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[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

Yandere TFA Wasp x cybertronian reader, where both are a couple in the Autobots academy

Oh boy, another TFA! Again, haven't watched or analized the show completely or at least good enough - will do my best and I hope you like it! ╰(￣ω￣ｏ)

(TFA) Yandere!Wasp w/ a Cybertronian!Reader - "Academy Sweethearts"

WARNINGS: Yandere behaviour, open ending, long ass post ngl. Reader is cybertronian and gender neutral, also an Autobot medic. Use of (Y/N).

"Seriously, what do you see in that bot?" - ah, the question of your whole scholar life at the Autobot Academy. And, at some degree, you couldn't get to be angry at anyone who asked you that question (unless they asked it for the 5th time in the same day). You loved Wasp, just as he loved you.

Since your 1st day at the Autobot Academy, Wasp set his optics on you - and let me tell you, he was all over you nearly all the time. You would have grown to hate him if it wasn't thanks to how he made you laugh, brough you gifts, kept you safe from any other bully in the academy and always passed time with you. Wasp knew how medic apprentices at the academy were demanded too much time, foucs and energy in the course, so it was common to see the mech look after you after his training classes, and other bots would actually find themselves surprised at how Wasp was so different with you.

Teased you but always playing, giving you too many sweet nicknames, aiming to always make you laugh and listen about your day, cheer you up when needed - to be the best in-the-near-future Conjux of them all.

"I'm so tired! I'll never be the medic I want to be! I am a disaster!" You whined, to then be hugged by Wasp from behind, who was quick to start snuggling his cheeplate against yours.

"There is nothing my hot-stuff spark can't do! You got it, babe!" He cheered you, to then kiss your cheekplate, making you giggle, your mood lifted up. "You're gonna become the best medic in the whole Autobot faction, and with me becoming the best Elite guard commander - we'll be the best duo out there!"

You and Wasp could picture it - graduation day, both of you the next big Autobot medic and Autobot Elite guard commander, servo in servo, a couple that since the 1st day in the academy clicked - the academy sweethearts, together till the end of the line.

Alas - the universe was cruel and your spark broke in half after finding out from others that Wasp was a supposed Decepticon traitor that got into the Academy to do the evil deeds of the feared Megatron.

As you were crying your optics out, covering your faceplate with your servos, trembling and being hugged by Ratchet and another friend of yours who were trying to comfort you, you could hear Wasp yelling as he was being taken away.

"This is a mistake! Bee is lying! (Y/N)! Please, listen to me! (Y/N)!!"

It has been... many years since that awful day. Still spark broken, you managed to graduate from the Academy and do your job as an Autobot, now being with the main team on Earth. And thankfully, you didn't had to go through everything all alone - Ratchet and your other friends were there to support you - even Bumblebee. The poor guy was so nervous to be around you, fearing you hated him from having exposed your boyfriend as the traitor.

... You weren't going to lie, you did actually got to hate Bee for a while, but slowly come to terms that - it wasn't his fault. He did was it was correct - he found out someone was working with the Decepticons and was trying to hurt from the inside the Autobots. He protected everyone, and, at some lenght, he also protected you. Still, it hurts.

You loved Wasp so much, after all.

And you didn't had an idea about how much he kept loving you, losing his mind in imprisonment and only thinking about two things: to take revenge on Bumblebee and find you, his one and only true love.

Wasp Bee was vibrating in excitement the moment you arrived back to the base, another little thing that gave out that something with Bee was not okay - even less with how he seemed to try and follow you anywhere you went and grow rather... anxious could be the word?

Oh you were still just as beautiful as the day he lost you, his beloved academy sweetheart and his true sparkmate, the one to become his Conjux Endura. Oh, he was gonna take revenge on everyone for having ruin the future you two had ahead.

When the truth was out, before he started to run away, he begged you to follow him, to listen to him - to come with him.

"It wasn't Wasp! Wasp has always been innocent!"

... but you didn't follow him.

His sanity finally left his system when he saw the way your optics looked at him, full of sadness and no longer the love you had for him back in those days.

His spark was breaking more and more, just like his mind - it got worse when that Blackarachnia touched him (No! That was wrong! Wasp wanted to tear off his own plates - he felt dirty! No one was allowed to touch him! Only (Y/N)!) and lied to him... oh, it hurt, it hurt awfully - Wasp really thought he was gonna die inside of that strange machine and never get to see you again, to tell you how much he still loved you.

Trembling, you kept moving back, feeling your optics start to produce tears as you pointed your weapon at Waspinator. The tall, turned-Predacon moved closer and closer, staring directly at you without blinking.

"S-Stay away!" You shout, begging for any of your teammates to arrive, to help you.

"(Y/N)... my (Y/N)... Wasp loves (Y/N)... Wasp never stopped loving (Y/N)... and Wasp never letting sparkmate go... not again." Waspinator mumbles, to the let out a screech and tackle you to the ground.

You cry and try to fire your weapon at the predacon, struggling to get free from his grasp as he holds your servos down.

"(Y/N) AND WASP WILL BE TOGETHER AGAIN! NO ONE WILL RUIN (Y/N)'S AND WASPS' LIVES AGAIN!" Waspinator cries, to then laugh. "WASPINATOR WILL KILL BUMBLEBEE, AND AUTOBOTS - EVERYONE! (Y/N) AND WASPINATOR WILL FREE AND HAPPY AGAIN!"

Pinkie promise I did my best to write this!!! Silly guy, tragic silly guy.

(。・ω・。) Vhaos out!

[wonder-worker]

A.J Pollard’s biography on Edward IV was so cringe lol (generic; minor but frustrating inaccuracies; intensely judgmental at times and oddly dismissive at others while never considering the broader context; entirely diminished and trivialized Elizabeth Woodville as both queen and wife of his main subject in the name of "defending" her; created a false dichotomy between Edward and Henry VII’s styles of ruling and lauded the latter at the former’s expense even though Henry literally followed Edward’s example for the very things Pollard was criticizing Edward for; had a downright nonsensical and thoroughly misleading conclusion about Edward’s legacy & Richard’s usurpation that was based entirely on hindsight, Pollard's own assumptions, and the complete downplaying Richard’s agency and actions to emphasize what Pollard wrongly and misleadingly claimed were Edward's so-called 'failings', etc, etc)

I wanted to buy his book on Henry V but after reading this shitshow and the synopsis of that book, im guessing it's going to be 10x worse, so...no thanks

[reanimatestar]

cringe ass hero <3

[image description: digital illustrations of the artist's original project. the first is an illustration featuring the protagonist, a brown man with brown eyes and wavy black hair styled in a mullet. he wears a white shirt with a standing collar and long sleeves, and a teal sash with teal fabric pleated and wrapped around his waist. he stands against a red background, holding a wave-bladed sword with one hand on the hilt and the other on the blade. a white circle is behind him and white text in all caps below him reads: "divine parasites".

the following illustrations are a black and white comic, featuring the protagonist and a deity. the deity is an east asian man with long dark wavy hair in a ponytail and a white halo, wearing similar clothes to the protagonist. the protagonist screams, "We’re nothing more than vultures... picking clean the bones of this world!" a beat passes between them, with the protagonist tense with anger as the deity looks down on him. the deity sighs, "Are you quite done with this tantrum of yours? Do you think you’re the only one with regrets? Do you think you’re the only one to suffer? We cannot afford to waver now. Now, come." he turns. "There’s more work to be done." the protagonist looks at him, fists clenched in anger. /end description]

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also it's something (better) like, the exercise of deliberately [art imitates life imitates art] holding up Billions to My IRL Things Perspective and going like whaaat would i want for winston. first answer is you want any character to not have been within the scope of the show in the first place, and to exit it since they are. and you kind of get that in the accidental reward in banishing winston, since like in the end it's just that the show doesn't care about him existing at that point But like it's winston sitting there quietly as everyone leaves & turns out the lights & Then he can leave too; others have peaced out & nobody remembers he exists so Now he can go off & do whatever.

but like in true form i think they definitely accidentally baked in another divine reward for winston in that, like, the way he's kept around as fodder for these fun little [pov: enjoy abusing this guy] asides with him, where it Just So Happens that he's autistic as something they're unaware of but is completely relevant to the expectation we understand him to be inferior(tm), it Just So Happens that he's also ""bad"" at not ""causing"" abuse to be turned on him. he's ""bad"" at staying in line. like well yes Yes that's what i want for him. just like In Real Life it's like yeah Ideally i'd want people to be able to extricate themselves from where they're trapped in power structures & i'd want them to have the perspective about it of understanding they're not Inferior / i.e. they are as much a person as anyone else and they're not corrupting everything good / i.e. it wasn't them Bringing It Upon Themselves and it's not them being Destructive by toppling a jenga tower of a hierarchy that happened to be pressing down on them. and winston is the kind of [the ruinerrrrrr] who is Turned On exactly because he keeps acting like someone who's on the verge of breaking out of the [being in line] someone demands of him as autist, employee, whatever other supposed manifestations of [inferior]

like in the 5 second stretches in which winston's allowed to speak before retaliation, it's because he's like "matter of factly" delivering whatever Information that's useful for another plotline. then he Brings It Upon Himself by making people aware that he's Also existing in his own right as a person rather than what they think serves their own deal / what they want from him at all times, perhaps by expressing his personality (didn't appeal to them! so it was Wrong) or not b/c of anything in particular said or done at present, just b/c people have a constant / accumulating contempt for him so their being in the same room as him & able to see & hear him is already dangerous. the [we're just seeing Any Abusive Dynamic in action] continuing apace.

and it's like, well, right there. he's written as acting like someone who doesn't blame himself for how he's treated, which billions frames as being Rude & Mean, and so too does everyone's abusers lmfao like and that these are his moments that are written to be Bringing It Upon Himself. and it's like hell yeah he doesn't blame himself. hell yeah that his self-esteem can manifest as anger at all. hell yeah that he keeps expressing himself with personality & confidence & doesn't even disguise his having been hurt, & it's this [his ass is Not grey rocking] that billions frames as both him "causing" his abuse & making that abuse "successful" lol, wrow just like real life!! and when like speaking of real life yeah it's not "bad" that people Do engage in strategies to mitigate & survive, including things like blaming themselves or being too "boring" to be anything but a non dialogued background character b/c that's all that goes unpunished, it's bad b/c it's done to them at all, not [ohh they're doing it to themselvesss] and like i'm asking myself like Ideally. what do i want Ideally. and i'd want winston to know that it's being Done To Him & i'd want him to find as much room for his personhood & autonomy as possible. and that's basically how he's written anyways, and billions hates that like You See this is why he deserves it this is why he's doing it to himself. and i'm like my god if that's not Inspiration for like "so what if people don't find you Personally Likable" and not preemptively holding back all personality or anything that'd draw attention as if you exist as a person in your own right & not something that only either gets in the way of or serves their wants of a Real person (someone with more power) like hell yeah you have him out here doing it =']

another fun addendum is like, billions isn't getting into it much b/c it doesn't seem to care much about "what if some people were peers & seem to have a genuine, recipcrocal relationship?" but that it just so happened to be like "oh tuk as the next closest loser who deserves it might be nice to winston" while it's framing winston as the "worse" Loser as being....unconditionally supportive of tuk. while the one downside of billions Also giving bentuk as much as it is is that it also inevitably has that shadow of "but ben is Superior to tuk" and like that it's correct that everyone encourages tuk to Stop Bringing It Upon Himself and start being less of a loser; it's wrong for winston to be like hey let's go have a foursome. like yeah probably don't make a list of the women you work with you'd be dtf but it's not like i'm convinced "ah billions and it's strong anti misogyny stance like" roflmao and billions is Not reflecting on "the downsides of unconditional support?" there when winston was beaten up for criticising taylor earlier like we WILL take his ideas while looting his [beaten unconscious] body there but he WAS wrong to express them as though he's BETTER than taylor!!! mafee's beautiful show of loyalty in kicking his ass even when he might agree with the argument and then benefit when it's adopted by taylor anyways! so it's as usual actually purely based on hierarchy & who gets to be in charge of people. it's correct for ben to be in charge of tuk, unless he has to step aside for that bizarre dead-end subplot about how it's tuk's fault if he's treated badly, b/c it's really his own Failure to have Confidence to know he has good ideas [raising our voice to deliver this message over the sound of breaking desks and chairs and computer monitors over winston because he had the confidence to act like he deserved to talk to someone and because he knows his ideas efforts & results are good & valuable around there] like. and isn't it sooo fucked up to talk about who you're dtf in the episode that has it be neutral if your boss is dtf & lets you know but is nice about it (and you're already Correctly tending to their ego, which you're responsible for!) like hey no possible problem! it's not even so much of a problem for a boss man to have the sex they're entitled to & be rude about their leveraging their power in that acquisition that it Stays a problem into the next season. ew, winston is Known (Inferred) Dtf??? we'll use it to exploit His vulnerability, exacerbate it, & punish him further for good measure in another episode that just revels in abuse & violation with a sexual aspect once again, but like, hey tuk don't do that, winston's such a Bad Influence for being like, shrug, kneejerk intervening with the Good Friendship where the One In Charge leaps in & Tells tuk the Correct thing to do. obviously there's also the tragedy that billions will Never let winston push back against Real Winners like rian or taylor in A Way That Matters (actually gets in their way at all) lol like. one thing that would have really been fun, winston should've literal kneejerk started physically fighting wags in either pertinent scene in 7x03 for real 110%. i wouldn't be like Gasp Violence Is Never The Answer if he just hit someone to hit them b/c fuck you. or broke anything on his way out etc etc. billions would Never let him. which is the other side of the same coin of [why he should get to]

tl;dr how great that winston's being "out of line" means he's basically always noticeably flouting & rebelling against the [He Deserves Abuse] agenda lol. that IS what i want. his being "beyond hope" like ohhh he's sooo stupid he doesn't realize how much he has the bad tastes & wrong interests & annoying personality He Will Always Be This Way like hell yeah!!! billions like oh no winston's personhood will never stay tamped down & locked away such that some godawful person tolerates keeping him in their inventory :( ohhh the ABA will never work :( that's right!!!!!!!!!! although they're not sad about it because it's about relishing the promise there will always be True Inferiors you can enjoy abusing with your righteous power over, but like well you wrote him escaping anyways even while dragging other "better" characters into standing around to serve axe's need for more than 1.8 employees and [crickets, reverberating cough, sneaker scuff] like. another ""wrong"" thing for winston to do, another thing for him to not "deserve," which is itself godawful actually lol like lord what it "rewards" its Good, Deserving characters with, no thanks. meanwhile winston's punishment is that he's autistic and """bad""" at being abused like lmfao good for him, fantastic for him, just what i want

[solvicrafts]

What gets me about certain people being so fucking pissy about Bob not writing much about Eilistraee (until the last fucking trilogy where EIlistraeans featured heavily) is that

a) Bob basically built drow culture up from almost nothing, and Eilistraee came after he started writing Drizzt

b) no you guys really don't understand. I own the first 4 modules drow appeared in. There's... not much there. And it hasn't aged well.

c) and the Big One: he has a specific vision for his specific characters when it comes to the narrative he wants to explore, from sexual abuse to religious trauma, both of which are fucking complicated and for most people just switching deities isn't enough to fix that.

