coming soon, and i’m working on some new projects that’ll surprise a lot of people. i’m not just a singer, i’m building an empire. music, fashion, business—it’s all on the horizon. so, buckle up, we’re just getting started.

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tagged: @/badgalyn

liked by ynswifey, ham1ltonshaderoom and 4,938,983 others

gqmagazine: from island girl to international superstar: our newest covergirl yn yln talks slutshaming, her upcoming album and wedding rumours in this months gq magazine. link in bio! 🔗

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oscarpiastri: real good is an understatement 😉

-> user1: WHAT)2&/@/

-> user2: yn being all cryptic and oscar straight up like ‘yeah we together and what about it?’

-> user3: OSCAR HELLO?2&2

landonorris: am i invited to the wedding?

-> landonorris: hellloooo @/badgalyn????

-> landonorris: i’m sosoooooo drunk @/badgalyn

-> landonorris: YYYYYNNNNNNN 😭😭😭

user4: she’s such a bad bitch idgaf

-> user5: ‘i love my life. if i want to party, i’ll party. if i want to make a million-dollar deal the next morning, i’ll do that too. being called a slut? whatever. it’s just a word. a word can’t hold me down.’ — AS YOU SHOULD QUEEN!!!!

user6: y’all … oscaryn is growing on me fr

user7: this is so wattpad trope i love this for them

user8: YN RELEASE THE ALBUM!!!!

user9: MIC DROP FROM OSCAR YUP YUP!

user10: she’s so gorgeous… her face card omg

user11: Y/N YLN AND OSCAR FREAKING PIASTRI ARE ENGAGED AND CONFIRMED IT IN THE MOST CASUAL WAY?? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FUNCTION TODAY?!?!

user12: oscaryn engagement. yn6 being in the works. more pics of yn’s face card. ynnies, we won today.

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— oscar taglist: @papayadays @assholeinatrenchcoat @mxdi0 @lillysbigwilly @liberty-barnes @yelenasloverrrrr @hiireadstuff @starz4me1 @mvk1ma @lozzamez3 @dear-fifi @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @styl1shl1v @whyamireadingthis @halleest @s4misbetter @llando4norris @chezmardybum @ivyvlair @isthatacandle @luvsforme @fabulouskk01 @littlegrapejuice @anotherblackreader @laur20a23 @greantii @sumlovesjude @sageispunk @mindless-rock @mehrmonga @ravisinghs-wife @six-call @notyaslol @1-800-love-me @nzygftoji @dilflover44 @ilivbullyingjeongin (all works taglist in comments/reblog. if you see yourself tagged and you don’t want to be or you don’t see yourself tagged and you want to be — refill out the taglist in my pinned post! <3)

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[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Daryl Dixon w/ immune reader— 'we're all infected, why does it matter if you're the cure?'

Yandere Daryl saw your scraggly ass aimlessly wandering through the abandoned pharmacy he needed to raid. Walkers, five of em', and you fought them off bare fisted. Pretty badass, and fucking stupid, if Daryl has anything to say about it. You're bleeding from your neck more than any living person should.

A bite. You're bit.

No wonder you could care less if one of the rotting corpses bites on ya.

He wants to put you down like he should. He lines up his crossbow with your head, and like a deer caught in headlights, you flee.

Goddammit all.

Shouldn't matter anyway. You'll become another walker. At the most you got some gauze.

It had to be months again before he saw you on another run. There you are—banged up and just a lil more than skin n' bones, but there you are alive none the less.

Yandere Daryl admits to himself that it's the first time he's been intrigued by someone in a long while. Maybe that's why he's insisted on going on runs by himself these past few months. Maybe just maybe deep down he wanted to see you again.

It isn't hard to simply surprise you from behind and disarm you. He knocks you out and lowers you to the sidewalk. He doesn't see any walkers near, so he can check your wound out easy.

You still have gauze over it, but it has long since needed a change. It's drenched in fresh blood and covered in old. He unwraps it to see the damn bite. He can't tell if it looks better or worse now.

"Poor sap, what am I gonna do with you? Whats good a cure if there's no docs, only greedy men in this world." He tsks.

Yandere Daryl picks you up and carries you back to the group. He wraps a slightly torn shawl around your neck. It's one he found near the store you collapsed at. There's a reason you have been out here all these months.

You could'a just given up and died.

You could'a found a group.

Instead you found him again.

"Must've been fate, huh?" He chuckles humorlessly.

The way you looked at him. You're runnin' from somethin'. He just has to figure out what.

Yandere Daryl decides you're his to take care of. When he carries you into Alexandria, he doesn't let anyone else get their hands on you. He doesn't answer anyone's questions while he walks in and towards his house. He locks himself in and tells anyone that comes by to piss off.

Screw the rules and whatever the fuck.

You're a mystery that he has to solve.

So he grabs a change of clothes and some food for you. He plops them down on the table and sits in the opposite chair.

He doesn't mind waitin' for a while. It gives him plenty o' time to think. Somethin' in him is just stirrin'. He just can't decide what.

Yandere Daryl calms you down after you wake up. You can barely form words on those pretty lips and tongue of yours. Naturally, you question him and his motives. You're defensive and don't elaborate at first.

It takes just a handful of threats about exposing you and spreading around the fact there is an immune person to unravel your need for secrecy.

Somewhat.

You only tell him that you're being hunted by a group you were once with.

"Mind elaborating, hun?" Daryl draws out while looking over your figure for what feels like the thousandth time.

"I'll tell you—but I swear to God if you use this against me I'll stab you through the head a dozen times over."

"Fair nuff."

"They would—If you get bit and are injected with... well, enough of my blood then it acts as a cure..."

They fuckin' what?

Yandere Daryl vouches for you, and you end up in Alexandria. You get no ifs, ands, or buts about it. They assign you to his house. Daryl definitely convinced Rick that since you're a newcomer and you trust him more, he could keep a watchful eye on you. It totally isn't because there's this strange all possessing feeling that keeps latching onto his heart when you're around.

He keeps your secret safe n' sound. He manages to steal enough makeup from rundown stores to keep your healing bite covered up. He makes sure you are eating and getting healthier. He checks up on you before and after he gets done with a run. Hell, he reminds you of shit he forgets about all the time.

This does extend to him killing people to keep you safe. They looked at you wrong. Maybe one of the residents feels suspicious about you. They may even have confronted Daryl and questioned him. Oh, well. Just another one pushed to the biters.

Daryl has never had a strict moral compass. So he doesn't feel bad about murdering people who he is supposed to consider his neighbors.

Of course, those who came with him to Alexandria get the privilege of questionin' you just a bit. He's quick to shut that shit down, though.

Carol is the only one who is close enough to knowing that you are immune. She knows that Daryl has something more than platonic towards you. She also knows that you were injured with something that looked suspiciously like a walker bite mark when Daryl first lugged you in. (She snuck in and looked through your scarf while Daryl wasn't aware.)

She just isn't looking for trouble. She doesn't want to believe it, as it doesn't seem plausible. There have been too many false hopes from the CDC to Eugene.

So she let's Daryl foster his feelings towards you while watching out for you both. If Daryl ever oversteps a boundary with you, Carol will be there to knock him up side the head, call him a stupid redneck, and threaten him in the most motherly way possible. 

Yandere Daryl never saw you have so much terror in the eyes as the day he mentioned The Saviors. It clicked in his mind immediately. He has only felt that rage one other time in his life: when he learned Meryl had been handcuffed to the roof and left for dead.

He didn't think, but he acted. He held you and refused to let go. It's just so fuckin' unfair. He loses everyone that has a semblance of importance to him. Not you. Not this time.

His only thought was that he was going to burn every one of those fuckers to the ground—innocent or not.

[chicgeekgirl89]

Rating: K Summary: T.K. is eager to return to the firehouse for his first shift post-icy pond coma. He's feeling great, excited, and ready for anything. What he doesn't expect is a surprise visit from a lonely Carlos in the middle of the night. A/N: This one has been sitting for a while and I figured I should probably release it before we FINALLY get some new material to work with this week!!

Read on AO3

“Did you pack extra socks?”

“Yes.”

“Your vitamins? Your hoodie?”

“Yes, Carlos.”

“I put an extra blanket for you in a bag by the door, make sure you grab it on your way out.”

“Okay, this is starting to feel more like my first day of Kindergarten than my first day back at work,” T.K. chuckles. 

Carlos shifts uncomfortably and huffs. “I just want to make sure you have everything you need.”

T.K. puts a hand on his chest, steadying him. “I’m going to the firehouse. Not the moon. If I need something you can bring it to me. It’s twelve hours Carlos. One overnight shift. I’ll be okay.”

“I still think maybe you should have waited until there was a day shift available,” Carlos insists. “You need your sleep.”

“Babe, I want to go back. I need to go back. If I sit around here for much longer I’m going to go crazy,” T.K. says gently. “The doctors cleared me, my dad cleared me, Tommy cleared me. I’m good to go.”

“Nobody asked me if I cleared you,” Carlos grumbles low, almost as if he doesn’t mean for T.K. to hear it. 

T.K.’s mouth twists into a half smile that he tries to suppress. Carlos has been extremely attentive and serious about T.K.’s recovery care since coming home from the hospital. There have been schedules and spreadsheets and alarm reminders about medications and appointments. T.K. has been plied with so much of Andrea’s soup that it feels like his eyeballs could float.

He still tires a little quicker than normal, especially toward the end of the day, and he hasn’t quite shaken off the permanent chill that ate its way into his bones in that frozen pond, but he feels almost back to one hundred percent. And he’s definitely well enough to get through one shift. 

“I will be okay,” T.K. promises him. “If anything feels off I’ll tell Tommy and come right home.”

Carlos eyes him, still not convinced. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

His phone buzzes and he checks it. “Nancy’s here. I’ll see you in a few hours. You’ll barely even know I’m gone.”

“Be safe,” Carlos says. 

It was their standard standard farewell before. Before the fire and the breakup and the ice.

“I will,” T.K. responds. The words have an odd weight in his chest. The last time he went to work they were broken up. He couldn’t promise Carlos that he would be safe, and he wasn’t. He fell through a frozen pond and died and woke up to a second chance with the love of his life.

It feels good to be able to make that promise again.

“Love you,” he says, pecking Carlos on the lips as he shoulders his work bag.

“Love you too,” Carlos says. “Ah! Blanket!” he calls as T.K. reaches for the doorknob.

T.K. accepts the bag from him. “Thanks Mom.”

Carlos rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond, slightly embarrassed smile on his lips. “Shut up.”

T.K. takes the elevator down to the ground floor and exits out the front doors to where Nancy is parked and waiting. “Aw yeah!!” she yells out the car window. “Get in loser! We’re going to work!”

T.K. throws his bag giddily into the back seat and buckles his seatbelt. “Freedoooom!!” he crows happily as she puts it into gear.

“Oh, yeah, like it’s been so hard for you recovering with Carlos catering to your every whim,” Nancy teases. 

She’s not wrong; he has no complaints. Carlos has been with him as much as possible for the last few weeks, rebuilding the fractured splinters of their relationship into something that finally feels solid again. T.K.’s heart is nearly as recovered as his body. There have been painful moments, lots of tears, anger, and some difficult confessions, but already T.K. feels stronger for it. The break up was awful, and part of him still hates himself for his role in it, but it almost feels worth it to be where they are now. 

“So catch me up on the gossip,” T.K. says as they drive. “What’s the firehouse tea?”

“Mm! Yes! God, I missed you,” Nancy says fervently. “Okay. Someone froze Paul’s boxers last week and he’s still so mad about it. He thinks it was Mateo.”

“And was it?”

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’ and smiles wickedly. “It was me and Marj.”

“Nice.” T.K. sinks into the seat, already feeling like he’s settling back into normal. “What else?”

“Torbin’s girlfriend left him. Again,” she says. “And your dad found the decoy candy stash, but the real one is still safe.”

“Third cabinet from the left behind the spare hoses?”

“You know it.”

“Are there Sour Patch Kids?”

She takes her eyes off the road for a second to smile at him. “I restocked them for you as a welcome back gift.”

“Aw, thanks Nance,” he says, heart warming at her kindness. 

The entire 126 has stepped in a major way over the last few weeks. The fridge in the loft hasn’t been empty of food once, everyone has stopped by to check on him, and the group text thread has been full of encouraging and silly texts. It had hurt to watch them all get back to work once the station opened; he’d been able to attend the ceremony but hadn’t been cleared for duty yet. But tonight they will finally be all together again.

When they arrive the house is quiet. There’s no flurry of activity in the bays; everything is oddly silent and dark. 

“What’s going on?” T.K. asks as they get out of Nancy’s car, nerves fluttering. Have they been shut down again for some reason? They literally just reopened a couple weeks ago, if they’ve been taken out of service already….

The lights flick on and there’s a cacophonous shout of “SURPRISE!” as the whole team pops out from behind the engine and the ambulance. There’s a giant banner with “Welcome Back T.K.” on the front of the rig, along with balloons and streamers, and Paul is holding a massive cake.

The grin that splits T.K.’s face is so wide it hurts and he feels tears prick at the corner of his eyes. It’s Marjan who comes to him first, holding out her arms as she runs over for a hug. “Welcome back,” she says warmly and he squeezes her tightly before letting go to catch the next person in line.

