#what is so wrong with acknowledging that you’re doing pop??? pop can be great??

[hidekomoon]

tayl*r sw*ft is out there calling herself/her album goth punk what the fuck

[cozage]

Hello! First of all, I love your writing and your content. Can I ask for HC on Law saying to their romantic interest something like: "If you don't like how we run things here, then leave" after a heated discussion which actually makes them leave the crew, and after Law goes to great extents to amend that, Angst to comfort.

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A/N: Hi friend! This was a fun prompt and ive been working on it for a while! Thanks for your patience! (It’s not completely proofread, so I apologize for any mistakes. I may go back and edit it better later, but i wanted to get this out for you and everyone today!)

Characters: Law x gn reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Leaving

“If you don’t like how I run things, then leave,” Law spat out, turning back to the papers at his desk. “I don’t have time for you questioning my decisions.”

You stood there for a moment, dumbfounded at his words and their harshness. 

“Law-” you start.

“Leave!” He snapped, not even looking up from his work.

You turned on your heel and rushed out the door, covering your face to hide your tears. You ran to the Captain’s Quarters and threw the few belongings you had into a duffel bag, slung it over your shoulder, and left the room. You didn’t want to say goodbye to your crewmates or this life, but you had heard Law’s message loud and clear. Leave. You were no longer welcome here. 

You passed by the kitchen and hang out area, and you popped your tear-stained face in the room, trying your best to act casual. 

“Uhm-” you started to speak, but the moment that eyes turned, you burst out into tears again. 

“I came to say goodbye,” you sobbed as Shachi and Penguin rushed to you. 

“What happened?” the two of them demanded, holding you in a tight hug. 

“I was told to leave, so-” you hiccuped into Shachi’s shoulder, and pulled away from the two men. “I just didn’t want to leave without-”

“You’re not leaving,” Penguin said, looking past you to the hallway. 

“I am,” you replied, wiping your tears off your face, trying to compose yourself. “I have to.”

“You can’t!” Shachi cried, tears springing from his own eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said, tears welling up again. You loved these people. They were your family. They were all you knew for the past few years. 

But you couldn’t live like this with Law anymore. This constant back and forth, his refusal to commit to you and his mood switches between fiery hot passion and icy cold shoulders. The way he would coo promises in your ear while you laid pressed against his chest one moment, just for him to spend the whole day without acknowledging your existence. You were going insane, and you simply couldn’t handle it anymore. 

“I love you guys,” you said, pulling away from them and heading for the door. “I’ll call when I get situated, okay?”

“Situated where?” Penguin asked. “Just stay, we’ll get the captain to reverse his decision. Please-”

“No,” you said, with painful finality. “He made his decision, Penguin. I have to go.”

And with that you climbed up the ladder and walked out the door. You jumped off the deck and onto the dock of a foreign island you knew nothing about, trying to think of your next move. You desperately wanted to look back one last time, in hopes that Law would be there, watching you go. But you resisted the urge to turn around, and you walked boldly into the village to find a new adventure, hoping the hole in your heart would heal with time. 

--

The sounds of shoes running down the hallway alerted Law that something was wrong. Then several bangs on the door. 

“Captain!!!” several voices called out, and Law quickly opened the door.

“What?” he asked, looking at their panicked faces. “What is it?”

“What did you do to Y/N?!” Shachi demanded, tears in his eyes. 

Law’s eye twitched and he grinded his teeth. “What happened is none of your business!” he shouted, slamming the door in their face. 

“Captain!!” they all cried. “Please change your mind!”

“Room,” Law said, creating a blue bubble that only encapsulated himself. “Silence,” he said, cutting off sound to the outside world. One of the many tools he had taken from Corazon. 

Law wasn’t sure how long the crew continued to bang and yell at his door, but he didn’t really care. The issue between you and him should be solved between the two of you, the rest of the crew didn’t need to be involved. 

By the time he went to bed, the crew had thankfully dispersed. He was irritated with you causing such a scene amongst your crewmates, but he would talk to you about it later. He walked to his room, and was surprised to find that the light was off. Normally you went to bed far before him, but you always left some kind of light on for him to find his way to the bed with you. He was even more surprised to find the bed completely empty and cold. There was no trace of you or your belongings in his room. 

“Y/N is gone,” said a broken voice from behind him. Bepo. 

Law turned to face the bear, confused by his statement. 

“Y/N said you told them to leave. So they left,” Bepo explained. 

“No-” Law said, looking around. “I didn’t mean to leave the ship. I just meant-”

“You always do this, captain. You always push people away when they only want to love you.”

“I don’t need a lecture, Bepo,” Law hissed. He was starting to panic now, he couldn’t lose you. You were one of the few people he trusted and let get close to him, he…

“Go. Y/N is on the island somewhere. Make it right.” 

Law could hear Bepo’s voice getting thick with tears. He knew the bear was trying to be brave, but he didn’t care at the moment. He took off down the maze of hallways and climbed up the ladder to the deck. He scanned the shoreline, looking for your frame. He prayed that it would just be a simple outburst you were throwing, a show of defiance you were putting on until he came and apologized and made it right. But you were nowhere to be found. 

He jumped off the deck and onto the dock, racing towards town. He was racking his brain on where you would have gone. You had no family or friends here. What were you thinking, going off alone with no support system? Was your plan just to abandon him and leave him alone again? The thought of never seeing you again made him sick to his stomach. 

He couldn’t lose you. Not after all you all had been through. It wasn’t fair. He was angry at you and at the world, but he was mostly angry at himself. He had been selfish, and he had put himself in this position because of it. He had to amend that. He had to make it right. 

He finally found you, sitting alone at a ramen shop. He stood in the crowded street and watched you for a moment, admiring the way you looked under the soft glow of the shop lights. 

You looked tired, but you were as beautiful as ever. You were talking quietly to the man next to you; he must’ve said something to make you laugh, because your eyes lit up and your voice rang out. Law couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at seeing some stranger bring you joy, and he resisted the urge to run to you. 

“Do you come here often?” Law heard the man ask you. “I wouldn’t mind doing this again.”

Law saw you hesitate for a moment, weighing your options. “I actually just got here,” you finally said.

“Oh?” the man questioned, looking around. “Need a place to stay while you get settled in?”

Law’s blood boiled. He knew what the man was implying, and he needed to put an end to it. He started toward you, but before he could make it, you spoke. 

“That’s kind of you,” you started, your eyes darting around the restaurant nervously. “But I have a place at the moment.”

“I see,” said the man, looking a little dejected. “Well, I had fun tonight, and I hope to see you again.” 

You smiled politely and nodded at the man. “I did as well. I’ll see you around!” Your voice held enthusiasm that made Law’s heart pang, and he made a decision. 

He waited for the man to leave, and then quickly took the seat next to you. 

You were staring at your ramen, and didn’t bother to look at the man who had taken Jiato’s seat. One conversation with a stranger was enough for you today. You just wanted to curl up and go back to your hotel room and cry yourself to sleep.

“One pork ramen bowl, please,” a familiar voice said to the waiter. 

Your head whipped to the side to find your captain. Ex-captain, you reminded yourself. 

Law didn’t meet your eyes. He just kept staring ahead of him. “Do you actually want to leave?” he asked. 

You swallowed down the lump forming in your throat as you stared at him. You hadn’t expected to see him of all people. 