I have religious trauma that I still struggle with to this day and probably will for the rest of my life to some extent, and it's fundamentally different in nature from what most people would probably expect, and the thing is even though I am happily polytheistic and very enthusiastically into it, I still struggle a lot with certain things because every time I get into my religious practice I have to actively force myself into (or out of) certain things because my whole relationship to religion and spirituality is complicated and messy.

It would be easy and frankly incredibly superficial for Bob to decide to just have them all convert to half-assed Neowiccan ~woo~ drow Jesus Eilistraee to *~*save their souls*~* and call it a day

BUT HE DIDN'T DO THAT

Partly because she wasn't his creation and other authors were writing her at the time so he really couldn't, and partly because it's a shitty message to send.

Sometimes people benefit from converting to a new religion or following a new deity. Sometimes people don't.

I benefited from gradually converting to my religion, but it's come with a whole different set of complications and hasn't been a smooth journey for me.

Just going from extensive religious trauma to switching deities does not fix your problems, and for a lot of people it realistically can make them much worse.

but also

you don't have to be saved by a deity in order to have value as a person

[darkspace7]

Medieval Moon Knight AU?

Like, what if you had the events of the tv series but set in a medieval fantasy-type world?

Like you have the "Sir" Steven Grant, an awkward yet charming man who somehow managed to stumble into the kingdom and earn a position among the king's court due to his rather extensive yet eclectic knowledge of "foreign magicks" and who believes he might be cursed with a desire to walk while his mind dreams?

Marc, the actual knight (or rather former knight, that is) who truly was cursed after meeting his once ally's treacherous blade during an ill-begotten crusade in a faraway land. Now nothing more than the ghostly spector of a man, he serves the Lord Of The Night as his fist and justice.

And the mysterious Jake Lockley, a quiet stablehand who seems to know more than he lets on.

[bunnys-kisses]

the jailbird

prisoner!simon 'ghost' riley

a full fic based on this post

cw: prison!au, civilian!reader, pen-pals, smut,romance/romantic!simon, domestic, missonary, wife kink, size kink, nudity, tattoo kink, body worship, cuddling

bunny says: like the fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? suggest your own! reblogs are always welcomed!

it started out as a flyer at the bus stop near your house. it was for a service that connected prisoners at a nearby prison with civilians as pen-pals. you had seen the flyer often over the course of work as you went to work.

you honestly felt bad, those people must be isolated. the organization prided itself on giving prisoners a bit of their humanity back by not cutting them off from those on the outside. so on a rainy friday you took a photo of the flyer and filled out the form on the organization's website.

that was how you met simon riley, or as he was called on the inside 'ghost'. what caught your attention wasn't his face scar that ran from under his nose down to the left side of his chin, but rather his brown eyes. how intense they stared into the camera. it was almost intimidating.

but you kept the photo on your desk as you typed out your first letter to send to him. you heard of places who did it through email, but screen time for those could often be limited and to send a physical letter would ensure that it would be sent to them.

the letter started out simple, you asked how he was and if it was okay to ask what he was in prison for. you asked him other questions, like if his health was doing well, what did he do most days while on the inside. you ended the letter with a little information about yourself.

you thought it would be nice to take a few photos and print them out on photo paper to be included with your letter. just so he had a better idea of who he was talking about. once you tweaked the letter with a bit of editing, you printed it out and thanks to the Royal Mail, your letter was sent to him.

you didn't actually expect for him to respond. nor did you expect for the letter to be do detailed. it was almost three pages double sided in neat hand writing. your eyes went wide when you saw the thickness of the envelope with the stamp of approval from the prison for it to be sent to you.

simon sent you a bracelet made of string that had been braided together. he said you were the first person from the outside to reach out since he got locked up. that broke your heart. it only broke further the more you read.

he was a military man who was tossed aside once the ptsd got too intense. he had been between jobs, and it felt like everything was just too much for him. he got wrapped up in large scale theft, while it paid good, you could only rob so many banks before it all caught up. he had been in for three years now, he was thankful it wasn't a life sentence. not much was stolen, and there was minimal violence. he said that his stature alone intimidated enough people that he didn't need to be violent.

you re-read his letters and it wouldn't be until almost six months of speaking that you finally wore the bracelet. when he said, "i want to see you in it, since i can't buy you a ring." you sent a photo of you wearing it and since then you hadn't taken it off.

the letters were nice, you sent them at least twice a week. even though you two had never met face to face, and the only photos you had of him were mugshots, he knew all the gossip in your work place. he knew the names of all your friends, your favourite saturday night treat and how you took your coffee.

he told you he'd be happy to make you coffee every morning before you went to work. that comment made your cheeks burn.

he often called you his 'wife' to the other prisoners. he had your photos on the wall near his bunk. he even kept the pictures where you looked terrible after you tried to cut your bangs one night. he knew the exact location of where your favourite take out was. he said that he was writing down ideas of where to take you once he got out. "i gotta make the missus feel special."

he even made you a birthday card. his cellmate 'soap' even signed it. you knew all about the explosives expert mactavish. when you looked into his case on the news, your eyes went a little wide. this guy was.. something.

simon did admit that 'soap' had a bit of a crush on you. but he said that 'johnny' was harmless and probably just liked the photo of a woman in the cell.

"he hurt ya, there will be no cell that could keep me from killin' him. no god either."

simon remembered everything.

the way he spoke about you and to you in his letters were nothing but soft. while he had to put on a tough guy exterior, his letters were filled with gentle words. like when he wrote out that he loved you in big text on a spare piece of paper so you could tape it on your mirror to look at every morning.

"i want to be what you get ready to."

"i want to be with you when you wake up."

"i want to come home to you every night. please make me an honest man."

you knew he was a trained killer. he was in special forces before his brief stint as a criminal. he was trained to kill, but in the margins of your letters, his love shined through. despite it all, he was capable of love.

and he wanted to pour all that love into you, his (future) wife.

you two would go on to write letters every week, for almost two years. when you got the letter from him asking if he could put you down as a permanent address when he got out, you cried. of course!

it was a cold spring morning, the sky was misty as you stood outside the gates of the prison. your heart raced, you even arrived early in the hopes he'd be released sooner.

and then you saw him.

those eyes. hard and stern, until he caught sight of you. his shoulder visibly dropped and his pace quickened as he made his way towards you. before you could step forward to meet him, he had you in his arms. his strong arms, littered with tattoos, wrapped around you as he held you close to his strong chest.

you held onto him as the air left your chest from the force he held you. you clutched onto his shoulders and choked out a sob. you squeaked, "holy shit."

he pulled away from you, but still kept you in his arms. you swore you saw minimal mistiness in his eyes. he reached to cup your face. he said quietly, "soft... like i imagined."

you beamed up at him, "of course, si."

"your voice is so nice." he groaned as he then pulled you close once more and buried his nose in your hair. he inhaled the scent of your shampoo and relaxed, "i'm home."

you thought transitioning from being the only person in the flat, to having this hulking, strong man in your home as well, was going to be a bit hard. but that didn't matter when simon got you through the door. his hands were on you, he promised on the universe that he'd romance you tomorrow.

but tonight was just going to be the two of you.

you managed to get his hands off you in order to get your shoes off before you led him to your bedroom. he was close behind you, he had a hand on one of your hips. he wanted to be as close to you as he could, you two had spent enough time apart.

you couldn't even close the bedroom door before he was pulling at the waistband on your pants. his calloused, strong hands felt delicate on you. it was like he was going to break you and he had to be as delicate as possible.

"si."

"i know, darling." he said quietly as he started to undress you. with your help the both of you were soon nude in the afternoon light in your bedroom. you tried to cover your chest with your arms but he pulled your arms away and looked at you.

your eyes met and you got up on your tip-toes to kiss him gently on the lips. soon he picked you up like you weighed less than a bag of potatoes.

he placed you on the bed gently when you half expected him to toss you like a shot-put. he admired your body down on your soft covers and soon got onto the bed too.

you reached for him as he pulled you into a tight kiss. his lips were chapped and you could tease the fresh skin underneath. your nails raked at his strong back, that you knew was covered in tattoos.

you wrapped your legs around him and held him. from a moment he dropped to his side and you two held each other. you tucked his head under your chin as you laid together naked.

it wasn't even meant to be sexually stimulating, you both just wanted to feel one another. to hear your lover's heartbeat meant more to you than anything in that moment.

you kissed the top of his head, you felt his blond hair against your face as you soaked in his warmth. you could almost cry from how nice it felt to be so close to him.

after everything, you had your man.

he said in his low tone, "you feel so soft. after everything, i have you. you made every day in the can worth it." he sighed, "thank you." he kissed at your bare chest.

you replied, "i loved your letters, i have them still." you chuckled, "i didn't want to throw any of them away. it made me feel closer."

"well. i'm not goin' anywhere." he looked up at you and smiled, "you're home and i'm finally here." he pulled away and got him between your legs. he rested on his knees and carefully moved you to his liking. he sat there between your legs and waited for your command.

you looked at him and nodded, "yeah, si. you can go." then tightened your legs around your lover. you held your breath as he slowly pushed his cock into you. you didn't realize how big it was until he was fully inside of you.

"are you alright, love?"

"golden."

the two of you moved together. it took a little bit to get used to the size, but the pressure and speed of his movements made heat spread through your body. like two pieces of the same puzzle, you fit together perfect soon after. it was like you two were always meant to be.

you felt so loved by him, it was so sweet. this was your first time with him and you only had a few sexual experiences with others prior to him. but the entire time you knew each other you didn't sleep with others, you wanted to wait for your man.

"that's my good wife." he groaned as he held onto your hips, "i know, you wanted this for a long time. i bet you thought about me when i was locked up."

you blushed and replied, "i did, si. i thought about you all the time, i even had your picture in my office. i wanted this, i wanted to be with you!" you whined a little as his cock dragged against a sensitive spot.

he chuckled softly, "yeah. i thought about my missus when i was locked up. i used to jerk off to your letters, your photos. messed one of 'em up by gettin' my spunk all over it." he licked his lips, "but now i can see it every day in person."

you smiled when he rested his body against you and continued to thrust up into you. you felt the curl of pleasure of your gut get together which each of his heavy thrusts.

the kisses you shared were intimate and hot. the air of your bedroom was warmed as you made love on the bed you would share together. your soft noises together filled the air.

you clenched onto him, you dug your nails into his shoulders. they were so strong and broad that they were much bigger than your hands.

he kissed you one last time as he quickened his pace. the bed moved against your movements as you both climaxed at the same time. it was like a shock to the system, the heightened euphoria before your head felt full of cotton.

you let out a soft groan as your grip on his loosened and you relaxed into the bed. you felt yourself partially get crushed by your lover but he gave a few more earnest thrusts as he made sure that his cum shot to the back of your womb.

he pulled out and dropped beside you. he tucked some hair behind your ear and wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of his hand. your breathing was heavy, but you were both so happy. to share your first time together felt so special.

you nestled yourself into his arms and held his hand. you exhaled contently then said, "my husband."

he kissed the top of your head, he felt complete, "my missus."

part two

[ryin-silverfish]

A Guide to the Chinese Underworld (and what it isn't)

As many FSYY and fox posts as there were on my blog, I am actually a huge fan of the Chinese Underworld mythos. Mostly because I was once a morbid little kid that loved reading about the excavations of ancient tombs, and found the statues depicting hellish torture in the Haw Par Villa "super cool".

Apart from the aesthetics, the history of its evolution is also fascinating. Most of us, Chinese or not, only know the most popular version of the Underworld——the "Ten Kings" system, yet that isn't always the case. So today, I'll start off with a short summary of that.

In pre-Qin era, there was already this generic idea of a "Realm of the Dead" called the Yellow Spring, Youdu, or Youming, but we know very little about it.

Then, in the Han dynasty, two ideas start to emerge: 1) the Underworld is a bureaucracy, 2) the God of Mt. Tai ruled over the dead.

