#so that's what comeuppance looks like

[104-days-of-gifs]

Another 104 Days of Phineas and Ferb GIFs: Day 90

[front-facing-pokemon]

[jakowskis]

"i hated owen for all/most of s1 i only started liking him in s2" weak. i liked owen since he got choked against a wall by an angry woman and then told her he wanted to shag her immediately afterwards. and then even more when he spent ep3 trying to intimidate and murder a rapist

[slocumjoe]

hey uhhh i went thru ur oc post history and u said gus set himself on fire?? pls context

I love this character because whenever someone asks about him I always have to take a deep breath and get comfortable and suck a breath in through my teeth. I treat him so poorly

More Gus lore, because that specific event is actually tied to the very first event that would fuck him up forever, so I can't really talk about it without going in depth.

This is explaining the core tenent of Augustijn's story, which is guilt and its dangers. Basically, where that constant guilt came from, and how it...turned out for him...

It turns out okay. Just...takes 200+ years, an apocalypse, a divorce, and his son dying! 🥳Yay🥳

Tw; Religious trauma, child abuse, suicide, drug use, cannibalism, mental illnesses, and yet another suicide attempt.

So, some background, Gus's mom, Emma, was a fanatic catholic and generally Bat Shit about religion. As you might imagine, this is the Direct Source of both Gus' questionable worldviews, traumas, and his biological inclination to uuuhhh bad Head Times.

Emma was raised mildly religious, but she...took to it too hard? Her family was not the cause of her obsession, Gus's grandparents and uncles/aunts over there actually cut her off at one point, because she was starting to worry them but reaching out led to her lashing out. So, they just...backed off. Emma herself was a simple, homebody woman, who wanted to be at home raising her kids, and tending her garden. She would have been this way even without the religious thing.

But Emma and her side of the family were prone to addiction, see? And religion became her point of fixation and obsession. This could have still been okay, if not for the church she went into. A catholic church in the Hague that was known by all for being kind of fucking out there, even by other hardcore Catholics. This was one she went into, and even her grandchild 240+ years later would feel the ripple of this decision.

Emma goes into church and gets gnarly ideas about how life works. Its a woman's duty to have kids and raise them, to be good to her husband and her house, to listen and obey her men. Sin is inevitable and everyone does it, only those that admit and accept punishment can get another chance at Paradise. God knows every action you take and he does not care for the context, he only cares about the action. There is no "well, but" under the Lord.

Emma has mental illness, some kind of depression and anxiety, so this Big Brother Watching And Judging fucked her up. Especially since her church, in particular, was physically abusive if you did not confess to anything during confession. They thought if you had nothing to confess, you were lying.

At this point, she's met and engaged to Theodore Reinier, a rich heir to a European manufacturing company. He's pretty, a gentleman, and best of all, rich, so she can have as big and luxurious a garden as she wants. She likes him. She does not love him. She's in her twenties and unmarried with no kids, and her poor family needs to be taken care of. So she marries him. Theodore is smart enough to see this for what it is, and kind enough to allow it. He lets his wife do her own thing and treats her as a friend, rather than a lover. She hates this, she wants to be a wife (she doesnt). She wants kids, he gives her one. Augustijn. This birth goes rough, and she's told no more children.

Theodore makes one rule; August goes to a different church, or he does not go at all. Theo really didn't like Emma's church and he certainly wasn't exposing his kid to that shit.

Emma pretends to agree and takes Gus to That Church. Theo doesn't attend, so he doesn't know this is happening until much later. Gus gets all the same nasty shit Emma does. Theo learns of this when he sees Gus covered in bruises from confession beatings. This puts a huge rift between him and Emma, and he pulls all the strings he can to have her church shut down.

Emma grows to resent and hate Theo and Augustijn for not being the perfect husband and child she deserves as a good, God fearing house wife. Augustijn is left to his nannies, Emma hides away in her private garden, fuming. Theodore tries to bond with his son, but Emma's poisoned that well.

Emma tells Augustijn about demons, to fear them. She specifically tells him about church grims, demons that hunt around churches in the form of a dog to drag sinners to hell. She says this as she's admiring her new obsidian dog statues for her garden.

Eventually, Emma goes yellow wallpaper and loses her mind, and is sent to therapy and put on medications. Augustijn loathes his father for his mother's state. Theodore just wants his friend and son okay. But Emma, as she's out in town, coming back from therapy, she stops at a friend's house while the friend isn't there, and hooks up with the woman's husband. Friend's husband was stern, strict with his wife, God fearing, and generally an obnoxious 50s ideal shithead husband. Everything Emma wanted. This wasn't out of nowhere, it was brewing in the background. She knew both of them from her old church.

Emma goes home, and finally having a reason for the guilt that's always plagued her, elects to acknowledge her sin. She drowns herself in the pond of her garden, stared down by three dark, ruby-eyed dogs, overseeing her passage into the afterlife. Her young son comes into the garden to meet his mother, after she's been gone all day, only to find her in a red pool. He looks up into the eyes of the dogs. He remembers nothing of this incident, blocking it out and having been too young to understand.

Years pass, and Augustijn turns to drugs as well, though his come from the darkest parts of the Hague, rather than a doctor. He turns to sex, to crime, to anything he thinks will either corrupt him so much he doesn't care, or will finally make his guilt feel justified. He wears his mother's cross necklace through it all, and sees her beloved dog with every sin.

Augustijn goes to America for college, to Harvard, studying to become a pastor himself. (This is maybe the most terrifying part of him, the fact that he almost got it). But he doesn't feel satisfied with it, has a moment of clarity and realizes he isn't fit to preach anything. The grim certainly doesn't think so. He instead follows his only friend, Isadora, into the military. The US government allowing their soldiers to do chems means his failed drug tests don't matter.

Augustijn becomes a sniper. He has always hurt people, excelled in it, but taking life frightens him, because he knows he has no right to decide who lives or dies, not like this. But he's in China, and he's told to kill. He does, and he's very good at it. His teammates marvel at just how scrappy and determined he is, like a weed, a mold.

The Biandukou Pass Incident occurs. He eats his entire team, trapped in a Chinese mountain range during a blizzard.

Delirious from almost two months of surviving on nothing but psycho and human flesh, Augustijn is let loose back into Boston, honorably discharged. His lingering hallucinations from his Daytripper addiction, mixed with psycho withdrawal, trauma, guilt, shame, the fear of God—everything culminates. He looks up and sees the figure that has haunted him since that one, awful day; the church grim, staring expectantly.

His mother drowned herself, so he thought it fitting if he set himself ablaze.

[july-19th-club]

ouch girl ouch girl my. fucking back

[pithyorangecurd]

Really enjoying being a secret faggot at work bc this guy is being suuuuuper transphobic and im sitting here kicking my legs like hehe........ yeah? 🥰🥰 <- guy who is about to make this such a hostile workplace

[bluerosefox]

A Fair Warning

It was only a matter of time, and a long awaited and well deserved comeuppance, when Joker tried to hurt the wrong person or people.

Not everyone was going to play his games like 'Batsy' does. Not everyone will hesitate or let him live should he put his hands on someone to hurt them. Not everyone will believe Arkham could 'fix' him, he just needed more time and help.

No.

This time Joker bit off more than he could chew when he kidnapped the newly hired Arkham psychiatrist Jasmine Fenton (and he had plans, so many plans, for her. With her mixture of Harley's mind and her looks matching Gordon's daughter would sure to cause some chaos and pain in memories) and the girl's visiting sister Danielle 'Ellie' (and did he laugh when he noticed the 'Wayne' adoptive looks the girl had, on the fun he'll have, maybe he'll beat her the way he beat the second Robin just for funzie's, it'll no doubt upset Batman) from Jasmine's apartment.

He had plans to keep the Bats guessing where he was and by the time they reach him it'll be far to late for them to save either of the two girls, he had just sent the little video he taped to the Bats and the police to get the ball rolling...

So...

So why did a shiver run down his spine for the first time in years when they both looked unafraid (it was their eyes that made him shiver, a look of already dead yet somehow alive, something he never seen before. He's seen the light fade from people's eyes before yes, he's even laughed as he watch people desperately cling onto life only for it to fade into nothing as they took a final breath but never have he seen someone, something alive yet dead at the same time before. It, their eyes, held a natural yet unnatural sense as they stared at him, stared at everything that made him Joker and it unnerved him), honestly they looked very bored, and one of them (the youngest of the two, and the one with more of the look of death than life in their eyes) said with a chill tune in their tone.

"Last chance to back out of this Freakshows Reject. You wont like what'll be waiting for you."

The tone alone was enough to send another bone deep chill down Joker's spine.

But instead of listening to his natural instincts, the deep inkling of run blaring at him, Joker merely placed a grin on his face, ignoring the strain he felt from doing so, and said as nastily as he could in order to scare the two girls (BOTH OF THEM STILL LOOKED BORED WITH HIM?!?! Not even a twitch of fear!)

"OH? And pray tell what is awaiting little ol' me hum?"

His mocking question got a wide feral grin from the smaller girl, a grin with sharp teeth and iris eyes beginning to bleed slowly from sky blue to neon green with each second he stared at her and he barely stopped himself from jumping in his spot when Jasmine answered his question.

"Your end."

-x-x-

By the time the Bats get to the warehouse Joker had taken Dr. Jasmine 'Jazz' Fenton and Danielle 'Ellie' Fenton they were prepared for anything and everything to go wrong. As much as they held the tiniest bit of hope that the two young women were still okay they knew better than to really do, this was the Joker that had them after all.

They had manged to narrow down his location much quicker than normal when they gotten Joker's first video and his little 'game' he was setting the Bats on, most locations he gave them were going to be red herrings or traps to keep them busy and it would had worked. Batman and the others would had been searching for hours for even a hint of the clue of where the Joker and his hostages were actually being kept.

It was nearly, not really, a shame all of Joker's plans went to waste when Red Hood had stumbled onto something when scooping out Jasmine's apartment with Red Robin.

You see, not only were they looking for clues at first but something about the apartment Jasmine rented seemed off, Red Robin noticed it first and called in back up encase there was more to oldest Fenton than what they could dig up (oldest daughter of Dr's. Jackson and Madeline Fenton, grew up in a small Illinois town, straight A student and a goal to become a psychologist, has two younger siblings, etc etc) and their suspension raised up more when the moment Red Hood entered the apartment and seemed to freeze for a moment.

Red Hood couldn't really explain it but he said it felt like something was... strange. Not evil bad danger strange but it felt familiar? Like he was a kid again on the streets and had walked into someone else's territory but knew the person wouldn't be too much of a hardass about it as long as he didn't stur up trouble or disrespect. A kind of... as long as you don't fuck around you won't find out feeling.

It was because of this feeling that Jason had manged to stumble across something in the room, his instincts telling him there was more to it, and they had discovered a clunky old custom PDA hidden away in a false floorboard in the office room. Thankfully Red Robin, was there in person because the old thing apparently had a rather ingenious firewall to keep others (aka Hackers) OUT but it did nothing against someone who held the main thing.

But still it took Red Robin almost frying the damn thing to get to open up, turns out the ghost and star stickers on the PDA was a rather large hint of the pass code. Once Red Robin was in the PDA he noticed some rather interesting files, one of them labeled "Gremlin Tracking" with a tiny green blob with red eyes and a green outlined star as the icons.

Curiosity taking a hold on the most curious of the Bats he opened it up, hoping it would need another password, and watched as the screen split into two maps, one was... strange, there was no land marks or anything but the star icon seemed to be right in the middle of wherever it was and the only hint of anything was the name "baby brother" and the map labeled as IR.

The other one showed an above map of Gotham, before zooming into the city, heading towards some abandoned warehouses Red Robin knew of and stopped right at one. This was the green blob icon, the short abbreviation for Gotham in the corner of the map, and the name for the icon was 'baby sister'

Red Robin immediately got onto coms to tell the others of what apparently was a tracker for Jasmine's younger siblings. Some questioned why the young woman had trackers on her siblings, though some of the others snarked back that "oh didn't know keeping trackers on each other wasn't normal. Mind if I loose the one you got on me than?"

After a quick sweep into the warehouses camera feeds, the very few up that could be accessed, done by Oracle they quickly discovered that yes the tracking on the younger girl of the two, Danielle Fenton, was correct and that was where they and Joker were at.

Despite this, Batman decided that in order to make sure Joker didn't have suspicion that they already know his actual location he made sure to send a few of the others to the fake locations.

So here they were now, staking out the warehouse where they could see a few of the Jokers goons walking around and looking for a way into the building without alerting any of them. As they talked low into coms, Robin mentioning a possible way in for Red Robin by how small it was, Red Robin hissing back a "just because you got a growth spurt doesn't mean you can poke fun at my height you little-"

"Wait!" Red Hood suddenly hissed shouted, his tone startling the rest of them and they all turned their heads to him. Batman made a quick and harsh grunt as a way to say "report."

Under his helmet Jason's eyes were wide and wild. He could feel something, something huge was on the rise, like something was out of sight but the energy of it was felt.

And if Jason could feel it from his spot, the Jokers goons all felt the same thing from the way they all dropped their weapons, turned toward the warehouse and looked ready to bolt like scared animals.

Jason opened his mouth to explain but fell silent when the feeling suddenly popped. Whatever was causing the feeling was here and like the calm before the storm he could only watch as the first drop of rain fall.

The next thing they know, was the noise and the screaming.

It was inhuman, a mixture of noise and sounds to hard to explain. The closest they could explain was a thousand voices coming in all at once mixing with radio static that kept changing volume so only few words could be even hinted at, and the angry cawing of crows along with the flapping of their wings as they took flight. The noise was so bad that many who heard it nearly ripped their coms out, or covered their ears. Thankfully it only lasted a few seconds.