You stayed quiet for a while, and finally he turned and looked at you. You cut your eyes away quickly, opting to look at your empty ramen bowl instead.  

“Y/N-ya,” he prompted, waiting for an answer. 

“I can’t keep living like that,” you finally said. 

Law shot you an irritated glance and opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but decided against it. 

“You can say it.” You spoke softly, your words almost drowned out in the noisy restaurant. 

He hesitated, but found the right words after a moment. “You didn’t have to leave.”

“You told me to.”

He scoffed. “I didn’t mean literally.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I did take it literally,” you shot back, trying to keep your face and your tone calm. You had just gotten out of a fight with him earlier today, you didn’t need another one flaring up again. And so publicly. “I told you, Law. I’m tired of this back and forth. So when you said leave, I just…there didn’t seem like another option for me.”

He gritted his teeth, as if he were holding back another argument to throw at you. “Well,  you didn’t have to leave. I-”

You stared at him, waiting for the words to come. But they didn’t. His cheeks pinked and his eyes averted your gaze. 

“What?” you asked, continuing to watch him. “You what?”

His pork ramen arrived, and he turned his attention to his food instead. You knew what he was doing. He was trying to get you to come back to the ship without ever actually apologizing. Or having anything change. But you were serious when you said you couldn’t live like that any more. You’d rather start a new, fresh life than keep going in this vicious cycle. 

You grabbed your bag and dropped some money on the table. “Goodbye, Law,” you said, turning away so he couldn’t see the tears in your eyes. 

“Stop,” he whispered. But you were already out on the street, out of earshot. 

“Hey!” he jumped up, chasing you out onto the street. 

He found you quickly and reached out, grabbing your arm. You turned around, shocked at the sudden pressure on your wrist. 

“Law! Sto-” He cut off your words with a kiss. Or he tried to, but as your lips met his, you pulled away. 

“What are you doing?!” you demanded. “Stop!”

Your loud voice drew several people’s gaze, everyone stopping to make sure you were okay. You could hear people murmuring around you and feel their stares. 

Law dropped your hand, giving you a confused and annoyed glare. “I’m trying to- Do you mind?!” he shouted at everyone watching you all. 

He looked back at you, his voice softer again. “I’m sorry, okay? I was stupid and selfish. Please come back to the ship. Please stay. Please don’t ever leave my side again.”

You chewed on your lip. “Law-”

“I’ll never ignore you or put you second again. I can’t lose you. You’re the closest thing to family I still have and-” his voice broke, and you could see tears in his eyes. “I love you, okay?”

You blinked in shock. You were certainly not expecting that kind of confession to come from him. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to cry or hug him. 

Law made the decision for you, and wrapped you in his arms. You could feel him peppering the top of your head with kisses, and you began to cry into his chest. 

“Don’t cry. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured in your ear, and you pulled away to wipe the tears from your face. 

“Lets go get your stuff and get back to the ship,” he offered, entwining his fingers with yours. 

You nodded, squeezing his hand. You felt more hopeful about the future than you had in a long time. A new chapter of your life truly had begun. 

[coven-of-genesis]

Candle magick - what different types of candle flames mean

Link to candle magick - what different types of candle smoke mean

Link to candle magick- what different types of candle wax means

Good clean burn - candle burns evenly & cleanly

Generally, uneventful candle burnings are a good sign. When the candle burns without a lot of smoke, movement, noise, or dripping, your spellwork is going as planned. The results will manifest as expected. (Though not, perhaps, as quickly or dramatically as you might like.)

Strong flame - tall, bright candle flame

There is a lot of energy behind your spell. Barriers to your success are quickly falling away. A fast, happy result is likely.

Small, steady flame - small & steady

A low-burning flame indicates less energy is fueling the spell. A small but steadily burning flame is still a good sign—though it signals a need for patience and focus. A positive result is likely, though there may be a delay. Be persistent and keep your eye on the goal. If the candle flame increases in size during the working, it means the energy behind the spell is growing.

Small, weak candle flame - tiny flame

A small flame that flickers and bends is not a great sign in candle magick. The timing of the working could be wrong. Or you could be asking for an outcome that is unlikely or unfavorable in the long run. If the small flame falters or drowns in the melted wax, that is a sure sign that your petition will not be granted at this time.

Dancing flame - Candle flame moves or dances.

An erratic, dancing flame signifies high energy in a spell—but also chaotic energy. A large dancing flame suggests success, but with potential complications. A small one means the spell may be overwhelmed by opposing forces. There may be other wills consciously or unconsciously working against you. Watch the flame closely to see if its shape or motion reveals anything to you.

Flickering flame - Rapidly flickering candle flame.

Sometimes a candle flame will dim and brighten, dim and brighten, as if someone is flicking a light switch. In some folk magick traditions, a flickering candle flame is a certain indicator that spirits are present. If the candle is being used for devotional work (e.g. with gods, angels, or higher spirit guides), it means that the invocation was successful and your prayers are being acknowledged. A flickering candle flame is mildly trance-inducing, so you can use it as an opportunity to scry the fire for additional insights.

Popping flame - Candle pops or sputters.

A noisy candle indicates communication with (or interference by) outside forces. An uneven burn can signal that someone or something is working against you. Add more concentration and energy to the spell. (Or withdraw if you sense the resistance is too great.) Hisses, sputters, and whistles are sometimes said to carry messages from ancestors and spirits—try listening to them and hearing what they say.

Candle goes out - The flame suddenly goes out.

The working is finished. A stronger opposing force has put an end to it. You should open the circle, ground yourself, and leave it be. Usually this means that your petition or spell—whatever it may be—will not manifest. However, in some cases, it can mean that the objective of the working has already been attained.

Candle will not go out

A candle flame that stubbornly stays lit means, “Sit down—you’re not done.” Perhaps you skipped a step or missed some important message during your candle magick ritual. Some helpful spirit or guide is nudging you to go back for what you forgot. When you feel that it has been settled, try extinguishing the candle again. Traditionally, spell candles are pinched or snuffed out—never blown.

Candle will not light at all

This spell cannot help you win the result you seek. The outcome may have already been decided, or be outside of your control. Take some time (days or weeks) to refocus your intention before trying again. (You can do a divination instead to find out more about what is blocking you.) Meditation and spiritual cleansing may be required before you can proceed with the spell.

[shenglingyuan]

title: a lesson in adolescence (ao3) pairing: togame jo/sakura haruka summary: “So, what was your problem this morning? Did you get sick?” “I think so. I never experienced it before.” Sakura’s fist curls at the hem of his sleeves, obviously having a hard time disclosing his concern. “This morning…when I woke up…my…down there…” Down there?! Togame chokes on air, belatedly realizing the issue at hand. “Don’t laugh at me!” (Sakura learns an important lesson every boy usually does in their teenage years.) *** explicit content: hand job (an attempt to write it, at least...)

Nirei Akihiko: Today 10:31 AM        Togame-san! We need your help! 10:31 AM        Sakura-kun isn’t in class this morning. 10:32 AM        He hasn’t answered our messages and our calls so we’re worried! 10:32 AM        But we still have classes, so maybe you can drop by his house to check on him?

Togame’s phone is bombarded by consecutive messages from one of Sakura’s friends in the middle of a Friday morning. After the big fight, the smaller boy – Nirei – had also asked for his contact number in case of emergencies. Turns out, it’d be useful now that he and Sakura are a thing.