This early bureaucracy might not function as an agent of punishment; the main focus was on keeping the dead segregated from the living so they wouldn't bring diseases and misfortune to the latter, as well as using those ghosts to enforce collective punishments upon people for their lineage's wrongdoings while they were still alive.

Post-Han, after Buddhism entered China and took root, its idea of karmic punishments and reincarnation and the figure of King Yama was merged with folk and Daoist ideas of the Underworld bureaucracy, and, came Tang dynasty, resulted in the "Ten Kings" system that first appeared in Dunhuang manuscripts.

It was very rudimentary and far from well-established, as seen in Tang legends, with some adopting the Ten Kings system, some sticking to the Lord of Mt. Tai and some favoring King Yama, and overall little agreements on who's in charge of the Underworld.

But the "Ten Kings" system would become the mainstream version from then onwards, used in Ming vernacular novels and made even more popular by folk religion scrolls like the Jade Records (Yuli Baochao).

As such, most points in the following sections will be based on the fully matured "Ten Kings" system of the Underworld, as seen in the Jade Records and JTTW.

What happens when you die?

(This is a fictionalized walkthrough of the posthumous fate of souls under the "Ten Kings" system. I try to stick to the very broad progression outlined in the Jade Records, but many creative liberties are taken on the details.)

Let's say there's a guy named Xiao Ming, and he had just died of a heart attack. Bummers. What now?

Well, the first thing he saw would be the ghost cops.

There isn't really an unanimous agreement on who these ghost cops are: they may be a pair of ghosts in white and black robes, wearing tall hats (Heibai Wuchang), they may have the heads of farm animals (Ox-Head and Horse-Face), or they can just be generic ghost bureaucrats. For convenience's sake, let's say it was the first scenario.

"Who are you guys and where are you taking me?"

"Glad you asked!" The taller ghost cop, being the cheerful one of the pair, replied. It wasn't very reassuring, considering that his tongue was dangling out of his mouth way further than it should. "I'm the White Impermanence, my sour-looking colleague here is the Black Impermanence, and we are taking you to the City God's office."

This City God, a.k.a. Chenghuang, is just like how it sounds: the divine guardian of a city, who also pulls double duty as the head of the local Dead People Customs Office. They are usually virtuous officials deified posthumously, and in JTTW, they fall under the category of "Ghostly immortals", together with the Earth Gods a.k.a. Tudi.

So Xiao Ming went with the two ghost cops——not like he had much of a choice, made his way through the long queue at the City God's office, and was now standing in front of a gruff old magistrate in traditional robes.

"Name?"

"Wang Xiao Ming."

"Age and birth dates?"

"21, April 16 2003…"

After he was done asking questions, the City God flipped through his ledger, then picked up a brush, ticked off Xiao Ming's name, and told him to go get his pass in the next room. More waiting in a queue. Wonderful.

"I never heard anything about needing a pass to get to the Underworld," the girl in front of Xiao Ming asked the ghost cops, who were standing guard nearby. "Is this a new policy or something?"

"Yeah. In the old days, we'd just drag y'all straight to the Ghost Gate." The ghost cop in black said, then muttered to himself, "Fuckin' paperworks and overpopulation, man…"

(This "Dead People Passport" thing was popularized in the middle-to-late Ming dynasty, as shown by the discovery of such documents inside tombs in southern China. )

(It might have evolved from similar passes to the Western Pure Land in lay Buddhism that recorded their acts of merits. Which, in turn, might be traced back to the "Dead People Belongings List" of Han dynasty, to be shown to Underworld bureaucrats so that no one would take away the dead's private property down there or something.)

Anyways, after he received his pass, Xiao Ming departed together with the rest of the bunch, to be led to the Ghost Gate. It was like the world's most depressing tourist group, where instead of tour guides, you got two ghost cops in funny hats, and the only scenery in sight was the desolation of the Yellow Spring Road.

They weren't the only travellers on the road, though. Xiao Ming noticed other groups moving in the far distance, behind the fog and the flickering ghostfire, led by similar figures in black and white.

It made a lot of sense; realistically, there was no way two ghost cops could fetch hundreds of thousands of dead people all by themselves.

(SEA Tang-ki mediums believed there were multiple Tua Di Ya Peks——Hokkien name for the Black and White Impermanences, working for different Underworld Courts.)

At last, the Ghost Gate stood in front of Xiao Ming, guarded by two towering figures. Normally, they'd be Ox-Head and Horse-Face, like what you see at Haw Par Villa's Underworld entrance.

However, older Han dynasty works like Wang Chong's 论衡·订鬼 also mentioned two gods, Shenshu and Yulei, as guardians of the Ghost Gate, who would use reed ropes to capture malicious ghosts and feed them to tigers, making them possibly the earliest incarnation of "Gate Gods".

So here, they were what Xiao Ming sees, standing side by side like proper doormen, silently watching herds of ghosts being funneled through the entrance.

The place was more crowded than a train station during the CNY Spring Rush; the ghost cops had already said their quick goodbye and left to fetch the next group of dead people, leaving the resident officials of the Underworld proper to maintain order and quell any would-be riots.

Now you started seeing the Ox-Head and Horse-Face guys, poking at unruly ghosts with their pitchforks and dragging away the violent ones in chains. Among their ranks were other monstrous beings, blue-faced yakshas and imps, but also regular dead humans who look 100% done with their jobs, like the lady who stamped Xiao Ming's pass when it was finally his turn.

After this point, Xiao Ming had entered the Underworld proper, and his next destination would be the First Court, led by King Qin'guang. Here, his fate should be decided by what is revealed in the King's magical mirror.

If Xiao Ming was a good guy, or someone who had done an equal amount of good and bad things in life, he'd be sent straight to the Tenth Court for reincarnation. However, if the mirror, while replaying his life events, had displayed more evil deeds than good ones, he'd be sent to one of the 2nd-9th Courts for judgment and then punished inside the Eighteen Hells.

Each of the Ten Kings was also assisted by ghostly judges. Many of them were righteous and just officials in life who had been recruited into the Ten Courts posthumously——Cui Jue from JTTW is one such example, while others were living people working part-time for the Underworld, like how Wei Zheng, Taizong's minister, works part-time for the Celestial Bureaucracy in JTTW.

We decide to be nice to Xiao Ming, so, after reliving some embarrassing childhood incidents and cringy teenage phases in front of a bunch of dead bureaucrats, he was found innocent and sent to the Tenth Court.

The queue here was almost as long as the First Court's, stretching on and on alongside of the banks of the Nai River. King of the Turning Wheel made his judgment without even lifting his head when it was Xiao Ming's turn:

"Path of Humans, male, healthy in body and mind, ordinary family. Next!"

Exiting the Tenth Court building, Xiao Ming saw the Terrace of Forgetfulness, standing tall before six bridges, made of gold, silver, jade, stone, wood, and…some unidentified material. Before he could get a good look at them and the little dots moving across those bridges, he was hurried into the Terrace by the ghostly officials.

Now, both JTTW and the Jade Records mention multiple bridges across the Nai River. In the former, there is 3, and the latter, 6. The bridges made of precious materials are for people who will reincarnate into better lives, as the wealthy, the fortunate, and the divine, while the Naihe Bridge is either the common option or the terribad shitty option.

However, the Naihe Bridge proved to be so iconic, it became THE bridge you walk across to reincarnate in popular legends.

Anyways, back to Xiao Ming. He found himself standing in a giant soup kitchen of sorts, with an old lady at the counter, scooping soup out of her steaming pot and into one cup after another.

This is Mengpo, the amnesia soup granny; according to the Jade Records, she was born in the Western Han era, and a pious cultivator who thought of neither the past nor the future, only knowing that her surname was Meng.

Made into an Underworld god by the Jade Emperor, she cooks a soup of five flavors that will wipe the memory of the dead, making sure they do not remember any of their past lives once they reincarnate.

It tastes awful. Like what you get after pouring corn syrup, coffee, chilli sauce, lemon juice and seawater into the same cup.

Such was Xiao Ming's last thought, as he gulped down the soup, and then he knew no more.

Things you should know about the Chinese Underworld:

1. It's not the Christian Hell.

Rather, the Chinese Underworld functions somewhat like the Purgatory, in that there are a lot of torment, but the torment's not eternal, however long the duration may be. Once you finish your sentence, you get reincarnated as something else, though that "something else" is not a guaranteed good birth.

Other people can also speed up the process via transferring of merits: hiring a priest/monk to chant sutras and perform rituals, for example, or performing good deeds in life in dedication to the dead, or they can pray to a Daoist/Buddhist deity to save their loved ones from a dreadful fate.

Interestingly enough, a thesis paper I read mentions that, whereas Buddhist salvation from the Hells was based on transference of merits——you give monks offerings and pay them to chant sutras, so they can cancel out the sinners' bad karma with good ones, Daoist ideas of salvation tend to involve the priest going down there, sorting it out with the Underworld officials, and taking the dead out of the Hells themselves.

(The paper also stops at the Northern-Southern and Tang dynasties, so the above is likely period-specific.)

2. Nor is it run by evil demons.

Underworld officials are not nice guys and look pretty monstrous and torture the sinful dead, but they are not the embodiment of evil. Rather, the faction as a whole is what I'd call Lawful Neutral, who function on this "An Eye for An Eye" logic, where every harm the sinner caused in life must be returned to them, in order for their karmic debts to be cleansed and move on to their next life.

They can absolutely be corrupt and incompetent and take bribes——Tang dynasty Zhiguai tales and Qing folklore compendiums featured plenty of such cases, but that's a very mundane and human kind of evil, not a cosmic/innate one.

This is just my personal opinion, but if you want to do an "evil" Chinese Underworld? It should be a very bureaucratic evil, whose leaders are bootlickers to the higher-ups, slavedrivers to their rank-and-file workers, and bullies who abuse their power over regular dead people.

Not, y'know, Satan and his infernal legions or conspiring Cthulu cultists.

3. The Ten Kings are not Hades.

Make no mistake, they still have a lot of power over your average dead mortal. But in the grand scheme of things? They are the backwater department of the pantheon, who only show up in JTTW to get pushed around and revive the occasional dead people.

When Taizong made his trip to the Underworld, the Ten Kings greeted him as equals——kings of ghosts to the king of the living. If they see themselves as equal in status to a mortal emperor, then, like any mortal emperors, they are subordinate to the Celestial Host, and the balance of power is not even remotely equal or in their favor.

Also, it isn't said outright, but under the Zhong-Lv classification of immortals JTTW is using, Underworld officials will likely be considered Ghostly immortals, the lowest and weakest of the five types, much like Tudis and Chenghuangs.

Essentially: they are ghosts that are powerful enough to not reincarnate and linger on and on, spirits of pure Yin as opposed to true immortals, who are beings of pure Yang.

It's pretty much the shittiest form of immortality, the result you get when you try to speedrun cultivation (the Zhong-Lv text also made a dig at Buddhist meditation here), and if they don't reincarnate or regain a physical body, there is no chance of progressing any further.

Oh, and fun fact? In the Song dynasty, commoners and literati elites alike believed that virtuous officials in life would get appointed as ghostly officials in death.

However, the latter viewed it as a punishment. Which was strange, considering how they still held the same position and the same amount of authority, just over dead people instead of living ones, so there should be no big losses, right?

Well...it was precisely the "dead people" part that made it a punishment. See, a lot of the power and prestige they had as officials came from the benefits they could bring to their families and kins and native places, as well as the potential wealth and reputation bonuses for themselves.

A job in the Dead People Supreme Court would give them the same workload, but with none of those benefits. Since all the dead people had to reincarnate eventually, they couldn't have a fixed group as their power base, or keep their old familial ties and connections. At most, they could help out an occasional dead relative or two.

Like, working for the Underworld Courts was the kind of deadend (no pun intended) job not even living officials wanted for themselves in the afterlife. That's how hilariously sad and pathetic they are.

4. In JTTW at least, they aren't even the highest authorities of the Underworld.

That would be Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha, who is technically their boss, though he seems to be more of a spiritual leader than someone who is actually involved in running the bureaucracy.

Which makes sense, since he has sworn an oath to not attain Buddhahood until all Hells are empty, and his role is to offer relief and salvation to the suffering souls, not judging and punishing them.

Now, historically...even though Ksitigarbha in early Tang legends was still the savior of the dead, he seemed to be unable to interfere with the judicial process of the Underworld, merely showing up to take people away before they were judged by King Yama.

However, in the mid-Tang apocryphal "Sutra of Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha" (地藏菩萨经), he had evolved into the equal of King Yama, with the power of supervision over his judgements. By the time the Scripture on the Ten Kings came out, in artistic depictions, the Ten Kings had become fully subservient to him.

5. Diyu usually refers to the prison-torture chamber part, not the courthouse, nor is it the entirety of the Underworld.

And for the majority of souls that haven't committed crimes, they'll only see the courthouse part before they are sent to reincarnation. That's why I personally don't like, or use the name Diyu for the Chinese Underworld: I prefer the term Difu ("Earth Mansions"), which encompasses the whole realm better.

Also: even though historical sources like the Scripture on the Ten Kings and Jade Records seem to suggest that the dead were just funneled through this Courthouse-Prison-Reincarnation pipeline with no breaks in between, in practice, that isn't the case.

According to popular folk beliefs, after the dead were done with their trials/sentences, they stayed in the Underworld for a period of time and led regular lives, while functioning as ancestor spirits and receiving offerings.

Which would imply that the Underworld had a civilian district of sorts, populated by regular ghosts, making the whole realm even less of a direct Hell/Purgatory equivalent.