Judd claps a hand onto his shoulder. “Good to have you home brother.”

“Thanks,” T.K. says. “And please tell Grace thank you again for all the meals. It’s made our lives so much easier these last couple weeks.”

Even with a newborn in the house, somehow Grace had managed to send over meals to make sure Carlos and T.K. didn’t starve during his convalescence. 

“Yeah between you and Paul she’s been basically running a catering company out of our kitchen,” Judd says. “Gotta make sure everybody’s taken care of. But you’re cut off now,” he announces loudly. “Time for y’all to do your own cookin’ again.”

“Bro, I can’t believe you didn’t even lose any toes or anything,” Mateo says when it’s his turn. His hug is accompanied by a back slap that chokes the breath out of T.K. for a second. “I mean it’s good, but like, that would have been pretty gnarly.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I kept all my appendages,” T.K. says. “I find them pretty essential.”

“Still, would have been a cool story,” Mateo says a little wistfully.

“Mateo his story is already plenty cool,” Paul says. “In fact, it’s so cool, it’s almost frozen solid. And that is why we got you this cake.”

He holds it up for T.K.’s inspection and T.K. bursts into laughter. It’s got Frozen characters all over it and reads “The Cold Never Bothered T.K. Anyway.” 

“It’s an ice cream cake,” Paul says proudly, like this is the greatest collective idea they’ve ever had.

“I love it,” T.K. says. “It’s perfect.”

“Okay, okay, let the adults have a turn,” Tommy says, breaking through the crowd and pulling T.K. into a warm, soft hug. “Welcome back T.K. It’s so good to see you well.”

T.K. hugs her back, a little extra tight. He’s very aware that he’s not the only one who lived through several days of trauma because of that pond. This woman’s hands saved his life, kept his heart beating long enough for help to arrive. Even when the question of whether he’d live had been answered, there was still uncertainty about how functional he would be. That he’s back at work like nothing ever happened is astonishing. It’s a triumph for both of them.

“Cap I don’t—“ The words stick in his throat because how do you thank someone for doing what she did?

She pulls back and squeezes his shoulders. “I know baby,” she says softly, eyes looking a little moist. “It’s okay. You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Tommy looks past him and T.K. turns to find his dad. “C’mere kiddo,” he says warmly and T.K. ducks his head, slightly embarrassed by this display of fatherly affection in front of his team. “Love you,” his dad murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to his hair before patting him sharply on the back. “All right team! Let’s celebrate the 126 being finally, officially back together!”

T.K. takes a photo with the cake to send to Carlos before they cut into it. Paul makes sure T.K. gets the piece with Elsa’s face on it and they all talk and joke and laugh like no time has passed at all.

When the bells go off he feels a thrill go down his spine, excitement tinged with a little bit of nerves. “You ready?” Nancy asks as they climb into the rig.

“You know it,” he says with a grin. “Cap?”

Tommy buckles in. “Let’s roll.”

“Yeah!!! TNT is back in action!” Nancy honks the horn as they roll out of the garage and peal off toward an elderly slip and fall.

It’s a relatively easy call, a good, low stress reintroduction to the job. They drop the woman off at the hospital with a possible concussion and sprained ankle and are on their way back to the station when another call comes in for a fire in a single family home.

They meet up with the rest of the crew at the address, where they find a relatively small, but smoky kitchen fire. They’re not needed beyond basic first aid and are sent to a call for a choking at a restaurant next. 

T.K. is practically buzzing with energy by the time they finally get back to the station an hour later. Some of it is probably sugar from the large piece of cake he downed before they started, but he’s also flying high on the joy of saving people. He’d known he missed the job, but he hadn’t realized quite how much until he’d snapped on his gloves and started taking vitals again. 

He bounces out of the ambulance into the bay, already knowing that he’s not going to sleep at all tonight. Maybe he can persuade Mateo to pull a Mario Kart all nighter with him.

It’s past ten but the rest of the crew is still up, most of them in the showers still trying to get the stench of the kitchen fire off. T.K. is on his way to grab a second piece of cake when he hears Judd call his name from the doorway to the locker room.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Found something that belongs to you,” Judd says, an odd smirk on his face.

“Something that belongs to me?” T.K. wrinkles his nose. He’s barely been back five hours, what could he possibly be missing already? 

As realization dawns he rolls his eyes. “Is this a welcome back prank? What’d you do? Put my keys in jello? Hide a fish in my locker?”

“Nope,” Judd says. “You’d better go check your bunk though. It’s waitin’ for ya.”

His bunk? What the hell? Giving Judd a final suspicious look he heads for the bunk room.  

He enters with caution, aware that this is likely a trap. When his eyes adjust to the darkened lighting he finds Judd was right; there is a familiar lump that most definitely belongs to him curled up in the middle of his bed. T.K.’s heart stutters and he crosses the room in only a few strides, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress.

His hand automatically goes to Carlos’ forehead, fear that his boyfriend has somehow become ill or injured in the hours since he left home at the forefront of his mind. “Babe,” he says worriedly, brushing his fingers across Carlos’ face and down his neck.

Carlos’ eyelids flutter and he blinks up soft, brown, confused eyes at T.K. before quickly pushing up to a sitting position. “Hey,” he says, a little breathless as he tries to recover from his late night nap. 

“Baby, are you okay?” T.K. asks, his fingers still worriedly searching for signs of fever or injury.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine,” Carlos says, clearing his throat and scooting back so there’s some space between them. 

Relief extinguishes the spike of adrenaline in T.K.’s veins and he relaxes a little as curiosity takes over. “What are you doing here then? Did something happen at home?”

Carlos’ face takes on a slightly evasive look. “No, everything’s fine at the loft.” 

“Then why are you asleep in my bunk?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was just waiting for you.” The words are quick, almost defensive.

“Waiting for me?” T.K. frowns. “Did you come all the way over here just to make sure I haven’t passed out or something? Seriously Carlos, we talked about this. I promised I would be careful.”

“No, that’s not—I wasn’t—“ Carlos huffs in frustration and T.K. tries to read the look on his face without success.

“Baby, what is it?”

Carlos looks down at his hands and mumbles something that T.K. doesn’t catch. “What?” he asks, confusion and concern clouding his happy back-to-work buzz.

Carlos sighs and meets his gaze, embarrassment all over his face. “I said, I missed you.”

T.K. softens at these words. “You came all the way over here because you missed me?”

“It’s stupid,” Carlos says, his discomfort at this vulnerable admission written into every line of his body.

“No,” T.K. says, scooching a little closer to him. “No, baby, no. It’s not stupid.”

“It is stupid,” Carlos says. “I’m a grown man. I should be able to spend one night without my boyfriend.”

“It’s okay,” T.K. says with a chuckle. “We’ve spent a lot of time together lately. It’s cute that you got lonely without me.”

“This was dumb, I’m gonna go.” Carlos starts to get up, but T.K. catches his hand. 

“No, stay for a little bit.”

Carlos sinks back down reluctantly. “Isn’t everyone coming up soon? It’s late.”

“They’re still cleaning up downstairs. And Judd knows we’re up here. He’ll probably make them give us a few minutes.”

He grabs Carlos’ arm and pulls it around his waist, scooting backward toward the center of the small mattress and pushing against Carlos’ body.

“What are you doing?” Carlos asks in confusion.

“Come on, snuggle me. You drove all the way over here, might as well get some cuddles to remember me by in our bed tonight.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, come on.” T.K. wiggles his butt invitingly until Carlos slides down and spoons him the way he wants. “See? Better already, right?”

Carlos huffs a laugh against the back of T.K.’s neck. It’s a tight fit, both of them on this twin size firehouse mattress, but they squirm around and manage to find a position that’s comfortable enough.  

T.K. waits, feeling Carlos relax against him as the minutes pass uninterrupted. His own eyes feel a little heavy; it would be so easy to fall asleep like this. Sleeping on the couch at his dad’s for months had been devastatingly lonely. At the time he’d tried to pretend it wasn’t; that he was glad there was no room for Carlos when he laid his head down at night. 

But in the months since, he’s recognized how horribly isolating it was. He’d taken a lot of extra shifts because it was easier to sleep in beds that Carlos had never touched. 

These memories stir a thought. “You haven’t been alone at the loft since I came home from the hospital,” T.K. says softly.

He feels Carlos stiffen a little behind him. “Yeah, I guess that’s right.”

“It must have been hard before, all those nights when I wasn’t there,” T.K. says, focusing on every tiny movement and breath happening behind him. In all their many conversations the last few weeks, they’ve mostly talked about what broke them up in the first place and how to keep it from happening again. Carlos has avoided saying much about the actual time they spent apart. T.K. is pushing at a tender spot, one that Carlos has been loathe to talk about in lieu of “moving on” instead. But his boyfriend is here seeking comfort for a reason and T.K. can’t let him go home without uncovering what it is. 

When Carlos doesn’t speak T.K. pushes a little harder. “I had my dad and Mateo, but you were there all by yourself.”

“We don’t have to talk about this.”

There’s tension in Carlos’ voice and T.K. awkwardly rolls over until they’re facing each other, refusing to back down. “Did you talk to anyone? All those months apart? Have you told anyone how that felt?”

The lines of Carlos’ brow are tight, like he’s struggling to keep his feelings tucked down deep inside of him. “It’s in the past T.K.”

“If it’s in the past, then why are you here?” he asks, keeping his voice gentle.

Carlos swallows, his eyes closing like he’s in pain. There’s a long moment of quiet and T.K. wonders if he’s going to have to let it drop for tonight. But then, “You were gone. There was no one to tell,” Carlos finally says.

That’s what he’d been afraid of. Carlos hadn’t told his family, T.K. already knew that. And he’s far too polite a person to air his grievances to any of their friends, especially since most of them are also T.K.’s colleagues. T.K. is his person. The one he feels safe with. When T.K. walked out of that loft he hadn’t just left Carlos, he’d taken his entire support system with him.

“I’m here. Tell me now,” he says. “Please?”

Carlos’ eyes drop to the third or fourth button down on T.K.’s uniform shirt, the words too difficult to say to his face. “Those nights were awful,” he tells the button. “I would lie in bed, hating myself for pushing you away, furious at you for leaving me. I was—god—I was so lonely, T.K. I wanted you back so damn much it hurt.

He finally lifts his eyes a little and they look haunted, like mentally he’s reliving those awful, dark hours. “I know this isn’t the same. I know you’re just here at work, but sitting there in the quiet tonight, all by myself…”

“It felt like I’d left you all over again,” T.K. finishes for him.

“Yeah, kind of.” His mouth twists and he shifts uncomfortably. “I know this isn’t the same thing. I kept telling myself I’d see you in the morning, but I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t stop thinking and I just…I wanted to see you.”

“You can always come see me. If you need that reassurance, I will give it to you.”

T.K. takes Carlos’ hand and kisses it before pressing it over his heart, pounding forcefully with grief over mistakes and lost time beneath his ribs. His other hand he secures on Carlos’ hip, his thumb moving back and forth soothingly. “I am here,” he says firmly. “I am coming home to you. Every day. And every night. From now on. You’re not alone in that loft anymore, Carlos. I might not be there all the time, but I will always want to be. It’s our home. I don’t want it to feel like anything else ever again.”

Carlos gives him a lopsided smile. “Me neither.

“Come here.”

He pulls Carlos into his arms, holding him tightly. The tones go off and Carlos tries to let him go but T.K. tucks him in tighter. “It’s just fire, not us,” he says, feeling slightly guilty that he’s glad his teammates are running back to work because it means no one is going to bother them for awhile. 

They stay curled up together for so long, that T.K. wonders if Carlos is going to go back to sleep. But finally he pulls back, his body relaxed and loose. “Better?” T.K. asks.

Carlos nods. “Yes. Thank you.” His gaze turns more serious, assessing. “How are you? Are you feeling all right? How’s the shift been?”

T.K. chuckles. “I’m not the one who fell asleep in my boyfriend’s work bunk. Yes, I’m fine. The shift has been amazing. I missed this so much.”

“You haven’t gotten lightheaded or dizzy? You’re not too tired?”

“No. Not even a little.”

“Good,” Carlos says, relief smoothing out the last of the lines that crease his brow. “I know I’m being selfish, wanting to keep you home with me, but I really am glad you’re back. That all of you are back. It was nice to walk in and see the whole crew together again.”

“Yeah,” T.K. agrees, a warm bloom in his chest.

“I should get going,” Carlos says. “You need to get at least a little sleep tonight.”

“Come on. Since my dad is gone we can raid the secret candy stash before you go. I’ll even let you have some of my Sour Patch Kids.”

Carlos wrinkles his nose as T.K. pulls him to his feet. “I don’t know how you can stand those things.”

“They’re delicious! First they’re sour, then they’re sweet!”

“It’s almost midnight. Didn’t you have cake earlier too? Please tell me you ate a vegetable at dinner.”

[sukunas-princess]

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Wakatoshi calls for Tobio to give him another ball, but Tobio's fingers curl firmly around it instead, keeping it close to his chest.

It isn't uncommon to find the two still in the gym after practice, perfecting their serves and spikes while the other Adlers are with loved ones.

But tonight isn't like the other nights.

Tobio has never seen Wakatoshi like this.