Then, the air itself shifted. It felt like the coldest of winter nights and bone chilling shivers ran down their bodies for a moment. The air was suddenly that sharp cold that hurt to breathe sometimes.

The goons surrounding the warehouse fled in fear. Many scrambling to get far, far away from whatever was happening. If they felt even a fraction of what Jason could feel, he could understand. He honestly felt like a small animal cornered by a predator and there was no escape.

Then just as suddenly as it happened, everything shifted again. The noise of Gotham returned to normal, cars honking, a stray cat hissing or a dog barking, police sirens in the distance, hissing steam from a nearby factory. The air went from winter cold to a chill mid winter harbor feel now.

Once everyone registered what had just happened and not wanting to waste anymore time they bolted towards the warehouse, cautious and alert in case they needed to fight. Batman went in first, quickly making his way to the area he knew Joker would be with the Fenton sisters and wondered just what the fuck was that? Did Joker do something? Was he messing with things outside of his usual MO?!

He walked into the room and stopped.

There was nothing.

The room was in fact the room Joker had used to record his first message to them, the layout was correct and the evidence of two people who had been tied up were still there as well, ropes that weren't cut sitting on them, a lone lamp light above shining down from above no doubt to emphasize the two girls were meant to be the 'stars' of Jokers latest show. Thing was, the two weren't there despite the fact Oracle swore she could see them a few mins ago from a camera set up in the room, she would later explain that she heard the noise as well and that all her tech had glitched hard.

The only other thing in the room was, sitting innocently on one of the chairs was a green sticky note and on a tiny pillow was a tiny sickly green orb with hints of purple, white, and red swirling in it.

A note they would later read the following message written on it after carefully examining it over.

'Joker learned not to touch what is mine to protect. Sorry not sorry, but hey one less killer clown and he was warned not my fault he didn't take it seriously... The massive amount of souls wanting to rip apart the Joker's soul into nothing was quite a sight to be honest.

They were so ruthless. Best not mess with the vengeful dead am I right?

PS. I left a tiny gift for Jason Todd aka Robin Two. It's the tiniest piece of Joker's soul left over after everyone else got done. He can finish it off since he's a reverent and all, and well they need their revenge filled in order to peacefully move on later or else they'll be stuck forever in a loop of madness and revenge. So yeah. Hope he likes the gift.'

D.P.'

It took Jason less than a second after those words were spoken out to reach for the orb, ignoring the cautious and alarmed cries of the others, and could feel deep, deep, deep in his own soul the absolute pure weeping joy as he threw the orb onto the floor, the bottom shattering thus it didn't roll away and stomped hard with his reinforced boots. Crushing the broken orb into more pieces and if one listened closely they could hear the pure screaming terror that came from it.

And Jason for the first time in years felt his rage finally leave him.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Just like how kalim embodies scarabia's mindfulness in his own way, how do you think other boys embodies their respective dorms spirit?

For the sake of ease and consistency, I will be using the official TWST localization's terms for each dorm's core value.

Please note: these are my personal interpretations; even the definitions of each dorm’s “spirit” is not explicitly defined within official TWST materials, so I’ll be running with my own definitions before covering each NRC student. Additionally, since I’ll be covering 22 characters in this post I may not have time to get into painstaking detail for each one.

***Main story spoilers (including late book 7) below the cut!!***

The Queen of Hearts' Spirit of Strictness

Literally speaking, strictness refers to following rules or beliefs exactly. There is rigid enforcement of these rules or beliefs, and very few, if any, exceptions or mercy granted.

Right off the bat, it’s easy to see how Riddle aligns with the spirit of strictness. He is the embodiment the law in Heartslabyul, serving as both judge and executioner to his students. Riddle insists that the rules—no matter how nonsensical—be followed, and he does not hesitate to unleash his wrath and collar those who step out of line. He is strictness itself. Beyond book 1, we do see Riddle trying to be more patient and flexible—however, the fact remains that he upholds rules and continues to have trouble with circumstances where he has to think independently or without a set of instructions to refer to.

Trey is known for frequently indulging others and behaving in a manner which some may call kind. The twist here is that Trey’s strictness is present in the “big brother” role he adopts when dealing with his peers. He’s generally more lenient than Riddle, but Trey often alludes to the fact that he shouldn’t be underestimated or thought of as a nice guy. There are moments when Trey gives others their comeuppance for misbehaving (such as in his dorm uniform vignettes, where he deprives first years of cake for complaining about his same-y baked goods). The thing is, most don’t see it coming because he’s typically so… nice. When he wants to be stern and put his foot down, he certainly can—it just isn’t something that happens a lot, since he’s more mild-mannered than his classmates.

Cater is strict with his public image, specifically how his peers view him. This is most obviously seen in his obsession with social media. He's constantly taking pictures and posting, being heavily involved on Magicam—a space where he can control the narrative about the type of person he is and the life he has. Cater keeps up this front in real life as well, acting cheery and sociable with his classmates while masking a far less motivated and sad side to his character. (This is implied in his Lab Wear vignettes, where a mandrake he infuses with his own magic becomes gloomy and huddles into itself.) There are occasions when Cater expresses that he is lonely or that he wishes he had more friends growing up, but he never fully opens up about his true nature. He strictly keeps that part of himself locked up tight and is seemingly afraid of what others would think of that persona.

Like Cater, Deuce is strict with himself. In Deuce's case, this arises from a past of delinquency and the desire to reform and to be an honors student that his mom can be proud of. Because of these goals, Deuce tries very hard to excel in class (but often falls short) and to behave in a way that he believes honors students would. This means changing the way he looks (he let his natural hair color come back in; it used to be bleached blonde), the way he speaks (not using foul language), the way he dresses, and, most importantly, the way he acts. Of course, his temper gets the best of him at times and his delinquent self bubbles back up (like in book 1 when the eggs were ruined), and Deuce is currently working on better repressing that.

Ace is probably the most carefree and the least stereotypically "strict" of the Heartslabyul group. Instead of having a focus on enforcing rules, Ace is usually the one breaking or defying them. How, then, does he embody the Queen of Hearts' spirit of strictness? I believe it comes through in some of Ace's most iconic scenes: the ones where he is calling others out on their bull crap. Time and time again, it's Ace that is bluntly telling others what they're doing or saying is hypocritical or wrong, or that they haven't truly taken accountability. He does this no matter who he is facing, be that his own dorm leader (book 1), an undead bride (Ghost Marriage), or Malleus Draconia himself (Endless Halloween Night). Ace has his own set of morals and beliefs, and he speaks them loud and clear without imposing as harshly as Riddle does.

The King of Beasts' Spirit of Persistence

Persistence is when one continues their course of action in spite of difficulty or opposition. In other words, there is an obstacle in the way of achieving a goal, and one persists in the face of that obstacle.

Leona is a somewhat strange case to make for persistence because initially he comes off as a very lazy character. We quickly learn that though he appears unmotivated, he’s comfortable scheming and thinking multiple steps ahead to cut out difficult or unnecessary work. There’s no doubt that Leona has had a challenging childhood, feeling like he was always being compared to his brother and never recognized for his own talents. We feel the effects of Leona losing this hope as late as book 6, when Leona says that Jamil is capable of change, unlike himself. Some fans even speculate that Leona’s dialogue implies he has fallen into depression as a result of frequently being dismissed and put down in spite of his efforts to be seen. Even when Leona is dealing with such trauma, he cooks up a plot to return his dorm to glory and to support its future. He, the lowly second born prince, wants to prove himself and his team of misfits, as being worthy of respect and admiration. When the plans fall through, Leona is quick to give up (which seems to go against the idea of Savanaclaw’s persistence). However, I would say this is part of his character growth in book 2. Later in the main story, Leona also throws in the towel quickly—but it doesn’t contradict his development; he knows when to strategically retreat in book 6.

Ruggie comes from an extremely impoverished background. He has had perhaps the least “cushy” life out of the entire NRC cast. Even so, Ruggie was able to study and work hard enough to earn decent grades, get multiple part-time jobs, and pick up many useful survival skills. He’s street smart and knows that what he lacks in strength he can make up for by sticking to someone who is strong (Leona). (Their relationship is mutually beneficial!!) Ruggie knows that just having money isn’t sustainable in the long run, so he’s hauling ass now to make something of not only himself, but also for all the people in the slums.

Jack embodies persistence through the events of book 2. At first, Jack tries to get Leona to see reason by letting him know that he genuinely is a figure Jack admires. He’s put in a moral dilemma when Leona argues that even if they play dirty, he has good intentions. If Jack interferes, he is messing with the future job prospects of his dorm members. Jack wrestles with the question before ultimately coming to the conclusion that he has to tell others about it—and, what’s more, put his own pride as a lone wolf aside to confront Leona and stop to his machinations.

The Sea Witch's Spirit of Benevolence

Benevolence may refer to meaning well or general kindness and compassion. It involves a willingness to help others and caring for them.

Azul, being at the head of the operations at Octavinelle, passes himself off as a benevolent man who will listen to your woes and grant your wishes. In fact, he does—but at a price. The shady ring he’s running is NOT wholly benevolent; the deals can definitely come across as malevolent in book 3 (when Azul wrote the contracts in such a way that the loopholes could fuck clients over). The deals themselves (assuming no foul play), however, are neutral since both parties agree to the terms. Contracts are written with the idea that they will benefit the clients. And Azul is, of course, also seeking out benefits for himself, as that is the nature of business dealings.

Jade represents a kind of benevolence associated with acts of service. He’s Azul’s right-hand man and information broker—furthermore, much of how Jade presents himself alludes to being a butler or some other supportive role. Jade just generally behaves in a way which benefits others. He acts demure and servile, then uses the trust he has gained through service to ply what he wants out of others. Jade does it so sweetly and so expertly that his prey don’t usually notice, or willfully overlook it, being far too impressed by his abilities to fixate on his ulterior motives. This strategy works even on notoriously stern individuals such as Vil (Jade Dorm Uniform vignettes).

Floyd gives “free hugs” :) is… well, ironically, the “kindest” of the trio in a weird way. While this is highly dependent on his mood, the fact of the matter is that Floyd is the easiest to read in terms of “telegraphing” his actions. If he’s in a bad mood, he usually will not hide it. You know what you’re signing up for as soon as you see him. He also typically doesn’t put forth an effort to manipulate or to scheme like Azul or Jade would; Floyd would prefer to be direct and get it over with already. That, in a sense, is the mercy that he offers: something swift and plain to see.

The Sorcerer of the Sands' Spirit of Mindfulness

Mindfulness is a state of being aware of oneself and the present moment. A mindful individual can aknowledge and accept one’s feelings, thoughts, and bodily sensations. Mindfulness may also extend to being aware of others and perceiving their own states of being.

Kalim is not viewed as the most intelligent or crafty of leaders, but where he shines is in his ability to welcome and to bond with his dorm mates. His emotional intelligence is extremely high, which proves itself to be a useful skill in getting to know others and to earn their trust. Kalim has made a name for himself in Scarabia because he is always there to listen and lend a helping hand to his dormmates. He is unabashedly open about his own emotions too, crying when he is sad and trying hard when he is frustrated or dissatisfied. He often asks to know what is wrong when he senses upset within his classmates and wants to do what he can to rectify those situations. This is peak mindfulness--not only is Kalim acutely aware of his own emotional state, but he's also pretty consistent with sensing those in others (the one big exception here, of course, is Jamil). Sometimes Kalim can be blindsided by his own blind faith in others or his overeagerness causing him to blurt things out unintentionally. He's definitely not perfect in this regard--however, there's plenty of room and willingness to grow and to learn (something which Kalim has expressed both in book 5 and in birthday vignettes).

Jamil more readily fits in with a less savory interpretation of mindfulness. He thinks ahead and uses what he knows of others to manipulate them or put himself in an advantageous position. This notably occurs in book 4 (when Jamil plans to use the feedback of Yuu and the Scarabia members to dethrone Kalim), as well as in events (like Beans Day, where he plans to entrap Kalim when Kalim cooks a fragrant lunch that Jamil purposefully packed for him). He uses what he notices or knows about others (Azul’s shadiness, rumors about Lilia being a bad cook) to avoid interactions which could be less than beneficial to him. Jamil’s main fault is that he fails to recognize people’s strengths (something which Leona calls him out for in book 6), and instead focuses mainly on their weaknesses, shortcomings, and how those could be exploited (mostly because he’s in a position where he cannot outright act in certain ways without suffering some consequences). Jamil is aware of these potential consequences and finds or plans workarounds for them. However, he is also mindful in a more conventional sense too. He’s usually the competent one in Scarabia’s leadership and fulfills the organizational tasks that Kalim doesn’t. The duo is like sun and moon; they balance each other out.

The Beautiful Queen's Spirit of Tenacity

Simply put, tenacity is determination and endurance. One is persistent in maintaining, adhering to, or seeking something valued or desired. Each of the members of Pomefiore knows what they want, and they are stubborn in their pursuit of it.

Vil makes it clear in book 5 that he wants to win VDC/SDC, thereby proving to himself and to the world that he is capable of more than playing the part of a “villain”. He already had high standards for himself prior to book 5 (exercising, doing skincare, maintaining a healthy diet, etc.), but you can see how single minded Vil is toward this one goal. He drives his team members hard and even cancels a major job offer from his manager so he can dedicate all his time and energy into seizing the win. And how many times has Vil lost in the past??? Countless, I bet. Yet here he is, trying again and again, even when he knows that happy endings aren’t guaranteed and his efforts may not bear fruit after all.