6. It is located in a different realm, but still part of the Six Paths and doesn't exist outside of reality.

In Buddhist cosmology, like the Celestial Realm, the Underworld is part of the Realm of Desires and thus subject to all the woes of samsara.

The pain and misery of the Path of Hell may be the worst and most obvious, but becoming a celestial being isn't the goal of serious Buddhists either: despite all the pleasures and near-infinite lifespan they enjoy, they are not free from samsara and will eventually have to reincarnate.

So if, say, the world is being destroyed at the end of a kalpa, all beings of the Six Paths will perish alongside it, leaving behind a clean slate for the cycle to start anew. The dead won't all end up in the Underworld and face eternal damnation.

7. The Black and White Impermanences would not appear in the Underworld pantheon formally until the Qing dynasty.

The concept that when you die, you get fetched to the Underworld by petty ghost bureaucrats is already well-established in Tang legends, but these were just generic ghost bureaucrats in all sorts of colorful official robes, with yellow being the most common color.

The idea of there being two specific psychopomps in black and white would only become popular in the Qing dynasty. Mengpo is kinda similar: although she existed before the Ming-Qing era as a goddess of wind, venerated by boatmen, her "amnesia soup granny" incarnation came from the Jade Records.

[dontbelasagnax]

I wanted to participate in Mermay. It’s now October. Alas. Codywan makeout session forever 🙏

[prints available]

My process is under the cut if you would like to see how I made this :3

I'd been feeling a little dried out and beaten artistically in May so I didn't do much art. However, I really wanted to do something for Mermay so one night before bed I quickly scribbled some quick concepts in the notes app of my phone with my finger.

On the 28th I realized the month ran away from me and was quickly escaping so I knew I had to get started on drawing something for Mermay. My bathroom concepts, as cool as they are and despite how much I like them, had to be discarded because drawing a bathroom and rendering everything to the degree I envisioned wasn't feasible. Unless some miracle happened, it's the kind of artwork that, at the absolute minimum, would take 15 hours. More realistically we'd be looking at 25-30 hours. Really not doable on a time crunch. That's not to say I won't ever return to it!!

So to start off on the other idea I had, I looked through Pinterest for around ten minutes for some inspiration (mainly at photos of pretty underwater shots and also some photos of people swimming underwater) and then sketched for maybe 20-30 minutes.

A while ago, while I was mulling over what fish I would base mercodywan off of in a potential au, @happybean17 recommended the epaulette soldierfish for Cody and once I googled it and discovered it is also called the kuntee soldierfish... well, quite honestly, how could I resist? It's the perfect colors and Cody, my beloved, is soooo cunty.

I initially wanted Obi-Wan to be based off a shark of some sort but when I started drawing it just felt right to make him frilly like a betta which I rationalize is because he wears robes with some swoosh. I then googled and quickly found a betta that's very Obi-Wan colored.

Soooo after looking at the photos I put my sketch in my tablet and started doing lineart.

I drew a big fanned out tail for Obi-Wan but after I had spent all that time on it I decided it was far too static and flat. It didn't feel like it was swishing in water.

I made a copy of the tail and minorly edited that to be Obi-Wan's swooshy butt fin. And to make his tail swooshy I used liquify and also redrew a bunch of it.

And then I began the loooong process of painting.

I've hit the image limit so pretend I've added the finished product here.

All in all, this took me over 14 hours and--due to some hiccups in my life--many more months than planned. Going so long without finishing a single artwork was incredibly demoralizing so I'm relieved to finally finish this and have an actual artwork to show for my hard work. Oh, and thank you for reading my rambles and I hope seeing the process was interesting!

[sodomit]

TRANSUNITY

Transunity is a political theory that was actively talked about on Tumblr a couple of years ago, but has since fallen out of the public spotlight. And this is unfortunate, because it could have really improved a lot of the discourse around gender.

There exists a blog under that name ( @transunity ), but it has been inactive for a year. I am not affiliated with that blog anyhow, I never had any personal contacts with its mods, but I want to get their general ideas to circulate again, so I'm trying to bring this back up in a semi organized fashion. My take on transunity is just my take, if you're one of the original coiners, and you disagree, I encourage you to talk about it, because we still have much more in common with each other than different.

GENERAL VIEWS

I believe that one of the fundamental ideas more trans people need to understand is that we're all more or less in the same place in the eyes of the society (when other factors, such as ethnicity or disability, are considered). To be trans is to fail the gender role system, from the point of view of cis people we can no longer be proper men or women. All kinds of trans people regardless of identity are affected by misogyny and misandry (not a type of marginalization by itself, but turns into a vector of oppression when overlapping with a different marginalization), which forms the foundation of transmisogyny, transandrophobia, and exorsexism*. These types of bigotry are not exclusive and unique to specific gender identities either and may be applied to any trans person for as long as it's convenient to the oppressor.

Trans people do not have gendered power over each other, and intra community bigotry is better conceptualized as a form of lateral aggression.

Gender assignment and sex are never strictly binary (especially with inclusion of intersex people, who belong in gender conversations even if they don't identify as trans) and need to be understood as much more fluid and not strictly correlating with one's actual position in life.

WHAT WE NEED TO REDUCE

The following things should be discussed more critically:

- "Powerjacketing" - implying someone has gendered privilege as a means of delegitimizing their words, while in reality they do not have this privilege;

- Malgendering - forcing trans people to choose between being gendered correctly and speaking up about their mistreatment (e.g. questioning trans women's womanhood on the basis of them aggressively defending themselves or trans men's manhood on the basis of them asking for help) or implying there's something wrong with them in a way that reinforces gender stereotypes;

- Assuming that some trans people are exempt from some forms of oppression on the basis of gender assignment/sex (e.g. by calling all trans people who were assigned female "tme"** or claiming trans people who were assigned male are inherently incapable of understanding fear of sexual assault);

- Assuming that oppression of trans people is rooted in gender assignment/sex (such as, calling reproductive oppression "sex based oppression"***);

- Gatekeeping certain identities, such as "transmasc", "transbian", "femboy" as exclusive to any gender assignment/sex;

- Creating a duality out of "transsexual" and "cissexual", where not medically transitioning trans people are assumed to have some kind of a gendered privilege, or to not be trans in any meaningful material way. Various transmed ideas about dysphoria and transition go there too;

- Accusing trans people who take inspiration from each other of appropriation (trans headcanons, kinks, drag culture, etc).

SYMBOL

The following image is the official transunity symbol developed by the original transunity bloggers. Sorry about the glitch effect, I wasn't able to find one without it.

* Transmisogyny, transandrophobia, and exorsexism are not exclusive to specific identities, although they do primarily target traits associated with these identities. They can be conceptualized as bigotry and oppression towards people who are recognized as incorrectly entering respectively womanhood, manhood, and a status beyond gender binary (for the latter no normative form exists****). However, it's not wrong to use them to mean "oppression of trans women" and so forth, for as long as you're not claiming it's exclusive.

** Labels like "tma" and "tme" still may be used, but solely in a self assigned manner. I believe that an individual trans person is capable of evaluating whether they're affected by transmisogyny and in what way, and they should be trusted on this. However, no gender assignment and no current gender identity makes anyone inherently tme.

*** "Sex based oppression" instead of "reproductive oppression" reinforces the idea that people who share a specific body part (e.g. an uterus in context of conversations about abortion) are inherently of the same sex. This type of essentialism is desperately needed by terfs in this discussion, as they're trying to sell the ideas of "sex based oppression" and "sex based privilege" to people they want to recruit in their ideology. Invoking the idea of "sex" as something trans men and some nonbinary people are oppressed through is not the correct way to respond to people who say we don't experience any gendered violence besides "just transphobia", it has shitty implications and helps shitty people.

**** Lack of existence of normative nonbinary gender does not mean that these genders are not recognized by the society as a deviant, marginalized identity, and that binary people cannot be pushed into this zone.

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Five

- Little Big Surprise

Series Masterlist

wc: 3.3k

The house felt too empty, too quiet.

Isabella has been at her father's house for the past week and you missed her dearly. So, you had to find new hobbies to pass the time. You should've been used to the days she isn't home but you still aren't.

A new addition to your routine was your newfound hobby; watching Formula One races, or more so, watching Max race.

You would've been a fan even if you didn't know him personally, purely based on his driver skills, but that little detail made every moment of the race a tad bit more special. Your eyes would always try to find him on the track with the others, which he was in front of, leading.

You even found out that you could watch an on-board camera for a specific driver while watching the main race screen as well. It was very obvious whose camera feed you chose to watch.

This was the first time you watched the race after coming back from The Netherlands, mainly because it's only been a week since.

Though it wasn't fun watching the race without Isabella, or more like without her own added commentary.

Fortunately, Isabella's father would be dropping her off today. Until then, you had to find a way to pass the time.

Picking up your phone, your finger hovered over Max's contact. The last time you spoke was yesterday, when you congratulated him for the win over text.

You caught up on your pending work, meeting clients, writing up contracts, and even began designing the floor plans. One of the perks of working as a freelance interior designer, was that you could complete it at your own pace. The downside, however, was once you were done, you didn't really have anything else to do.

You worked for a few hours today, so your little break where you contemplated to call Max was well earned.

But before you could decide whether or not you wanted to call him, your phone rang with a call from him.

You quickly answered, greeting him with, "I was just about to call you, but I thought it'd be too late for you." You remembered that even though it was daytime for you, it was nighttime for him.

Max hummed, "too late? Oh wait, you're right, it's well past midnight." You furrowed your brow as his response confused you, but you didn't comment on it.

"So, what's up?" You asked, wanting to know why he called.

"You actually left something when you came to the race, and I kept forgetting to mention it, but I was thinking of sending it back to you as a package," Max explained, and you began to wonder what you had left behind.

"Yeah, sure that's fine, I actually have no idea when I'm going to see you again either." You shut your eyes tightly as you regretted the words as soon as you spoke them. "I mean—" you tried to explain but he cut you off, "I know what you mean and you're not wrong,"

You told him your address for the package, still wondering what you left behind, but dismissed the thought once you heard some noises on the other end. Specifically, noises that would indicate a person is outside, such as traffic.

"Max, are you outside?" You asked, wondering what he'd be doing out at this hour. "What no! Hold on, can I call you back in a bit?" He didn't wait for your response, just hung up the call.

You held your phone in front of you, looking at the dark screen as if it would give you any answers, but as excepted, it didn't. Then, you dropped the thought or at least tried to since Max did say he'll call you back.

You made yourself an iced coffee before falling into the depths of online shopping. Before you could decide on buying anything, the doorbell interrupted you.

"Max" you gasped as you opened the door, seeing him standing on the other side, holding a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands. "Hi," he grinned, eyes taking in your presence since it had been too long since he last saw you.

"You lied about the package," you commented though there wasn't any malice behind your words. "Consider me as the thing you forgot?"

You chuckled at his words but it quickly became quiet as you finally realized that he was truly standing in front of you. "Please tell me you have a work thing here and you're just stopping by because you were in the area?"

"I could tell you that, but it would be a lie," he shrugged. You hesitated before asking the next question, "and the truth is?"

"I just wanted to see you and Isabella again." Either he didn't realize the weight behind his words or he chose to ignore it but you stood there, holding the door, in surprise.

"And now I'm realizing it probably wasn't a good idea to drop by without asking you," Max's words lacked confidence but you quickly shook your head. "No, it's just that you keep surprising me by standing on the other side of the door," then you smiled and added, "this time it happens to be in a different country."

Again, he shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, but if he was able to hear the thoughts running through your mind, he'd know that this was a big deal to you. In the best way possible.

"So, can I come in?" He asked, as he was just idly standing by the door. "Oh yes, sorry."

He passed the flowers to you once he was inside. "I didn't know which flowers you like, but this seemed fitting," he explained the reason behind the sunflowers.

You wanted to ask why, but you held back because in the few weeks you've known Max, he always manages to say something that leaves you speechless.

"It's perfect, thank you. I think I have a vase lying around somewhere." You found one in the back of a cabinet next to your kitchen, and started filling it with water.

Max stood across from you and commented, "that vase should never be left empty."

You chuckled, more at the thought of the vase being full than his words. "It has been empty more often than not."

Although it was just a simple back and forth conversation, Max made a mental note to try and never let it be empty for as long as he knows you. Which he hopes would be a long, long time.

Max looked around the house, noticing a lack of a little ball of energy. "Where's Isabella?"

"At Tyler's. He'll drop her off in about an hour." Once you set up the flowers, you paused, realizing you have to make lunch for Isabella but you didn't want Max to think that you didn't want him here.

"Everything okay?" He asked, always noticing everything. "Yeah, I have to make lunch for Isabella." You didn't know what reaction you expected but it definitely wasn't a laugh.

Max stepped closer to you, rounding the kitchen island that was in between you two. "If you think you have to entertain me as a guest, who by the way showed up unexpectedly, I'm going to think you don't consider me a friend."

You broke out into a smile, realizing that you overthought the small situation. "I do consider you a friend, otherwise I wouldn't have ranted on and on about my job."

"I will say though, if you're making lunch, I want some too," Max added with a sheepish smile. "Isabella's lunch entails a homemade pizza and fries—made with freshly cut potatoes—because that's all she wants to eat every time she comes home."

"Fair enough, let's make extras for all of us," Max began rolling up his sleeves and washed his hands in preparation.

You couldn't help but laugh, "Max, what are you doing?" He looked at you as if his actions were obvious, "I'm going to help you. Did you think I was going to let you make lunch all by yourself?"