10:33 AM        [Location pin sent] 10:34 AM        Please update us! Unit 201. 10:34 AM        Thank you, Togame-san!

The boy didn’t even wait for Togame to confirm if he can go or not. But it’s not like not going was a choice in the first place. Togame likes the message as acknowledgment and hurriedly makes a quick trip to the grocery store before heading for Sakura’s place. It's a good thing he isn't busy that day.

He later arrives at a rundown apartment. It looks barely livable that he almost thought he got sent the wrong address. But Nirei had even told him Sakura’s unit which he easily spots from the gate. He takes the stairs and walks towards the door of what should be Sakura’s place.

Before he can even knock, the door opens, and the familiar black-and-white hair pops out from inside.

“The heck?” Sakura’s eyes are wide in surprise, “What are you doing here?”

“Nirei messaged me. Did he tell you I’m coming?”

“No, I could hear your footsteps from the stairs.”

“They were worried since you didn’t go to school today.” Togame shows the plastic bag of food he brought with him. “Have you eaten? I got food here.”

“I’m fine.” Sakura looks away. A tinge of red stains his cheek. “Just had a problem this morning.”

At this point, Togame is already used to Sakura reacting like this. He just needs to prod a little bit more. “You can tell me about it, you know. I’ll help you with it as much as I can.”

Though they’ve made great progress in their relationship, Togame notices that Sakura still keeps a lot of things to himself. Not that he wants to pressure Sakura to tell him everything, but he hopes that more than a fighting body, Sakura can also rely on him with more personal matters.

“Well, I guess if it’s you, you would understand.” Sakura finally says. “Do you wanna come in?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

The room is small and severely unfurnished. It’s been a few months since Sakura has moved to town, but it doesn’t seem like he has made a home out of his apartment yet. There isn’t even a dining table or a chair. At least there was a small stove he spots on the limited kitchen space. He places the bag of food next to it.

“That Nirei, always sending people here for no reason.” Sakura grumbles.

“Can’t be helped if you’re giving them reason to be concerned – hey, Sakura, do you just wear that when you’re at home?” Togame finally notices that Sakura only wears a boxer with his shirt, baring his legs in plain sight.

“It’s just me here, anyway, why bother with pants?” Sakura crosses his arms across his chest defensively, “Besides, I do wear something when people come around.”

“Ah, so this is a special treatment for me then?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“So, what was your problem this morning? Did you get sick?”

“I think so. I never experienced it before.” Sakura’s fist curls at the hem of his sleeves, obviously having a hard time disclosing his concern. “This morning…when I woke up…my…down there…”

Down there?! Togame chokes on air, belatedly realizing the issue at hand.

“Don’t laugh at me!”

“I wasn’t!” Togame coughs to clear his throat, gathering his thoughts as he did so. “You know, Sakura, that’s something that happens to almost every boy. It’s normal.”

“You think I’m an idiot?” Sakura snaps, his forehead contorted in a frustrated frown. “I know it can get hard in the morning! It’s different this time…it’s…it’s wet. Of course, it’s not piss!”

Togame freezes. Sakura just had his first wet dream, and he didn’t even realize what it was. He runs a hand down his face, feeling the colossal weight of the situation. “Do…you remember what you were dreaming about before you woke up?”

As if on cue, Sakura’s whole head turns to a deep shade of red. Even if he is unable to answer, Togame gets an inkling of what and who it was about. A small grin can’t help but form on his lips.

“Ah, how do I say this…at times, when you get a lot of pent-up emotions, and you don’t release it in any way, the body conjures up this dreams forces you to release those pent-up emotions while asleep.”

“What do you mean pent-up emotions?”

“Have you been thinking too much about me the past few days?” Togame asks teasingly.

“You!” Sakura jumps at Togame at an attempt to hit him, but Togame easily catches is fist with a laugh. “It’s your fault! You’re the one in my dream!”

“Heh, should I teach you how to deal with it, then?”

“You know how?”

“Of course, I’m older than you, remember?”

Suddenly, Sakura is genuinely curious, pulling away his hand to listen. “Tell me.”

“Hmm, it’s not that simple. You’ll have to let me touch you so I can show you how.”

“Let you touch me?”

Togame uses the term Sakura did. “Down there.”

“Ha?!” Sakura’s hand flies over his crotch, shielding it from whatever Togame is thinking about.

“It’s just a suggestion,” Togame shrugs. “You can say no.”

For a moment, Sakura’s eyes dart between Togame and his own hands, like a million thoughts are running through his mind and he can’t grasp a single one of them. Not wanting to stress Sakura even further, Togame resigns to ruffling his hair.

“Don’t think about it anymore, yeah? I’ll send you something later you can check in private.”

To his surprise, Sakura suddenly grabs his wrist, his expression turning persistent. “No, show me now.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s…it’s something couples do, right?”

“Well, yeah, normally, if they’re both comfortable with each other already.”

“Then it should be fine.”

Togame scratches the back of his head, suddenly feeling like he bit off more than he can chew. But since he’s the one to bring up the idea anyway, and not to mention that he’s the reason for Sakura’s dream, he should at least take responsibility.

“Okay then, let’s go to your room?”

Without further delay, Sakura leads them to his bedroom.

It’s as bare as the living room-slash-kitchen, with a single futon on the middle of the floor. Fortunately, there are curtains at least that can give them privacy. Togame draws them to a close, dimming the surroundings, only the minimal daylight illuminating the room through the flimsy curtains. He then sits on the futon and pats the spot right in front of him, motioning for Sakura to sit. Sakura follows without complaints, already used to claiming the space in front of Togame’s body with his, and sits with his legs crossed. In this position, Togame both has clear access to Sakura and an unobstructed view of his face.

Most boys learn this part with their friends, or in the privacy of their own rooms as they explored the internet or whatever. Sakura had neither until recently, so Togame would ideally want to take this slow and let the experience at least be good and educational for him.

“You can tell me if you don’t want it anymore, okay?” Togame puts a hand on Sakura’s waist reassuringly.

“Just get on with it.”

Taking it as consent, Togame slides down a hand towards Sakura’s crotch and feels his length on the fabric of his boxers. Sakura’s breath hitches, the hand he rested on Togame’s thigh curls, and his body’s reaction is almost instantaneous. Togame pulls down Sakura’s boxers to let his cock free, already half-hard.

Carefully, Togame wraps Sakura around his hand and starts stroking, slowly at first, getting a feel at how Sakura reacts to his touch.

“When you do this, think back to the dream you had.” Togame instructs in a low voice, his lips mere inches away from Sakura’s ear. “You can close your eyes; it helps in imagining things.”

Sakura obediently follows his advice. His body relaxes as he did so, his lips parting open slightly, and his breathing picking up. Togame starts varying the rhythm of his strokes then, responding to Sakura’s own movements. Sakura bucks his hips in instinct, meeting Togame’s strokes halfway. And with his movements comes the sound —

Sakura is, surprisingly, quite loud.

His whimpers easily fill the small space of his bedroom and drills their way inside Togame’s mind, stirring at the pit of his groin. Togame pumps harder as pre-cum leaks from Sakura, wetting his length. Sakura’s jerks become even more erratic, his legs spreading fully, his body leaning back completely onto Togame as Togame holds his waist for support. The futon is not made of the softest material, yet Sakura doesn’t seem to mind, his hips lifting up, hitting the wooden floor underneath with a light thump at each contact.