Rook pursues any and all things beautiful!! He used to just be content admiring beauty, but with Vil’s prompting, Rook soon also found value in beautifying himself. It means Rook can also put beauty out into the world, and helps him better appreciate other works of art. This man is infamous around campus for his… admittedly creepy and unnerving habits. He follows people around, documents them in photographs, memorizes their personal details, etc. His keen eye has also earned him praise though—Vil can comfortably rely on him for honest feedback, and Neige recognizes him as a dedicated member of his fan club. Rook is nothing if not determined and dedicated to his craft.

Epel is tenacious too, but in a way that Vil would not approve of in all circumstances. Epel is stubborn in his thinking and refuses to let go of his hometown roots. He’s very proud of where he comes from, so he puts up a fight with Vil when Vil demands that Epel address his upperclassmen more politely. Epel sees the command as a threat to himself, and a challenge to the hometown he loves. Additionally, it takes Epel a while to reevaluate his deeply ingrained views on gender norms. He’s all-around very strong-headed!

The King of the Underworld's Spirit of Diligence

Diligence is when one is involved in careful and persistent work or effort. This principle generally governs all of STYX, the blot research organization operated by the Shroud family. Their job is a thankless one—they do such important work, yet it isn’t recognized by the general public due to STYX’s secretive nature.

Idia, as the temporary acting director of STYX in book 6, gets involved in their research. There’s many Phantoms kept in the STYX facility, so there are many safety precautions in place and care taken to ensure no one is harmed. (Ironically, it was Idia’s lack of diligence that led to Ortho’s passing.) Outside of book 6, one can say that Idia has a diligent personality, at least when it comes to his hyperfixations. He becomes dedicated to media that captures his interests to the point where it actually incentivizes him to leave his room (Ghost Marriage) and overcome his meek stutter to speak confidently and lecture people (first Halloween event, his Dorm Uniform vignettes, etc.).

I believe Ortho is diligent in being Idia’s emotional support both before and after Ortho is officially recognized as a separate student. He cheers Idia on and encourages him to touch grass socialize, wishing nothing but the best for his big brother! Ortho wasn’t always like this either; he used to be quite stiff and monotone, and had to learn how to emulate emotions by carefully observing and absorbing media. His motivation in book 6 is also fueled by diligence—Ortho worries about what he can do to support Idia’s wishes, and this is ultimately what drives him to taking over STYX and unleashing the Phantoms. Then, in Fairy Gala: What If, Ortho stubbornly tries to come up with his own ideas regarding the theme of evolution rather than rely on others for answers. He works hard to developing his own concept and is able to put on a show-stopping performance with it!

The Thorn Fairy's Spirit of Nobility

To be noble can refer to strength of character, mind, and/or literal position, birth, rank, or social status. No matter which definition you go with, I think they could all apply to the members of Diasomnia.

Regarding noble status, Malleus and Silver are both princes. Lilia and Sebek may not be nobles themselves, but they (in addition to Silver) serve royalty and have close personal connections to people in high places, be it via friends or via family. Diasomnia is very well-connected.

Beyond superficial nobility, one can say that those in Diasomnia are noble in character as well. To begin with, Lilia has sacrificed himself for his country on multiple occasions. This isn’t limited to going to battle, but also ferrying his princess’s egg to safety, traveling the world for knowledge on dragon eggs, and going so far as to give up his own life force to hatch Malleus. And what does Lilia get for all of this? Banished from the capital, screamed at, shunned—all because he is a nobody, a bat of no status. Despite this, Lilia does not become bitter nor hateful, he instead opens his heart and mind to the world and seeks to instill others with the same wisdom. Through all the tragedies he suffered, Lilia rose stronger than ever rather than sinking to the same levels as the narrow minded senators that rebuked him.

Silver is, perhaps, the most overtly noble in character. He extols the virtues of listening and getting along with others, often serving as the peacemaker between parties (typically between Sebek and their peers, but we’ve also seen Silver smoothing things out between all of NRC and diurnal fae). He also assumes the best of others and is ready to leap into action to protect them at a moment’s notice. His kind and gentle nature attracts many forest animals to him, who can likely sense the purity of Silver’s heart.

Sebek’s brand of nobility isn’t geared at others in general but rather is pinpointed on one person (that being Malleus). He is noble in the sense that he dedicates himself to his prince. It’s no secret that practically everything Sebek does is to “live up” to perceived standards so as to not shame Malleus or the Draconia royal family—from doing well academically to dressing neatly and throwing himself into training… Sebek’s passion and eagerness is what makes him stand out. It could also be said that he fiercely defends his friends and those who have earned his respect (albeit maybe not worded in the most tactful ways). That, too, in a sense, is honorable.

Finally, we have Malleus. What can be said about him that hasn’t already been said? He is the prince of a nation, so there are many people looking to him for leadership. As such, Malleus must always conduct himself in a manner that puts his country’s best face forward and expects the same of others. Indeed, he reprimands Sebek for behaving in poor taste and instructs him to apologize to Leona, the prince of another nation. However, what is most telling about Malleus is his impetus for Overblotting. He deludes himself into thinking “this is what is best for everyone”. In his mind, he frames forcing everyone into dream states so they can stay forever and have their happily ever afters as the “good” and “noble” thing to do. He’s definitely not doing this for himself, he argues, it’s a gift for everyone. And throughout book 7, Malleus tries to gaslight others into this belief too 💀 when bro’s already convinced himself of this and refuses to see otherwise—

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hello! Recently I've been reading your works (usually twst, disney and sometimes oc) and im really interested.

I would like to request yandere cinderella x reader please if thats okay!

Im not sure if there is any request rules i should follow since i cant really find any or if its open so sorry if i broke any of them! Btw no need to answer this if you aren't interested or dont have the energy, im just curious in how you would write them since they are very unique and nicely written. Remember please take care of yourself and take rest when you need to!! (since you literally post almost everyday)

I try I do post everday, though I'm surprised anyone noticed 🖤🖤🖤

Yandere Genderbend Cinderella x Reader

To say you didn’t like you’re step-brother would be an understatement. 

You hated him. 

Him and all that he stood for.

It was disgusting, how wicked Ellwick was to you and your family. Not wicked in the way that he looked down on you; more so in the way that his existence was an obstacle to yours. Currently he made it his mission to insert himself where he never belonged, constantly upending your rightful place. You remembered the time before the single father and son duo shoved their way into your family’s lives. It was peaceful, well as peaceful as life with your family could be. Guns, knifes, drugs, cement shoes–the life that meant serving your family and running the city from behind the scenes. Your mother, your brother, and the many associates that joined your family. 

What can you say? Blood is binding especially when spilt.

Cinder Ellwick and his father came into your home under the silly notion of ‘healthy’ love. As if fighting alongside one another wasn’t love, these men marched into your lives expecting to ‘fix’ your already perfect family. 

Your brother and the many others could spot the foolishness in their morale, unfortunately your mother could not. Which devastated her the moment her new husband got his rightful comeuppance. 

“He shouldn’t have joined the game, if he didn’t know how to play.” 

Your brother scoffed under his breath during your mother’s mournful eulogy. You couldn’t help but agree. Only irritating you more when your mother dressed in black brought the blonde-headed boy to you two saying something along the lines of him being a permanent burden on your family.

“It’s what he would’ve wanted.”

So what? It was his fault for getting involved! His fault for getting kidnapped! His fault for refusing to arm himself, when you warned him! So why did you, your family, have to live with the nuisance?

“I’m going to try my best, to be apart of this family. Properly this time.”

“That’s good to hear, Ellwick.”

Not long after that he took up the role as you’re family’s cleanup crew, eliminating those your family marked. Unpaid debts and traitors were his targets, the scum of your faction–perfect level for Ellwick to begin truly becoming apart of this family. You’d think that’d be enough for him to feel included. But that’s just like him to be so greedy.

“May I come with you on that mission?”

Ellwick asked, still panting from running down the halls from Mother’s office trying to catch up to you and your brother. You both were prepared, dressed to the nines in comparison to him who was in a dirtied leather suit. It'd be a burden and embarrassment for him to come.

Your brother laughed, ” No chance! Look at you covered in cinders again! What’d you do, wrestle your target in a fire pit?”

Ellwick awkwardly smiled as your brother held his stomach. Laughter rising and eyes widening as if he had an epiphany. He points at the blonde, who barely winces at the pressure.

“Kind of like–Cinderwick! Haha!” 

You rolled your eyes as he repeated the name inbetween his belly laughs. Ellwick’s smile was twitching on the otherhand turning his attention to you. Glaring at him you ushered your brother away, barely turning your head to the crushed boy.

“You can’t. We won’t be letting an outsider handle things as private as this.”

Many of your interactions would go like this. Cinderwick inserting himself in your personal business and you putting him in his place, your latest mission was no different. Only that you were older and more responsibility will have fallen to you. You had to step up more than ever.

“Alright my children as we discussed you will be infiltrating the gathering. Your target is the first son of the Mayor. Blackmail, romance him, kiss up, we need a foothold on the city. I can only trust my children.”

“Than why is he here?” 

You shifted your eyes to the blond hitman who was standing barely a foot you and your brother. Your mother sighed.

“We need all hands on deck. Our competitors are in attendance as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if they try anything and I just can’t have my babies be put in danger.”

She held both you and your brother’s cheeks pinching it a little. Leaning into her touch you happily smiled at her over-endearment. Whereas your brother recoiled and wriggled away nursing his cheek.

“Aw geez Ma will you stop.”

“Now my children.” She looked to Ellwick.”All my children. I wish you the best.” 

______________________________________________________________

It was almost commendable, how fast Cinderwick managed to do it. Wooing the son of the mayor and leading him on a wild goose chase that ultimately led to a grand proposal. To which he accepted. 

There was a nervousness about him being the victor; a sudden power handed to someone who wasn’t apart of the family. He was in a position of power, a position that allowed him to string your family along. 

“Congratulations my son! We’re happy you’ve found love in such a place!” 

Sugarcoated words and fake pearly smiles were the next step in the mission. Officially tying the mayor to your family…all with a man who wasn’t apart of the family. 

“Oh thank you step-mother! I can’t wait to have you and the family at our wedding.”

Your mother’s eye twitched at the ‘step’ but she maintained her smile letting Cinderwick cuddle into his fiance’s arm as they continued to chatter. It was revolting that it was he who returned to the estate with a cocky smile and a ring on his finger.

“Well you told all your children to do your best and they tried. So I will take the mantle up…as long as you agree to my terms.”

The following sentence had your mother sending you and your brother out of the room–treatment originally reserved for an outsider like him. Your brother stomped away dropping his emotionless persona, you followed.

“ARGH! How the heck did that slimy cinderblock idiot get ahead of us!? This is ridiculous!”

“...We tried…Arthur don’t do what I think you’re going to do.”

He turned to you the fire in his eyes directed to you.

“Tried?! We should’ve easily bested that bag of soot!” 

Turning back around he made his way to his office slamming his mini fridge open to reveal a plethora of beers and cheap wine bottles. You thought you threw those out. You debated staying as he quickly began to chug the drinks haphazardly dropping the finished cans to the ground. 

“Arthur. Don’t drink anything else.”

“Why!? Why wasn’t it me or you even!?”

“Well for one, typical romance isn’t exactly our field of expertise. I don’t know what you exp–”

You were cutoff by the ceramic smashing near the wall behind your head. Barely missing you it was lucky all you got was a cut from the ricochet glass shatter. It didn’t bother you, it seemed shallow, so you pressed further entering the room more. Closing and locking the door behind you as you closed in on your brother aiming to simply hug him. 

It didn’t stop his drinking bout but it did bring him to a wobbly pause. Letting you slowly walk him away from the desk the alcohol sat. As if he was being taunted once he got barely three steps away he wrenched himself from your grip darting towards the alcohol. In his raw distracted strength he barely pushed you back into the decorative cabinet. 

You would have repeated your attempt if it weren’t for the sudden grip of Ellwick’s leather glove on your wrist. Naturally you pulled yourself away or tried to. Struggling against his bone breaking hold, you ultimately relented as Arthur began to shove off the contents on his desk. Ellwick easily shoved you out of the room, successfully doing so. With that same force he pushes you against the wall, trapping you against it with his narrowed irises and presence alone.

“What are you doing?!”

“Its none of your business.”

“It is every bit my business! Why would you go anywhere near him when he’s in a drunken rage?”

“Because he’s family!” Your voice cracked with emotion, daring to look up at his softened blue eyes. With faux cough, you fixed yourself staring head on to the blonde before slipping past him.

“I don’t expect you to understand that though.”

Speed-walking out of the hall, your only goal was to return to your room hoping to finally relieve the burning sensation in your eyes. Ellwick on the other hand watched you walk away more specifically the cut that had let blood of yours trickle down. 

In a fury like none other Ellwick made his way to the closed door. It was time to end this. 

For good.

_____________________________________________________________

“My son. I want you to know I will always love your mother and I’ll never stop loving her.”

“Right.”

“But I’ve found someone who makes me happy! Someone who will cherish me and you!”

“Okay.”

“The thing is…she has a very different line of work.”

Ellwick wasn’t sold. Even as young as he was there wasn’t an inherent attraction to the mafia-life. When he had the chance to he’d read a torrent of love-stories and twisted family relations all with mafia environments. It usually ended in death, somehow bringing a foreboding cloud over this new developement. 

*Click*

“Whoa whoa little one I get that I’m not a replacement for any–”

“My gun. Take it.”

“E-excuse me?”