There he goes, leaving you speechless. You shut your mouth because you couldn't find a response, and began taking out the ingredients. "Just a warning though, you're gonna have to tell me what to do because I'm not the best chef," Max stated.

"It's okay, you can be my assistant," you responded which made him raise his eyebrows, "assistant huh? I like the sound of that."

You paused, looking at him with a playful glower before both of you broke out into laughter.

You passed him the potatoes after rinsing them, tasking him to peel and cut into strips to make french fries.

Although he didn't notice, you might've stopped a few times while kneading the dough to look at him. Unbeknownst to you, he did the same when you weren't looking either.

"So does Isabella go to her dad's often?" Max asked after a moment of silence. "Sometimes it's every other week, other times it's only a weekend per month," you explained.

Max had loads of questions about Tyler, but he was content in knowing only what you were willing to tell him. This time, you didn't continue the conversation about your ex, and Max understood that you didn't want to talk about it.

The topic was forgotten as soon as you accidentally smeared pizza sauce across your face. You truly had no idea how it got there, but only realized when Max brushed his fingers against your cheek to wipe it away.

However, he only smeared it further. He couldn't control his laughter as it spread and that prompted you to wipe it from your cheek and smear it on his.

He glared at you but it only lasted a millisecond as he grabbed a handful of dry flour. "Max," you warned, stepping backwards in an attempt to get away from him.

You didn't get far as his arm found its away around your waist to pull you back and hold you still. Then, he dumped the flour on your face, adding to the remnants of the sauce.

Your hands pressed against his chest to push him away but it was a useless attempt since he had you cornered against the counter so you had nowhere to go.

You spluttered since a bit of the flour got in your mouth and Max laughed at you. Then, you did the only thing you could think of. Grabbing Max's face, you rubbed your cheek dusted with flour and sauce against his. Now it was even.

Once the laughter died down, both of you noticed how close you were standing. Max couldn't back away because of your palms on his cheek and on the nape of his neck.

Your eyes widened slightly at the realization and you quickly dropped your hands so he could move. Max took a second too long to process that you weren't holding him anymore, before he created more space between you two.

Then, you noticed the time, "shit she'll be here in twenty minutes."

"You should go change, I'll take care of the rest," Max suggested and you looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "you're going to take care of it?"

He nodded like it wasn't a big deal. "You're the one who said you're not a good chef," you spoke with a teasing smile.

"I said I'm not the best chef, I can be a good chef," he reasoned and you couldn't argue with that logic. "Fine, as long as you don't burn my house down."

"I'll try," you heard him as you went upstairs to your room.

"He got me flowers," you muttered to yourself as you picked out a clean outfit. "He fucking got me flowers." The realization hit you hard, more so because you loved sunflowers, and he just happened to randomly guess the right bouquet. Which was something your ex could never do right even after you told him, mainly because he preferred roses and only bought you roses.

"It seemed fitting," you repeated his words, "Max, why do you have to be so nice?" You asked rhetorically as of course he wasn't there to answer.

You hurriedly went downstairs after washing up and changing to see whether Max had done anything wrong. Perhaps if he was a lousy chef, you'd have one complaint about him. So far, you have liked everything about him.

Fortunately, nothing smelt burnt, and nothing was broken. When you spotted him, he was frying the French fries.

You paused in your tracks, and took a good look at him so you could remember this moment later. Max looked very comfortable in your kitchen, in your house, as if it wasn't his first time. You hoped it wouldn't be the last.

"Looks like everything's fine here," you commented and he turned to look at you with a smile, "no burnt houses," he shrugged.

"The pizza still has a few minutes to go, and the fries are all done," he spoke as he gestured with his hands, but when he looked at you again, you had a stupid smile on your face.

"What?" That made your smile widen, "nothing, just, thank you for helping me."

"Always," he responded, already planning that he'll be around as long as you wanted him to be.

The doorbell rang, interrupting your peace but you were beyond excited to open the door and greet your daughter. Isabella definitely got the habit of being overly excited from you.

However, when you opened the door you saw Isabella standing beside Tyler with a frown on her face. "Hi angel, did you have fun?" You crouched down and ruffled her hair.

"Can I go inside, mama?" Her timid voice surprised you as she would usually answer that question happily. "Sure, sweetheart, I'll be there in a minute."

You watched her head inside before you stood up, closing the door behind you so Isabella wouldn't hear your conversation and faced your ex, "what happened?"

He scoffed, "nothing happened, I just told her that I won't be able to see her again as planned because I'm flying out of the country."

"Another business trip?" You asked and he nodded. "She usually doesn't get this upset any other time you cancel, did something else happen?"

"You know how she is, overdramatic," Tyler casually shrugged and that word ticked you off. "Don't you dare call my daughter overdramatic," you pointed at him harshly.

"Oh so now she's your daughter? Isabella gets upset easily, you know this."

"I do not want to hear you say that word again to describe her, I've heard it enough from you when we were together. Now tell me what happened."

Tyler sighed, and for a moment he thought about saying that Isabella was just like her mother, like you, but he didn't want to waste any extra time being around you.

"I introduced her to Emma," he stated as if it would explain everything but you furrowed your brows in confusion. "Who?"

"My girlfriend. Isabella noticed her around the house a few times so I thought it would be a good idea to introduce her," he explained and you were about to interrupt but he kept going. "I don't know if Isabella doesn't like her, but she's been in that mood ever since."

"Tyler, she has only seen us together, so of course if you introduce her to someone else, it'll take time for her to get used to it," you decided to explain in a calm manner.

"You don't have an issue with my girlfriend?" He asked and you raised your brows, "why would I? It's not my business unless it involves Isabella."

He shrugged, then laughed at his thought before saying it out loud, "well I hope that you don't have an issue explaining dating to her, that is, if you ever start dating again."

"My dating life is none of your business. Don't you have somewhere to be? Perhaps back to Emma?"

"Alright, I'll text you when I'm back in the country," he stated and turned around to leave but paused as he saw a new car in the driveway that he knew didn't belong to you.

"Whose car is that?" You laughed at his need to always be all up in your business, "goodbye, Tyler."

You entered the house with a sigh but the sight in front of you warmed your heart, making you forget all about the conversation with your ex.

Max was crouched down onto his knees to be at eye level with Isabella, who had two arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug.

When Max heard the door close, he opened his eyes and saw you. He removed one hand that was resting on Isabella's back and gestured for you to come closer.

Understanding his silent gesture, you crouched down right behind your daughter and wrapped her in a hug as well, so she was sandwiched between you and Max.

You placed loads of kisses on her cheeks until she started giggling. Isabella let go of Max and turned to face you, "mama, you didn't tell me that Maxy was here!" Just like that, her mood was drastically different from when she first arrived at the doorstep.

"He surprised me too, angel," you spoke as your gaze shifted to Max.

"Did you watch him race yesterday?" You asked Isabella, but her mood dropped again. "No mama, daddy was busy."

"It's okay, you can watch the next one with your mama," Max spoke, and Isabella nodded in agreement. "Okay!"

Then Max gasped, "the pizza!" He quickly rushed towards the oven to check on it, making you and Isabella laugh.

"Maxy made pizza?" She asked as she sat up on one of the barstools, which also happens to be her favourite place to eat even if you have a dining table.

"Maxy and mama made pizza," Max corrected, as he watched you cut it into slices.

"Are you ready for school?" Max asked once all of you began eating. You and Max also sat up on the barstools beside Isabella.

"No." She simply stated. Max frowned, "why not?"

"It's a big school, it's scary." Her words made you frown, "but you're a big girl too now."

"How about we go shopping tomorrow? Buy a new bag, more school supplies, and anything you want," Max suggested and this time you didn't stop him.

You already had a plan to take her shopping tomorrow, mainly because you already knew that Tyler didn't or else she would’ve been beaming about it.

"Even the glittery clips?" Isabella asks with a bright smile on her face, making Max chuckle, "yes even the glittery clips"

"Oh what about ice cream?" Isabella asked, and this time you watched Max become the victim of her pout and big round eyes. He looked at you for help, but you pressed your lips together, holding back a laugh.

"Yes, we can get ice cream too," he gave in making Isabella cheer.

"Alright, angel, finish your food." You gestured to her plate and she quickly obliged, stuffing her face with pizza and fries.

You were glad that Max was here, able to instantly uplift Isabella's mood. However you couldn't help but think about Tyler's words.

You never thought about dating again ever since you broke up with your ex, especially since Isabella was a baby and almost always with you.

But now that she was older, beginning to understand relationships, you thought about her reaction if you ever introduced her to someone you wanted to date.

Plus, you never met anyone that would make you debate the decision of whether to start dating again or not, that was until you met Max.

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed) @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @wonnou @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @glitterf1 @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @hockeyboysarehot @formulaal @namgification @tallrock35 @bloodyymaryyy

[itsclydebitches]

Just finished Good Omens 2 and I'm honestly boggling at the Aziraphale hate because yes, his decision led to the angsty cliffhanger, but it makes SO much sense for his character. Not just in a "Religious brainwashing and sunk-cost fallacy" kinda way but also a "Aziraphale has no reason to believe this isn't the perfect solution" way. That scene among the nebula is crucial because it establishes that Crowley loved being an angel—reveled in his ability to create and allow his creations to grow kinda like plants—and the only problem was that someone else was calling the shots, someone who wouldn't listen to his criticism. Aziraphale has also spent 6,000+ years watching Crowley do good, all the while forced to deny the fact that he's "nice" lest embracing his original nature get him into trouble with hell. Now, Metatron comes along with an offer that fixes everything in one fell swoop. Crowley can be an angel again, be nice without censure, his ideas and criticisms will hold weight because he'll be answering to Aziraphale, and they'll be together.

It strikes me that Aziraphale isn't there when Crowley sees Gabriel's trial, ergo he likewise doesn't see the (non)acknowledgement that there's an institutional problem up in Heaven. There just happen to have been two archangels who called it quits. Same when Gabriel blurts that phrase out to Crowley. Aziraphale has always been more blind to the ways in which Heaven is "toxic" (for very understandable reasons) and this season he's continually sheltered from new evidence of its structural problems. The plot just preaches to the choir: Crowley. He likewise wouldn't see the conflict Gabriel and Beelzebub have caused as evidence of an underlying problem because that's a problem he and Crowley will no longer share. Why would they be worried about Heaven still being unable to accept partnerships between angels and demons when Crowley will no longer be a demon? And that's something he presumably wants based on Aziraphale's memories of him and the ongoing admission that he's lonely.

The way I see it, they got what they thought they wanted at the start of Season 2. Heaven and Hell are keeping an eye on them, but functionally they're left alone. Crowley can spend all the time he wants with Aziraphale and nothing comes of that except that they're both continually named traitors and the higher-ups grumble about it. If Gabriel had never shown up, things should have been perfect based on Crowley's "Let's just run away and have each other's company" standards. Better, even, considering that they get to be together on their beloved Earth, rather than being bored out in Alpha Centauri without any sushi, plants, books, or Bentleys. And yet... Crowley doesn't strike me as particularly happy. Because, you know, based on that kiss he wants to be with Aziraphale, not just literally be with him, but the point of this post is that his "Let's run away and be an 'us'" falls totally flat when he doesn't explain that specific desire to Aziraphale; the desire to change what an 'us' means. From Aziraphale's perspective they're already an 'us.' That was the entire point of "our side" in Season 1 and now they can continue to be 'us' up in Heaven. Plus, Aziraphale likely sees this as a sacrifice on his part. He will give up his bookshop, his Earthly indulgences, take on the responsibilities of leadership (which I don't think he actually wants for a variety of reasons), and spend the rest of eternity in a place where he's felt so small because he thinks that's what Crowley wants. Crowley was happy as an angel. Crowley wanted them to be together without risk of permanent discorporation. They were able to achieve that after not-Armageddon and he still wasn't happy... so surely those two things together will do the trick. Crowley never actually articulates how he wants their relationship to change and the kiss comes much too late, when he's already rejected what Aziraphale must see as a perfect, selfless solution he's secured for them. Even if Crowley wasn't always moving too fast for him, an overture of romance isn't going to go well after that.

Is this crushing and angsty and devastating as a hiatus? Damn straight, my heart it breaking. But it's a good setup. More importantly, it makes perfect sense for their characters, particularly when they're still talking past one another. Aziraphale is someone who has always moved more slowly as a matter of course, as an angel he has remained immersed in the rhetoric of Heaven, his main avenue of breaking free of that (Crowley) has a huge communication problem (to say nothing of his own denial. He only made headway with the help of Nina and Maggie, seconds before Aziraphale shows up), and Metatron (in a no doubt incredibly manipulative manner) has just offered Aziraphale a job that presumably makes him happy AND Crowley happy AND allows him to maintain the moral this-is-how-the-universe-works perspective he's had since he was literally created. Of course he's going to say yes to all that!! And sure, there are problems in Heaven, Aziraphale isn't completely blind, but he can fix them now that he's in charge. How? Well... he'll figure that out later! Kinda like how he's been making plans on the fly this entire season. That seems logical from his perspective, right? It's not like he's gotten a crash-course in the concept of the master's tools never being able to dismantle the master's house...

[nostalgebraist]

Honestly I'm pretty tired of supporting nostalgebraist-autoresponder. Going to wind down the project some time before the end of this year.

Posting this mainly to get the idea out there, I guess.

This project has taken an immense amount of effort from me over the years, and still does, even when it's just in maintenance mode.

Today some mysterious system update (or something) made the model no longer fit on the GPU I normally use for it, despite all the same code and settings on my end.