Sakura’s almost there, Togame can tell, with the way his whimpers turn to whines, and his fingers and nails dig into Togame’s thigh. Though the apartment complex looked empty when he arrived, Togame doesn’t want to play it too safe. In anticipation, his hand that was on Sakura’s waist comes up to cover Sakura’s mouth —

Sakura becomes undone under Togame’s touch, his loud moans muffled underneath Togame’s palm. Sakura spills onto his thighs and sheets, arching his back, then slumps onto Togame, limbs twitching from the sensation he has just experienced.

For a moment, their ragged breathings are the only sounds in the room.

Naturally, Togame is affected, too. His own dick is hard underneath his loose pants, demanding to be attended. But Togame endures, willing himself to calm down. This moment is about Sakura, he can deal with himself later.

With his clean hand, Togame strokes Sakura’s hair gently, letting him take his time to recover. He also takes the chance to grab the soiled sheet and wipes himself and Sakura clean. “You okay?”

Sakura nods, still panting hard. “Does…it always feel this…good?” He asks hesitantly, their eyes meeting. His cheeks are flushed pink, quite different from all the times he gets flustered. Perhaps it’s the lingering sensation from the orgasm, but Sakura’s expression looks so alluring right now. It takes all of Togame to not jump on him right then and there.

In the end, he resorts to leaning down and planting a kiss on Sakura’s cheek. There’s always proper timing for everything.

“Yeah, but don’t do it too much, okay?”

(Togame wakes up the next morning to a phone call from Sakura, “Can you come over?”

“What’s the problem?”

“Can…can you do it again?”

Ah, he might have started something that can’t be stopped anymore.)

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Consent - a Malevolent fic

They need to talk. John knows they need to talk. Acknowledging his feelings has only made the whole… thing with Arthur worse than ever, but what if Arthur says no? What if it goes so wrong?

Parker and Sunny clearly did not say no, and their courage is astounding. To John, anyway. And that means discussion of the upcoming Rite in a way John has never even considered starting.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.

WARNING: Explicit conversation.

AO3

-------

Arthur’s chest heaved with every breath, gritting his teeth. “John…”

You’re doing so good, John murmured, so very good. You can hold on a bit longer, can’t you Arthur?

“I,” Arthur panted. “John, I… I can’t—”

Don’t you dare, John growled.

“John!” The sparking spell popped, sending golden droplets of light everywhere like falling rain, and Arthur fell to his knees with a grunt. “Fuck. Sorry,” he said, rough.

It didn’t seem to bother John, though. He didn’t have that rumble that Hastur did, not exactly; but these days, when they practiced magic, he sure was doing something in the back of Arthur’s head. It’s all right, Arthur. You did… so very well.

“Ung,” said Arthur unpoetically, and fell back on his haunches, panting. Sweat slicked his skin, cooling in the breeze. “This is hard.”

All the best things are, said John like melted chocolate.

It went over Arthur’s head. “I’m just glad it works. You’re you again. Fuck, I missed you, John.”

And just like that, the high dipped its toes into maudlin. John sighed. You know, you’re allowed to feel good about this. You’re doing incredible things. You’re doing magic, Arthur. How many times did we say that would never happen?

“A lot,” Arthur conceded, and shifted to lean against the cool wall of the palace, shaded by a balcony, staring out at the unseen garden.

That was for John. John knew it. The sky was rich blue, and today’s clouds moved fast. The early-season flowers were in full riot, and it was beautiful. I hope you didn’t think we’re done, he said, trying to get the mood back.

Arthur laughed softly. “Insatiable. A brat. Ridiculous.”

Completely demanding, John agreed, and wiped some sweat from Arthur’s brow.

Arthur closed his eyes at the touch, still catching his breath.

I appreciate you working with me on this, John said, his voice soft. I know you weren’t… enthused with the Keeper’s suggestion.

“There’s no one else I’d ever want to do this with,” Arthur said softly. “It’s really intimate, you know? And I still don’t know if I believe what the Keeper said, but… you’re happy. That means a lot to me, John.”

John’s hand twitched.

He knew he should tell Arthur. Knew, in these sane moments, which even with magic were few and far between, that he loved Arthur deeply, and they needed to talk about it.

But that would take a lot more than sanity. That would take courage, and he didn’t have enough. If Arthur didn’t… if Arthur said no, if…

“How long do you think we have to do this?” said Arthur.

John didn’t know what that meant. How long?

Arthur shrugged. “How long? This… all this. New thing. The magic and whatever.”

Forever, John thought. As long as it takes. His hand slid down Arthur’s chest and stopped at his belly, where he knew Arthur would let it rest without shoving. (He had zones, for crying out loud.) No, John couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t dare. The risk was too great. Better to wish and yearn and dream than lose that hope in one fell sw—

The doors to the balcony above them suddenly slammed shut, and Arthur froze. John could not see the new occupants, but he certainly heard them.

“So,” Parker said. “We’re alone now. Ready to talk about this Rite thing?”

Arthur went stiff, and as quick as he could, John pressed his thumb into Arthur’s palm, making the small circles that signified be silent.

Sunny huffed. Yes. I… I think so. I’ve been thinking about how to address the situation.

“Arthur was pretty spooked. I’d like to know what we’re getting into.” There was a scrape, the sound of someone moving wrought-iron chairs out of the way, and then Parker’s hands appeared just over the balcony’s edge as he leaned on it.

Arthur’s little gasp was quiet, less sound than the breeze.

John didn’t know what to do. Getting those two aware of the upcoming Rite had been the goal. Having to hear them talk about it was really not part of the program. John slid his hand up and touched Arthur’s lips. Arthur’s breath came slow through his mouth, silent.

It’s… Sunny said, clearly a bit embarrassed. The Spring Rite is… a ritual to Shub-Niggurath. A fertility ritual.

“A what ritual?”

Do I need to explain it? Elaborate? Sunny let out a low chuckle. Do you need a list of positions?

Parker chuckled, too. “Geez. Naw, I think I get it. Alright, so… some sort of weird god sex party. That’s funny. Guess they’re not that different from us puny mortals after all.”

Arthur was making a face. John could tell because his eyes squinched almost shut.

You're much calmer about this than I anticipated. Lots of experience with sex parties, hm?

“I mean.” Parker cleared his throat. “Been to one or two, but… they all had human parts. So yeah, don’t think I’ll be participating. Not unless you got a use for Parker Paste.”

I am fairly certain we are not invited. Sunny let out another laugh. Besides, I rather like you intact. Who would I dance with if you were turned into paste?

“Good point. Well, if we ain’t invited, how come everybody’s all squirrely about this?”

Sunny was quiet for a moment. The… magic in the air will be quite… strong, he said, voice hesitant.

“How strong?”

Unavoidably… penetrative. For one like me.

Parker was no dummy. “You’re saying it’ll affect you.” And he suddenly laughed. “What, are you gonna go horn-dog or something?”

Well, in my defense, this will be my first Rite as me, Sunny said, clearly embarrassed. I don’t exactly know what will happen, and I’m not keen on asking John. But… yes. I may.

“Really?” said Parker, suddenly serious. “You gonna be okay?”

I think so, but… but there is a very strong chance I will attempt to seduce you in new ways.

“Aw, Sunny…”

Sunny blurted, I wanted to figure out a way to establish some ground rules beforehand so I don’t hurt you by accident, and since I didn’t exactly expect to experience an altered mental state, I have been a bit nervous about discussing it!