Ellwick didn’t really register you before this. Eyes widening as someone as tiny as you easily cocked and flipped the butt of a gun in the direction of his father. Wielding the weapon he’d only seen on those forbidden adult movies with such ease. A silent urgency on your part, you were offering your gun with a custom handle of your favorite color. 

It was an uncharacteristic show of kindness. 

The first he’d seen in a while. 

Since the announcement of your parent’s engagement there was a tension birthed among your closest members and your family. It was a clear sentiment that they dared not express with Ellwick in the room or their boss for that matter.

‘You’re going to be a target. You’re going to die.’

Everyone wanted to say it. Hint at it. But the air was too thick and they were too scared to break the silence. 

But not you.

You were the only one to tell it to him straight. Other than Ellwick himself. Of course the old geezer didn’t listen, avidly refusing to take your weapon and then attempting to get the weapon back from you.  

It made you his favorite.

To think underneath such a cold exterior there was something soft–small but soft. Its what Ellwick told himself when you’d glare and insult him. He’s never found himself doing the same for your mother and brother. Only finding it in him to imagine their tortuous ends at his hands, he could never do that with you. Even when he began to do his work, he’d be all the more motivated when imagining two-thirds of his step-family.

Step-family. He didn’t like that title.

He hated associating you with that.

He liked you a lot more than that of a step-family.

He could handle the exclusion, the insults, the glares, all of it but he couldn’t have you being in the arms of someone else. So he pulled something he’d thought he buried long ago, charming the mayor’s son. 

Having an influential leader’s heir willing to bend to his every whim and need made him powerful. 

A threat. 

So when your mother came to him practically begging for his forgiveness, Ellwick knew this was his chance to set everything in motion. So when you and your brother angrily departed he was prepared.

“The bit of your faction, handselected at my beck and call.”

“Done. You inform us of the policies and actions of the mayor?”

“Policies and upcoming legislation only. I’m not stalking my in-law.’

“Fine.“

“We meet once a month, I’ll come to you.”

“We can do that. Be willing to let your siblings visit you in-home during ermengenies?”

“Yes…I want (Y/n).”

“Excuse me?”

“I want (Y/n).

“You can’t be serious—”

“I am. I want full ownership of (Y/n) their activities, everything. Otherwise I’ll be inclined to fully inform the mayor and police department of what your true business entails.”

“I can’t possibly give you my child! Who do you think I am?!”

Ellwick made a face. Naturally and quickly pulling a gun out of his suit, earning a horrified reaction from his stepmother who was staring at the barrel. It’s not that Ellwick was unaware of the metal detectors and constant pat downs but when you’re a trained assassin this is light work.

“The same idiot, who thought’d I’d always be cleaning your messes. The same idiot who’s been ostracizing me and still put a gun in my hand.” 

He moved closer but not close enough for his step-mother’s garrote-technique to be effective. He was almost inclined to reveal his companions ‘guarding her door or the poisoned dart in his cuff link. But he decided it wouldn’t be needed…not today at least.

“The same idiot who’s blind to the abusive alcholic she raised. That is more than likely hurting (Y/n) right now.”

“What’re you–”

“That’s what your first-husband was like, right? An alchoholic who ran the mafia with an iron fist.”

“Enough!...Fine. You can take them with you after your honeymoon.”

“Before.”

“Why would you–” 

“Be-fore.”

“....It will be…done.”

When she finished, Ellwick had full intentions to find you. No doubt cooking up a barrage of insults to cutely angrily whisper behind you’re door. But before he could make it to your room, he heard the sound of glass shattering and muffled yelling.

He could only see red. Red as the cut that was bleeding on your skin. 

Seems like his role as the family’s ‘cleanup crew’ would come in handy.

[stxrborne]

PRECISION

|| Feitan x neutral! Reader ||

|| dt to @after-witch @ddarker-dreams @depravitycentral for inspiring me to finally get off my ass and write, and also for their amazing works ofc! check them out! ||

It’s ironic, Feitan thinks, to sew up the wounds of his victims. But they can’t die just yet.

His thin, long fingers push the needle through the victims skin of their inner thigh, and he gives out a light scoff in mockery when they whimper. Little rich boy can’t handle a little pain? He hates these rich types that think they can pull one over on the troupe. They were fun to interrogate, they always worked up his temper where taking it out on them was something he looked forward to. Due punishment, not only for their bratty, pretentious attitude, but their lucky pull in birth circumstances. Feitan acts as their comeuppance.

He’ll give it to this victim, however, still holding on to the information despite it all. Usually his male victims would start spilling whatever they knew when Feitan picked up a hammer and pushed their thighs apart. But here his victim was, crying and whimpering, and now a eunuch, and still not speaking.

Feitan finishes his stitches with a clean knot, and sets the needle and thread aside on his medical tool tables. He likes to pride himself in his efficiency and perfection. After all, torture required just as much knowledge of the human body as a surgeon. The image of Feitan as a doctor, in a different life, flashed in his mind and he laughed aloud. Maybe. Maybe if he was born lucky. Maybe if he didn’t have to learn surgery and amputations from the cruelty of his home.

After all, doctors can’t save everyone. And he didn’t see the point in willingly putting that responsibility and burden on yourself. Especially for ungrateful rich brats.

No, it was much easier to take life than to protect it. Much more fulfilling too. Other people aren’t your responsibility.

How funny though, Feitan thought. To now have something to willingly burden yourself with.

His ears pricked up to his victim shuffling in his chains, and he turned to them. The man wasn’t remarkable, only one person really was in Feitan’s eyes. The only thing noticeable now was the man’s family crest Feitan had carved on the skin above his heart.

How can you claim to belong to something, if you can’t even mark yourself with it? When you die, how will people know where you belonged to?

Feitan takes the man’s face in between his hand, and moves his head around to inspect his work. He debated between leaving the cut next to eye, dropping a few drops of an infectious bacteria into it so the eye would eventually eat itself. It’d take about a week, and then another for the infection to spread to the rest of the body.

Feitan couldn’t help but smile at the image. He gripped his victims face with his nails, and told him so.

“It’d be funny to see you swell up with blood and pus. I wonder if you’d get fat like an ugly cyst, but you already don’t look all that different from one.”

He let him go unceremoniously, and watched as his head fell forward. Feitan will grant him the mercy of sleep. After all, a dog will still endure abuse if you feed it often enough.

“Feitan?”

He heard you before you reached the basement door of course. He knew where you were in the house at all times after all.

You knew you weren’t allowed to open the door. If you needed him, just knock or call his name. You think it’s because he’d have to kill you if you saw what he was doing.

He knows that, and thinks you’re silly. He wipes his bloodied hands with a clean cloth as he walks to the door. His eyes meet yours when he opens the door, and his gaze doesn’t leave yours as he closes it. You don’t even know what color the walls of the basement are.

Feitan looks you over, with the same precision he gives to everything. You’ve been picking at your hangnails again and for some reason you didn’t bother bandaging your thumb, where you had ripped and tore at the skin enough for it to bleed. Another thing is that you’re wearing nothing but a towel, which means one thing.

“I want to take a bath,” you say, your clasped hands nervously squeezing themselves. It was another thing you weren’t allowed to do on your own. You didn’t understand why, and you didn’t understand why he did the things he did. He’d set the water the way you like it, even though you don’t remember telling him. He scents it with fragrances and oils that you can tell are expensive, in your favorite scents too. He helps you in and then holds out your towel so he doesn’t see your naked body, and he swiftly turns and closes the curtain. He does the same when you’re ready to come out.

He has a chair he sits on, quietly and unmoving as he watches your silhouette. Maybe it’s a kink or fetish of some kind, you think. It had taken you a while to get use to. But something tells you it wasn’t that exactly. One time you had slipped when washing your body, and before you could fully gasp out in surprise, you were in his arms with his face to the side.

He didn’t act the way you expected a kidnapper would. But it still didn’t explain why you were here at all.

Feitan nods at you, and you lead the way. You’ve learned he preferred to be your second shadow than to be your leading light.

Your large bathroom was attached to your equally large room. Funny how you’ve started to refer to them as ‘yours’. It’s difficult not to, when he is somehow able to let you decorate it the way you want. Feitan does that often, you’ve found. No matter how expensive your request, and you have tested that, he will get it for you. You’re scared to ask how.

He begins his routine when you both step into the bathroom. He gets the water to the temperature you like and let the bath tub fill. The sound of the tub jets fill the air, and you watch as he drips expensive oils into the water. His movements are methodical, and somehow he’s figured out the ratio of water to oil that’s right for your skin.

Feitan doesn’t dare mix the water with his hand.

Your nose is soon filled with the scent, and you feel your tense shoulders slowly let go and relax. He’s watching you, you know that. He stops the faucet when the tub fills up, and you walk up the small steps and stand in front of him.

A part of you is always tempted to touch. His pale skin is smooth and such a contrast to his dark hair. This close, you can see just a hint of green in his black eyes, the way they don’t seem to blink. You wonder if he is even human.

You nod softly and he moves behind you. You can’t even feel his presence, hear his breath, and you slightly jump when he reaches to gently clasp the small fold that holds your towel up.

Feitan waits until you calm again to continue. He never touches you directly, not even a stray touch from any finger. He takes off your towel and spreads it as a barrier between you and him.

But then you do something that has his heart beating and stopping erratically. His breath catches in his throat, your gaze turning to him and he feels trapped beneath it. How do you not know how much power you have over him?

His eyes instantly move to the way you nervously bite at your lip. Somehow he can know everything about you, how you think, how you word those thoughts, and yet now, he can’t believe what he thinks you’re going to say.

“…help me?” You say slowly, so quietly that a normal person wouldn’t have heard you.

But you know he did. And you don’t drop your eyes from him.

Feitan, in return, lets the towel drop.

[joeloverture]

comeuppance | qz!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog

pairing: qz!joel miller x f!reader summary: [post outbreak] when your recklessness causes an arms deal to go south, joel makes sure you regret it. warnings: (18+ mdni) qz!joel, age gap (late 20s/early 50s), written with hbo!joel in mind but with game!joel lore, guns, mentioned executions, misogynistic names outside (and in!) a sexual context, canon-typical violence as in murder (joel kills a soldier 'on-screen'), reader is a little shit but joel is worse, darkish & dubcon, spanking as a punishment, gunplay, attempted boot humping, degradation, humiliation, one kick to the cunt, mean!joel, orgasm denial [no use of y/n] word count: 2.7k a/n: this is my (admittedly late) submission for @iamasaddie's writing challenge 2.0! my prompt was 'you can't hide forever'. the genre was technically dark but joel himself isn't scarily dark here. thank you so much to aly for, once again, bringing this fandom together with her challenges. it's a steep task but she does a great job every time! and even more thanks to @joelsdagger and @lovesickonmybed for helping me brainstorm! (i have half of a brain without my wonderfully creative friends).

It only takes one deal gone south to fuck everything up.

You know the compass is already ticking that way the moment you and Joel, your longtime smuggling partner, enter the abandoned warehouse. Much like everything else in the Boston QZ, it’s falling apart. The corrugated metal walls are pitted with rust, and old blood is caked all over the floors. In another life, it might’ve been a slaughterhouse, but there’s no real way of knowing. It’s been long enough that any signage has deteriorated. The building’s state of decay, however, isn’t what messes things up.

It’s the singular man that walks in from the opposite side of the atrium.

FEDRA’s favorite executioner. Slitted eyes far apart, thinned out lips, and graying black hair. Rarely seen away from the gallows, only recognizable to you from all of the nightmares you’ve had of his face being the last you see.

If it were drugs, you’d think nothing of it. FEDRA soldiers buy quietly from you all of the time – but they have no need for guns that they don’t already have.

Joel steps forward, merchandise in the duffel bag over his shoulder, none the wiser. A knot ties itself in the base of your throat. You’re too busy trying to figure out what to do, what to do, what to do that you barely even realize that the soldier has a gun aimed right between your eyes until you’re looking right down the barrel.

Your hand jerks to your holster, drawing your pistol in one swipe.

“Drop your fucking gun!” he barks in your direction. It clatters out of your hands. “Don’t you dare fucking move.” Your hands fly up as you take a step back, nearly stumbling into a nearby crate. “Joel Miller and his bitch,” the man sneers. “What a lucky find. You two have quite the bounty on your heads.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Joel says, face completely blank.

“Easy for you to say,” the guard says with a nagging smirk. “Your little cunt here already did. Pretty fucking dumb not to check who you’re selling your merchandise to, huh?”

Joel tenses, ultimately huffing through his nose. “Can we get this over with?”

“I’ll make it easy, Miller. Come with me alive so I get paid, or come with me dead so I still get paid.”

Joel’s fingers twitch behind his back, and after almost three years of working with him, it’s impossible not to pick up on the subtext. Keep him busy. His hand is already reaching for the revolver in his back pocket.

“Turn the other way. I can make this worth your time,” you say. “But you’re lucky if those sons of bitches you work for even offer you half the reward they’ve posted for us. Dragging the bodies from Area 5 to the closest checkpoint… you’d have your work cut out for you.”

“Yeah fucking right,” he spits. “You two have been running around free for too damn long. Causing too much trouble. Not anymo–”

The man’s mouth freezes around the words by the time the bullet soars throat the canvas fabric of Joel’s duffel bag and through the man’s jugular. The soldier’s hands claw for his throat while he gargles on the blood as he begins the descent to the ground. New blood, still pumping directionless from the split artery, joins the old.

Much like him, where he’s slumping against the ground, chest moving until the very end, your hands clutch at your own throat. “We need to go,” you say, knowing the rest of FEDRA will come looking for the firefight at any second now. Joel doesn’t move. “Joel!” You reach out to tug his sleeve, but he doesn’t react. “Jesus– move!”