He watches in silence as Wakatoshi shuts his eyes before lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. His chest is heaving, and Tobio wants to ask him when’s the last time he drank something, but he already knows the answer. His water bottle hasn’t been touched since Tobio went to refill them, and that was over two hours ago.

And while it’s true he’s becoming more analytical with his attacks with every passing day, Wakatoshi shouldn't be practicing this hard. He's putting unneccessary strain on his body right now. He won't be able to focus tomorrow if his body and mind are too exhausted. He needs to rest.

Tobio can't believe what he's saying. While he would love nothing more than to practice late into the night with someone who finally gets him, to become even stronger than they already are…

He doesn't want it like this.

Wakatoshi is hurting.

From what, Tobio doesn't know.

But they'll get nowhere while he's like this.

"We should stop for now. We have to rest for the tourna--"

Tobio flinches when Wakatoshi roars from across the court to just give. him. the damn. ball.

They stare at each other for a moment, before Wakatoshi bends over to catch his breath. He glares at the ground, sweat stinging his eyes before he tries to wipe it away with the back of his hand.

Tobio’s right. He needs to stop. His thighs have been burning for almost an hour now and he’s only keeping himself up by pure anger at this point.

But he’s safe here.

They've both been at it since early afternoon, and while everything in his body is screaming at him to stop, he can’t find it in him to.

At least this way in the gym, he's safe.

Tobio wouldn’t understand it though, so there’s no point in trying to explain it. He’d just start shouting that he’s being stupid and to let it go.

But god, this isn’t Tobio’s fault. None of this is Tobio’s fault. He’s only telling the truth and trying to help and here he is being a complete ass and yelling.

And Wakatoshi croaks out an apology.

But it's too late.

Wakatoshi's blood throbs in his veins and his heartbeat pounds in his ears, but the sound of Tobio's disappointment in him is even louder.

When Wakatoshi looks up again, Tobio avoids eye contact with him, walking straight past him and to his duffel bag on the bench.

"I'm going home," He tells Wakatoshi calmly, sliding his jacket on, "And you need to go home too. You won't be of any use to us tomorrow if you run yourself into the ground."

Wakatoshi swallows hard as Tobio slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and finally turns around to look at him. He searches his best friend's eyes for some sort of empathy, but all he’s met with is coldness.

But that doesn’t stop him from trying again.

"Tobio, I'm sor--"

"No, you know what? Save it!" Tobio snaps, strangling the strap of his duffel bag with both his hands, "I don't know what's got you acting like this all of a sudden, but you need to figure it out before you jeopardize the team."

Wakatoshi shuts his eyes, shame filling his chest because how the fuck did it get to be this bad? What in the actual fuck is happening to him right now?

This isn't who he is. He’s always been a pillar for every team he’s been on and here he is having a complete breakdown over the thought of having to be alone with his thoughts. He needs to be strong for his team right now. They're all counting on him.

And as the door groans shut with Tobio’s departure, Wakatoshi’s worst fear is now a reality.

He’s now alone. No more disctractions for the day. No early morning run, no work-out, no warm-ups, no practice with the Adlers, and now, no Tobio.

He fucking hates this part.

His throat screams at him for some sort of relief, and it's only then that he goes to get his water bottle on the bench. He downs half of it in one go before collapsing onto the bench and reaching for his phone, and the glaring white numbers on his lockscreen confirm that Tobio is right.

It’s late. Almost midnight. He needs to go home and rest so he doesn’t ruin the team’s chances tomorrow.

But how can he?

He knows what's going to happen as soon as he gets home. It's only going to be thoughts of you. It’s been like that almost every night for two weeks and he hates himself for being this weak. At least during the day, there’s other people around, but at home? There’s nothing there waiting for him. He has to come back to his apartment every fucking night, trying to fight off thoughts of you until sleep takes him.

And as he absentmindedly swipes through his notifications, Wakatoshi wheezes out a chuckle when he gets to the bottom, because what are the fucking chances?

Toshi! You're probably asleep right now, so I’m sooo so so so sorry if this wakes you up. But if I don’t ask now I’m going to forget lol

But do you want to have lunch with me later this week? We found this really neat sandwich shop you might like! 🥰 You can put all sorts of protein on yours!!

His thumbs hover above the screen as he thinks of how to respond. Yes? No? A thumbs up?

Sweat drops glitter across the screen as he types up his reply.

Sounds good! :-)

Sounds good.

Sounds good?????

He's so stupid.

He's so stupid for using old school smiley faces.

He's so stupid for deciding two months ago to go out to eat with friends. He's so stupid for trying to cram himself into the tiny booth next to you while Kotarou was on your other side.

He's so stupid for awkwardly asking you questions all night, thinking it was going swimmingly between the two of you.

He's so stupid for exchanging numbers with you.

He's so stupid for not asking why you were there in the first place - having to find out at the end of the night through Tobio that Kotarou and you had been dating for over five months now.

And he's so, so stupid for falling for you.

But how can he ever say no to you?

How can he try to just move past it when you've awakened something in him that he's never felt before?

How can he deny his heart and his soul something that it so desperately wants?

And as he sits there on the cold metal bench, shoving his face into his palms and your own face becoming a kaleidoscope behind his eyelids, his heart has become too loud to ignore.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

© all writing owned by sukunas-princess. do not copy, translate, plagiarize, share outside of tumblr, etc. heart divider by @/roseschoices. support banner made by me, sukunas-princess.

[bookishdaze]

Greek Mythology in Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes

How will Noa's story be remembered by future generations of apes?

Caesar is remembered by the apes as a sort of mythic, god-like figure. An ape whose story has been passed down for generations to the point where many apes are familiar with the legend of Caesar, even if the true story has been distorted throughout time.

The movies utilize famous myths, legends, and stories that we are all familiar with, or have at least heard of, to create the legend of Caesar, and now Noa.

In the Caesar trilogy, Caesar is a Moses figure for the apes, who we know freed his people, taking them to the promised lands. We should all at least recognize the name Hamlet, one of Shakespeare's plays, that Dawn is loosely based on. In some versions, the angel Lucifer rebelled against God because he refused to bow down to mankind. In Dawn, Koba rebelled against Caesar because he refused to help humans, or mankind. And we all know what happened to Lucifer after betraying God.

We know these stories. They're familiar, even now that they're hundreds or thousands of years old.

So what famous stories will the writers use so that Noa's story is remembered by apes centuries later?

Well, Kingdom had an ape named Noa, who saved his people from a flood, and there was even a giant boat in the background. Okay, Noah and the Flood. That one's obvious.

What about some Greek mythology?

The Myth of Icarus and Daedalus

If you don't know how the myth of Icarus and Daedalus goes, there's still a very good chance you've heard of the saying, "He flew too close to the sun."

In a very brief nutshell, Daedalus, an inventor, built some wings for him and his son, Icarus. They put on these wings to fly away and escape King Minos, who is holding them prisoner. Daedalus warns his son not to fly too close to the sun because the wax will melt, but Icarus doesn't listen, and he falls to his death.

I found some similarities to the myth of Icarus and Daedalus in Kingdom. Whether this is what the writers actually intended or not, I don't know for sure, but this is mainly for fun, and I wanted to share!

Before I get started, I want to thank @iamtotallycool because she pointed out similarities to other Greek myths after I shared with her my initial thoughts, and I will later point out which ones she came up with. Thank you for listening to my ramblings on discord, lol.

Noa as Icarus

Noa reminds me of Icarus, the man who flew too high and fell to his death. Noa is the first to climb above Top Nest, so this means he went higher than any of the other apes in his clan. He is soaring above the others, reaching new and dangerous heights.

Noa decides to go higher, wonderfully displaying his ingenuity by using some old rebar to swing himself up a wall that should've been impossible to climb. This reminds me of Daedalus using his inventions to help him fly, something considered impossible.

But after Noa reaches the nest, higher than any ape before him, what happens right after? He falls.

In a deleted scene after the egg climb, Soona tells Noa that since he is the first above Top Nest, that makes him special, and maybe his eagle will be sun-colored, like his father's eagle, Sun.

And right after Noa literally falls into Raka's home, the wise orangutan says to himself in amusement:

"Apes falling from the sky."

Here's a fun detail. Remember that mural Noa looks at? On the far left side, if you squint, you can see a person with wings.

I actually have a theory as to how Noa could fly in future movies that I'll link at the end!

Noa as Daedalus

Not only does Noa remind me of Icarus, but he also reminds me of Daedalus. Daedalus was a skillful architect and inventor, who built the Labyrinth for King Minos, where the legendary Minotaur lived.

We see the beginnings of Noa's architect side. He stays up late at night to fix both the fish rack and the electric staff. When Proximus (King Minos) learns of how Noa (Daedalus) fixed the staff, he tells Noa that he has use for clever apes like him, as if he wanted to use Noa's intelligence to help him achieve instant eeevolution. This reminds me of how King Minos uses Daedalus' intelligence to build him the Labyrinth.

And just like Daedalus who built the wings to escape King Minos, Noa devises a plan to flood the vault for him and Eagle Clan to escape Proximus.

Trevathan is also like Daedalus in this story, who is trapped by the king, building and creating for him. Daedalus built the Labyrinth for King Minos, and Trevathan built the electric staffs for Proximus.

Fathers and Sons

Daedalus warns his son to be careful. To not fly too low, for the water will get his wings wet, and to not fly too high, for the sun will melt the wax from his wings. But Icarus doesn't listen, rushing to surpass the father.

This reminds me of how Noa feels a lot of pressure from his father Koro, wanting to make his father proud by telling him that he was the only one of his friends who climbed above Top Nest. Instead of praise, however, Koro reprimands him for breaking some other rule, telling him to stay away from where he is forbidden to go.

Theseus and the Labyrinth

@iamtotallycool pointed out how Kingdom also has similarities to the myth of Theseus, the Labyrinth, and the Minotaur.

The Labyrinth is an underground maze on the island of Crete where the monstrous Minotaur lives. Every year, King Minos requires sacrifices from other kingdoms for the Minotaur to eat. Theseus, son of King Aegeus, sets out to kill the Minotaur. Princess Ariadne, King Minos' daughter, helps Theseus to navigate the Labyrinth, and gives him a ball of yarn to help him make his way back so he doesn't get lost.

This reminds me of how Proximus (King Minos) steals clans (the sacrifices) for the expansion of his kingdom and to get the vault open, so Noa (Theseus) uses the help of Mae (Ariadne) to navigate the vault (Labyrinth) in order to destroy what is inside (Minotaur).

During the scene where Noa and Sylva have their final battle, Noa has to run through the twists and turns of the vault, similar to a maze, while he is being chased by Sylva, similar to how the Minotaur battled Theseus. Sylva is even big and burly like the Minotaur!

Ok, So What Does This Mean?

Alright, so now that we pointed out some of the similarities, what could this all mean? It's one thing to point out the similarities, but why these stories in particular? What is the message? What could this mean for Noa? Assuming this is even what the writers intended, we can only speculate, so this final bit is mainly fun theorizing.

Due to his hubris, Icarus flies too close to the sun, leading to his death. Could Noa develop his own hubris that leads him to his downfall, or takes him down a darker path?

The myth of Icarus can also be seen as a cautionary tale of the dangers of technology if not used carefully. Technology can be useful and improve lives, but what if it falls into the wrong hands? What if one is too overconfident with it, not realizing the bad it can do before it's too late?

Proximus couldn't get his hands on human technology, for he would've used it to hurt other apes. What about Noa, though? Now that Noa starts to learn how human tech like electricity works, what if he starts to bring forth technological innovations for the apes? What if he starts out trying to use it to improve the lives of apes, but he ends up using it for bad? Or what if other apes take his ideas and use it for their own advantage? The path to hell is paved with good intentions, as they say.

And this one's more for fun, but what if Noa were to actually fly? If you wanna read more of my ramblings, here is my theory on Noa taking flight. (Hint: It involves airplanes).

In Conclusion

If you made it all the way to the end, thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun coming up with these ideas and speculating, and I hope you had fun reading this as well. If you have any thoughts or ideas, feel free to share!

[howlingday]

jaune is spiderman au) jaune confronts the red huntress while having to be on a call with his grandpa who keeps telling him that since he's a superhero he should be pulling more bitches, like that red huntress lady! she's hot as hell and totally into him. or that iron fist girl with the gauntlets! she's stacked as hell! or even that reaper girl, she's cute enough! maybe the mercenary chick weiss? or that asguardian girl nora! he could totally pull a goddess of thunder! he just needs to have confidence and ask them out. huntsman is regretting answering the phone on speaker mode

Chapter 3 - Greater Responsibility

Today was not Jaune's day, for more than one reason. To start off, he found out he was failing some of his classes. Adding to that, he was caught up in some schoolyard teasing and was forced into a curfew, wherein he was to stay on schoolgrounds for the next two weeks. Thankfully, Professor Ozpin was kind enough to allow Jaune to attend the school fieldtrip to the Vale Police Department, which was perfect because although Jaune Arc was grounded, the same could not be said for

THE HUNTSMAN SPIDER!

Sneaking off from the group to go to the bathroom, Jaune was able to sneak his way around to find the evidence room. Now he just needed to figure out how to-

"HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE?!"