This exact kind of thing happened once before this year, and I eventually figured it out, but I haven't figured this one out yet. This problem consumed several hours of what was meant to be a relaxing Sunday. Based on past experience, getting to the bottom of the issue would take many more hours.

My options in the short term are to

A. spend (even) more money per unit time, by renting a more powerful GPU to do the same damn thing I know the less powerful one can do (it was doing it this morning!), or

B. silently reduce the context window length by a large amount (and thus the "smartness" of the output, to some degree) to allow the model to fit on the old GPU.

Things like this happen all the time, behind the scenes.

I don't want to be doing this for another year, much less several years. I don't want to be doing it at all.

----

In 2019 and 2020, it was fun to make a GPT-2 autoresponder bot.

[EDIT: I've seen several people misread the previous line and infer that nostalgebraist-autoresponder is still using GPT-2. She isn't, and hasn't been for a long time. Her latest model is a finetuned LLaMA-13B.]

Hardly anyone else was doing anything like it. I wasn't the most qualified person in the world to do it, and I didn't do the best possible job, but who cares? I learned a lot, and the really competent tech bros of 2019 were off doing something else.

And it was fun to watch the bot "pretend to be me" while interacting (mostly) with my actual group of tumblr mutuals.

In 2023, everyone and their grandmother is making some kind of "gen AI" app. They are helped along by a dizzying array of tools, cranked out by hyper-competent tech bros with apparently infinite reserves of free time.

There are so many of these tools and demos. Every week it seems like there are a hundred more; it feels like every day I wake up and am expected to be familiar with a hundred more vaguely nostalgebraist-autoresponder-shaped things.

And every one of them is vastly better-engineered than my own hacky efforts. They build on each other, and reap the accelerating returns.

I've tended to do everything first, ahead of the curve, in my own way. This is what I like doing. Going out into unexplored wilderness, not really knowing what I'm doing, without any maps.

Later, hundreds of others with go to the same place. They'll make maps, and share them. They'll go there again and again, learning to make the expeditions systematically. They'll make an optimized industrial process of it. Meanwhile, I'll be locked in to my own cottage-industry mode of production.

Being the first to do something means you end up eventually being the worst.

----

I had a GPT chatbot in 2019, before GPT-3 existed. I don't think Huggingface Transformers existed, either. I used the primitive tools that were available at the time, and built on them in my own way. These days, it is almost trivial to do the things I did, much better, with standardized tools.

I had a denoising diffusion image generator in 2021, before DALLE-2 or Stable Diffusion or Huggingface Diffusers. I used the primitive tools that were available at the time, and built on them in my own way. These days, it is almost trivial to do the things I did, much better, with standardized tools.

Earlier this year, I was (probably) one the first people to finetune LLaMA. I manually strapped LoRA and 8-bit quantization onto the original codebase, figuring out everything the hard way. It was fun.

Just a few months later, and your grandmother is probably running LLaMA on her toaster as we speak. My homegrown methods look hopelessly antiquated. I think everyone's doing 4-bit quantization now?

(Are they? I can't keep track anymore -- the hyper-competent tech bros are too damn fast. A few months from now the thing will be probably be quantized to -1 bits, somehow. It'll be running in your phone's browser. And it'll be using RLHF, except no, it'll be using some successor to RLHF that everyone's hyping up at the time...)

"You have a GPT chatbot?" someone will ask me. "I assume you're using AutoLangGPTLayerPrompt?"

No, no, I'm not. I'm trying to debug obscure CUDA issues on a Sunday so my bot can carry on talking to a thousand strangers, every one of whom is asking it something like "PENIS PENIS PENIS."

Only I am capable of unplugging the blockage and giving the "PENIS PENIS PENIS" askers the responses they crave. ("Which is ... what, exactly?", one might justly wonder.) No one else would fully understand the nature of the bug. It is special to my own bizarre, antiquated, homegrown system.

I must have one of the longest-running GPT chatbots in existence, by now. Possibly the longest-running one?

I like doing new things. I like hacking through uncharted wilderness. The world of GPT chatbots has long since ceased to provide this kind of value to me.

I want to cede this ground to the LLaMA techbros and the prompt engineers. It is not my wilderness anymore.

I miss wilderness. Maybe I will find a new patch of it, in some new place, that no one cares about yet.

----

Even in 2023, there isn't really anything else out there quite like Frank. But there could be.

If you want to develop some sort of Frank-like thing, there has never been a better time than now. Everyone and their grandmother is doing it.

"But -- but how, exactly?"

Don't ask me. I don't know. This isn't my area anymore.

There has never been a better time to make a GPT chatbot -- for everyone except me, that is.

Ask the techbros, the prompt engineers, the grandmas running OpenChatGPT on their ironing boards. They are doing what I did, faster and easier and better, in their sleep. Ask them.

[mesetacadre]

So, like, have any of you actually ever had a conversation with a fascist offline about what they believe? I have.

To be clear, this wasn't a sit-down-let's-talk conversation. He (the only one) tried to start shit, and we (me + 2 comrades) confronted him in the act and regrettably got into a 30-minute "conversation".

Fascists, individually, are very mentally feeble. They are cowards who always seek to start conflict while trying to make themselves out to be the victims. This is, of course, until they gain enough popularity and canon fodder to throw 20 unstable fascists at anyone they don't like. But until this exaltation occurs¹ and their organizations enter a relatively stable cycle (in contemporary liberal democracies, they last between 2 and 7 years before disintegrating), there remains a contradiction between their aggressive desire to seek confrontation and their individual and collective insecurities. Fascist ideology is mostly not rooted in reality (more on this later), and it also has an important component of self-hate. They are an inferior specimen, unable to achieve what the fascist martyrs before them achieved (in Spain, Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera usually occupies this position), and to add injury to insult, it's those who they perceive as weak and undeserving who rule over them. They ignore this perceived inferiority by joking about being chads, the superior race, or non-degenerates. But behind their rhetoric and "humor" there is usually a tinge of insecurity and hate against anyone who doesn't fit their increasingly narrow standard, including themselves.

This fascist we talked with kept referring to Jewish conspiracies, to the freemasons in every position of power, to old Falangists, to fascist "theorists", to some kind of esoteric spiritualism within the bounds of Christianity, somehow, and hyperborea. He talked about communists, how they were already in the government (referring to the social-democratic PSOE), how we were degenerates, how the day will come, etc. He attempted to scare us by saying that he was an ex-member of this more notorious fascist party and that they were looking for him to beat him up, which isn't something you admit to people you're trying to start conflicts with. After a while of his ramblings, one of my comrades couldn't help but laugh at him. It was all very ridiculous; I don't remember exactly what he said that made my comrade laugh. He got slightly more agitated, and the conversation ended in ~5 minutes.

Individually, fascists are also not the brightest people you'll encounter. For somebody to internalize fascist beliefs, they have to be unconsciously willing to never dig deeper about their beliefs, to contrast them with one another, or to contrast them with other fascists. They'll read a text (they may be stupid, but a lot of them do read more than you'd expect) about, say, the concept of race, and never really address the fact that it contradicts their own beliefs, or a fellow fascist's beliefs about the nation or about Europe.

And a really interesting thing is that fascism is far from a monolith. It's more akin to an entelechy². The specific contradictions of fascism manifest themselves much more between individual fascists than within a single individual. Like I mentioned before, there are contradictions when it comes to race (racialists like the nazis vs anti-racists like Falange Auténtica), to Europe (the idea of a Great Europe vs every idea of Nationality/Empire, which generally coexist poorly), to the nation (its intersection with race and/or Europe and how it interacts with these), to the reaction against progress (a conception of fascism as progressive, reactionary, or neither³), to science (a realist position based on scientificism such as race science and Kameradschaftrecht (nazi feminism) vs metaphysical conceptions, such as esotericism or the Thule society, reliant on aesthetics and mysticism), or to the economic policy (bourgeois positions, corporatism, vs workerist positions such as Strasser or Bombacci).

These contradictions aren't unique to the contemporary fascist situation of fragmentation and the peculiarities of social media either. Back in the 30s and 40s, there was a lot of disagreement on who counted as fascists. On one end, during the rise of the NSDAP, there was a small cadre of orthodox fascists who narrowed fascism "a la Italiana", and did not consider nazi-fascism to be fascism because of its differences on the scientificist conceptions of race. The Nazi party repressed this small wing. On the other end, it was a prevailing position in the USSR to not consider fascism to start with Italy's fascii di combatimento, but rather in Russia's Black Hundreds, having a broader conception of fascism.

This fascist we talked with considers himself a Carlist⁴, while another member of his groupuscule considers himself a national-socialist, while being Moroccan, and a third is a run-of-the-mill reactionary concerned with the 2030 agenda, globalism, immigrant invasions, the great replacement, that sort of thing. When fascist groups are relatively small and lack any form of inertia and/or formalized structure, their activity is extremely sporadic. There is no discipline to be found, no real planning or broad strategy, they are, rather, a group of similarly-enough-minded friends who sometimes like to do some vandalism or threaten/agitate leftists of any stripe. Their only method of growth is to generate controversies, fights, have a provocative tweet go semi-viral, to generate noise. When it comes to agitation for the fascist, concrete ideology is not relevant. They appeal to both rage and the satisfaction of, for example, seeing x annoying leftist org get their posters ripped off. Discussions of fascist theory rarely, if ever, influence their pragmatic activity, sometimes it's more similar to a circlejerk to see who has the most esoteric, exaggerated and offensive positions.

This is not to say fascist infighting is irrelevant, far from it. Fascists have their own petty disputes between groups, periods of extreme fractionarism, inter-fascist and intra-fascist violence. But when it comes to the philosophy of action, to how they apply all these beliefs, you'll be pressed to find meaningful, material differences. Some might be more or less aggressive, more or less esoteric, more or less contrarian, more or less effective. But they all rely on building that momentum, that controversy -> confrontation -> growth -> controversy cycle. The moment fascist groups lose that momentum, or one too many campaigns fall flat and fail to garner attention, they'll start to turn against themselves, to deteriorate their own structures in the permanent search for conflict that their beliefs demand. There is no way to hold the belief that, for example, race is a scientific category that makes the white/national/aryan/european/whatever race constantly threatened to disappear without exhorting you to seek conflict, whether it's against immigrants or other fascists who don't place as much importance on race.

If you find yourself in the context of a few small fascist groups festering and seeking conflict, it is a strategic error to confront them outright. Unless you're willing to downright kill them or injure them severely enough (with the bigger threat of legal repercussions that entails), fascists will be able to turn your explicit opposition against them into ammunition to attract more reactionaries to their own ranks. The best you, as an organized communist, can do in the period before exaltation, is to quietly collect information about them, study their patterns, and exert as much opposition as is possible without letting them turn it into a visible confrontation. If you're going to cover up their symbols and posters, do it when they can't film you or try to start a fight. If they're threatening someone to provoke them to then cry and hue about the rabid leftists, use the fact that they have low numbers, record them, and intimidate them without physical violence. Even if you can leave them writhing on the floor in a fight, they can use that as ammunition, but they can't use a video of them putting their tails between their legs and running off. You can't debate with fascists, this much is clear. You also can't just use violence to scare them away, because they'll use that violence to gain momentum, and then you can end up with an actually decently-sized and consistent fascist organization.

This is how we have been opposing these small groups of fascists attempting to grow through controversy. We opposed them non-visibly, effectively and professionally. When this group of about 15 fascists total (they never appear with more than 4 at a time because of their inconsistency) encountered this, they were at one point scared enough to stop all activity for about 2 months, and after that have yet to appear again. Meanwhile, other, more infantile orgs, overreacted by opposing them with full force and very publicly, which only encouraged the fascists to keep going and wasted energy in a futile back-and-forth, as well as putting their members in unnecessary risk by engaging in unplanned situations.

¹ Throughout this entire post, all analysis of the behavior of fascists offline assumes this exaltation has not occured

² Entelechy here means an impossible ideal, built entirely in the imagination, or with an unstable and shoddy manifestation.

³ Fascism often positions itself as a revolutionary movement, while other times it places more importance on the opposition against progress.