Joel turns to face you, gun still hanging from his hand. His fingers flex around the grip. “What the hell were you thinkin’, little girl?” You can hear his breathing, amplified from how close he is to you. His once inexpressive face is now red, lips curled, skin tight like a crushed soda can. 

“I– what?”

“Not vettin’ your buyers. First fuckin’ thing I told you all them years ago, wasn’t it? Gotta check so you don’t sell shit to the wrong guy, yeah?” He stalks closer to you – you stumble back.

Not vetting the now dead executioner, whose blood is currently creeping up to the soles of your boots. Your mistake, yes, a potentially catastrophic one that you’ll definitely never make again after this, but he’d been on your ass about finding buyers and after an entire day of burning bodies, the last thing you wanted to do was go asking around about the ‘John’ in search of guns that you’d talked to over the radio tower.

“We’re alive, aren’t we?”

Joel finally jerks his sleeve away from your grip. Your hand falls slack by your side, burning from his fire stoker touch. “And you oughta count your fuckin’ blessings for that. Dumbfuck of a girl, gonna get me killed,” he spits. Spittle flies across your neck. 

You flinch – and not because you’re scared. You’ve never seen him like this before. You hear noise in the distance, the moving of FEDRA trucks, no doubt. “Joel! We can do this later – we need to fucking go–”

“Then you better start running,” he says gruffly.

You don’t need to be told twice.

You sprint out of the atrium, cursing as your bloodied soles carve tracks behind you. A stack of crates blocks the door, which you vault over and shimmy your way through the broken glass panel. The hallway ahead of you is dark, and you have no idea where the fuck you’re going, only that you can’t stop. Each impact of your foot on the ground is like being struck by lightning, carbonating the racing blood pumping through your body. More glass crunches behind you, and a shock of terror pierces you when you hear Joel’s snarls filling the corridor.

There’s a metal cart in your way, which you send whirling in Joel’s direction. He grunts, presumably hitting him in the stomach before it goes clattering on the ground. You make the most of the diversion, hurtling forward and lurching through a cracked door.

Dead fucking end.

An office, by the looks of it. Desks all over the place, leftover tasks still pinned on cork boards from outbreak day, chairs on their sides. You hear Joel huffing and puffing behind you, and fear forks through you. You fall to your hands and knees, crawling underneath the labyrinth of desks and tucking yourself against a wall, carpet-burned hand to your mouth to muffle your breathing. Your chest avalanches with every single breath.

“You ain’t off the hook,” Joel says, voice getting closer with every word. You can hear the thump of his boots against the carpet. See the spread of his shadow roaming across the wall. You squint through the seam of two desks. He's looking over his shoulder when you haul yourself across the room to the next closest desk.

You look around for anything that might get you out of this long enough to slip back out of the door. If you can make it back to the apartment, maybe he can cool off on his own walk back. You reach up for a stapler and take a brief second to peek over a filing cabinet before flinging it against the wall. It snaps open, spilling decades old staples all over the floor.

“Only a clicker’s fallin’ for that,” he tuts at you. His boots land on the floor again, one, two, three steps closer to you. You wince, balling your hands into fists. 

All you can hear is the thrashing of your own heart. You scooch away from the desk – maybe if you throw something small at him, like a pack of sticky notes, it’ll be enough to abduct his attention long enough for you to slip by–

“You can’t hide forever,” Joel goddamn coos at you. You see him bending at the waist, scoping out the undersides of desks, seeking you out–

You crawl out from under the desk and book it to the door.

Stupid. Fucking. Idea.

Joel hauls you back by the belt loop, laughing as you cry out. You try squirming away, kicking at him, but his other arm wraps around your torso. It hits you then that you have no idea what he might do to you. You’ve trusted him with your life before, but what would he do when you risked his? You’d always been too scared to find out. He spins you, slamming you over the desk. You cry out as your chest meets the wood. His hand drags your wrists together, pinning them at the small of your back.

“Let me – the fuck– go!” you yell at him, trying to bend your elbow at the right angle to nail him in the chest.

He tightens his grip so much that you can barely move an inch. “Made your fuckin’ bed, gotta lie in it, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head at you. His hand grazes over your ass, and you stiffen as he looms over you. He is just a man. Your mind spins to the worst-case scenario. No, no, no, no–

“How about an… old-fashioned corporal punishment to set ya straight?” Within the next second, he’s yanking your jeans down your thighs.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“Joel–” you exhale, breath shuddery. “Knock it off–”

“No panties? I was gonna be nice and spank ya over them…” Joel frowns at you. “Poor baby. ‘S gonna sting real bad.”

You snap at him, “What, you want me to go to the local QZ Victoria’s Secret?”

Joel swats, hard, across your asscheek.

You’ve seen how intense Joel’s brute strength can be. You’ve just never been on the receiving end of it. A cry pushes out of your throat, and you hunch over the desk as you struggle helplessly against Joel. Tears spring at your eyes.

Mercifully, Joel runs his calloused palm over the smarting skin. “Shh, shh, shh, shh. ‘S okay, Jus’ gotta teach ya a lesson. Make sure it sticks.” He strokes the nape of your neck as you whimper into the desk.

You tense up in preparation for the second hit, but, if anything, it just makes the impact worse. It prickles your other cheek, leaving your knees shaky. And God help you, your clit twitches. Twitches. Your thighs are already heating up, and you can’t help but squirm in a good way underneath Joel. A single tear slips over your waterline, and you have to tilt your head into the shoulder of your shirt to wipe it off. You don’t want him to see you weak – not that weak.

The next spank makes him grunt from how hard he swings his palm into your backside. “Joel!” you shout, pain nearly splitting you in two. Your feet raise off of the ground as you prop yourself up on the desk, kicking uselessly at his shins. All he does is chuckle at you.

Horror sinks like a cinderblock in your stomach when you realize that your hole, leaking slick, is practically fucking winking at him. You thank the darkness. It’s about the only good thing about this place.

“You don’t like that?” he mock-pouts at you. It’s enough to make you throb. The opposite, you’d say if you could.

A series of spanks follows, but at least these are lighter, and in rapid succession. Still, you jerk with each impact, squirming so that your fingers dance in his grip. “Stupid little girl. Thought you could sell our shit to a FEDRA bitch and get off scot-free? Really thought you could get away from me, huh?”

You try clamming up, desperately attempting to close your legs together. You squeeze your thighs together, relieved at the pressure – and then you hear a resounding click behind you.

You still.

Joel’s gun, still fucking hot from the bullet it’d fired right into the executioner’s throat, traces up the small of your back… all the way to your throat. “Could put one right here,” Joel whispers, more to himself than you. “Show ya what happens to girls that don’t follow orders.” He jams it into your skin, and you hiss at the pain, at the bruise it’s sure to leave. And in spite of it all, you fucking gush. God, you’re fucked up.

He wouldn’t kill you – he needs you more than you need him. But common sense isn’t enough to prevent the thrill, the arousal smiting your body from head to toe.

“I’ll reconsider if ya give it a kiss.” He nudges the barrel carefully against your lips and you stop breathing for a second, maybe two. “Go on. Give it some lovin’. Suck it like a cock. I know you’re good at it. Hear all the guys you bring over.”

You whimper at the thought of Joel listening to you getting your hook ups off – at the thought of him fisting his own cock while he listens. Obediently, you part your lips, slowly, ever so slowly, taking the gun down your throat. It fills your mouth up in such a strange way – all hard edges. It’d be freezing cold if not for the fact that it’s a weapon of death, a scythe in its own way. One press of the trigger, and you’d be just like the guard. You suck even harder at it, eyes rolling back in your skull. Your thighs twitch, stripes of slick running down your thighs. 

Joel reaches between your legs, grabbing at the meat of your inner thigh to spread you open. Instead, he gets a handful of the arousal that’s been pooling between your legs since he first bent you over the desk.

You freeze, pausing your ministrations on the pistol. He himself freezes before he drags his hips over your folds. His finger pads hover over your swollen clit before he properly rubs you once, and then twice. Your hips cant into the closest thing – his hand.

Joel makes a disgusted noise and swats your leaking pussy before shoving you forward and stepping back. You’re panting, properly fucked out even though he’d barely touched you. Cross-eyed, tongue hanging out, face hot. He looks you up and down, brows furrowing with revulsion. “Horny fuckin’ bitch. Creamin’ all over me. That long since you got action that a spankin’ and a gun in your mouth is all it takes to get you riled up? Pathetic.” He shoves the gun back in his pocket, still shining with your saliva.

He wipes your wetness all over your leg, grabs the back of your collar, and drags you to the floor in one foul swoop. You fall on your hands and knees again, ass still stinging from his treatment, lightheaded from how needy you are. Even his brutal treatment makes you whimper. 

You reach for his calf, pulling yourself up to brace your dripping cunt against his boot. You rut against it, not even fully cognizant of your movements as you roll your hips, praying that he lets you have this if nothing else. Your orgasm, wetting his boot thoroughly. Your scent, clinging to him on the walk back to the apartment. You buck into the boot, moaning as the toe bumps against your clit. It might be enough, if you could just do it one more time–

Joel tears his shoe out from underneath you, face pinched with aversion. “No!” you cry, still grabbing for his calf. You fall onto your back, legs spread and panting. Your ass needles from his spanking. The ceiling tiles spin above you. 

The same toe you’d been humping kicks into your cunt, and you yelp, curling in on yourself. Another tear slides down your burning cheek as you reach down to cup your sore pussy. Even that pressure feels like touching a live wire. 

Joel looks down at his shining boot and makes a disgusted noise. “Does humiliatin’ yourself always get ya dicked down?” 

He turns around, already walking away from you without a care in the world. The gun grip pokes out of his pocket, taunting you.

“Pull your goddamn pants up and get a move on. Curfew’s soon.”

[schrodingerspsycho]

Another Shot - Chapter 1

Pairing - Sam Carpenter x Reader

Warnings - None

Word Count - 1.5k

Summary - Enemies to Lovers. An unexpected reunion throws you for a loop.

Help Palestine by clicking this link!🇵🇸

You heard the bell above the door ring and started making your way to the front counter. It was a slow day and Tara, your new coworker and friend, was already up there, but you liked talking with the customers. You saw she was already helping the group and planned on hanging back in case she needed anything. That was until you recognized the tall woman grinning down at her.

“Sam?” You approached the counter cautiously, and her face fell when she saw you. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Y/N.” Her icy tone paired perfectly with the cold look in her eyes. You glared back at her. You couldn’t believe she had the gall to treat you this way; as if you were the one who-

“Wait, you two know each other?” Tara’s eyes darted between you, undoubtedly trying to decipher the tension that hung in the air.

“Yes,” you replied, without sparing her a glance. “We used to… hang out. Back in Modesto.”

“What are you doing in New York?” Sam asked, and you felt the pang of a long-forgotten hurt pierce your heart.

“I told you I was saving up to start classes at NYU,” you said, the bite in your voice sounding more like a whine. “You know moving here was my dream. We talked about it so many times.”

“Well, I must’ve forgotten,” she said unapologetically. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah,” you snapped back. “It has.”

“Woah,” breathed the guy standing behind Sam. The girl next to him slapped his arm.

“Why don’t you introduce us to your friend, Tara?” she blurted with a forced smile. “Since they’re already well acquainted with Sam.”

“Yes! This is my friend Mindy and my boyfriend Chad,” she said, and they waved at you. You smiled back at them, determined to leave Sam in the past where she belonged. “And this is Y/N. They were my trainer when I first started, and they’re my favorite person to work with.”

“Aww, thanks, T,” you smiled, placing an affectionate hand on her shoulder. Sam’s eyes flashed toward you dangerously, and you relished the fact that you could piss her off so easily. It was far from the comeuppance she deserved, but the small satisfaction almost took away the sting of seeing her again. “I’ll let you take care of your friends here. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Yeah, okay,” she nodded.

“It was nice to meet you,” you said, waving to Chad and Mindy. You couldn’t help but glare at Sam as you left, your emotions getting the better of you. “Of all the fucking people that could’ve shown up tonight,” you muttered to yourself, “why did it have to be her?”

You busied yourself with wiping down the trays, trying your best to keep your mind off of Sam. Fortunately, you were still an expert at that, and soon you were so engrossed in your task that you didn’t see Tara approaching you.

“Hey, what’s your beef with my sister?” she demanded. She didn’t sound angry, which was a relief, but she showed no intention of letting the matter go.

You shook your head, avoiding her eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“That was not nothing!”

“It’s in the past,” you declared. “If you really want to know, you can ask her what she did. But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

Her brows were knotted together in a troubled expression, her voice losing the loud confidence she always had. You didn’t have to know Sam to know she hadn’t told her little sister anything about the years she’d been away. But unfortunately for you, you did. You sighed.

“It was personal shit. You don’t need to worry about it. But it would be best if you take her order whenever she comes in here.”

Tara nodded and headed back to the front of the diner. Even though it was half an hour early, you decided to clean the bathrooms. Anything was better than having to face Sam again.

“Okay, what was that?” Mindy whispered loudly as they sat down.

“What was what?” Sam said, refusing to meet her eyes.

“That thing between you and Tara’s coworker! What did they do? I haven’t seen you that unhappy to see someone since Ghostface!”

Sam closed her eyes and shook her head. “What? No, that’s not… no.”

“Oh, c’mon! You used to “hang out” back in Modesto? What does that mean?”

“Hey, that’s Sam’s private business. She doesn’t have to talk about it if she doesn’t want to,” Chad said, ignoring his sister’s gasp of betrayal. Then he turned to Sam with the most adorable, pleading expression he could muster. “But I’ll buy you a milkshake if you tell us what happened.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to bribe me? With a milkshake?”