"Ack!" Jaune whirled around to find a woman in a white uniform, glaring down the hall at him. "S-Sorry! I was just looking for the bathroom!"

"Bull!" She spat. "This isn't some playground, kid! This is a police station, and unauthorized access is punishable pretty severely!"

"Um, I-"

"Just let him go, Bree." A man behind her said with a shrug. "Not like he was hurting anyone. Here, kid, I'll tell ya where to go."

The woman sneered, hissing under her breath. "You got lucky, kid."

'Lucky is right.' Jaune watched the woman stomp away. He looked to the man who had a more relaxed visage. 'These uniforms don't look like police.'

"Um, excuse me, but are you not police officers?"

"That's right." The man nodded. "We're specialists from Atlas. We're here on a special project with the police. You didn't hear it from me, but there's a lot of nasty business going on in town, and Atlas is itching to get in there and help out our friendly neighbors in Vale." Suddenly, the man's eyes took on a darker tone to match his words. "So don't go starting any trouble tonight."

Jaune gulped. "Er, yes, sir."

"Great! See ya round, kid!" Having completed escorting Jaune back to the restrooms, the man walked away with the same grin he wore when he met Jaune. Something about him made Jaune's spider-sense flare up. Though not as much as-

"MISTER ARC!" Professor Goodwitch shouted. "Need I remind you that you are on CURFEW for your misconduct?" A couple of student giggled at how Jaune shrunk into himself. So far, the only win Jaune had was the location of the evidence room. It wasn't much, but it was at least something to start with, right?

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

"You're going out tonight, too?"

"Yeah." Pyrrha nodded, pulling out her new outfit. Black wasn't able to convince her to stop, so the two agreed to help The Red Huntress become a proper vigilante. Tonight, Pyrrha would begin another night of patrolling with Black and learn the ropes. Whether or not ropes were actually included, Pyrrha wasn't sure. "Just for a few hours."

"Are you sure you can trust this guy?" Nora asked, watching Pyrrha put her arm into the sleeve. "For all we know, he could be a pervert trying to kidnap you."

"I don't think so." Pyrrha shook her head. "Something about the way they spoke about the White Fang made me think that they meant what they said."

"Well, if you need me, I'm gonna be hanging out with Ren tonight." Nora shook her scroll. "Just give me a call and I will drop everything to come help you!"

Pyrrha giggled. "I appreciate the offer, Nora, but I don't think I'll be needing it."

"Buuut~?"

"But if I do need help, you will be the first one I call."

"Aw, thank you~!"

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

"Is Jaune going to call again tonight?"

"Mhm."

"You should really tell him the truth, you know."

"Mm."

"Will you at least tell him his grandma loves him?"

"...'course, honey."

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

"Hey, Grandpa!" Jaune said into his earpiece.

"Evenin', Jaune," his grandfather replied, "you just missed your grandma. She love you, y'know."

"I know, Grandpa, and I love her, too."

"So, what mischief are you up to tonight?"

"I'm not up to any mischief, Grandpa." Jaune answered. It wasn't so much mischief tonight as it was a misdemeanor. Or maybe it was a felony. He hoped it was the former.

"Oh, really? So there's no plan to break into police headquarters at all?" Jaune was quiet all of a sudden. "I'm retired, Jaune, but I still have friends on the force. They said there was a kid who went wandering away from his class. I take it that was you?"

"Um... I please the fifth?"

"Plead, Jaune, and that's only in court. Y'ain't been arrested yet." The two Arcs shared a laugh. "Speakin' of pleasin', any chance of you bringing a girl over for the holidays?"

"I'm not really looking for a date, Grandpa."

"And that's why you're up to mischief in the middle of the night. Wouldn't happen if you had a girl to keep you company."

"That's not true."

"Oh, yeah? Where's your roommate?"

"He's back in the dorm, hanging out with his-" Jaune stopped talking, partially because he was unsure of the two's relationship status, and also because he knew he was walking into a trap. He didn't need spider-sense to see that. "Back in the dorm."

"Uh-huh. Y'know, I hear there's a vigilante group out there. Maybe you could join up with them?"

"Really? This is the first I'm hearing about it."

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

"I'm in." Black softly said as Pyrrha dropped in behind them. "...Roger." They turned to their red-headed pupil. "Your form could use some work."

"Any pointers?" Pyrrha asked.

Black placed a finger to their covered mouth. Pyrrha's eyes widened and pursed her own mouth shut. Down below, a few police officers milled about, working the late shift on little more than coffee. Pyrrha followed behind Black, noting how they walked with big strides starting on the heel and rolling to their toes. Pyrrha noted how her costume, no longer her normal fit of just red goggles and a cape and now tightly hugging fit of a red body suit covered by light yet sturdy polymer that flexed as she moved, all courtesy of Black's partner, Fencer.

Fencer, for their part, seemed much more animated than Black, making gestures and vocally exasperating. They wore a white fencing outfit that made her digitally camouflaged while moving, completed by a shaded helmet and voice modifier. She was polite to Pyrrha, but would often chide the other members, notably the other two on communications with Black. She'd yet to meet them, but Pyrrha assumed she had yet to earn her keep on the team. Less chance of exposing everyone that way.

Black came to a stop at a corner, holding up her hand with the palm facing out. A low growl came from them, putting Pyrrha at unease. She leaned a bit closer out and saw someone moving around in the evidence room. Black gave Pyrrha a glance then shifted her hand into a pointing two fingers and waved the pointed digits at door. Pyrrha nodded and approached.

Getting close to the door, she tenderly touched the door handle.

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

'Spider-sense going off?' Jaune thought, his body tensing. 'But I don't see anyone.'

Jaune knew better than to doubt his ability and ducked down.

He'd found what he needed already. Since the murder was recent, Snipe Hunt's evidence was readily available. The bullets found at the scene of the crime came from a 500 magnum, more hand-cannon than pistol, but still easy to carry concealed. His grandpa had one, and he even let Jaune fire a couple rounds. Guns were never his thing anyways. It couldn't have been him, but who else could have fired a gun like this? This was a question to ask later when he wasn't under attack.

"No point in hiding." A familiar voice came. "We already got your little friend."

'Little friend?' Jaune thought. Nobody was with Jaune when he came in. That meant...

"I'm gonna count to three, and I want you to walk out, nice and slow. One. Two."

Jaune opened the door, finding the man from before holding a tied-up woman under his boot. She was wearing a red cape, red bodysuit, and red goggles. The only thing that wasn't red was the light brown armor on her chest. Keeping his hands up, he pushed the door and walked out.

"Oh, so you're that vigilante that's been skulking around lately?" The man said with a bemused grin. "Was wondering when I'd get to see ya." He pressed down on the woman, making her grunt. The wire wrapped around her pulled taut, making her whine.

"Stop!" Jaune stepped forward, holding his hand out.

"Stop?"

"Look-" Before Jaune could speak any further, he felt something tug against his leg.

"Look? Stop and look? Sounds like something you should have done a long time ago."

Spider-sense throbbed like crazy. It felt like there was danger everywhere now. He noticed a gleam and realized there was wire everywhere, thin strands all closing in on him. Keeping his arms up, he was ironically nabbed in a web like spider silk. However, the way in which was caught only surrounded his upper body, thanks to him ducking just in time with one leg bent and the other extended behind him. It started to burn as muscle began to stretch like they hadn't been before.

"Hm." The man hummed. "Wasn't expecting you to be that quick." Jaune pushed himself to both feet, wires sliding up and digging into his gut. "Good thing I've got a friend who's quicker."

Jaune charged, arms held up to cover his face, only to be knocked down by something moving as fast as lightning. He rolled on the ground and stood up, only to be knocked down again. Roll, stand, knock down. He rolled a third time, stood a third time, and turned on his heel catching the lightning bolt off-guard. Turning his body in mid-air, he crashed into the woman in the white uniform from before.

"Get off me!" She shouted, trying to push Jaune off. In the struggle, the wires slid up over Jaune's arms but caught themselves on each other, making the strands tighter and harder to move than before. Jaune suddenly felt his spider-sense go off again, this time focusing on behind. He tried to move, but the woman underneath him kept him held in place.

SHIKT-KREEEEEE!

Something sharp tore through Jaune's bindings, almost digging into his suit. He heard an awful screech against the back-plate of his armor. However, this was Jaune's chance as shoved both arms out, smashing his fists into the woman's chest, knocking her hard into the ground and Jaune to his feet.

"Finally, some breathing room." Jaune sighed. "Next time, try pizzas WITHOUT anchovies."

The woman, furious, spun to her feet and bolted for Jaune. However, as she charged head-to-head, he was able to dodge to the side. There was a loud crash as the woman tripped over something and slammed into the wall. He looked behind him and winced.

"Sorry about that." He offered to the unconscious woman. He turned his attention to the man in white. "So, was that enough for you?"

"Yeah, it was."

"Huh?" Then the man let go of the wire and backed away from the vigilante woman. The wires came loose enough for her to pull off. "That's it? You're just... letting us go?"

"Yeah. I've seen enough." He reached to his collar and spoke into it. "This is Specialist Ebi. Exercise complete. Recovering Specialist Bree for treatment." There was a beep and a response from the other side of the radio. "Looks like it's your lucky day, kid." The man known as Ebi said as he walked over to the woman known as Bree. "But that lucks gonna run out in about three days."

"Three days?" The red woman said. "What happens in three days?"

"Nothing too special, but, uh, if I were you, I'd hang up those costumes and let the big kids have their fun."

"Big kids?" Jaune asked. The woman then gasped.

"Atlas..."

"Lucky guess." He picked up Bree. "Hopefully your luck keeps rolling. Because eventually," he turned the corner, but not before saying, "your luck's gonna run out."

Jaune stood there, his body tense. There was no spider-sense to warn him of danger. No, this fear was something far away, yet close enough to bypass his senses. Shivering out his fear, he reached down and helped up the woman.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." She said. "He just... caught me by surprise."

"Careful with the puns." Jaune jokingly warned. "I know... a guy who likes puns enough to fight for them."

"I'm sure you do." She brushed herself off. "You seem... familiar. Have we met before?"

"Uh, nope, I can't say I've ever met a woman in a red skinsuit." Then a thought came to his head. "Say, uh, do you want to team up? This Atlas thing in three days might be some big trouble. Y'know, strength in numbers and all that?"

"Well-"

"Red." Jaune turned to see his 'friend' from the bank.

"Oh. So you're with them?"

"Do you... know each other?" The woman asked.

"Now." The figure growled.

"I'll... let you go." Jaune stepped away. Walking down the hall to the room with the window he entered. Along the way, he passed the mysterious figure in black. "Go easy on her. It's her first day, right?" Jaune got a glare in response, making him walk faster.

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

"And what happened next?" Nora asked, interrupting herself to scrub her teeth.

"Then Black was quiet for 20 minutes." Pyrrha said, from the doorway. "You ever have that friend who's mad at you, but doesn't say anything to let you know they're mad?"

Nora spat into the sink. "Nope~! Renny and me are so close, we can practically read each other's minds~!"

"I can almost believe that." Pyrrha said with a giggle. Her mind then began to wander. The vigilante who saved her. He was sturdy, but there was also a kindness to him. Something of a gentle giant. A smile crept to her face as she imagined teaming up with him.

"Ooh~! Thinking about Jaune again~?"

"Huh?" Pyrrha blinked. "Er, y-yes. Yes, I think I was."

[eulaliasims]

Shep round 1, 2/2

Shep invited Derelei over to share their dinner, and she brought along another friend, Cian. It makes for a pleasant evening--this must be the highest Shep's social bar has been all spring.

Cian: Are you two excited for the spring festival tomorrow?

Shep: I don't know much about it yet.

Derelei: Oh, it's lots of fun. Dancing, food, too much drinking. You should come and we can dance together!

Unfortunately, after her friends left Shep ran outside to stomp some mysteriously appearing roaches before I could stop her. In the rain, no less. Congratulations on starting our first potential plague, Shep! 👍

Shep: Does this mean I have to miss the festival? :(

I mean, I don't know if you know germ theory yet, but I do, so yes.

I decided to take pity on her, since it's the first round and also I wanted to test the festival lot. Yes, yes, Helenet is very pretty.

Helenet: I heard from the boss that you're under the weather, Shep?

Shep: Ah, yeah, it's just a little nagging cough and fever and a little bit of diarrhea. Look at me, I'm still up and at 'em!

Helenet: ...um, right. Drink this; it's one of my family's best tisanes for the flu. Sorry, um, but I've got to go get Angus from Eisu. Also, no offense, I don't really want to bring your sickness back to Angus.

Shep: Yeah, got it. Hey, does this taste any good or?

Helenet: No.

Shep: Aw.

Shep: Bottoms up! ...Huh, this tastes like... blue raspberry? A thing that exists only a thousand, thousand years from now? Weird.

Shep gets to put on her fancy dress and met up with Derelei after all!

Derelei: Yup, no fever... just some beautiful eyes.

Shep: Eheheh--

Helenet seems pleased to see Shep having a good time and not coughing germs all over the place.

Spotted: Eisu and his brother Elmet instructing Helenet in the finer art of skittles; and I think the two Seax sister have both overindulged with the mead.

Shep manages to upset the full water basin when she's washing up for bed, which is a nice cherry on top of an up and down round.