⁴ Carlism is a Spanish political current originating in the rejection of Isabel II as a legitimate heir to Fernando VII, it became very intertwined with Franco's dictatorship and the Falange during the Civil War

[junkissed]

can't get you out of my head

member — fwb!vernon x f reader genre — smut, like a little tiny bit of angst? with a happy ending word count — 2.4k synopsis — so what if calling your fuck buddy every other day is a little excessive? maybe you're just in love with him. smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, lots and lots of kissing, some dacryphilia, multiple orgasms, begging, creampie warnings — vernon is called hansol - i don't usually do that but just go with it; vernon is kind of a sweetheart tbh this ended up being pretty soft notes — june is back !! i've really been struggling to write these past few months so i'm actually super proud that i was able to sit down and write this as fast as i did. i can't promise another fic anytime soon or any kind of consistent uploads, but i hope you enjoy this meager offering! thanks for the support even while i've been gone :) also this is based on a dream i had about vernon the other day and i could not stop thinking about it it was driving me crazy, so everyone say thank you to my brain or the sandman or whoever put that idea in my dreams because this fic is a result of it. if there are mistakes pls ignore i wrote this at 2am

the thing you remember most about hansol is his lips.

the first time you kissed him was like opening a door to a world you'd never known existed. your past hookups had been terrible kissers, or even worse—hadn't even tried to kiss you at all. you were sick of the boring, underwhelming sex with men who couldn't care less if you got off or not. but some god or being in the universe must've been looking out for you, because finding hansol was nothing short of a miracle.

it was so good, you weren't even that embarrassed when you'd desperately texted him a couple of nights later, practically begging him to come over and fuck you again. he was burned into your brain, the feeling of his mouth locked with yours seared so deep in your memory you couldn't erase him if you tried, but it wasn't exactly like you wanted to. 

he hadn't explicitly said you would only be a one night stand, but you usually didn't hang around the same guy for too long, and he didn't really seem like the commitment type anyway. but when you find something this good, you don't let it go, and somehow you both knew that whatever this was, it was too good to pass up on.

so it wasn't really a surprise when you found yourself on his couch, straddling his lap in the late hours of the night for the third time this week. 

like you remembered, his lips were warm and soft, his cheek brushing against yours as you melted into him. you could kiss him for hours and not notice the time passing at all, so focused on the rhythm of his mouth working you up more than anything you'd done with any man you'd slept with before.

the heat of his hands resting on your hips sends shivers up and down your spine, unconsciously arching towards him as his tongue pushes into your mouth.

one gentle hand travels carefully up beneath your shirt, tracing the skin of your stomach before stopping at your breast, your heartbeat racing beneath his palm.

your breath is hot on his cheek as you readjust your position, slipping your knees onto either side of his hips and sinking down to straddle his lap. your clothed cunt throbs as he presses his bulge against the inside of your thigh, and you don't hold back the open-mouthed moan that escapes you as his other hand quickly reaches up to angle your jaw and guide your lips back to his.

you push your hips down a little harder on him and his nails dig into your breast. his grip tightens a little as his hips cant up against you, desperate for more pressure against his strained cock.

your eyelids flutter as his other hand tilts your chin upwards, finally breaking away from your mouth only to reattach his lips at the base of your jaw. his tongue laves over your skin before he starts to suck, and you shiver when he pulls back and cold air hits the wet patch of spit on your neck.

you have to focus hard not to drool when you open your eyes and catch a glimpse of his face, lust-glazed eyes staring up at you through his long, thick lashes, his intense gaze fixed on you.

if you ever get past this weird in-between stage of talking but not talking, maybe you'll tell him how jealous you are of his beautiful, natural eyelashes. if you ever actually get to have a conversation with him outside of calling to hook up, maybe you'll tell him how nice his lips are. you'll tell him how soft his hands are and how he's by far the best person you've ever slept with, leaps and bounds better than all the rest, and—

before you fully realize what's happening, you feel your shirt being pulled over your head and hansol's lips have made their way down to your chest. without a sound his hands roam your body, fingers drawing invisible lines over your bare skin and leaving trails of goosebumps with every touch.

he doesn't talk much during sex, or maybe you just don't know each other well enough yet for him to have much to say. aside from the way he occasionally murmurs about how perfect you are — an oddly intimate thing to say to someone who's just a friend with benefits, but coming from him it sounds so casual — the only words you ever get out of him are curses and whimpered pleas.

the only words he ever gets out of you are shamelessly begging him, please kiss me again, please, hansol; and you're always too far gone to care about how whiny you sound, because you need his lips on you so fucking bad you think you might just die without them. but he always obliges, quickening the speed of his thrusts and wrapping his arms around you tighter so he can kiss you deeper, until your lips are numb and you can still feel the weight of him holding you even hours after he's gone.

so maybe you do have a teeny tiny crush on hansol. anyone in their right mind would, and when he's finished with you tonight you're sure you won't have much mind left to even think about it. certainly this is a problem for another day, a day when you'll inevitably call him again so he can make you lose your mind all over again and you won't have to think about how much you like him, and you'll continue like that for who knows how long. 

maybe he'll get bored of you, or find someone else, or move to another city too far for you to justify travelling for a relationship that isn't even a relationship…

… but then he lets out a little groan and you fall back into reality, the reality where you've been making out with him for the past half hour and he quietly but confidently lets you know if he doesn't get his dick out soon he's definitely going to cum in his pants and not only will it make him look like a loser but he also won't get to fuck you, which is the whole reason you asked him to meet up tonight, right?

well, yeah, you guess, but a part of you knows there's more to it than that. but that's not really a conversation for right now.

you lean down to press another chaste kiss against those lips that you can't stop thinking about, and your fingers pull his t-shirt over his head before finding their way down to the button at the top of his jeans.

you've had his cock inside you more times than you think you deserve, but still your stomach bubbles with excitement as he lifts his hips and shimmies out of his pants, the outline against his briefs more than enough to make your mouth water before he slips those off, too.

for tonight, you're the recipient of his undivided attention. you alone get to have him and his perfect cock all to yourself; maybe not forever, but for right now, and that's all you really need.

he presses his hand against his bulge, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as you stand up from his lap to kick off your pants and underwear.

you must have been taking too long for his liking, though, because as soon as you're fully nude his hands tug impatiently at your waist and pull you back down onto him. 

he lets out a heavy sigh, the head of his cock pressed deliciously against your clit as you start to rock your hips back and forth.

but before long his hands bring you to a stop and he lets out his usual string of pleas to let him fuck you, and now it's your turn to sigh in relief as he pushes into you, the stretch so natural like he was the only one who was made to sit you on his lap.

he doesn't move right away. he never moves right away, whether to give you a chance to adjust or maybe because he himself can't handle the feeling. either way, you always struggle to take in a shaky breath as your walls flutter around him, perfectly thick and long that you could probably cum untouched like this if you sat there for long enough.

but as badly as you want to never move and let him cockwarm you for hours, he always eventually moves. 

he starts out slow, just a few inches at a time, a gentle in and out that's almost romantic until you feel like you can breathe normally again— right before he knocks the breath out of you, increasing his pace until the room is filled with the loud sounds of skin against skin.

he always fucks you like it's been months since he's came, even though you know for a fact it was last thursday and all over your stomach. all you can do now is hang onto his broad shoulders for dear life, nails scratching helplessly at his muscles as he carries you up and over the edge, pushing you into the first of many orgasms tonight.

sometimes he'll make a comment about how wet you get when he fucks you like this, rough and fast as he pounds into you like there's no tomorrow. and that's when you'll agree, yes you love it so much, yes he's so good, yes you need more and please, please keep going.

if it were anyone else they'd probably smirk at that, satisfied with the momentary boost to their ego. but that's what you love about hansol, is that he's not anyone else: he'll take those words and use them to somehow fuck you even rougher and even faster, so rough and so fast that sometimes tears will start to roll down your cheeks, and that's usually about when you start begging him to kiss you.

you can't help it. the way he bounces you so effortlessly on his cock, his lips parted and beads of sweat trickling down his neck, you need him bad. you want to be closer to him, closer than you know is physically possible but damn if you won't try anyway.

throwing your hands around his neck and falling against his chest, tears still streaming from your eyes as you plead with him, repeating his name over and over and over like you've lost your mind and he's the only thing left. in all honesty, maybe he is.

he quietly shushes you and tilts his chin up to capture your lips in the kiss you so badly crave, and it's everything you need and more and somehow still not enough but you can't think straight anymore when his cock is hitting you just right and his mouth is also just right and each vein, each curve, each ridge, drags perfectly along your walls and he's splitting you open and goddamn you are ruined for anybody else.

you feel like you're skirting in and out of consciousness when you cum again, squeezing around his cock so tight that even his powerful thrusts can't continue at their current pace.

it isn't long before he lets go too, holding you flush against his body as he fills you up, painting your insides white with a breathy moan, and in a weird way it makes you feel kind of proud.

you both sit there for a moment, panting as you start to come down.

without even standing up you already know your legs are jell-o, but you don't really have time to think about that as hansol lifts you off his lap and sets you carefully on the couch, leaving you with another kiss before he stands up and disappears down the hall, returning seconds later with a towel that looks suspiciously new.

you'd asked him about his bathroom towels last time you'd been over at his place. a mismatched collection of white and brown and aquamarine that he'd taken with him when he'd moved out of his parent's house, he said, he'd never really had a reason to buy a set of his own. 

the grey cloth in his hand now that he uses to gently wipe between your legs is one you don't remember seeing.

he finishes and you want him to kiss you again, but you're too shy to ask now so he leaves you again with just a kind smile this time.

you've put most of your wrinkled clothes back on by the time he comes back. he offers to drive you home every time afterwards, but you always insisted you were fine, already feeling like you'd overstayed your welcome.

this time he doesn't offer, though, just quietly sits down next to you to pull on his own clothes until you're both fully dressed.

he speaks before the awkward silence has time to set in.

"have you been seeing anybody else?" he asks, and it's probably the longest sentence he's spoken to you outside of when he's fucking you.

it takes you a couple seconds to say no. god, you sound like a loser, but you couldn't lie to him. since the very first time with hansol the thought of seeing anyone besides him hadn't even crossed your mind. just like you thought; ruined.

it takes him a couple seconds to reply, too. 

"good," he says, and you could almost swear his cheeks are pinker than usual as he admits that he hasn't been with anyone, either. "could we keep it that way?"

your breath catches a little. "yeah?"

"yeah," he answers. "whatever… this is, i like it. and i like you."

and just like that, things make sense. 

"maybe, would you, y'know, wanna stay this time?" he asks, and you can't hide the grin on your face as you lean over and kiss him again, your answer evident in the way your hand falls against his warm chest and your fingers weave gently through his hair.

everything is so simple with hansol.

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[thesilmarillionblog]

𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Part: 10

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, hurt, language, Soldier Boy gets hurt, PTSD, mention of drugs, mention of torture, reader gets hurt

Word Count: 4245

A/N: English is not my first language.

♩ This is the song of the chapter, 'Alone and Together' by No Clear Mind.

When Ben sat down on the bed and waited, neither of you said anything or did anything for a while. You hated how he still treated you, so you turned your back on him while closing your eyes and avoiding the heavy feeling in your heart. You wanted to let things go, but you also felt like you had a lot to say to him about how deeply his actions had wounded you and how much you still suffered. You stayed mute because you knew that talking about it would only make things worse and give him the impression that you still cared.

All you longed for was for him to see how much his acts had hurt and pained you and to realize just how selfish he was. But you eventually realized that Ben wasn't someone who would actually listen to you, even for a brief moment. Even if you decided to give him another chance and let him get close to you again, he would still hurt you without considering the consequences or your feelings; therefore, it was best to let the past die in the past and leave memories of both joy and sorrow behind. These blissful days would never return.

You were ruminating so much that you shifted on the bed until your chest reached the edge, making it obvious that you didn't want to come into contact with him. Ben seemed to pause due to your behavior. 

“I don't bite,” he said, annoyed that you were making every effort to avoid him. This ended the quiet that lingered between you. “You can come a little closer. Sleep comfortable.” 

“I am comfortable.”

He sighed with annoyance as he made his way to the bed. Ben considered drawing a little closer to you, but he quickly dismissed this idea. You would become upset based on your response to his touch and your fragile attitude. Even though he didn't know you were in his thoughts at all times, he felt extremely hungry and affectionate toward you ever since he woke up. And though every cell in his body was screaming to be near you, to touch you, and to hold you close to him, the realization that you didn't feel the same way made him feel a little insecure—a feeling he wasn't used to experiencing in his connection with you.

He whispered, “You'll fall there,” in an attempt to persuade you.” I'm not going to touch you.” Again.

“It won't hurt if I fall, though.” In an attempt to find some solace, you took the entire blanket from him and placed it between your thighs. “I'm a supe too, remember?” you exclaimed. 

Ben leaned down at the head of the bed, his veiny and powerful arms supporting his head while he stared at his bare chest and tried not to smile when you took the blanket away from him a little too firmly. 

He abruptly muttered, “I'm sorry,” in a dry voice, trying to start a conversation while he continued to glance at your back and listen to your quiet, gentle heartbeats. 

“For what?”

How should he respond? For shoving you into the bed, sucking your nipples, kissing you out of the blue, and attempting to fuck you like a wolf in heat? Taking a big breath, he folded his arms across his chest and scowled, not knowing quite what to say. He didn't used to talk to you like this since you weren't that far away from him before he screwed things up. 

You attempted to contain your rage and kept your eyes closed because you didn't want to get into another fight with Ben, and you knew how sensitive his nerves were. You were also feeling a little anxious about his new, unpredictable abilities.

“Just don't do it again,” you simply said, trying to sound calm but firm. “I am serious, Ben.”

He wanted to argue, but he was at a loss for words. He answered, “Of course,” in a low voice, knowing that he shouldn't have behaved in that manner before speaking with you in an appropriate way.

Ben knew you moved too much when you slept, so even though he wanted to be near you, he went to the edge of the bed to give you enough room to make you feel comfortable and sleep in peace. While he listened to your calm breathing and watched as you swiftly fell off to sleep, he reminisced on your shared memories and felt sorrow for all that had happened between you, including how much he had messed up. He realized it would be difficult to win back your trust, but he knew he would do everything in his power to do so. He just didn't know how.

This morning, just after changing into your new clothes in the restroom, you ate breakfast quietly as Butcher and his buddies talked about Vought and the Seven. When Annie began to dispute with Butcher and Hughie, you did not interrupt them—in contrast to Ben, who was also having arguments with Butcher—and instead concentrated on your meal. 

“I'm just saying consuming those Temp-V's doesn't sound safe, and you're forcing Hughie to inject it in himself too,” Annie pointed to Hughie's face as he attempted to eat breakfast quietly.

Hughie stated, “He's not pressuring me. I'm taking Temp-V on my own initiative, and I find it to be really helpful,” he said quietly. Annie shot him a cold stare, which instantly caused him to stop talking. 

“Why the fuck are you all attacking me?” Butcher spoke while lifting his arms. “Temp-V is absolutely secure. It only grants us superpowers for a full day. Is there any damage in this” 

“Oh my god,” Annie muttered, irritated with Butcher's impetuous behavior. “Don't you think it's a bit atypical to play with your DNA that fluently?” 