“Is it working?”

“No, it’s not,” she replied, smiling in spite of herself. Mindy slapped Chad’s arm.

“Damn it, that totally would’ve worked when we were kids! Why aren’t you cute anymore?”

“Hey, I’m cute! I’m very cute, ask anyone! You think I’m cute, right, Sam?”

Sam just rolled her eyes. She was glad that after all these years the twins were still the same goofballs they’d always been, but that didn’t mean they weren’t a pain in the ass sometimes.

“-No, wait, shut up! We have to get to the bottom of this!” Mindy exclaimed, interrupting the argument she had started. She turned back to Sam, still far too excited considering what she was probing her about. “Please, you have to tell us! I’m literally going to die if I don’t hear this tea!”

Sam sighed and rubbed her eyes. She knew they weren’t going to stop. “We were friends, and then we had a fight. There’s really nothing else to report.”

“You are such a terrible liar, you know that?” Mindy smirked. “Fine, if you won’t tell us, we’ll figure it out on our own.”

Sam groaned, knowing she meant they planned to use Tara to get to her. But it wouldn’t work this time. Not even her beloved baby sister could get her to relive what had happened with you. At least, not for anyone to hear. That dreadful night had been replaying in her head from the moment she saw you, merciless in its vividity.

Luckily, the twins dropped the interrogation, and she didn’t see you again for the rest of the night. But the damage was done. You were in New York City and back in her life. Of all the places Tara could’ve chosen to go to school- to work- why did you have to be there too?

Sam tried not to think about you, she really did. But she’d never been good at keeping you off her mind, at least not on her own. She was thankful for the chaotic distraction the twins provided with their constant light-hearted bickering, but when they left for the bodega to get a midnight snack, she was left alone with her memories of you.

Before she could spiral too much, Sam heard the front door open. At first, she was relieved to see Tara. But she should’ve known better.

“Hey, how was the rest of your shift?”

“It was fine,” Tara replied with a tight-lipped smile. “What happened between you and Y/N?”

“What?”

“I asked them, and they told me to ask you what you did.” There was a look of apprehension in her eyes, but it wouldn’t be outdone by her morbid curiosity. “Sam, what happened?”

“It was nothing.”

“Don’t give me that “it was nothing” bullshit! I’ve never seen you freeze the way you did when you saw them, and I didn’t think Y/N could get that angry!” Tara took a deep breath and Sam shrank under her gaze. “You know I don’t judge you for whatever you did while you were gone, but the tension between you two was palpable. And you know the kind of tense shit I’ve seen.”

Sam swallowed, stuffing her hands into her back pockets and shifting her gaze to the floor. Tara waited patiently, and when she finally spoke, her voice was soft and shaking. “Let’s just say that when I knew Y/N, I was at a very bad point in my life. I did a lot of things that I regret. But there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

“That’s not an explanation,” Tara said, throwing her hands up exasperatedly. “I have to work with them every day now, I think I deserve to know what happened!”

“But you don’t, though,” Sam said, finally meeting her eyes and sounding as tired as she felt. “You can be friends with them if you want, I don’t care, but what happened between us doesn’t concern you, Tara! You need to leave it alone.”

“Sam-”

“I’m going to bed,” she stated, turning around swiftly and cutting off Tara’s attempted apology. She shut her bedroom door without a backward glance and leaned against it, covering her face with her hands. She wouldn’t cry for you. She refused to give you that kind of power.

A few miles away, in your own second-floor apartment, you didn’t grant yourself the same respect.

[etherealising]

chapter eleven | flowers filled with dew

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣ |

pairing(s): carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: you and carmen have a long awaited heart felt conversation about a life the two of you could’ve shared…if only times were different.

warning(s): implied miscarriage | off-page miscarriage | talk of miscarriage | non-explicit description of miscarriages | moon cycles | grief | sadness | angst | ooc carmy | these losers finally communicating | minimal editing please give me grace | probably more idk sorry warnings |

wc: 4.9k

Neither of you say a word. You’re both tucked under the covers like two children preparing to tell each other ghost stories, a position you’ve surely been in with Carmen before. It's quiet, all to be heard are the soft breaths, the two of you exchange Carmy’s familiar scent of nicotine and the kitchen mixed with your signature body wash delicately dances across your senses.

You watch him as he watches you. It's been silent between the two of you since the shower you shared, each of you tenderly helping the other dress afterward. The revelation of the night felt as though it sucked out any remaining energy either of you had left.

The blue of his eyes was easy to get lost in. The sadness pulls you into the depths of his doe-like baby blues, the length of his lashes delicately brushing his skin with every flutter of his eyes. It was slow, the way your hand reached up to softly trace the bruising color on his cheekbone that juxtaposed the soft hue of his iris. Thumb carefully running back and forth over the bruise he received mere hours ago. You weren’t sure what time it was, but the fact that everything happened in 24 hours didn’t feel real to you.

“Do you hate me, Carmen?” The whisper was rough, and the sobs paired with the lack of speech made your voice sound raw like you’d unintentionally swallowed sandpaper.

Your eyes found his once more following the widening of his pupils, the brush of his lashes against your thumb still lavishing his cheek. You were unsure if he heard you, and that was okay, you didn’t think you’d be able to stomach his answer if it was unsavory.

“No.” It was firm, his answer; almost immediate. He heard you loud and clear his heart skipping a beat at the silly question you’d dare to let leave your lips in his presence. He could feel his breathing begin to pick up as he prepared to ask his question. A shiver raced through him as your hand gently slid down his cheek, tracing a path down his neck before landing on his heart, the gesture distracting him enough to get his breathing as controlled as he could at that moment.

It felt second nature as his hand came up to cover yours in its place over his heart, squeezing it slightly as if doing so would sink your hand into his chest and allow you to grip his heart in the way you’d been unknowingly doing all these years. Carmy watched you for a moment, tracing how sunken your eyes were, your face that mere hours ago shone in happiness and radiance now looked sullen, as though the life was being sucked out of you in real-time. He felt the urge to leave his questions unanswered, to continue re-learning your face until the ground decided it was time for him to leave this earth. But Carmen also needed to know, this secret part of him wanted to understand why you deemed him so undeserving of sharing in such a life-altering loss.

Maybe this was his comeuppance.

Carmy cleared his throat finally prepared to know you, “How…wha-.” He had to stop himself, the blockade in his throat fighting his every instinct to question you. He could feel his eyes water as the burn in his throat traveled to his chest, the never-ending ache that rented space there grew heavier by the minute, his mouth opening and closing every few seconds as he swore words were leaving his mouth but no sound was.

“Shh, hey.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at you as his hand squeezed yours tighter, blunt nails digging into your soft flesh. It was like the harder he tried to fight through the pressure in his chest the worse it became, his vision so blurry that your face became a mosaic of the features he so easily recognized anywhere. The shaking began unconsciously as your forehead rested against his, that ache he was so familiar with felt like it became deeper by the second as he tried to get himself to calm down.

“Shh, it's okay to let them happen sometimes, Carm.” He wanted to believe you, his head softly nodding against yours as though the movement would tell his brain that it was okay to sink into this feeling and it wouldn’t result in destructive behavior. “You’re safe with me Bear.”

The caress of your voice traveling through his ears awoke something in him, something he desperately searched for through childhood; to be allowed the chance to bask in his emotions without having to compensate for those of the people he loved. The gasping breath he let out was mixed with a sob of pain as the tightness in his chest felt like it would consume him at any moment. He thought he’d gotten everything out in the shower while the two of you were wrapped around each other feeding off the shared hurt. But this was something he needed, to allow himself to feel every warring emotion in his body no matter how uncomfortable it was; to feel safe while doing so, to know that there was somebody who cared for him and watched over him as he let the anxiety crescendo and run rampant through his veins.

Carmen needed this moment to understand just how valid his emotions were. And to know that someone cared enough for him to stick by his side as he allowed himself to safely express them. Carmen needed this, he needed to feel safe.

“Why?” Your eyes blearily opened at the warmth of Carmy’s breath against your neck, the husk of his voice in your ear. Somewhere between comforting Carmy through his panic attack and the two of you falling asleep once more, the position the two of you were in changed. You could feel his broad chest pressed into your back, the warmth of his body providing you a comfort you longed for but never allowed yourself the chance to have.

It was silent as Carmen’s arm moved from its place resting against your hip, his calloused digits carefully tracing over the exposed skin on your leg before finding its way under your shirt and shakily stopping above the skin of your stomach. The tremors continued uncontrollably as you could feel the presence of his hand hovering over their destination, the hesitation easily noticeable through the flexing of his forearm against your waist. You took the chance to lay your hand flatly atop his, guiding them to the warm soft flesh of your abdomen as Carmy’s sharp intake of breath reached your ears.

The response you felt was immediate, the tears filled your eyes as you basked in the comfort you longed to feel a year ago, but decided you were undeserving of it. You bit your lip to stop the tears from falling, hoping that your sniffles were quiet enough to slip past Carmy’s detection. It didn’t matter though, the trembling of your body gave everything away. The man rubbed soothing circles into your stomach a way for him to let you know that although you were alone in that moment, he was here now; and as much as his fear of the unknown screamed at him to run, he wasn’t going anywhere.

A tear escaped at the feel of Carmen’s warm chapped lips pressing into the exposed skin of your shoulder blade, the gesture left behind a heat you were sure you’d never forget. Carmen allowed you the moment to collect yourself, “Why?” He couldn’t get himself to say more, and you didn’t need him to as his fingers gently tapped against your stomach.

“I-,” you took a calming breath, wanting to answer any of Carmy’s questions as best as you could. “I didn’t know until it was too late.” The last word left your lips in a broken whisper, there was no conviction behind them just a sadness and pain and Carmy swore he could feel every essence of your emotions bleeding into him.

His thumb gently traced across your abdomen hoping to provide comfort in whatever way he could as you recounted such a horrid memory. “Everything was fine when I returned to Chicago… at least I assumed things were. My uh cycle came at the end of March and that was that.”

You gently traced the tendons of his fingers that rested against you, reminding yourself that you were no longer alone, “And then it was April and it should’ve been my last week in Chicago. I was uh staying with your moms by that point, keeping house…keeping her company. Natalie needed a break and I thought the least I could do before leaving was make sure the one parental figure still in my life was surviving.”

Carmen’s hand flexed against your stomach as he instinctively pulled you further into him, somehow hoping that if he wrapped his body around yours it would lessen the pain of your words. He felt guilty listening to the way you cared for his flesh and blood in their time of need more than he did.

“When I wasn’t with Donna, I was at The Beef…helping Richie. And I felt like it was what I needed to do, you know? Richie had his shit going on with the divorce and everything and if I could help out where I could then I would.” The longer Carmy listened to you the more he was beginning to unveil the person you grew into, he came to the silent conclusion that you had a problem with putting other's lives and wellbeing before your own.

You turned in Carmy’s arms needing to not only feel him but see him as well, it wouldn’t make things any easier, but you felt he was deserving of your full attention at this moment. “I remember feeling so lethargic that day, that I just assumed it was all the stress of trying to take care of everyone else getting to me. And it was the lunch rush, and things were so hectic I just needed to take a beat, you know get my mind right.” You held Carmy’s attention, keeping an eye out for any signs that it was all becoming too much for him and that a break was necessary.

A blush rose to the man's cheeks as he realized what you were doing, embarrassment flooding through him that even now as you were recounting this moment to him, you so desperately put him first. “I uh chose the walk-in of all places…I was having the worst cramps and felt like I was going to pass out at any moment. Richie came barging in and we locked eyes and it's like we just knew something wasn’t right.”

A small joyless laugh escaped you as you thought back to Richie’s antics while you were getting checked in at the hospital, “I remember the nurses tried to kick Richie out of the room for the tests they needed to perform but he convinced them we were married.” You listened to the soft watery chuckle escape from Carmy, “I don’t know why he didn’t just say I was like his adopted sister or something.” A sadness not even the softness in Carmy’s eyes could cure stirred in your chest as you thought back on a moment in time you had no idea would mentally and physically impact you as greatly as it did.

“Imagine our surprise when the doctor came back with monotone apologies for our loss, but not to worry because if we ever wanted to try again for a baby the chances of another miscarriage were slim, but I’d better beat my biological clock before it beat me.” It was getting harder and harder to continue explaining as the memories began resurfacing with your words.

Carmen was unsure what to do with the information you’d just given him, to know that it was Richie by your side while you were given such heart-wrenching news drew him back to his moment with Richie in the walk-in. The venom in the older man’s words as he yelled about keeping the Berzattos together when Carmy couldn’t find it in himself to do so; he hadn’t realized it applied to you too.

“And I-I was so confused. I didn’t understand or I don’t think I wanted to understand. And god do I love Richie but he swore up and down that they’d mixed my results up with someone else’s 'cause there’s no way I was pregnant.” The rough feeling on Carmen’s thumbs carefully collecting the now free-flowing tears that raced down your face made you cry even harder, your eyes moving from their position over his shoulder to find his gaze, his eyes full to the brim with unshed tears.

You took the moment to gaze at the man in front of you, to appreciate having him here with you “We uh…we argued after I told him about us…me and you,” you watched the frown decorate his face “He never outright said it but I…I think he was disappointed in me.”

Carmen allowed your words to sink into him, that familiar ache waiting just around the corner as he came to terms with the reality of everything. He should’ve been there by your side, the decision to not use protection wasn’t yours alone, and it shouldn’t have been your burden alone to carry the consequences of that decision.