But summer is here, and the wheat is continuing to grow, with (thankfully) no more Sheep Incidents. Soon, Shep can set her plan into motion:

Step 1: harvest wheat

Step 2: ??????

Step 3: sell beer and become, if not fabulously, then comfortably wealthy! Just gotta figure out that middle step.

[daemonwritesstuff]

AEGON II & HIS BELOVED AELLARA TARGARYEN

A/N: this is yet another trade with my best bud @sugutoad !! I’m so happy to do yet another one of these and I hope I did this one with justice (I think I’m just gonna go dig up a hole and die in there once this is posted 🧍) but I will forever be grateful to do so many matchups with ya 😭❤️ here ya go! and yes this is aegon x anna’s OC!

It was a peaceful evening for the two couples Aegon and Aellara, they spend their nights together in each other rooms or someone deep into the night with no one around, it was just them together in the world.

 Aellara and Aegon’s relationship was a secret, no one knew about them only his family did, including his sister-wife Helaena, she understood their situation and aware of how in love they were, she wouldn’t interfere with them…

One night where Aellara and Aegon usually met up frequently, this time they were in his own chambers… When Aegon and Aellara are in each others arms she decides to ask a question to her beloved and it was a very simple question that no one should really be upset about, she asked the boy “Are we ever gonna be together?” Aegon got out of her arms in confusion, why was she asking such a question?

“Of course we are…” Aegon assured her but it really wouldn’t last long and the tension started getting more stronger, Aellara was losing her hope… her thoughts kept bugging her, telling herself that maybe this love was not meant to be.

She had said it out loud… not knowing that Aegon was still with her, he got up and started yelling at her… telling her that they will be together but Aellara is sick of hearing the same thing, if Aegon really loves her and wants her then wouldn’t he do something about this marriage he was in and finally be with her?

“I… I don’t think this was meant to be…” she said as she let out her sobs, her pain, everything single horrible thing she has ever thought of, she let all of it out during this breakdown, before Aegon could even say a word she unstably got up, lifted her dress and started running away sobbing, Aegon’s soul was screaming at him to tell his guards to go after her, to stop her, but the words… nothing could come out of his mouth as his heart kept putting pressure on him and he started crying.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

It’s been a few days since he was last spoken to Aellara, she has not spoken face to face with him recently and he began to grow anxious, waiting for her to come back to him so he can be in the comfort of her arms, the real place he called “home”.

He decided to use his sword and start attacking a wooden statue (meant for using swords) to let out his anger, Criston just happened to be waking by and stopped by and asked Aegon if he wanted to duel with him, and without a doubt he did… this lasted for a few hours until Aegon has gotten tired and decided to sit down.

Aegon told Criston how he can make it up to his beloved, Aellara… how he can fix things with her once again, it took Criston a few moments to figure out something and tell him, he told him that he can invite her somewhere she wants to go, no questions or anything, just to take her. He also added that he can divorce Helaena somehow and try to plead to his mother to let him marry Aellara.

Aegon who listened to Cristons words decided to do exactly what he said, he had got the cooks to pack him and his mistress a meal, one of his liking and of her liking so he can make it up to her, after the meals have been cooked and brought to him Aegon bumps into Aellara and tells her to come with him and he has a surprise, she was a little bit suspicious of what he was doing but never declined, just giving short answers like “Ok”.

He wanted to take her dragon to go and eat but Aellara took a liking to his dragon and insisted that she would like to go on his dragon, he could never decline anything his beloved wanted, so he decided to take her on Sunfyre and fly off to the destination he planned to take her.

Once they arrive they got to a garden that they both enjoyed going to here and there for dates, it was also the same garden he also took her to on his first date with her. They start talking like they normally do and after some time after talking there’s a silence, but Aellara decides to break that silence and lean over to kiss him, and then Aegon gives her a few pecks back and they both smile sweetly to each other.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

After their pleasant little picnic they enjoyed Aegon takes her to go walk up a hill, enjoying the view of the sunset, he tells her “Do you ever wanna just run away?” Aellara giggles at his silly question and jokes back with him, causing him to start joking back with her and telling her (terrible) jokes that make her crack up.

After they stop laughing at some point Aellara decided to tell him something that she needed to tell him (before the argument never happened) but she was nervous to, after getting him to listen to her she decided to tell him that she is with a child…

His smile fell, but after a few seconds his smile came back and he picked her up and started spinning her around in joy and starts celebrating a little that he’s gonna have a child with her! But he sooner realizes that the child might be a bastard and is worried about how she’ll react, but Aellara reassures him that she doesn’t care as long has their child has their father with them in their life.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

After Aegon heads back he immediately tries to talk with his parents and his grandfather, Otto Hightower. Aegon immediately tells them that he wants a divorce with Helaena and to let him marry Aellara, she was also of his blood too and it would strengthen more of the bond more.

Viserys refuses this at first because of their traditions and tells him that he shouldn’t try to do that, to keep the tradition going and he focuses on his legos after that 💀. On the other hand with Alicent and Otto also persist and they start bringing up the history of the Dawn’s Empire between House Dayne and House Targaryen (which was kind of stupid to compare that to…)

But after some time, Viserys will allow him to marry Aellara and get divorced with Helaena (much to his sisters joy, she can finally be free from being queen and go back to focusing more on her insects).

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

After some months, Aellara and Aegon are officially married! They got married in the way of Old Valyria since it would strengthen them more through soul and no one would be able to separate them at all, not even the gods.

Their party was amazing and so much fun, lavish but the room was filled with joy, there was a lot of singing, talking and dancing, there was no bad stuff happening at all, all anxiety and fear was gone, it was a refresh for a better life they were about to have. Aellara and Aegon were made for each other and no one could ever separate them, no matter how much they try.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

PR disaster p.2

Hey guyss, since you liked part 1 and I love Franco I decided to do part 2. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do and if you want to read more of my stories here's my masterlist :)

Y/N stood in front of her bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection as she tugged nervously at the hem of her dress. Why on earth was she nervous? This was just a deal—a professional arrangement. She had agreed to go on this ridiculous date with Franco purely to keep him in check. There was no reason for her stomach to be doing flips or for her hands to be fidgeting like she was a teenager going on her first date.

“Get it together,” she muttered to herself, giving her reflection one last once-over.

Her dress was simple but elegant, a deep blue that she usually wore to events where she needed to look put together. Neutral. Not too flirty, not too casual. And yet, as she looked at herself, she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—she had spent a little extra time getting ready.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at her own ridiculousness. "It’s just Franco," she whispered, trying to remind herself who this date was with. That thought should’ve made her relax, but instead, it only made her heart race faster.

Just then, the sound of a knock at her door pulled her out of her thoughts. She took a deep breath, smoothing down her dress once more before heading to answer.

When she opened the door, there stood Franco, leaning casually against the frame with his signature grin firmly in place. His dark curls were styled perfectly, and his shirt—though slightly unbuttoned at the collar—looked annoyingly well put together. He always managed to toe the line between effortless and way too charming.

Franco’s eyes flicked over her outfit, and for a moment, something softer passed across his expression. "Wow," he murmured, his voice lower than usual. "Te ves… increíble, jefa." (You look … incredible, boss)

Y/N felt the warmth rush to her cheeks before she could stop it. “It’s just a dress,” she said, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible. “And stop calling me ‘jefa.’ We’re off duty.”

Franco’s grin returned in full force, and he leaned in slightly. "Oh, perdón. ¿Debería llamarte hermosa entonces?" (Oh, sorry. ¿Should I call you beautiful instead?)

She blinked, trying to decipher what he had just said before waving a hand dismissively. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Franco chuckled softly, stepping aside and offering his arm with an exaggerated flourish. "As you wish, hermosa." (Beautiful)

She ignored the Spanish this time and brushed past him, pretending not to notice how nice his cologne smelled as they headed out.

The restaurant Franco had chosen was a small, cosy spot in the heart of the city. It was intimate without being too romantic—just a perfect balance. Y/N had to give him credit; she had expected something flashy or over-the-top, but this was… nice.

Throughout dinner, Franco was, unsurprisingly, his usual self. He flirted relentlessly, slipping in compliments in both English and Spanish, leaving Y/N constantly on edge trying to figure out what he was saying. But as much as she tried to keep her usual grumpy exterior, she found herself laughing more than she’d care to admit.

“So,” Franco said, leaning forward, a playful glint in his eyes. “Are you having fun yet, or are you still counting the minutes until this is over?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her wine to hide the smile she couldn’t quite suppress. “It’s… tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Y/N, you wound me. I was hoping for at least ‘moderately enjoyable.’”

She let out a small laugh despite herself, shaking her head. “Fine. Maybe it’s a little fun.”

Franco grinned, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied look. “See? I told you I could be charming.”

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use,” she shot back, though there was no real bite behind her words.

They continued talking, their banter flowing effortlessly between them. Despite Y/N’s initial hesitation, she realized she was actually enjoying herself. Franco, as annoying as he could be, was surprisingly easy to talk to when he wasn’t causing PR disasters.

The evening went by faster than she expected, and by the time they left the restaurant, she couldn’t deny that Franco had managed to wear down her defenses. They walked side by side down the quiet street, the night air cool and refreshing after the warmth of the restaurant.

“You know,” Franco began, his tone a little softer now, “I didn’t just ask you out to make a deal.”

Y/N glanced up at him, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. His usual playful grin was gone, replaced by a sincerity she hadn’t seen before. "I asked you out because… I like you, Y/N. Even when you’re all grumpy and serious, you’re…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Eres increíble. You’re smart, tough, and you don’t let me get away with anything. I like that." (You are incredible)

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Franco took a step closer, his eyes locked on hers. "No tienes idea de cuánto me gustas." (You have no idea how much I like you)

This time, Y/N didn’t need a translation. She understood perfectly, and for the first time, she didn’t push him away.

Franco’s hand reached up, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch soft and lingering. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

But Y/N didn’t want him to stop. Instead, she found herself leaning in, her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes fluttered closed.

And then, Franco’s lips met hers.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, as if he was waiting to see if she’d pull away. But when she didn’t, Franco deepened it, his hand slipping to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Y/N’s arms wrapped around his neck, her earlier grumpiness melting away as she let herself get lost in the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless. Franco smiled down at her, his forehead resting against hers.

"So," he murmured, still slightly out of breath, "I think this date went pretty well, ¿no?"

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

Franco grinned, pressing another quick kiss to her lips. "But you like me anyway."

And, much to her own surprise, Y/N realized he was right. She did.

[luckydicekirby]

would love any director's commentary you may have on The Only True Thing if slightly older fics are on the table here bc lowkey it changed my brain chemistry forever. I read it on a whim like four years ago at 1 in the morning and ever since then I've been hooked on making all my fav pairings miserable for no reason. this sounds like sarcasm but I'm being completely sincere the schadenfreude is exquisite

okay first of all I’m SO glad to hear this because making your favs miserable is I think one of the most rewarding activities on this earth so I’m really glad I could help share that joy. thanks also to sylvain for just making it so easy. anyway, here’s some assorted thoughts, hopefully some of which are edifying!

(the only true thing for reference for anyone playing along at home.)

this fic affectionately named the darkling au due to this tweet which I feel like I should put in a hall of fame someday. anyway this entire thread showcases the origin of this fic which was me catie and lily bullying each other on twitter about sylvix, a pastime left behind in 2019 which i really miss.

the thing that really first made me Crazy Cuckoo about sylvain is his B support with Byleth--I'm obsessed with that moment where he very coldly threatens to kill you and then laughs it off, and that was pretty much the jumping off point for Sylvain's characterization in this au--what if he was like that all the time? answer: it would be bad, but also pretty sexy!

One thing I miss about writing for fe3h is the hero’s relics were sooo nice as like. shortcut symbolism. the lance of ruin comes preloaded for you! It’s familial cycles of violence! Easy! and there's a mechanic for it breaking ALSO preloaded into the game mechanics! I wrote like three versions of the ending and the lance getting busted moved around a bit--it originally happened a little earlier.

For a while when I was still femblempilled I was idly thinking about two sequels to this—a sylvain pov sequel about the war, which would have been fun but also Yikes, and then epistolary dorothea/ingrid ideological divorce fic. sorry to dorothea and ingrid who really get the short end of the stick in this universe.

oh there's a playlist. I can’t claim to have put a ton of thought into it it’s just all my fav bad ya boyfriend songs <3 actually dead girl walking reprise is like. yeah that's the fic.