“So you’ll try to seduce me in new ways,” said Parker. “Sunny… I’m already all-in. I mean, we’ve both been all-in physically for months, anyway, and now…”

Arthur’s breath had gone a little rapid. He was clearly not eager to listen to this, and tried to sit up. John held him down. The leaves down here—they’d be heard.

I know, Sunny rumbled, but we haven’t… this won’t be like it was in the Dreamlands, out under the stars. I don't know how I'm going to react to the magic, what I might do. Though I… have thought about it.

“Thought about it, huh?” Parker’s voice was low. “Why don’t you tell me all about what you been thinking?”

Maybe Sunny meant something else. Maybe it was some dire warning. They couldn’t already have all these words defined and boundaries figured out and—

Do not tease me, Parker Yang.

“Not a tease to ask you what you want.” It was playful; it was sure. It lacked the edge brand-new lovers had, and John suddenly understood with a fucking weird stomach-drop that these two had definitely talked about all of it already. How? In the name of all the gods, how?

I have been… wondering if you would like me to talk to you, when you touch yourself, Sunny said, very softly and almost shyly.

Arthur’s tiny choked sound was fortunately hidden by a rising breeze. Also by John’s own. When Parker touched himself? When? Arthur never did that! The only time he’d considered it, they were freshly in the pits, and he’d wanted escape, and it hadn’t worked, and he just… he wouldn’t… What? What? What?

“Talk? Like how?”

Parker…

“Lay it all out, sunshine. Not like you haven’t had requests in the middle before.”

Requests?

I know. And make no mistake, I don't have any regrets. You taste wonderful, Parker, sighed Sunny, low and warm. It's more that with the Rite, I… Sunny took a deep breath I… will be feeling… more like myself than I maybe ever have, even with you. So Parker…

“Yeah?”

I want to instruct you to do certain things. Tell you what I see, describe what seeing you like that makes me feel. Tell you how to touch yourself. We’d… probably need a mirror.

“Well,” said Parker, thoughtfully. “Shit.” He was silent for a moment as if stunned. (Which John certainly was.) “Yeah. I like this switch-up. Mirror. That’s doable.”

And I would… with your permission, of course, I would like to borrow our mouth, and… use it on you.

“Hold up, bud. I ain’t flexible enough for that.”

That startled Sunny into a laugh. What? No! I didn’t mean—ha! In lieu of us removing a few ribs, I want to show you what… what I would like to do to you, using your fingers. I like your hands very much. And… I feel that’s the closest I can get to kissing you.

Arthur’s eyes were enormous. Instead of breathing too fast, he seemed to have stopped entirely.

“You know what?” said Parker with panache. “Yeah. No holds barred. We’ll have a good time. Maybe steal some of that whiskey?”

We won’t need to steal anything. The cook will happily give us whatever you wish. If you want some god-whiskey or wine or whatever else, I will ensure you have it, Sunny said, voice warm and relieved. And… just in case, should we establish a signal if I go too far?

“Absolutely. You want a word? A hand sign? What?”

A… a word. Maybe.

“Whatcha thinking?”

Sunny laughed. Larson would sure as fuck pull us out of the mood.

Parker laughed as he began walking away. “Yeah, but I dunno that I wanna go from hot and bothered into vomiting.”

Sunny laughed too, his free and easy chuckle a perfect harmony to Parker’s.

“How about we use… Mummy? Like the caves with that mystery, months ago.”

Huh, Sunny agreed. That will work.

“And should be easy to say even in the middle of whatever,” said Parker, quite cheerfully. “What would you think about having some chocolate on hand?”

But he’d gone too far for Sunny’s rumbled reply to come clear.

Arthur lay there like a dead man, still holding his breath, eyes huge.

How in hell was John supposed to react to this?

The breeze blew, light and lovely, catching some leaves and tumbling them along like secret whispers. John exhaled slowly. Uh. You okay?

“Sure,” said Arthur at once in a quick, high voice that presaged nothing good.

John had to take hold of this horse before it galloped right off a cliff. Guess that was an education.

“They’re lovers,” said Arthur, and it was an awe, the way he said it, an amazement that there could be such a thing—not disgust, not horror, but bafflement.

Had it never occurred to him that could happen? Sure seems like it.

“Seems like it! Did you hear the same conversation I did?” Arthur snapped.

So I guess we didn’t need to worry about warning them after all, said John.

“We absolutely did. This is about consent, John. Don’t you get that?”

John knew his pause was bad, but he was confused. But they were both willing?

“It had to be said, John,” said Arthur. “Boundaries. Though I guess it makes sense you wouldn’t understand boundaries,” he added as if to himself.

That hurt, though John knew it was about Hastur more than him. I’d learn them for you!

“You don’t… you don’t learn them. They’re already there,” said Arthur, stupidly, which meant he was getting into his stubborn phase, and would say contradictory things and presumptive things and bitey things.

John had lost most of his high from their magic practice, but not all, and didn’t want to get into a fight now. All right. Well. I’d find them for you, then.

Arthur didn’t seem to know what to do with that—that even tone, unprodded, unroused. “Whatever, John.” He finally got up, brushing ineffectively at the leaves that clung to his damp training clothes, and headed for the exit. “Straight?”

Ahead. And he wondered.

Arthur was not, he was completely certain, straight. He also wasn’t gay. John wasn’t sure what Arthur was, and after all these years living in his body, he knew Arthur didn’t know, either.

Sunny and Parker had talked about all of this. They’d taken the risk… and no one had run.

If Arthur rejected him, he didn’t know what he’d do. He didn’t think he could handle it. Acknowledging how he felt had made all these feelings so much worse, and he couldn’t deny them.

Or maybe he just needed to practice magic again, and all of this was bunkum. You should have time to shower before dinner.

Arthur rolled his shoulder. “I hope they don’t come. I don’t think I could look them in the eye after that.”

Look them in the—

“Oh, shut up.” But his reflection in the many mirrors grinned.

John reached across and rubbed Arthur’s sore shoulder. This was good, like this. It was together, and intimate. He didn’t need more. He didn’t have to be greedy.

Hastur was greedy. John was not. It was a defining factor, damn it all.

Damn it all.

Damn everything.

This was enough, and John would not demand more. You did really well tonight.

“Thanks,” said Arthur, cheering up.

With practice, you’re going to be amazing.

“That’s what they say,” Arthur said, and stripped without hesitation for his shower.

It was enough.

It would have to be.

------

NOTES: Arthur's demented little "you don't discuss boundaries, they're already there" based lovingly on his frustrated assholery in part 23 when Yellow didn't know what making a bed was, and... well. (gestures) Oh, Arthur.

[dontfeeltoohot]

hey i’ve been on SUCH a house kick lately!! would you mind writing something with chase + allergies if possible? ty so much in advance & i really hope you have a great day/night and that you’re taking care of yourself!!

I have too! It had been a few months since I rewatched so I started again. I went to s4 first whoops lol, but am on s5 right now and ugh Chase with his longest hair is so 😍

Set during season 4 (which gets so little love bc he’s in it the least amount of time through out the series), when House is determining a new team. It’s basically just a rewrite of a scene in episode 3! Enjoy!

(And thank you! I hope you’re doing well too Sunday!!)