“You uh…why didn’t you call me?” His hands dropped from your face the longer he allowed himself to think about everything. “Didn’t I have a right to know?” The soft broken timbre shot through you, the hurt on his face made you feel worse than you already did.

You couldn’t help but feel selfish as you realized what exactly you had stolen from Carmen by not confiding in him about something that was just as much yours to experience as it was his. “Your life was in New York Carm, you built something great there and I felt like I’d already taken so much from you…who was I to take even more. I-I thought it was for the best…I wanted to prote-”

“And who are you to decide what’s best for me?” The newfound irritation in his voice wasn’t lost on you, nor was the way his eyebrows pinched together in that way that told you he was beginning to feel frustrated.

You sat up, eyes following Carmen’s as he hastily rolled out of the bed, his figure quickly pacing in front of your bed. “Carm, you have to understand-,”

“You were pregnant Baby!” He regretted the broken yell as soon as he saw you flinch, but the excuses you were giving him felt like bullshit. It was like Mikey all over again deciding for him that he couldn’t work at The Beef, and now this, you decided he was better off never knowing that the two of you almost created a family together. And he was beginning to get tired of people making decisions on his behalf.

“And weeks before I was pregnant I was just some quick fuck you couldn’t even bother to call to make sure I made it home safe!” It was unfair, you knew it was, considering the context of this conversation the argument you were making didn’t even have two legs to stand on.

Carmy recoiled into himself almost immediately as he listened to the hurt and anger in your words. “I never told you to leave…I-I didn’t want you to leave.”

“You never asked me to stay either Carm.” You let out a small sigh, no matter what either of you said it wouldn’t change the past; the damage was done.

The room fell silent, Carmy’s chest heaved up and down from his position standing in front of you while you sat propped on your knees in the bed trying to corral all the pent-up emotions this conversation drew out of you. The tension in the room was palpable, the air heavy with the anger and hurt shared between the both of you. You weren’t sure how the conversation took such a sour turn but the longer you sat there watching Carmy you began to understand the root of his frustration, you kept something that negatively impacted the both of you from him and yet here you were allowing the shame you felt to convince you lying to him was for the best.

“I’m sorry I just…I blamed myself.” You sagged into yourself, the anger gone just as quickly as it appeared as you looked at Carmen, your bottom lip trembling. “You are the only person I wanted around me when I found out,” you bit your lip to try and control the trembling, the slick feeling of snot and tears all over your face. “But I just couldn’t bring myself to call you. We just lost Mikey and I told myself you wouldn’t be able to handle it…but the truth is I couldn’t handle it and by keeping it from you I was able to ignore the truth of it all.” Your head throbbed as you offered up the only pathetic explanation you had for the reason the two of you were in this situation now, allowing the hurt to disguise itself as anger. Self-sabotaging the relationship you both wanted so desperately to repair.

“Carmen I,” you let loose a deep breath knowing what you were about to admit didn’t justify keeping Carmy in the dark but he deserved your honesty. “I love you too much to ever force an experience like that upon you. And I know it was wrong of me to decide for you bu-,” the feeling of Carmy’s firm arms wrapping around you cut off your sentence a small whimper escaped at the tight almost painful grip he held you in. The soft press of his lips against your head and soothing whispers caused you to collapse into his hold.

You dug your hands into the borrowed shirt he was wearing, holding onto the fabric for dear life as you admitted your failures to Carmen, unsure how he could even stand to be in the same room as you. “Shh, shh I’ve got you.” The soft words and warm embrace were something you longed for from Carmen and it was no one's fault but your own that it had taken so long to get here.

Morning dew clung to the flowers that decorated the small garden in your backyard. The tiny blue bulbs of the flowers were beginning to overpopulate the garden, the invasive species of the plant doing what it did best. Carmen wasn’t sure how long he stared at the flowers, but it was long enough that the cold air of the morning felt like it was beginning to sink into his bones.

He frantically tapped the mostly empty cigarette carton against his thigh, trying to catch up with the thoughts racing through his mind. The exhaustion was creeping in on him, no matter how hard he tried to force himself to find sleep after he held you crying in his arms, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how alone you were in the past year. He hoped that if he looked at you long enough the words you shared with him would somehow become digestible. Carmen spent the night watching as you slept on his chest only removing himself from under you when he could no longer quiet the voices in his head telling him that he deserved to be left in the dark, that he didn’t deserve to know this part of you or imagine how different life would be if there was a little life that depended on him; on you.

The anxiety quelled for a bit as he laid in bed with you, but now that he was alone that part of him that urged him to run, to disappear before you woke up because surely this wasn’t reality. If he left now the truth of the matter wouldn’t be able to follow after him, but he knew this wasn’t a problem he could shove to the back of his mind, he wouldn’t be able to use the chaos of the kitchen to forget any of the memories you shared with him.

An exhausted sigh escaped his lips as he finally pulled a cigarette from the carton, hand digging around in his pocket for a lighter only to realize he’d left it in his pants pocket before venturing outside. The sound of a door opening and closing drew his attention, he watched as you exited the house in your pajamas approaching him with eyes that looked as tired as he felt.

You held out a lighter in offering to him, his eyes darting towards it before finding your eyes once more sure you spotted him wallowing back here through your bedroom window. His hand gently reached out to take it from your grip, a small nod in thanks sent your way before he turned back to the flowers and lit the cigarette. He took a deep breath of the vapors watching from his peripheral as you squatted next to him, your arm brushing against his leg as you settled into the position.

Carmy watched you as your eyes traced over the flowers every bit of exhaustion he was feeling could easily be read on your face. He took another drag of his cigarette before extending it to you, a gesture he was sure he’d never pull but times were different now, that much was obvious.

You shook your head rejecting his offer, “It's stupid, but I…um I don’t like to smoke in front of the flowers.” Carmen followed your hand as it reached out to delicately trace over the petals of a nearby flower, your voice scratchy, raw from the sobs you shared last night.

He felt like an asshole, “Shit, I uh didn’t know.” He quickly snuffed the bud out, holding it in his hand to not litter near a garden that held importance to you.

“How could you?” You finally graced him with a look, a small sad smile lining your lips as Carmy found himself being sucked into the depths of your lifeless eyes.

He felt the ache in his chest returning the longer he held your eye. It was obvious that even just the reminder of everything had already taken such a toll on you, how could he even part his lips to ask you for an explanation of the flowers when you looked like you had just re-lived one of the worst moments of your life?

Carmy cleared his throat, eyes moving back to the flowers, “Why?” There was a moment of silence as he awaited your response, doubt filling him at every moment without any words between the two of you. “Why uh…why don’t you smoke in front of the flowers?” He raised his hand to scratch at the back of his neck the familiar sense of unsurety racing through him.

“Hmm?” Carmy watched as the side of your mouth ticked up, the knowing smile that usually followed that gesture was nowhere to be found as your lips fell back into a melancholic line. “Forget me nots are said to symbolize a few things a lot of people correlate them with true love. There’s a folktale about a man who picked these flowers for his lover by the river bank, sadly though he slips in and as the current carries him away, his last words to his lover are forget me not. ” Carmy listened intently to your words, his hand finding your initial pendant that set warmly against his upper chest. “But others used them as a sign of remembrance, to never forget those lost to time. These flowers…they’re a reminder for me of Mikey. Of…” Carmen could hear the heaviness in your voice as you spoke a lump forming in his throat at the words left unsaid.

He watched as you quickly wiped away the stray tear to escape your eye, his heart silently breaking at how much of a shell of your old self you appeared to be at that moment. He thought back to the letters he knew it was essentially an invasion of privacy for him to read them, they weren’t for him. But he couldn’t help but wonder, is this how you looked while writing them? Downtrodden and desolate, like just the act of breathing alone would confine you to dark weeks in bed with no will to move.

Carmen’s hand gently reached out to settle against your shoulder, hoping you could feel the comfort he was trying to exude through the gesture. He watched as your hand reached up to delicately grip his, lips pressing into his fingers before your head delicately settled against his hand.

“It was wrong of me to keep this from you Carmen, and I understand if you’re angry with me and want nothing to do with me. But please don’t be upset with Richie, or Nat. All they were doing was respecting my decision.” Carmy listened as you played with his fingers, his itching to grip yours.

An exhausted sigh left you, something you appeared to be doing more recently, “ I know it doesn’t mean anything now, but I do wish I told you when everything happened.” Carmy’s warm body joining you in the wet grass caused you to stop, his hand that was once on your shoulder moved to wrap around your waist softly pulling you into his chest, the warmth and comfort radiating from his body was almost immediate. “As selfish as it sounds there’s a part of me that’s holding out hope you’ll forgive me for all the secrets I’ve kept.” You wanted to cry as you felt the gentle press of Carmy’s lips against the side of your head. The gesture made you emotional.

You could feel Carmy’s heartbeat through the position the two of you were in, you hoped the rhythmic beating of it would imprint itself in your brain in case this was the last moment you ever got with the man. “I uh..,” you waited hand hesitantly intertwining with Carmy’s as a way to let him know that you were receptive to everything he needed to say. “I am upset…I uh n-not with you just the situation.” He paused hoping to gather his thoughts.

“I think…uh we hadn’t seen each other in years and uh when we did…” You listened to his voice trail off sure a red blush was making its way up his neck as he tiptoed around the night the two of you spent together. “Just I understand why you didn’t tell me, I didn’t make things easy…and I told you I couldn’t commit to you.” Carmy cleared his throat, sure you felt just as uncomfortable as he did as you listened to him speak, he was thankful he wasn’t looking at you though because he couldn’t guarantee he’d get any words out if he did.

“I just…I wish you felt comfortable enough to call me…a-and I know I should’ve called you but Baby you shouldn’t have gone through it alone.” It was quiet for a moment as the two of you sat there basking in each other’s confessions and the gentle breeze of the morning.

You turned to face Carmen, his arm dropping from your waist as you rose to your knees studying his face. A million scenarios ran through your head as you thought of what could’ve been…what never was, it did no one any good envisioning a life that was no longer theirs to claim, but who were you to deny yourself a daydream or two? A small trembling smile rose to your face as you took in every feature of Carmy’s you would’ve loved to see on a tiny human.

“I wish you would’ve called.” Between the trembling of your lips and the quiet of your voice, it was a miracle the five words reached Carmen’s ears.

He rose to your level in an instant watching as tears began to escape your eyes, but he found himself drawn to the small genuine smile that sat atop your lips, the gesture confused him as he couldn’t understand how you found the strength to give him a smile amid everything. He gently wrapped his arms around you bringing you into his chest before placing multiple kisses against the top of your head as your face pressed into his chest listening to his heartbeat once again.

Carmy wished he called as well.

a/n: didn’t mean to go m.i.a just in a bit of a life slump. this chapter gave me major writer’s block and i just stopped enjoying the writing process all together so updates may become less enthusiastic idk we’ll see. on another note i have a new idea for another series so that’s fun i guess, anyway hope you enjoy this chapter for what it is. i hope you’re all doing well, happy new year! 🫶🏽🤍

[marley-manson]

Hawkeye and Frank are the two most diametrically opposed characters on Mash. They clash politically, ideologically, emotionally, intellectually, and even physically on more than one occasion. There is virtually nothing they agree on. But they do have one significant similarity: both Hawkeye and Frank are notably, pointedly effeminate.

Hawkeye is the central protagonist, so he's written to be likeable, even admirable, especially in the first five seasons of the show when satire dominated rather than character drama. He's the character who makes the correct political points and voices the show's ideology, and male audience members are encouraged to identify with him and aspire to be like him. He's witty, he's smart, he's charismatic, he dodges consequences a lot, he's highly skilled in his work, and he has a strong personality and natural leadership qualities.

Frank is the main antagonist up until the end of season five. He's written for audiences to hate him, mock him, and occasionally be horrified by him. He's dull-witted, incompetent, awkward, easily led and manipulated, and always gets his comeuppance. Few audience members are likely to aspire to be more like Frank Burns.

And yet, while most likeable protagonist/detestable antagonist duos in American popular media would also be differentiated in terms of gender performance as a matter of course - the effeminate villain being a standard stock character, always set against a ruggedly masculine hero - Mash takes a different approach.

From his core personality as a sniveling, weak-willed follower, to the way other characters, including Hawkeye, routinely make fun of him by comparing him to a woman or insinuating that he's gay, Frank Burns certainly fits the part of weak, emasculated villain. What's more interesting, and much less commonly seen in Hollywood media, is that Hawkeye is portrayed as just as unmanly, and just as, if not more prone to having it pointed out in the show.

Often Hawkeye's jokes at Frank's expense include the implication that Hawkeye is attracted to him himself, and not necessarily as "the man." He jokes, "Guess it's a marriage, Frank. I know I can do better, but at my age, can I wait?" in Hawkeye, Get Your Gun; he switches from calling Frank one of his vampire brides to taking the feminine part in post-coital pillow talk after siphoning his blood in Germ Warfare; he kisses or tells Frank to kiss him in Major Fred C. Dobbs, For the Good of the Outfit, and Bulletin Board, etc.

Other times, the jokes Hawkeye makes about himself are virtually identical to the jokes made at Frank's expense - their respective attractions to Margaret as a potentially dominant sexual partner, eg, with both Frank and Hawkeye portrayed as eagerly submissive. For instance, in 5 O'Clock Charlie Hawkeye jokes about tying Frank to Margaret's tent, then dismisses the thought with, "He'd probably love it. I know I would." And Hawkeye/Trapper and Frank/Margaret are sometimes paralleled as dual couples, Hawkeye and Frank usually being framed as the more feminine partner in each.