ANYWAY. I feel like a lot of my commentary on this has been washed away by the sea (the passage of time) so a few extras. I apparently wrote like 400 words of sylvain POV of the training yard scene also? Last edited September 26th 2019, here you go:

Felix has always been smaller him, ever since they were kids. Still is these days, to Sylvain’s delight. He wondered about it plenty, these past two years--maybe Felix had a growth spurt. Maybe he caught up to Dimitri. Maybe Sylvain would meet him at the monastery and they’d see eye to eye. Of course they don’t. Felix is a head shorter than him, and he’ll never see things the way Sylvain does. Still. Sylvain thought about it. He’s had a lot of time to think about Felix since the last time he saw him, since Felix ran away. Still a crybaby at heart, no matter how sure he was he’d grown out of it. Not much has changed, Sylvain figures. Felix might have everyone else fooled with that delightfully sharp-edged exterior of his--a pretty decent feint, Sylvian should know--but Felix can’t hide from him. Sylvain sees him down to the bone. The two of them are a matched set: liars at heart.  Like right now. Felix is trying so hard not to cry, his back to the wall of the training yard, his grip tight around the wood of his training sword like he’s actually going to use it. Sylvain hopes he will. He hasn’t gotten to see Felix fight yet, really fight. He bets he’s gotten better. He bets he’s elegant and controlled—maybe less so with Sylvain, and wouldn’t that be nice? That’s how it goes sometimes, when Sylvain dreams about their last day together. Felix’s sword at his throat, biting and cold, ending all this before it began. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble. Sylvain wouldn’t have had to spend such an awfully long time missing him.  He bets Felix could make him hurt. Nothing seems to do that anymore, except for thoughts of Felix, the ones he can never stop worrying at like a bruise.  Sylvain doesn’t want much these days, and maybe that’s why it’s so hard: he wants Felix in a way that aches, delirious and unstoppable. It doesn’t matter so much how. Felix is welcome to cut him open or kiss him quiet or anything in between. As long as he never stops looking at Sylvain like he is now, hateful and just on the edge of tears, so clearly focused on nothing else. As long as Sylvain can have that, the rest doesn’t matter.  That’s love, Sylvain figures; the cheerful facade he gives the girls is nothing. He forgets about a new one every week. But Felix? He’ll be dead someday, and Felix will still have a grip on his heart, as tight as he’s holding his sword and just as dangerous.

and what exists of the sylvain POV sequel I never wrote:

Felix looks like shit. Of course he’s also beautiful. He’s radiant, for all that his hair’s a mess and his face is drawn and he’s got the kind of dark circles that only come from weeks and weeks of exhaustion. He’s Felix, right? He can’t be anything else. “You look like shit,” Sylvain tells him, because honesty is what Felix thinks he wants from him. He hasn’t seen Felix in six moons, but that probably hasn’t changed. “What are you doing here?” Felix asks. His horse stamps her feet and shakes her head, moving uneasily under him. Felix has never been a good rider. It’s clear he doesn’t appreciate his mare, and she doesn’t appreciate him. Sylvain wonders how long Felix has been making his way across Faerghus like this. He wonders if he stole the horse. It’s awful not to know. “Looking for you,” Sylvain says. “They say you’re searching for the king.” Felix never could stop himself from chasing ghosts. Sylvain hates that about him. It’s just as unfair as everything else: it’s the only reason Sylvain is still here, after all.  “I am. And you should be defending Gautier territory.” “Got a message from your father,” Sylvain lies. He slides off his horse, patting her flank. Felix, clumsily, does the same. “He wants you to come home.” That part’s probably true.  Felix scoffs. “My old man can send all the messages he wants. I’m going to find the boar.” He means it. Sylvain can see that he means it, in the flinty look in his eyes, the fold of his arms, the jut of his chin as he looks up at Sylvain. It’s the saddest thing Sylvain’s ever seen, and he’s seen a lot of shit. “Felix,” he says. He reaches out. He can never help it, not when Felix is like this, not when he believes. Felix doesn’t flinch from Sylvain’s hand on his cheek anymore. “Sweetheart. You know he’s dead.” “Don’t call me that,” Felix says. But when he swings himself back in the saddle and Sylvain does the same, he doesn’t tell Sylvain not to follow. That’s more than good enough. 

[clowncaraz]

Cattle Boy: Performing Masculinity Wrong

Original Medium version here.

Azriel Pierce is a cistrans mascfem Soulgirl who cannot be described as anything but a “Radical Gender Expansionist”.

...

When you are this thing, a cattle boy, they’ll put more weight on you — testing your durability. Seeing if you can handle masculinity and manhood present within it. If you wanted out, you were called emotional and a traitor. You are the meat they eat, you are the dairy they drink — the leather they wear.

...

Masculine World

Masculinity is not one overarching concept. Instead, it varies depending on how the culture views who and what gets to be masculine and how that is presented in language and time. To become a man and be declared a man is a specific form of growth that does not finish, that does not bloom, but grows like nails and vines. Manhood is consistently tried and put on display to criticize in a way that mocks itself.

To many, masculinity is to adhere to the common themes of ego, stubborness, strength, and breadwinning natures described as traits used by those “on top”. This form of masculinity is often called toxic or patriarchal masculinity because it upholds the patriarchy against men and women alike.

In those specific themes, you must always deny your association with womanhood and must listen to other men by ignoring the pleas of comfortability. You must also focus on asserting yourself into sexuality as the primary benefactor, your family life and trauma should not curse you, and your body must have no imperfections from past battles.

Anything other than this is a blight to masculinity and is to be questioned and mocked so that one may “experience” said growth (“Show me you’re a real man”).

If you do not have the ego, you cannot be a hero. If you are not stubborn, you cannot be deny responsibility. If you do not have strength, you are weak and feminine. And without making money, you are not valued.

Masculinity is vast, and yet we are stuck with the outlined attributes created and perpetrated by western standards spreading through our cultures. And because masculinity in the western world has always been related to being white, heterosexual, and Christian, being anyhting but these is effeminate and unvalued.

Masculinity that challenges male dominance, such as butchness or tomboyish attitudes, is seen as “ugly” in women and GNC/trans people. Said masculinity in these people are not valued, sought out, or recognized beyond lesbianism. Yet, even when said lesbianism allows masculinity, it is expected to still be apart or attached to a feminine figure or person who was born into “femaleness”.

Between The Two

I was born with a mullerian indication, meaning that I had indicators that helped in me being assigned female. I had a mullerian growth which resulted in being protomullerian — which are sex traits aligned with femaleness. XX chromosomes, enlarged breasts, wide hips, uterus and vulva, etc.

Being protomullerian had not caused me dysphoria until I hit puberty, in which I had begun to grow out these features that left me disgusted with my body. Since middle school, I have always been interested in being like the boys. I had an affinity for femininity or womanhood as if I was an outsider, a het boy. If I was smarter then, I’d realize that my attraction was being used against me by those around me.

Boys who saw me and my then girlfriend would gawk. It would be something that they had dreamed of. Two women, holding hands and laughing and being in love. They asked questions, they observed as if this was something taboo. Yet, I saw this as a young boy falling in love with a young girl. This was a heterosexual relationship. They were intruding.

I was always like the boys. I was the only mullerian outside of my mother in the family. My younger and older brothers were protowolffian — meaning they had sex traits aligned with maleness. I grew up the same way they did and had been allowed to be a tomboy.

Even when my neighbors were girls or I had friends in middle school who were just like me — mullerian — I did not refer to myself as being like them. I had ended up seeing myself entirely as this distinct concept from masculinity and femininity because I was never percieved as having both or any of it. They could call it androgynous, but that isn’t the right word for what I was dealing with from others.

When I reached high school, I noticed a lot of changes. I had gotten bigger, bulky and fat, but not exactly overweight. I tested out different names and learned a lot about how I felt regarding women and men. From the start, my presentation was lazy and I covered my body in jackets and hoodies. I dared not show my skin or my chest, and if I did, I was too fat to be feminine anyway. Hiding the fat, hiding the chest, hiding the hips — I tried to run away from my own skin in fear of being a woman because I sure was not a man and if I was not a man then I was a woman.

My friend group was full of white wolffian nerds and queer black women.

My earliest identity crisis regarding being transmasc had to have been during the discovery of plurality. In which I became aware that I was masculine because someone who snuck into my head had declared they were. I was outwardly plural in school, at home, and even with extended family — but I never shared our names. I had relations with the many people in my head as if they were physically there, and I felt pains along my body when they dug nails and cried into my skin. I felt it physically, and still often refer to myself as ‘We’ instead of ‘I’ when introducing myself online or to the public.

Self expression like that had caused the first rift. My da has always been traditional, and will never stop being so just because my ma is a little understanding of queer people.

Because I was masculine but not a man, I was not seen as entirely masculine but as butch. Butch is another word for masculine, but is seen used by lesbians and is now associated with them. I had called myself a lesbian for some time, which made me uncomfortable when a gay man in the plural system decided to control the body. I questioned a lot of my expression and sense of self, and definitely felt guilt for “appropriating manhood”.

I was expected to be feminine even if I was known as a stud/bulldyke. I completely distanced myself from femininity because I was never accepted as having it.

Black people like me, especially black women, have been called witches and “men” for showing inklings of their assertiveness and being ruthless towards those who seem to take them as a joke. From the start, people of african american descent were always seen as having hyper-masculine attributes — from our roots in slavery to our fashion and presentation. Black people like me never get to be feminine unless we are lighter, had thinner hair, short in stature, or were half-naked. So due to the fact that I never had any sisters, was called “grown” for being feminine, treated similarly by classmates, and looked with disgust because of my weight and race — I never obtained the connection to femininity and girlhood that I felt as though I wanted. I never had it and so I was never entirely a woman when I became an adult.

Breeding Bullock

I was not a woman because I was not feminine, but I had to be a woman so I could not be a man — and if I was masculine but not a man — then I was butch, a stud, or a bulldyke and not seen as a man or a woman.

My da once asked me why I had to be like a boy and why I couldn’t just be like my older cousin, who was a lesbian.

“Why can’t you just be like her?”

By then, I had severe body dysphoria regarding my breasts and my vulva. I felt beyond dirty, like a moldy rag. I felt as though my body was not supposed to be like this, and if it was, I was supposed to have a body that fit what I was — masculine.

I wasn’t allowed to be masculine though.

I stepped out of the house on day, into the backyard. It was summer, a nice peaceful summer. I had a white wife-beater on, with no bra. I was 16 or 17 at this time. My bottom was covered with shorts, sport shorts that fit boys in particular. I walked out to see what my parents were doing, which to no ones surprise, was smoking and fixing a broken tool. I walked out with shoes, intending to help them. This was routine. If I saw my da outside working on a car or his lawnmowers, I would go out and help him. That was the extent of my masculinity.

And he had told me, when I walked out with clothes on — with what my brothers had been wearing, with what HE had been wearing —

“You ain’t no boy.”

And that sunk in. I had enough. I went back inside, I sat on the bed. And I simply hugged myself. I had carried myself as a boy, questioned myself as a boy, present myself as if I was a boy — even if I knew that I had not entirely adopted the manhood and its labels. I still felt boyhood as a way that I was socialized, as a way I was raised, and as a way people treated me, until I no longer wasn’t when it was convient for others. I am always told what to wear, what not to wear — that sexual assault is the fault of the clothes not the hands that breached consent. And here, it was just another example.

Maybe, it was silly betting all of my emotions into being a boy.

But I had felt true freedom as a boy. As playing the role of a man, I felt true bliss. Yet, I did not have the same privileges to be arrogant and cocky and to be masculine as boys did and I still am not regarded as entirely seperate from the man and woman diachotomy. I was denied my womanhood because I never got to be a girl, but I also wasn’t allowed within manhood because I had been born into a body that wasn’t a boy.

Compared to a cis man like my da, he had already shown that he was capable of being everything a man was and more. There was no reason to teach his children how to be men — how to be masculine — when they were always expected to learn from other wolffian leaders in their environment. So instead of fixing bad behaviour that I had picked up as a result of only having masculine friends and wolffian influences, I used said toxic masculinity as a way to hide being a girl. People didn’t recognize I was one, others didn’t see me as anything but an enigma — between or stranger to what was the gender binary.

Masculinity, as a whole, can only be described by using vague experiences such as leadership or assertiveness. Even masculine black cis men will not have the same experiences as masculine white cis men, and those factors are specifically tied to how black men are seen as more masculine due to their race, the supposed links to violence, and racism. I will never share the same experiences with a masculine black cis man or a masculine white cis man because of how I was raised, and I will never have cis man privileges or the privileges of anyone born to fit into the patriarchy. That will never happen for me, and I have never expected it to..

I was just never raised as a girl, and was never in social spaces with women, and never interacted with them outside of how a heterosexual boy or a protector would — which created the confusion of how I was supposed to identify when people saw me this way and others saw me as the opposite. I was tied in the middle when there was no middle for me to start with.

For some ungodly reason, I was punished for being a boy when I was raised and treated as such due to hyper-masculinity. I was denied femininity and still am on the basis of my race and upbringing. So what was it? What was I?

The closest thing was being a butch. In AAVE, related terms were studs or bulldykes.

There seems to be a bit of a confusing way to use these terms, as butch has been used to mean masculine — but is something entirely different from both manhood and womanhood all together. To be butch is more than to be just a masculine lesbian, those are tomboy lesbians (I just call em’ tomms). To be butch is to be mature, to be the form of queer masculinity that isnt manhood and is tied to womanhood due to lesbianism, but not always functioning as women.

Even in lesbian spaces, due to not being feminine and because many believe masculinity equates manhood, butches are subsequently left out in fear of “men invading women spaces”. This belief has carried onto the fear of anyone who presents with queer masculinity — which is masculinity outside of the cis binary, and instead follows anything that is remotely distinct, nonbinary, xenic, trans, or nonhuman in a way. Lesbians who are freightened of butches have subsequently pushed butchphobia into queer spaces where phrases like “femmes and nonbinary people only spaces” actively tear down and rip into the community when it comes to housing, conversation, workplaces, safety, etc.