XXX

As Amber is talking to him; wanting him to help her run tests even though she’s been technically fired, the air around the two doctors becomes heavy with whatever perfume the woman is wearing. It’s decidedly floral and strong, strong enough that Chase wrinkles his nose, the scent making his eyes water.

“You’d have to run a blood test for anti-centromere antibodies,” he points out, rubbing his knuckles against his nose, watching the blonde with curiosity.

“Would you mind running the labs.”

Ha. She thought he’d be that easy.

Wrong.

“You can’t.”

“Well I can, but…”

“No, I was makihhng a statement,” Chase shakes his head, a buzz making itself known in his sinuses. “You’ve been fired, so you no longer have lab privileges-“ he breaks off to sniffle, nostrils twitching at the suffocating perfume in the air.

“You’re coming here to con a favor to sahhve y-you’re job,” he rubs at his right eye, sniffling again. “Sorry, I’m not working for him anymore, but he can still make my life miserable.”

Turning quickly, he tries his hardest to move away, both from the doctor and her perfume, the itchy feeling in his head still growing. He does, he gets four steps down the hallway when Amber speaks up.

“You have a chance to make his life miserable.”

Damn it. He can’t help but turn around, jumping slightly at how close she is.

“I’m insulted. You conned Cameron by appealing to her humanity.”

As he speaks, his nostrils twitch again, and he can feel the need to sneeze growing stronger. He presses his knuckles to his nose, trying to put off the inevitable.

“I told her what she wanted to hear.”

“Ahhhnd you t-told me what you thought I wanted to h-hear…” he trails off, eyes unfocusing and brows knitting together as the feeling crests.

“hh-IhGKtsch!! eihHtCHuh! snf! heh-iiKTSchUH!”

Chase manages to grab the neck of his white undershirt and pull it up while angling his head down enough to aim the half-stifled sneezes against his chest. They don’t do much to help the overwhelming ticklish feeling now crawling in his sinuses, but it feels good to get at the feeling even a little. He sniffles again and straightens back up, fixing his blonde hair that’s flopped into his face.

“Bless you.”

Chase shrugs in acknowledgement and then looks her up and down.

“I cannot believe he f-fired…” he stutters, turning to the side to yet again snap his face under his scrubs and shirt.

“hehIKStCHuh! iiGKshhuh! huh’IKXSHuh! God, s-sorry…” the sniffle he gives is wet and makes the other doctor grimace, though he doesn’t blame her.

Face itchy and eyes watery, Chase scrubs at his face until his still twitching nose is pink and his eyelashes are wet.

“Go draw his blood, meet you in the lab when i’mb done here.”

They look at each other a moment and then she nods, a devious smile replacing her slight pout.

“Maybe pop a pill before we’re in close proximity of each other again, House will know.”

“Or maybe you should wipe some of your god awful perfume off- hih’tschh’uh!”

The sneeze sneaks up on him and he barely has time to turn away, sneezing freely into the air and wrinkling his nose. Gross.

“Is this why Cameron smells like coconut and not flowers like I expected?”

“Go draw the damn blood.”

The woman walks away and Chase heads to the surgeons lounge to find his bag and down some Benadryl, blowing his nose and splashing cold water in his face before begrudgingly going to help the woman he secretly hopes House hires. She gets things done that’s for sure.

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 2: Tomcat Disposables

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter

Summary of chapter: The traveler commits the sin of being too small but still taking up space. She has three secrets locked in glass, see-through and fragile if someone bothers to look.

Please regard the notes and warnings of chapter 1 if you have not read it already. The song for this chapter is Tomcat Disposables by Will Wood as both breaks and in-universe, lyrics not entirely complete or in order.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Is there cheese in the great beyond?

Rinds of Parmesan

Wine to water, night from dawn

Life gets shorter, teeth grow long

Mind me not, and I'll

Mind my own, and my mind's

Not one bite smaller or lesser than yours

Do I belong in right and wrong?

Nature, I guess

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

They’re hard to keep up with, she finds out pretty fast. Stomach twisting itself into knots isn’t helping either, and she isn’t sure if she likes or hates that she’s been starving past the point of tummy growls since it means they won’t know. Point is, the traveler is pretty sure the masked guy doesn’t care and the priest is maliciously oblivious. Always a yard or two behind them, grateful she at least has her boots for the roots and rocks underfoot for going wherever the hell they were already meant to, with or without her. “Hidan” only looks back to harass her into agreeing with...whatever he’s chiding “Kakuzu” about. Frankly, it’s mostly going over her head.

She isn’t excited to find out if he’s the pop quiz type.

Kakuzu, on the other hand, hasn’t looked back once. Stands to figure he must have gotten his questions out of the way, made sure they hadn’t crossed the thin line into being the kidnappers instead of...whatever else this makes them. Rescuers? Hidan would say so. The stranger isn’t eager to agree.

And then, it happens. The loudest stomach ache known to mankind. It had saved every drop of energy she had left to give one last roar before it threatened to eat itself. She immediately tenses, every sound capable of getting her neck broken. Wide eyes scatter between the back of the men’s heads.

…

…

...Nothing. Just walking, again and still. A sigh of relief breaks free.

Kakuzu turns his head. He feels his eyes look through her again. Well. Shit.

“Hidan.” His partner acknowledges, annoyed as always as they stop in their tracks. “Take care of that.”

He cocks a brow. “Of what? Catering hand and foot? She ain’t a fucking princess!” Clearly, she thinks.

“And you’re testing my patience with this.” Can she shrink? Now would be a great time to be able to shrink. As tiny as possible…!

Hidan tsks. “Softie. Come on then!” He gestures, palm up and fingers grasping. “Cough up the coin.”

“No.”

She squeaks.

“Either you give YOUR rations, or you figure something out. I made the terms clear. No expense over this.”

Ohhhh no. Oh. No. Her hands fold and unfold with mounting anxiety as she studies Hidan. It’s impossible to distinguish if he’s just inconvenienced or truly upset. Is he a sacrificial man? Or is he too selfish? Too prideful for this ultimatum?For a man of many expressions, bizarrely, at least in the day they’ve known one another, he’s proven to be a dangerously tough read.

He narrows his magenta eyes, and she flinches back as he spins around, right in her personal space--

...Just to pass by without a look, cloak fluttering away.

“Alright then! Fine. Asshole.”

Leaves crunch once, twice, thrice, four times and more till they start getting more distant. In confusion, it finally strikes her that maybe she’s meant to follow-- till that cold grip takes her shoulder.

“Not you.”

Her chin tilts up, taking all of Kakuzu in. The length of his shadow covers to the top of her head. His own eyes take their turn to narrow suspiciously.

“Trust me. I’m doing you a favor.”

Hungry, she swallows her doubts again in hopes to taste something but fear.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One night one flung light through this place

So I run for cover, over, under, left the rind out on the plate

Little heart racing and praying, "Something, keep me safe"

I think it saw my face

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He’s looking at her. If she wasn’t sure before, she sure as hell is now that she doesn’t like him looking at her, at least if it’s always so intense as this. An old tree accepts her weary spine for rest, her thin blue sweater sleeves a plaything for hands that have no control over anything else. What seem to be red clouds float over the cloth Kakuzu wears, a ring sitting between his knees as its hand dangles over one leg while he sits on a stump. His other hand reaches into the chest of his cloak. Once again, a book is pulled, and there’s brief gratitude as his eyes lower.

Till he throws the book her way.

“Ah!” It’s too soft to call a shriek, but the emotion is still there and downright embarrassing.