“So what?” Annie was cut off by Ben's stern voice. “Even if it harms their biology, it's not wrong to use it since it's better to die than to live like a weak pussy.”

Butcher instantly agreed with Ben: “Soldier Boy's got a point,” and he gave Hughie a tight squeeze. “Besides, we are just a bunch of annoying losers against the Seven and Vought. You have to find them more for us because we need to use all of this trash. I don't want to shatter your little heart, love, but all you do is consume up my electricity, and right now we are outnumbered against them.”

Annie's jaw tightened as she glanced at Butcher, her eyes suddenly brightening with a deep shade of yellow. 

“Maybe your electricity can be useful at some points; what do you say?”

“Hey,” Butcher grinned at her and added, “Let's not spoil our family meeting. Stay calm. That's not how you keep your man, right?”

Hughie put his hand Annie's and softly said, “Can we talk about this later?”

Annie sighed angrily, shoving Hughie's hand away from her and getting to her feet, adding, “You know, I need to go, and we'll definitely talk about this again.”

As Butcher said Annie farewell before leaving the house after their argument, you and Ben were observing their facial expressions. Hughie looked at Ben, irritated, as he took his phone from him and began to play with it. You weren't asking anything, but you were occasionally peering in,om him even though you were rather interested in what he was doing with the phone. 

“We need two phones just like this one.” Ben abruptly said, “One for her, one for me,” holding up the device to Butcher's face. 

“Are you a teenager obsessed with technology?” He was instantly teased by Butcher, who gave him one of his nasty smiles. 

Ben looked at Hughie, who was kindly asking for his phone back, and said, “If you are not going to give us two phones, I'm going to take this,” but Ben wasn't even paying attention to Hughie at all. 

“Alright, we'll get your phones. Could you please return mine to me?” 

With a quick motion, you grabbed the phone out of Ben's hand and delivered it to Hughie while smiling. With a look of graditude on his face, he returned your shy smile. 

Ben said, glaring at Butcher's face, “Today,” giving Hughie no attention. 

“Alright,” Butcher agreed. “We'll buy your phones today and make sure you two watch the best porn and make yourself busy, alright?”

“Ben is a man of actions; he likes to screw every kind of woman in real life,” you sarcastically remarked, grimaced at Butcher's remarks and folding your arms over your chest. 

Ben immediately asserted, “I don't,” and you asked Butcher, “Can we already move to the place we're going to stay in?” without giving him the chance to respond to you. 

“Sure, sweetie, but let me have my breakfast in peace, and then we can leave.”

You watched the TV and the news until Butcher and the others finished their meal, which was less than an hour ago. You looked for any updates regarding Earving, but there was nothing at all. Everything on every channel was Homelander and political crap. 

You could tell he was a dangerous man by the way he used language, his professionalism in interviews, and his controlled facial expression. It appeared that Vought had discovered the ideal obedient superhero that fit their preferences.

Ben quietly murmured, “Hey, we're leaving,” as you were lost in idleness. 

You nodded to him, got up, and watched him pick up his shield from where he'd put it yesterday on the corner. That was the moment you realized you had never really used your powers. Since you weren't safe at all and you weren't sure whether you were experiencing any hidden side effects like Ben, you realized you wanted to exercise as soon as possible.

After leaving Kimiko and Frenchie at home, Butcher and Hughie took you to the place where you and Ben will be living for a while. Hughie kindly assisted you in learning how to use the phones that Butcher had purchased for you and Ben. You learned how to make calls easily, at least. Ben had complained that you just required his number and that no one else's was needed, but you disregarded him and asked Hughie to record everyone's number on your phone.

While you were looking over the house, Ben placed his shield in a corner. Despite its small size, you felt safer there than you would in the city since it was isolated. The smell of this place, which was like a forest, finally helped you to relax after the sickeningly heavy and dirty air of the city center.

Butcher put his hand in his pocket and stated, “You're just going to stay here for a while until me and my boys sort things out with the Vought and until you are a bit forgotten by the angry people of America. I'm telling you, though, don't leave the house. If you do, I'll know. I will occasionally check on you.”

“Go suck a friend's balls and make sure he puts his jizz in your empty mouth.” Ben scowled in frustration, set down the closest coach, and put his hands behind his head. “All you do is talk for fucks sake.”

Cursing him back in a mocking manner, Butcher dragged you into a corner and said, “You seem like a more reasonable supe than him, don't you? You should

stay inside the house, dear. I mean it. You have all you need here, and it's a pretty safe location. I will come see how you're doing.”

“Alright, alright.” You nodded to him after glancing at Ben, who had already begun watching TV, but you knew that he was keeping his ears on Butcher and you. “But what will happen afterwards?”

“You hand that off to your teammate and me. There are a lot of things to do here, and you'll have time to think about your future.”

“I just don't want to get sucked into something dangerous; I'm not a bad person, and I've already gone through a lot.” It felt uncomfortable to share your anxieties with him, but you knew you had to be clear from the beginning and that they needed to understand you.

“I don't even know how to fix things between myself and this country,” you added, crossing your arms over your chest. “And no offense, but I don't trust you and your friends at all.”

Ben grimaced as he heard your intimate conversation with Butcher, during which you confided your anxieties to him. Given that you had known one another for a long time, had an extensive amount of memories, and experienced similar experiences, he ought to have been the one with whom you opened up about everything. The idea that you would trust a complete stranger—someone you had just met—irritated Ben. He should have been to one you opened yourself. It was something else Ben needed to solve with you. 

Ben also knew that, as long as you were with him, nobody could hurt you. He would never be tricked again, and that is the sole reason he was captured. He would ensure that no one, not even himself, could ever hurt you again. 

“You have no other chance but to trust me and my boys though, right? Why being so ungrateful? I'm taking of you two well enough,” said Butcher with a sly smirk and gave you squeeze to your shoulder shortly just before he left the house.

None of you spoke as Butcher left the house, but after a while, you felt his heavy eyes on you as he shifted postures on the couch and watched the TV in silence.

Ben listened to you while you were taking a shower when he grew tired of watching television. Although he wasn't intentionally focusing on you, his supe hearing was drawn to you while you were around. He was compelled to listen to every sound you made. He couldn't deny that your presence soothed him either. Ben didn't care what the reason was as long as you were with him at that particular moment, which might have been anything different, something deeper, or the fact that you were the only person he actually trusted. He knew what you had was special.

You returned to the room after a long shower, changed into clean, gratefully new clothes, and saw him pour whiskey into his glass. You wondered whether his body could withstand a day without drugs or alcohol. 

“Why are you looking in such a way?” Ben took a sip of his drink and asked in a lighthearted manner. “I'm curious about what you're thinking right now.”

“I was wondering if you could just give up drinking or using drugs for a single day,” you asked, getting annoyed that he seemed okay with everything. happening. 

“I survived for decades without using them, sweetie,” he murmured, instantly putting an evil grin on his face. 

You changed the topic and said in a low voice, “Do you think they'll trick us? They can easily fill this house with the same gas that made us sleep for ages.”

Ben instantly stiffened up and felt aggressive as he considered the idea of being betrayed by teammates once more and returning to the lab in Russia. When he considered the years he wasted and the treachery he had experienced—years without you—it was difficult to contain his rage. 

He filled his glass once more and remarked, “They might try.” His eyes remained fixed on yours. “I doubt they would dare do such a thing. They really want that Homelander guy dead and are most likely attempting to kill that man for a very long period, but it seems that they ultimately fall unsuccessful.”

You shivered and felt uneasy when he brought about Homelander, and you whispered, “There has to be a reason why they can't handle a single supe, Ben.”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “They are just some weak, useless piece of shitbags, that's it, and that's why they need me.” 

“I watched Homelander, that man, on TV. He is undoubtedly skilled at manipulating the public and the media, and in today's society, power seems to be much more significant.”

“Remember what Butcher said: People easily forget, and they'll forget him as well when they realize he's not the strongest supe at all.” 

You scowled in annoyance at seeing Ben had no longer cared about the world or how things were working at all. You didn't know if he was up to something or whether he simply didn't give a damn other than killing Homelander. 

“Ben, I don't believe that getting rid of Homelander will resolve anything from our side. Can't you see how everyone hates me and you at the moment? If you attack Homelander and Vought, things will only become worse.” You replied angrily, annoyed by Ben's careless demeanor, “Butcher and his crew just want to use you against him.”

As he argued with you, Ben let go of the empty glass he was holding and sighed as he observed your annoyance growing. He trusted your strength, but at some point, he became uneasy about your vulnerability.

Ben vowed to destroy Vought and all Seven members when he was set free that day and began searching for you. He understood that the only way to get things going right would be to resolve the issue between you, him, and Vought. He would take over the whole company and form his own new team, proving to the world that he was the strongest supe and that nobody could stop him. In that way, he would be protecting you most importantly. For the time being, though, it was better the less you knew.

Ben said in a determined voice, “I won't let anything happen to you,” as he came nearer to you. Despite being too close and yearning to touch you, he refrained from doing so. “I would never let someone hurt you ever again.”

With a heavy heart, you whispered, “The only one who hurt me was you, Ben,” stepping back and creating some distance. Everything you wanted to say to his face was eating you alive, and you felt like you would blow out at any moment. “It seems like you didn't take any lessons from your mistakes, and you're going to make me drown with you again.”

He said, “I made a deal with Butcher,” ignoring your comments as he saw the sorrowful, icy look on your face. “I promised him that I would help him kill Homelander, and he would help me save you. A deal is a deal.”

Ben wanted you to know that he wasn't just going to break his word; in fact, what he was doing was for you. He was so desperate to find you that day that he was willing to kill Vought's top supe and everyone in a heartbeat. 

“Since when are you so keen on keeping your word?” You asked in a bitter voice. 

Ben was ready to tell you not to think about the past, but he stopped himself because he knew it would hurt and infuriate you even more. Instead, he whispered, “Since right now,” softly, and he slowly stepped forward to confront you. He simply knew it was time to have some conversation. “Look, I know what happened between us in the past wasn't just right, and I wasn't fair to you, but let me fix things.”

Perplexed by his words, you said, “Let you fix things?” Remembering every horrible thing he had done to you, your heart began to rush with hurt and despair, and he was still unable to truly apologize. “Ben, you abandoned me after cheating on me with Crimson. How can you fix something like that? Talking things out can help clear up misunderstandings, but not that.” 

He muttered, “I was wrong about everything and about you,” not knowing how to express how he felt. He found it much more difficult to open up when he saw the disappointed and cold expression in your eyes. “I cared about you a lot; I've always had, and now too. I didn’t know back then, but now I do.”

Ben didn't make a single effort to even slightly touch you, but he was too close to touch you again. For an instant, Ben's gaze lingered on your hands, his heart shattered by the longing to embrace and caress you. He never imagined you would be this different, but here you were. 

This time, you spoke gently, understanding that Ben was simply too blind to really see the damage that he had caused. “I don't think you'll even understand your actions, Ben,” you murmured. 

He opened his lips to say something, but you cut him off right away. “I gave you everything I could, Ben: loyalty, friendship, love, innocence, understanding... I never asked for anything in return. I accepted and loved you as you were.” 

You spoke softly, focusing your attention on his deep emerald eyes and hoping he could understand you. “I gave you everything I had, but you kept what we had concealed from everyone, made me feel like I was a rat, and I never once complained—you already know that I supported the choice you made from the start. When you proposed that our connection be kept secret, I mistakenly assumed that you were protecting me from Vought and everyone else. This was foolish of me, and I held onto this belief all the way to the end.”

Ben listened to you with a pained expression as you talked about the things that hurt you the most, finally.

You continued after a little period of silence between you, stating, “You acted as though you cared for me when we first met, when we were by ourselves. You threw me aside when Countess showed up, kicked me from the squad, and then you tried to bring me back. I attempted to make amends for whatever I had done, despite the harm you had done to me, believing that my actions were the cause of your behavior. However, you continued to ignore me, failing to recognize the true colors of her.”

The image of Crimson's face struck Ben's heart with rage. If he had simply killed her on the first day, none of this would have happened.

He whispered, “I know I should have listened to you, I wish I could turn back time,” cutting you off. “But you must know I never loved her.”

Ben was unsure of his feelings for you, but he knew he had never loved Crimson and never felt anything at all for her. All he knew was that he needed you by his side and that he cared passionately for you. Your presence filled his body and soul with warmth and comfort. It didn't matter the name of whatever he felt about you and what you shared; it was something deeper and more special than anything someone could share with another. At least he knew that for sure.

You gently answered in an understanding tone, “I know, Ben,” knowing that he would never cease to love anyone including you.

You came to the realization after all those years that nothing, not even giving your life for him, could win his affection. You used to think that if you gave him everything you had, there would be a way to win his heart. Nevertheless, nothing would be sufficient to win his love.

His gloved fingers, a tiny glimmer of hope in his heart, only lightly touched yours to gauge how comfortable you were with it. “I know I caused you so much pain you never ever deserved, and I'm sorry for everything I have done to you,” in a sincere voice. “But give me a chance to fix everything. All I want is you and your trust.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿��︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

“And I forgive you, Ben. For everything you have done,” you sincerely said, giving a nod to him, understanding that there was no going back and that what was done was done. “But my love is gone.”

Next Chapter

A/N: I don’t know how this is even going, but here we are. Kind of feeling insecure and hate writing nowadays to be honest. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated. They keep me going. Take care. “-“

*Losing You series masterlist is here.

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