A woman being masculine, a butch, a stud, a bulldyke, a bulldagger, a stag — it was and still is regarded as disgusting to so many people.

I have had multiple similar experiences that studs have faced for being queer masculine, where our masculinity was tested by the use of introducing how we would react to physical violence by men and sometimes as a crude transphobic joke — by trans women. They would say that “even a trans woman would put us in our place”, and that men could fix us by corrective rape.

Recent events surrounding boxing, which made people around the world comment intersexist and transphobic things about a real person, choosing to attack her for the way she looks and the way she acts. People calling this woman “a transgender” in order to claim that she had been born with wolffian clusters. To claim she was a “man disguised as a woman”. That she won because she was “biologically stronger”.

At the height of that, I saw people advocating for the absolute harassment of queer masculinity, provoked by a boxing figure who could not by her nation and her religion — could never be transgender, and could never represent their country if she was. Said queer masculinity in this case was never even introduced, and yet it was caught in the intersexist crossfire to build upon the oppression and fear of masculinity in sports, in women spaces, in queer spaces, and much more. I had seen words written and said by queer people as a way to push masculinity down and perpetuate complete disgust towards butches.

Representation in lesbian spaces happen to be femme leaning, and in trans spaces those who seem to speak up the most are transfems. The majority of nonbinary people who are acknowledged are called “she/theys” and “theyfabs” as insults and slurs as a way to mock how they are all feminine in some way. All of these aspects tend to bleed into how there is testimony and genuine fear in many queermascs who deal with being erased because of how traditional queerness is often depicted — feminine.

Beef Cattle

Queer masculinity has always been a way to defy what traditional queerness looks like, intentionally or not.

In queer spaces, femininity is often seen as queerness itself because women who are feminine and not submissive are easily seen as lesbians. This isn’t just how men see a lot of assertive women, it is how cis lesbian women react to butches and studs. When they see a lesbian, they expect someone who is still presenting as a traditional woman or a fem. If not, then you must be adhering to “heteronormative rules” or relationships.

Since feminine men are seen as gay men or “fruity”, nonbinary people are always depicted as being mullerian, and feminine women are seen as gay women — queer as a label has been pictured to mean hyperfeminine. This is where we get into how the supression of masculinity is inherent in a community where queerness is always seen as feminine.

In lesbian spaces, androphobic lesbian women who hate trans women because of their “manhood” always cite their fears with masculinity as being from possibilities and never in the case of real queer mascs harming people. If you are a masculine trans woman, you are then treated even worse. This vilifying rhethoric is towards transmascs, masculine women, BIPOC lesbians, intersex lesbians, and multigender lesbians. In all of these cases, a Gold Star Lesbian — probably named after the reward a kindergartner gets when being the teacher’s pet, in this case when a lesbian outs and harasses other lesbians for gender identity and orientation to please cishetnormative society — would create strife and say that transmascs cannot be lesbians because of their manhood, or that they can be lesbians as long as they don’t transition and that they are perceieved as lesbians.

For me, I was described as masculine because it was easier to say that than queer masculine — and had never crossed my mind at that time that queermascs were being left out of the conversation to “better” the community.

With gay men, not all of them are feminine and many fit into traditional roles of masculinity that allows them to feel respected in outside situations that do not revolve around queerness. This is not a claim of them being privileged, it is a claim of masculine gay men being extremely underepresented because it is harder to clock them or to depict them as anything but “secure in their manhood”. Gay bears who are masculine are one example of this.

On the other hand, masculine gay women are punished for “wanting to be like men”, and are downplayed in their masculinity because its easier to clock them as gay. In the case for butches, if they fail to meet the standards of cis masculinity, that means that they are either pretending to be masculine all together or they “switched sides”, further giving rise to the idea that those connected to womanhood and are masculine in some way are able to use “AFAB privilege” to hide back into the closet.

For anyone who is not connected to womanhood, manhood, and are nonbinary, intersex, or agender, masculinity is a variable and a presentation used to address how they would feel if they were connected — because in this world, you are either cis masculine or subservient, where all femininity is seen as being apart of the subservient class alongside those presenting masculine wrong. If you do masculinity wrong, you are punished for it and are seen as submissive and weaker — regarded as a faggot and fairy.

Masculinity is said to reward others for their hard work to fit in, but I do not feel as though I was ever helped, as if I was ever aided in being who I was supposed to be. When I am called by name or by mention, my femininity is disregarded despite it being right next to my masculinity, my transness is always forgotten about when it came to discussions about trans issues, and I was always seen as this faker or poser in spaces that were supposed to help me and represent people like me. Not once have I ever been rewarded by cis men for being masculine, I have always been punished and I have always been told that my boyhood and my masculinity is a danger to queer people and white people alike.

I do not have the meat of a wolffian cis man, I do not have those parts that they have, but the other halves of me — breasts and vulva — are still on the market and are seen as ripe and for the picking because of how mature they are. These tits are strictly tied to me, and when I express slicing them off or getting rid of them, I am specifically targeted for not being “grateful” for the body that God gave me. When I express that my uterus is useless and that my clitoris should be four inches — that is when I am ungrateful and that is when I will “change my mind” about never having kids. When I speak out loud, an audience appears and tells me that I will regret the choice that I make because it will be irreversible damage. That is the point.

But the difference between a choice I have made and selling this body to someone else’s wishes is that when I finally make that choice, it is not okay to do so because it was not the “right parts” and the “right way” to remove my possession of them. I am supposed to bend to the wishes of others, and allow them to slaughter me. I am a feeder cattle who was raised for this meat to no longer be in my possession so that they may have enjoyment in eating me instead of me being able to take that choice. They slaughter me before I can make that choice.

To maintain forced femininity, queermascs (no matter their sex traits) must be bred to induce and support the narrative that we are confused little girls or mentally ill gender freaks.

Our masculinity is tried and tested because it is not viewed as real enough, and so I question those willing to call our struggle a privilege in times where queermascs are able to exist and not be seen, and said invisibility creates a veil between our community and our place in the world.

Draft Animal

What would one call this pressure? The outlined hate for queer masculinity by use of transphobic, butchphobic, intersexist, and exorsexist language against masculine people of those groups?

To put a label to the condescension, to the irrational screaming from TERFs claiming that queermascs have been deluded into being scary men, and how ugly we will become and how angry we will act when we begin T.

A mutilated body, a bald head, patchy and sweaty skin, to fear those results to the point of exaggerating what queermasculine people will ever look like in order to scare us from ever transitioning or being social. When queermasculine people exist, they are said to be “gender traitors” and are “failing the WOMEN” in the queer community because lesbians can “only be women”, and that gayness is a binary between two genders of the same presentation. A label that describes when queermasculine people are accused of being aggressive, of being evil, of being rapists and abusers because of our presentation and gender — when manhood is vilified as if we benefit from ever being tied to it.

What of a label for when people practice malgendering? A tactic used to gender someone correctly for the main purpose of painting their character as entirely representative of aspects of their gender, including blaming the patriarchy on trans men, calling trans women useless for their womanhood, referring to nonbinary as their pronouns only to mock them for it, treating xenics as other than living beings due to their gender or presentation.

When you are a draft animal, you are kept around in order to support the people who do not want you to be who you are. You work for them, you abide by them to satisfy their needs and their wishes. If your body is not entirely theirs, then they are told to give you away or put you down.

Your cargo is the weight of expression, upholding gender, and carrying the words from cis people who want you gone.

I am a draft animal, carrying masculinity on a cart, watching as the streets swirl and I am watched, gawked at, grabbed and pet at like I am from a zoo — like I am not in control. Like a child to be craddled, not as an adult who chose to transition and who chose to be comfortable in my own body. Because I was born mullerian, I am assumed to be weak and womanly and feminine even when I have been surrounded by black women who are feminine in all ways except disrespect. They are then called “ratchet” and “ghetto” and “rude” for asserting themselves as not to be messed with.

I have been protected by black women my entire life, my honor safeguarded by their power. The misogynoir within people’s hearts when they find a woman of color who is powerful… It boils. They begin to feel threatened, uncomfortable by the possibility that a woman like can treat you the same way you treat other women. But I see it from another point as someone who is percieved as a “strong black woman”, and that is realizing that the strength and the masks they put on are based entirely in trauma. Black women want peace, they do not WANT to fight, and yet everytime they are called to fight in place of people who cannot fight for themselves and they notice how tiring it is. I’ve noticed how tired I am of fulfilling that role.

Black men are ten times more likely to be killed and have their masculinity questioned because of racism. Patriarchal black men have decided that instead of putting that rage out against racism — patriarchal men come back to their community and force masculinity upon women they do not like. They traumatize families in the display of their masculinity that they feel never existed because they were never considered human to begin with — they are seen as draft animals. I do not believe black men want to fight, I believe that they have exhausted all of their other options though. And that the people who are supporting them most may be the same people they call “ghetto” the next day.

I was raised and protected by black women my entire life, and I do not doubt that one will be by my side when I am hurt. And so I do not use masculinity as a way to categorize who is capable of being hurt or not, I do not use my manhood as a way to control black women, I do not force my hands upon them and I do not put misogynoir back into my community because I FELT threatened at the moment.

To let that frustration out on people who have done nothing wrong is where the view of all forms of masculinity and the fear of it begins to arise.

Androphobia is the clinical fear of manhood and men. It can include wolffians to people percieved as men. These fears are real, and stem from repeated or second hand experiences of rape by men, sexual assualt, domestic abuse, familial violence, and consistent misogyny. It is a phobia, and many do not and will not heal from trauma that causes it.

Because it is a phobia, it is recognized as irrational even if trauma does cause it. This fear is sometimes used to drive home the phrases “kill all men” and “all men are pigs”. This is confusing men who uphold the patriarchy and men who cannot, will not, and have not benefitted from the patriarchy.

The identites caught in this are trans men, transmascs, queermascs, nonbinary men, genderfluid men, queer men, intersex men, etc. Transandrophobia is the fear of trans men and its subsequent prejudice against them, but even that word is still cooking alongside anti-transmasculinity and isomisogyny.

So what is the word to use?

If transandrophobia is for transmascs and trans men, transmisogyny for transfems and trans women, exorsexism for intersex, altersex, and nonbinary people, and butchphobia refers to those who are butch only.. what word would a masculine person use to describe how their queer masculinity is called “sodomy”, how queermascs are seen as fragile and weaker, how their masculinity is forced into femininity to present in the queer community, how this identity is attacked first compared to the rest of their gender — what do you call it when a woman’s masculinity is targeted? What is the word for when masculinity is deemed evil or oppressive? When you are called ugly for presenting as masculine and queer?

Lets try on some labels.

Cowhide Leather

To me, this problem is the reason why I feel as though my gender is complex and intrapersonal — it is why I do not find it easy to describe beyond existing alongside my body as if I am not of it’s grasp. My masculinity is me, but my femininity is this body, and I exist within the femininity that is this shape, that is these sex traits. When I walk outside, my masculinity and my ability to be like one of the boys is hindered because my masculinity is now acknowledged by passing — but is recognized to be lesser — and is seen as “fragile” or “fake”.

I can pass for a cis man, but everyone clocks that masculinity as being fabricated and from a source that is not “actually manhood”. They respect my pronouns, my gender, my identity — but in a way that subtly is used to figure out if I am a “real man” or not. Malgendering.

I do not believe I am exempt from transmisogyny or transandrophobia or exorsexism — and yet I believe that I am not experiencing any of them.

I am not being clocked and attacked for being “a man cosplaying a woman”, no one is afraid of me being a “confused little girl”, and no one is denying my identity and existence by use of surgery or the binary. I am not experiencing anything like this. But I am being questioned for my masculinity, I am being singled out for performing masculinity in conjuction with femininity, I am told that I am letting transmascs speak over transfems, I am told that I taint my femininity with my masculine self.

Queermasculine struggles are not less common, but they are invisible to both the community and outside society, resulting in people who are feminine and adjacent (transfems and flamboyant gay men) to be highly criticized for their femininity not being inferior. The struggles with transfemininity cross into the hate for queermasculinity.

As mentioned before, masculinity when failed is seen as fragile and effeminate. Trans women who are protowolffian have their masculinity ridiculed from the start and get “inferior femininity” forced upon them as a punishment for failing “superior masculinity”. This means that their reclaiming of femininity is not the same as a trans man claiming masculinity, as that said trans man would never be punished with masculinity but punished for attempting a false version of it. Trans men are not given the benefits of masculinity and trans women are forced into submissiveness. While transfems have that version of femininity that they must reclaim and rebuild so it does not service others and the patriarchy — transmascs have to claim their masculinity repeatedly because they are denied it in the first place for failing and are denied femininity because they are men.

Replace trans men with butches/studs, masculine gays, masculine intersex people, etc and you will see what I mean when I say that this is not just transmisogyny, transandrophobia, or exorsexism. This is a repeated way queermasculinity is seen, addressed, acknowledged, and gained in and out of the community. Masculine nonbinary people suffer from not having housing like butches do, their masculinity is seen as fake because they are nonbinary, and their struggles with representation in queer media is because of their masculinity.