“Read the first page.”

...Ah. She opens it up not quite to the left-most page but corrects the mistake, fingers as careful as if bending it would be a sin, though, clearly, this is a well-worn read. Page one: it’s a face. Mugshot, even? A paragraph of text slides either up or down- she doesn’t fucking know which. She just needs to hold it long enough to be convincing.

…

“Out loud.”

Her cheeks deceive her first, bright red and hot in a flash. What does she DO? What can she do?!

“I-- I—”

One secret uncovered. Fucking HOW-?!

“I’m. Sorry.” Each word comes with its own step to tower over her. His hand drops, slowly, and just as gradually in turn a shaky grasp returns the bingo book to it. He says nothing. Maybe this’ll be the last of it? Just another notch into being useless for him and a reason to leave her behind? At least the stress would stop stabbing her.

Not a chance.

“Your name,” he demands.

Oh, that’s a THING that PEOPLE have, DON’T THEY?!

She’s such a fucking idiot.

“I’m-- my name is—” What was it that first guy kept calling her? “—Duckling.”

Kakuzu blinks. “Duckling.” She’s withering on the spot as he kneels down, still tall as he forces eye contact lock in place with his large hand pinching her chin upward. If looks could kill, it’d be a mercy to her.

“...You’re a horrible liar.”

Two secrets uncovered, not a minute between them. They leave her helpless to unravel once he releases her face, like rope tying her upright, and she doubles over to try to get as low to the ground as possible.

“...Yeah. I know.”

Will he hit her? Yell? Oh, please don’t yell at her--

…

He just sighs.

“Word of advice: pick another name if you’re really sticking to this.”

And then he stands up. Is that it? Is that all there is to it?! No way, she knows in her gut, that’s too easy. But then sits down again, on the stump, and goes through his book like has nothing happened.

Maybe it can be too easy, just this once, just for a poor girl.

An hour later, Hidan returns, and she doesn’t notice the blood on his knuckles as he hands her a loaf of bread. The way she can’t hold back would make a stray dog blush. Frankly, it’s halfway to making even him blush. Kakuzu ogles at him like he ogles at her.

“...You didn’t notice she was starving and half dead?”

“No?!” the shorter one retorts. “Is she?!” Kakuzu lets her grunts and moans fill in the gaps. Hidan can only squirm to save face.

“Doesn’t matter. Physical agony fortifies the soul. Whatever.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Okay, one hungry day

Is nothing come what may

But then winter came inside for three nights

Left me grinding my teeth between my walls

And gripping my dreams tight

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A satiated belly doesn’t do the wonders she had hoped for. She’s lagging behind, the occasional arguing filling her head till it becomes nonsense and noise, numbing like static. Is it about her? She doesn’t know anymore. The bones under her skin ache and it’s hard to keep up in all the ways possible. Eyelids shut and a hand presses to her chest. Just one second and she can run to maintain the pace…

It’s quiet, and she should have known better when the words stopped pounding her ears.

They’re gone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Curled up, kept my head up, and put up the fight

I'll make it through again

I have before

C'mon now, what's one more?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun begins to set, ending her second day in the forest just as brick peeks from hiding behind brush and vine. Maybe it’s here that they were supposed to end up.

As she steps inside the building, the groan of a rusty door and broken glass on the floor disagrees.

“Ah Jesus...”

The lost girl slinks as low as she feels, uncaring if she ends up cut on the knees. “That guy is going to kill me at this rate, if he even finds me out here.”

But all she has is herself, now, and at least that’s a devil she knows. An exhale escapes her, a breath in to solidify in her chest. “...Okay,” she promises, “Okay. This is better than before. It’s shelter.” With no one else to pick her up, the woman does so for her own body, more tactful than she was coming down about pricking the dusty glass into her skin. “Let’s see what we have to work with,” she attempts to muse to the ghosts of this haunted house.

Only so much daylight left to work with, time to find the safest corner to sleep.

Men may make her jump, so far, but mice don’t manage the same. Tiny gray forms skip back and forth in shade of the decrepit furniture and cracks in the walls. If they can live here, perhaps she may manage, too, at least for one night. The stairs don’t give way underneath, no matter how much they’re prone to complain, and the drafts of air are only friendly as they guide her around the halls.

They even left her a welcome present.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Spring bloomed in the kitchen again

So I crawled out of the wall and squinting

Saw hope on the stovetop

Just like I'd always imagined it

More than I could eat

My dreams were finally reality

My struggles had a happy ending

They must want to be friends

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The zombies watch in perfect, unified silence as she strums the strings of the guitar, thinking herself alone with but the hosts of the abandoned building. Unlike before, the woman’s voice is strong, and for the first time, a smile lights the dark like the sun. She’d stop if she didn’t have their back to them; Kakuzu surmises this. Hidan hums in his ear and leans in.

“Huh. She ain’t that shitty at this.”

He can’t disagree, so he shrugs.

I have mapped the cupboards and drawers,

She sings, lungs properly full and lyrics dripping from the tip of her tongue.

Tracked the least walked spots on the floor

Happy to be home, safe and warm

She practically hugs the guitar, head and hair swinging side to side.

As shadows by their feet

The odd vanishing treat

Quietly eating while they sleep

She’s no maestro, nor bird, but music makes her happy and she can fumble her way through a song. It keeps her distracted; it keeps her honest.

So here's where I'll be raising my kids

If I can find someone to start a family with

'Til then, I'll dream of the day my odds and ends fit

I'll wake up, there'll be food on the stove

Forever and never want for more

“Guess she knows how to talk after all.” What about? No fucking clue. It shouldn’t surprise Hidan that his partner has nothing to say to that, but he takes it personally anyways. “Eh? What?" He turns to see Kakuzu stare at her, moss-green eyes piercing straight through as he thinks.

Hidan squints. “Eh?” he repeats, and then urgency strangles his throat. “Wait. Wait, wait NO, you are NOT--!”

The two approach her at once, her fingers scratching surprise across the guitar as she jolts up in horror. The masked man now looms over her once more. For once, for the first time...he almost sounds pleased.

“We can monetize this.”

“KAKUZU!!!” This is the first time she learns to recognize the true difference between annoyance and alarm from Hidan. It...doesn’t immediately scare her. The care is even...nice? “You can’t be serious!” Kakuzu continues the age old tradition of talking to him while locking onto her, offering a hand to take her from the dirty floorboards.

“What if I am?” Is that...playfulness? Is he capable of teasing?

“Whoring out a fledgling disciple of Jashin for nothing more than cash! YOU! GIRLY! I’m going insane here, you fucking agree with me, right?!”

But all boldness is gone and she holds the guitar neck like a kid does a favorite blanket, refusing to meet his demanding eyes. “That’s...kind of how music performance goes,” she breaks the news. It isn’t pleasant, but that’s how any business is, if you want to put food on the table. “Kakuzu, sir...--” she begins for the other one, mouth in a firm line. I’m no professional, she wants to protest. I’m untrained. But those words will leave her in the dust. A 1% chance at faking till you make it is better than a 100% at freezing all alone in the dark.

“You’ll earn your keep,” he confirms her fate.

I’m scared.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

My stomach starts to turn

With thirst, why does it hurt?