And of course, unconnected to Frank, there are many, many more examples of Hawkeye's effeminacy, both in jokes and in personality traits.

Hawkeye is a self-professed coward who is loud and proud about how terrified he is to be stuck in a war zone. He's emotionally open and highly empathetic, always willing to listen to others' problems and discuss (or scream about) his own. He abhors institutional violence and faces every enemy combatant with his hands firmly in the air. When authority is thrust upon him he strives to relinquish it, and uses it as little as possible.

More shallowly, he has little interest in sports and exercise, derides masculine hobby magazines like Field and Stream and Popular Mechanics, is incapable of performing mechanical tasks to the exasperation of others at least four times (Comrades in Arms which explicitly frames this emasculating, In Love and War, Patent 4077, and Hey, Look Me Over), mocks traditional masculinity in many ways, and enjoys musical theatre and Hollywood gossip. And he makes and takes literally hundreds of jokes about being unmanly and having sex with men himself, many more than he makes at Frank's expense.

But while the jokes are at Frank's expense and meant to belittle him, they're rarely made at Hawkeye's expense, especially in the first five seasons. Hawkeye doesn't make the jokes out of self-deprecation, he makes them out of pride and a desire to differentiate himself from the army men he's surrounded by. He's almost always in on the jokes others make about him, rather than offended - Potter telling him to file a paternity suit against his rival in Hepatitis makes him laugh delightedly, and Trapper's remarks on his effeminacy, such as Miz Hawkeye in Hot Lips and Empty Arms, are sometimes lightly teasing but always a regular aspect of their dynamic that Hawkeye enjoys playing up. Frank doesn't make any jokes directly mocking Hawkeye's masculinity that I can recall, beyond vague "pervert" and "degenerate" remarks, which, while often historically homophobic, in the show's context tend to be treated as a reference to his heterosexual endeavours.

Frank's effeminacy is a point of mockery and derision, but Hawkeye's is a point of pride, and not intended to make him any less likeable to an audience. Antagonists don't get to score points off of Hawkeye by mocking his feminine traits, but Hawkeye makes fun of Frank regularly by mocking his feminine traits.

This difference in framing can partially be explained by the nature of their respective gender performances.

While Hawkeye and Frank are both effeminate, they're effeminate in many opposite ways. Frank is weak-willed while Hawkeye is strong-willed. Frank is unappealing to most women, while Hawkeye is something of a lady's man. Frank cannot face his fears to rise to a challenge, but Hawkeye can. But on the flipside, Frank refuses to admit to fear while Hawkeye openly proclaims it. Frank strives to attain authority while Hawkeye refuses it or takes it on only begrudgingly. Frank is obsessed with guns to a freudian extent while one of Hawkeye's most famous monologues of the show is a speech about refusing to carry one. Frank worships the concept of traditional masculinity even while he can't perform it himself, while Hawkeye mocks the concept and would refuse to perform it even if he could.

The Sniper is an excellent case study of these contrasts. In this episode, Hawkeye is effeminate and at ease with it, while Frank is desperate to prove himself masculine. Frank and Margaret flirt with strong Freudian overtones while Frank shoots a gun while nearby Hawkeye flirts with with a nurse with a line about "tasting" her. Hawkeye connects with the nurse he's wooing by relating to how scared she is and huddling in fear with her, while Margaret demands that Frank prove his masculinity by going out and taking down the sniper himself. Frank carries a gun while trying to approach the sniper, while Hawkeye carries a white flag. Frank tries to make fun of Hawkeye for wanting to surrender, but he can't bring himself to approach the sniper while Hawkeye does.

This contrast of gender performance is a consistent aspect of Hawkeye and Frank's dynamic throughout the show, but The Sniper makes it a central theme so it's a useful example to show how their relationships to masculinity are a deliberate aspect of their dynamic.

And while Hawkeye makes fun of Frank's femininity, it's significant that he also regularly makes fun of Frank's masculinity - his love of guns (eg The Sniper), his sexual affairs (eg the exchange about Frank as a "fantastic performer" in Yankee Doodle Doctor), his numerous attempts to exert authority (eg Welcome to Korea), his desire for socially approved success (eg Hot Lips and Empty Arms), etc.

Both masculine and feminine sides of Frank are comprised of negative character traits, while Hawkeye embodies the best of both - emotional expression and healthy ways of coping by talking about his feelings; bravery but not machismo; intelligence and skill as a doctor rather than an officer; empathy and a willingness to listen; sexual prowess but largely through his love of foreplay rather than his dick game (which, in the context of the early 70s, is a somewhat feminine attribute that distinguishes him from a typical traditionally masculine man); etc.

Hawkeye demonstrates some of the most appealing and healthy qualities of both masculinity and femininity while Frank demonstrates, or strives to demonstrate, the more toxic qualities of both. Through including a few positive masculine traits in the mix, the narrative is able to depict Hawkeye as likeable, admirable, and desirable in his effeminacy while Frank is depicted as loathesome in his. Hawkeye gets one of many, many women in The Sniper by showing vulnerability, while Frank only appeals to Margaret, and Margaret is portrayed as borderline pathological in her sexual attraction to violent masculinity (the scene where Frank excites her with his gun, for example, also includes an electra complex joke, and there's a running rape kink gag in this episode as well).

Another aspect to consider when it comes to differentiating Hawkeye and Frank's respective femininities is hypocrisy. Similar to how Frank and Margaret's affair is mocked because they can't admit to it while Hawkeye and Trapper's affairs are glorified, part of what makes Frank's effeminacy so mock-worthy, while Hawkeye's feminine qualities are a source of pride and rebellion, is that Frank refuses to admit to them.

Frank desperately wants to be the ideal heroic army man and often play-acts the part, poorly. When Hawkeye mocks him by calling him a woman, for example, he's drawing attention to Frank's failure to live up to his own ideals. And when Hawkeye calls himself a woman, he's mocking those same ideals. The message is that Frank is pathetic not so much for failing to be traditionally masculine, but for wanting to be traditionally masculine at all.

Ultimately the ways Hawkeye and Frank perform masculinity and femininity are pointedly in opposition, from which masc and fem traits they embody, to how proudly they embody them. The show itself draws attention to these gendered similarities and differences between Frank and Hawkeye through a constant barrage of jokes, and even whole scenes and episodes. In this way the show portrays Frank as a hypocritical loser who wants to be masculine but fails to embody all but the worst traits, and Hawkeye as a cool, admirable guy who disdains the traditional pillars of masculinity and embraces his own effeminacy.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

dad!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

kidfic from the simmer verse 🍳 inspired by this ask/tiktok

When your daughter turned six, you and Eddie moved out of your apartment and into a home fit for a family. One with a big bay window and a huge garden, an oak tree out the back for Eddie to hang a swing from.

It came with a wrap around porch and the kitchen of Eddie’s dreams and Maeve got to pick the colour for her new bedroom, a mustard yellow that made her room feeling like an eternal summer. She was her daddy’s girl, a princess.

And then she turned twelve.

Eddie was in the kitchen when Maeve appeared, already so much taller than Eddie liked, her hair the same colour as yours but as curly as her fathers. She was just as pouty now, preteen hormones making her perpetually moody, sulking in corners and stealing away to her bedroom with Basil.

Now? Now she seemed to be on a mission.

“Dad?”

Eddie looked up from the cook book he was reading, tired eyed after an early morning meeting at the restaurant. They were making a new menu and Eddie had been worn thin, working too late and coming home to make you taste test all his new ideas. You never complained.

“Yeah, squish?”

“I’m hungry,” Maeve announced, sliding herself onto one of the barstools at the large island. Copper pots hung on a rack from the ceiling, casting bronze coloured reflections off of the girls cheeks. She still had freckles from the summer, a scratch on her chin from where uncle Argyle had tried to teach her how to skateboard. “Can you make me something?”

“Yeah, babe, sure,” Eddie wandered over to the fridge and he pulled out some containers. He wiggled one enticingly. “I made some mac ‘n’ cheese last night, you want me to hear some up?”

Maeve wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like mac ‘n’ cheese.”

Eddie’s face fell and his frown matched his daughters perfectly. If you’d been home from work, you would’ve laughed and called her his comeuppance.

“Well, you liked it fine last week.”

The twelve year old just shrugged, her legs swinging from her stool. “Well, I don’t anymore,” she replied with just as much indignation as her dad. “Can I get some pizza pockets?”

Now Eddie really did huff. The only reason the box of pastry abominations were in his freezer to begin with is because you’d done the last grocery shop. He narrowed his eyes at Maeve but moved to the freezer door when she giggled.

“We need to teach you some taste, kid,” Eddie tried to act stern. “How many you want? You starvin’?”

Maeve leaned onto her elbows and let her hands squish her cheeks. Her nails were black and glittery, painted carefully by you a few nights before and she’d proudly shown her dad her colour choice when he came home from work. “I don’t know, just two.”

“You don’t know?” Eddie questioned and he peered over his shoulder, the over door open. “You said you were hungry, babe. This is a meal for a hamster.”

Basil appeared at the mention of rodents, the black cat slinking into the kitchen to wind around Eddie’s ankles.

“I’ll have some chips too.” Maeve announced. “And some sliced apple, but only like, four slices, okay?”

Eddie blinked. “Four?”

“Yes, please.”

Well, at least she had manners. Eddie grumbled under his breath but did as told, shoving in the pizza horror before washing off an apple under the tap. He cut it as his girl watched, chomping every other slice until only four remained.

The timer on the oven had five minutes left. “Anything else, princess?”

Maeve seemed to ponder this question before she nodded, her little face as serious as could be. “Some grapes too, but just ten. And if there’s some baby bells left, I’ll have one. Oh, and seven gummy worms.”

Eddie’s lips were parted, his brows raised as he stared across the counter at his daughter. He didn’t know whether to laugh or call you and ask if this was some kind of prank he didn’t know about.

“What?”

Maeve blinked. “What?”

So Eddie huffed again and got out a plate, murmuring nonsense to himself as he gathered Maeve’s order, glaring playfully at her as he counted out exactly ten grapes. She grinned as she leaned over, laughing mischievously as she plucked one from the plate.

And when Eddie gasped, all theatrical, Maeve pointed to her plate and told him quite plainly around a mouthful of fruit, “dad, I said ten.”

Eventually, the timer beeped and two pizza pockets with oozing fake cheese were added to the plate. Eddie slid it over with a flourish, cackling when Maeve took offence to one gummy worm touching the pizza sauce that had leaked out. So he snatched it and shoved it into his mouth biting off the side with the sauce before dropping it back onto her plate.

“Dad! Ew!” Maeve gasped, throughly insulted but she slunk off her stool and Eddie flicked her on the as she passed, grinning when she scurried back to her room with Basil at her feet.

[that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict]

Take it real slow

Hongjoong x F!reader

Author's note; I wrote this in a trance (or frenzy... whatever you wanna call it) after watching this edit (plz watch it.)

CW: smut smutsmutsmutsmut

"N-ngh, oh god, Y/N..." Hongjoong groaned into your neck as he lazily rolled his hips into yours. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sensation, revelling in the feeling. Your lover had been teasing you for hours on end, and calling you impatient would've been an understatement; you were desperate and down bad for whatever he would give you. And "whatever he would give", in this case, was him sinking and pulling his cock out of you at the slowest, most torturous pace you could ever imagine.

You threw your head back when Hongjoong drove his dick against a particularly deep spot in you. A wanton moan tore from your throat as black spots dotted your vision. A whimper followed when he pulled out, the emptiness in your sopping hole coming fast. Too fast.

"J-joongie, please~"

He lifted his head from your shoulder at the sound of the cute nickname you'd given him. A stark contrast to the sinful happenings that the two of you were partaking in. Hongjoong couldn't help but chuckle at the look on your face. Although he could only see your side profile, the way your eyes glazed over and your tongue stuck out the side of your mouth said so, so much about what he was doing to you.

"M-mhmn, baby? Whaddya need?"

The man had to bite back a moan as he tried to keep his cool while having his twitching dick halfway in your warm, wet cunt. Even though he was in an equally, if not more, vulnerable state, he would never miss the chance to take charge of you in bed. He hissed when you babbled incoherently.

"Hey, words. Or are you too fucked out to answer?"

He punctuated the last word with a sharp thrust of his hips, making you cry out loud. His signature Cheshire cat grin tugged at the corner of his glossy lips as he witnessed how you trembled and fell apart in his arms. Until you snaked a hand to his nape to tug at the overgrown brown locks.

"Shi- ahhnh~"

This elicited a pathetic moan from your usually stoic, dominant boyfriend. He flushed out of what seemed like embarrassment, but his growing cock in you said he felt otherwise.

You took this opportunity to anchor your hand in his tousled locks, and slowly roll your hips upwards against him, effectively fucking yourself on his dick. Your breathing grew erratic as you fought the urge to go feral and unrelentlessly fast. It was torture for you, too, but the idea of your boyfriend getting his comeuppance was too good to not come true.

It was your turn to tease him now.

Hongjoong was at your mercy. He could do nothing but bitch and whine about how slow you were going. Your addicting warmth slowly enveloping him, and disappearing so fast that he could barely enjoy it for too long. You chuckled shakily when he started to tear up and paw at your hips.

"What happened to wanting to t-take it slow, Joongie?"

Another tug at his hair, another whiny "a-ah Y/N~!" from him gracing your ears. He grinded his hips into yours at the same time, making you huff in concentration. Clearly, he wasn't ready to give up the fight yet.

It was gonna be a long night.

"Leslie it's 1 in the fucking morning get out of my dms" -my best friend after I went on a rant abt how down bad I was(am) for Kim hongjoong before writing this