I do not believe that misandry is an accurate term to describe this experience nor is it used outside of counterarguments against feminism. In other words, misandry is not a phenomenon that sprouted as a way to discuss how men belittle each other but as a way to counteract how women are treated by men and how to deflect that responsibility to destroy the patriarchy alongside others. Cis men are not demonized for being cis masculine or upholding the patriarchy in their communities, they are rewarded for doing so by being surrounded by other men who pride themselves on being superior, leading to consistent fighting and disapproval amongst what makes masculinity strong.

Cis masculinity is consistently fighting to prove that the masculinity they already have is able to be used against others, intentionally or not.

Queer masculinity is never being able to obtain masculinity that benefits their queerness and their queerness alone without having to accept femininity or the patriarchy.

We are not the same. And the struggles shown by the use of the word “misandry” obviously only counts for cismasculine people who have their masculininity ready to use.

Ever since I had joined conversations about transandrophobia, I have never once felt a deep connection to persue the term beyond declaring its existence and supporting those who theorize. I am not someone who is entirely sure that I even felt represented by the term, something to use and something to be used. I did not feel as though it could describe my experiences as someone who was not a man and did not have a connection to manhood outside of how I raised myself.

This disconnect had allowed me to find people who were like-minded in what I had been proposing; a term that refers to the invisibility, malgendering, and feminization of queer masculinity.

It is not the fear and subsequent discrimination of trans men, so it cannot be transandrophobia. It is not the sexism and hatred of trans women, so it cannot be transmisogyny. It is not the prejudice and erasure of nonbinary, intersex, and altersex people, so it is not exorsexism.

I have read work from different places to further aid me in this process of desconstructing what me and a wolfemic transfem have coined — Misabviriy.

Misabviriy, as it is disected, is the hate (mis-) for queer masculinity (ab- for “off” or “away”, viriy for “manhood, masculinity”).

Misabviriy and Superiority

The first point is that masculine individuals are being depicted as superior to women and above in any way as long as one performs the masculinity correctly, which gives incentive for said masculine individuals who are correctly masculine to use said performance in order to get rewarded. Then, because they are doing it correctly, there is the expectation that they must have a prize. If they do not get one, they feel as though they have been lied to and their masculinity is being threatened. Because queermascs are masculine and/or transition to masculinity, there is the assumption that they want said patriarchal power and are able to get it naturally without recoil or a fight.

Misabviriy and Invisibility

Due to the hypervisibility of queerfem individuals by queer media, transphobic outlets, and crude imagery, there is hyperinvisibility in queermascs. The interest in transfem bodies due to their sex traits, and the disinterest in transmasc bodies specifically come from the narrative that because queermascs and transmascs are either confused “little girls” or holding fragile masculinity, transfems and queerfems must be the predatory “grown men” and ugly women type who can’t date fragile mascs. To those following TERFism, queermasc people are hiding their real selves behind masculinity as a way to compensate for failing the patriarchy horribly, and are not the real culprit because they are being “groomed” and tricked into masculinity by being a tomboy or a butch. Said queermasc identity is then questioned until they are either shoved back into the closet, or they stop being masculine.

Misabviriy and Sex

Displays of misabviriy that revolve around sexualizing the sex traits of queermascs have been widely ignored in the community. Masculine intersex people have been told that they were not intersex, and that their masculinity could be changed with corrective rape. Butches get this treatment as well and often due to being lesbians and not being a woman “correctly”. Notable displays of it are with the “cuntboy” depiction where transmascs are reduced to their reproductive system, the “silent protector” type in butchphobia where a butch is deemed useful only in sex and when protectinf femmes, and the mystification of masculine nonbinary bodies when they are not visibly feminine. Queermascs who have vulvas are also expected to bottom in pornography and in relationships, leaving a hole of content and resources when it comes to topping after phalloplasty or with a tdick. In this area, queermascs have higher rates of suicide and the possibility to be sexually assaulted, and yet the only aid a queermasc will get is if they are feminine enough on the outside to hide it. Queermascs are also more likely to detransition or become feminine at the wishes of a cis or trans sexual partner, prioritizing the sexual partner’s pleasure with a sexual “tool” instead of a preference. Testosterone is a common transmasc form of HRT, and yet it is hard to be transsexual as a masc. Testosterone is a controlled substance, and no amount of market work around will help get it any easier for DIY HRT. The lack of queermascs and transmascs on T when they want to makes others believe we are still “women”, that we want to be feminine, and that once we get it we’ll be ugly. Some people, like intersex people with low T, could die without it. And yet, we still do not have it. I am not on T, but have been taking DIY DHEA, and it is because I know that I can only afford and find resources on DHEA.

Misabviriy and Malgendering

As mentioned before, malgendering is when validation of an identity is used only to be against said identity, usually for excusing violence or discrimination. Queermascs, especially transmascs, are positioned between being denied womanhood based on identity and being denied manhood for “choosing” it and doing it wrong. Malgendering is used to scare, to put fear into one for what they may face as the gender they transition to. While not exclusive to transmascs, malgendering is used against transmascs by wishes of harm, calling trans men the “men of the trans community”, and using correct pronouns and terminology to make a joke from said trans person. GNC women who embrace masculinity are targeted the same way, starting with many people using their masculinity as a way to validate their strength, only to use that affirmation to challenge them to a fight since they are “so strong”. It paints their targets as weak fragile women. The idea that queermascs are fragile and tainting their body with masculinity is used by Baeddels, Radfems, and TERFs who target trans men and call anyone else “collateral damage" for being in the way. In queer spaces, wolffian mascs and anyone who is remotely masculine regardless of gender are seen as dangerous because their ties to masculinity means that they apparently operate under the patriarchy and work for it. Queermascs, especially those who are trans men and intersex people, are more likely to be denied life saving treatments and gynaecologists due to their identity, and this denial can lead to death.

Misabviriy and Feminization

Queermascs such as masculine nonbinary people and butches have always been feminized by the outside world as a way to quell the disgust or discomfort with them being masculine. Separation of masculinity from their queer identity is a common occurrence in communities that are supposed to aid them in being who they are. As said before, queermasculinity and those who are of it are seen as confused little girls (the basis for ROGD) and predatory men due to their connection to masculinity that is “wrong”. Because of this, not only are queermascs the victim when first transitioning but are predators lurking to lure transness into innocent girls when they are post-transition and confident. From inside the community, many butches have faced being left out of media and out of the narrative when it came to lesbianism as they were slowly turned into guard dogs and sexual pleasure — focusing heavily on how a butch is “still a woman”, and the joke of “forgetting the bookbag” that is overused. Depictions of masculine women and queermascs are always in a way where their physical features “prove” them to be not actually masculine and that they are pretending to be masculine. Queermascs have also reported feeling extremely left out and lost in inclusive spaces that actively call out queer masculinity alongside patriarchal masculinity while uplifting patriarchal femininity that wishes to benefit from the patriarchy by pulling women and queer men down into terms like TIF, female brained, “woman bits”, and fake feminism that relies on bioessentialism (TME, TMA..) and gender wars (they ultimately do not earn benefits due to misogyny).

This isn’t to say that queer men and mascs cannot and can never uphold, take part in, or indulge ideas that agree with patriarchal masculinity. Misabviriy isn’t an excuse to be patriarchal. Queermascs can partake in it all they want, usually for protection under the guise that their manhood is cis passing, but there are no benefits for doing masculinity wrong and being perceived as the wrong version of masculinity when their hyperinvisibility wears off. Repowering is what I would call this — when queer people veil or mask their maginalized status to identify as cishet perisex people, regaining the power they lost over their identity when they transitioned or came out of the closet. Repowering is not when a trans person hides in the closet and pretends, or when they do not transition at all, because you do not gain power in the closet and only do so when using your former cishet identity as a mask for your true self to feed into horrible narratives and cycle queerphobic language/notions — intentionally or not.

I believe that anyone can practice repowering, including trans women who veil as men in order to gain the little bit of lost power that the patriarchy would give them by feeding into harmful sterotypes, tropes, and reuse intersexist, homophobic, or transphobic language to fit in. Privliege is a conditional concept that exists only when the perception of a queer person is not queer but cishet perisex. When a trans woman partakes in repowering, then is actually found out to be trans, they are no longer holding that privlege not because of their gender but because of their transness. Same with trans men, nonbinary people, intersex, butch, and other queer people.

Queer Masculinity Future

I have wishes for the future too. I have a life too, I have a world that I wish to see.

I don’t want to see infighting, I do not want the binary to persist, I do not want to bring forth a world where gender is valued through power and oppression — I wish for a world where gender is expanded beyond all limits until it no longer means anything. I wish for gender to no longer be biological, no longer social, not longer binary — I wish for gender to be intrapersonal. Something only you can affirm, something no one can take away from you even when you die, something that you work to prove for your pleasure, not anyone elses. I am a radical gender expansionist, and that means that these wishes will become my reality by any means necessary.

Labels will mean what they mean, but they will not be used to create or single out a group of people unless they have no experience. There should be no “oppression olympics” of trans communities, there should be no one speaking over lived experiences, there should be no one forcing each other to identify or creating terms used against groups of people who do not agree with your view. There should be nothing like that. And all of it seems to point directly at gender essentialism and gender wars. In order to punish the fires of them, we must quell it by personalizing gender instead of grouping gendered people into neat boxes.

I have fears that queer masculinity may not be present in the future.

I fear that our expression will be centered in the battle against cis masculinity, and if we do not speak about our struggles, then we are the object crushed under the heel of the foot. If feminism does not include men and the liberation of queer manhood, then it will not succeed in destroying the patriarchy for queer manhood is the number one enemy to the patriarchy. The patriarchy is afraid of us, afraid of what we are doing to their “daughters”, afraid of what our bodies would look like after transitioning, afraid of it all. They are scared, and we make them scared of our masculinity.

Feminism should include the liberation of queer manhood alongside womanhood, feminism should give us the right to speak alongside everyone, feminism should allow queermascs space to talk about how they are affected by the patriarchy. Feminism, I fear, should not exclude us.

I smile with joy at the displays of masculinity.

For that masculinity is what I would call queer masculinity, where the patriarchy dies at its teeth, at its claws. For queer masculinity will be at the forefront to the death of the patriarchy. I smile in joy when I see trans men binding and cutting their hair, grooming their beards, with free top surgery, with feminine figures, with masculine features, with long hair, with free breasts, with phallo or without, with manhood running in their blood, with their sex altered, with their sex unaltered.

I smile in joy when I see intersex men prancing for joy at their intersexness, when they are proud, when they love themselves, when they don’t need to bind, when they don’t need to be masculine, when they aren’t androgynous, when they are happy, when they fight IGM, when they are men and embrace manhood.

I smile when nonbinary mascs are fully masculine and do not back down for the pleasure of others.

I smile when multigender mascs are queer in every way, who embody all forms of presentations.

I smile in joy.

I have wishes for the future too. And those wishes should become reality, as we unshackle cattle boys from their prisons. Where the farms are dismantled, where the industry is brought down with their hooves, where the young are not slaughtered back into femininity, where we are not kicked when we are torn down, when we are not brutally pushed around for existing, where cattle boys are not starved, where cattle boys are not fattened for their meat.

Where the patriarchy and queer community stops claiming we are appropriating queerness and are dangerous.

Open Range Still Means Shackles

Between all of this, I do believe that my experiences and my troubles are painted here to be of priority to be solved in the future, where queer masculinity is not inherently dismissed as cishetnormative or oppressive.

Queermascs still live in a world where our oppression is seen as our fault, and that as cattle boys, we must suffer for the choice of being the oppressor.

I suffer independently to the patriarchy, whether or not it exists, other facts such as behavior in and out of communities, bio essentialism, and racism will still persist. But the centerpoint for all those thing happens to be the pleasure of the patriarchy. Destroying it, not just because it stands for oppression, but because it still keeps cattle boys in a roundup open range or not.

Further reading is linked in the Medium post, consider supporting Lunabelle and I on our queer journey.

[toytulini]

trying to update my byf and feeling so profoundly like. dont wanna

[blueside-hobi]

Thank you for the tag @jiminlikecrazy <3

Sorry this is so hard to see, but I don't want to fill it out again lmao

Tagging @seouldriftmp3 @schnaf @seraphjimin @kimchokejin @clutterbugs @yearningsea @minieggukie @palpalopaloma @mindofnmn @joon-rkive @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered @bobagukks

[ajdrawshq]

im glad that despite being on the backburner for . years. i can still think of my main aus like i never stopped :] kh on the brain forever

[credulouscanidae]

me: spends the better part of 2 years slowly being online and talking to people less and less, not responding to messages, not organising any irl get togethers or cancelling last minute cuz i cant handle it

me: *feels isolated, depressed, like a failure, feels unloved, feels guilty and nostalgic for the old days, feels ive grown distant from all my loved ones, and have bad cyclic thinking about how maybe this is all for the better and i cant fucking handle seeing anyone and going out is a big fucking effort

me: 

[todayisafridaynight]

yeah Mr Arakawa would kick Sohei’s ass. Seriously HOW is that man Daigo’s father and how did that boy grow up to be better than Masato

there aint ever One Precise Reason as to why a kid'll turn out a certain way: despite the odds daigo grew up a generally-respectable adult while masato grew up to be a spoiled brat.

but regardless we should all say Lmao