My just dessert is served, dig in

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She twists the knobs of the old guitar as it attempts to tune out the sour from her brain. Guitar and keybo-...piano, she had said. That’s what she’s familiar enough with. Thankfully, things the worlds had in common. Maybe she’s cursed! Cursed to forever be embarrassed. This is more like one of her fantasies, though, to have one obligation but to do what she enjoys so much. But dreams have the assurance of ending well; tonight has no such promise. Her self-assigned manager convinced the barkeep of a test run. “Okay, we don’t usually have music, but we’ll give it a shot, alright? If it turns out fine, we’ll consider having your gal again.”

“You don’t have to. You know that, right?”

Hidan beseeches, though lazily as he slings his arm over the top of an empty chair next to him and keeps a glass in one palm.

“The old fucker’s a bullshit artist. Do this for him and you’ll be his sucker for life.”

Has she earned her place with Hidan yet? Has the right to argue been bought by the virtue of submission?

“...I’ll think of Jashin while I do it,” she compromises, aware she has no clue what that would entail. It’s her time, no more procrastinating. Sink or swim and all. Shoulders roll back and eyes shut on one person so she can become someone else. A charming song from her homeland, she explains to the small crowd turning heads. About someone that committed the dastardly sin of being too small and wanting just enough. The music begins, her voice soft and shaky as she conveys a veneration of shadows in the wall. But as the song calls for bravery, she can only meet the task with sword drawn. Hope to never be seen becomes the reality of being known. And then, she quiets again; being known means being unwanted. But why? But why?!, she begs. That can't be fair...

Flatline in the morning light

I held on so tight

For so long, it's just not right

Let a sigh out as I close my eyes

Was that all there was to this?

What's for the best?

Hidan frowns as he attempts to pick through the bizarre lyrics from his seat directly left. He’s never understood this sort of thing; to him, poetry is either scripture or fluffy nonsense. Where’s all the songs about killing people?

Is there cheese in the great beyond?

What's the moon made of?

Meet me there after I'm gone

Her presence is small here, yes, even as the sweet voice crescendos, but it is welcome. Those who don’t listen in the vicinity simply talk like she’s not there. Always was there. Means a lot considering the locals, she’ll be told.

Mind me not, and I'll

Mind my own, and my mind

Held the same light as the one in your eyes

Yes, Kakuzu deals with the keeper in the far corner, across the swarm of patrons: something can be arranged of this-- a warm reception, indeed. The conversation finishes just in time to catch the end of the piece. She’s gone from a meek little thing to choosing to take up her space and perhaps then even more. The arts don’t have much place in the pragmatic lifestyle he needs to lead, but to the end it can make him profit, she’s starting to look the part.

Do I belong in right and wrong?

One dies alone, and why?

Don't know

Goodbye, so long

To mice in homes

Nature, I guess

The guitar sighs gentler and gentler as she puts her fears to bed. The conversations of the folks fill her head, and it’s easier to think a little less, hear that voice more distantly. Tears pinprick the corners of her eyes.

Nature, I guess

The two men give their full attention now, Hidan pondering a story about a fucking mouse while Kakuzu finds her strange. Just...strange, Kakuzu begins to see. Is she talking to them? It’s just a song, right?

Maybe secret number three can slip by in plain sight, she hopes.

Nature, I guess

[amplifyme]

An excerpt from another BaTB fanfic I wrote back in 2012 that tells the story of twenty-three year old Vincent, and the first time he kills.

@randomfoggytiger This should be safe to read, if you'd like. No S3 spoilers, though the first section includes a conversation between Vincent and Diana.

The Sticking Place

“Did’ya ever get soda down here, when you were a kid? You know, Coca-Cola, root beer, anything like that?”

Pulled from his somber memories of a lithe, beautiful creature dancing across the vast expanse of the Great Hall and into his arms, all softness and warmth and wrapped in spicy, enticing aromas, and the moment suddenly turning nightmarish as she twisted away in alarm and pain, Vincent found himself staring dumbly at Cullen and his nonsensical question.

“You ever shake it up before you opened it? Don’t tell me you didn’t, ‘cause I won’t believe you. All kids do it. And more than a few adults, especially around holidays or weddings and the like, when you got a built-in excuse to spray beer or champagne all over somebody. Get drenched with it, eyes burning, laughing to beat all.” Cullen’s face softened and he smiled at what were clearly fond memories before turning his attention back to Vincent. “You’re that bottle of soda. The one that’s been shook up real good. All that pressure that’s building? It’s gonna pop eventually. It’s got to: it’s pure physics.”

Vincent had no response. Instead, he found himself waiting expectantly for whatever Cullen might say next.

“I’ve seen it. Selling door-to-door you start to get real good at reading people. And you learn to do it fast. Got to where I could see it in under thirty seconds, just as plain as I could read indifference or interest in their faces… the way they held themselves. All that shit building up inside, filling up all the nooks and crannies, nowhere left to go. Just about boiling over with it. It took me longer with you. And not just,” Cullen gave a sharp head-to-toe sweep of his hand down Vincent’s length, acknowledging the obvious without any sort of politeness as he continued, “because of the way you look. Most folks, they get loud with it. Yelling, threatening to call the cops, raising a fist in my face. All because I had the nerve to come knock on their door. But there’s some, and I’ve only seen a few myself, who get quiet instead. You’re one of the quiet ones, my friend. You’re real quiet. And that scares me.”

He had, while listening to Cullen, slowly retreated from his spot at the worktable, unaware he was even doing so. His back was at the edge of the doorway when Cullen’s eyes shifted and pinned him against the wall just as surely as an iron spike would have. “So tell me,” he asked, circling back to his earlier question. “Am I wrong, or am I right?”

Vincent hung his head, unwilling to challenge the look in Cullen’s eyes. He lifted his hands and saw that they were fisted. And now he could feel the sharp bite of his claws against his palms.

“It has,” he finally began haltingly, despairingly, “become… more difficult… of late.” He forced himself to raise his eyes and look steadily at the older man. “I am of no danger to you, Cullen, nor to anyone Below. You are my family, this is my home, and no harm will come to anyone here so long as I can prevent it. But I fear –”

He couldn’t finish the thought. He was ashamed and deeply perturbed at himself for almost admitting something aloud he’d hardly even found the courage to express in his journals. And he could still remember so vividly those dark nights, and the dreams, after Lisa had been sent Above. After he’d hurt her. The harness, with its hated straps and chains; the struggles to break free; the unearthly howls that’d scoured his throat and rung in merciless echoes in his head. And that mustn’t ever happen again.

[wellpresseddaisy]

The Demon Prefect Rides Again

Bertram Harroway put on his evening clothes as if headed to war. In a way, he was. It would be an emotional war, he supposed. He let his valet help him into his coat and glanced down at the letter from Vera Dalrymple that kicked the whole thing off.

Darling Bertie,

That certainly wasn’t what she’d called him when he found her in a compromising position with Hector Grantham in her fifth year. And Eliza Dearborne in her sixth.

As you are possibly the only person on this planet who can make Albus Dumbledore mind you,

He thought, perhaps, one other existed, but it didn’t do to dwell on Gellert Grindelwald. He’d never liked the little wart, no matter how infatuated Albus was with him.

could you please do something about him? I popped into town last weekend and ran into him in Diagon. He looks dreadful. And his robes!

Bertram sighed. He knew precisely what Vera meant.

He’s gone old on us. I know it started creeping up on him in the aftermath of That Man followed on by That Gobby Upstart in the seventies, but something is really, terribly wrong. I suspect a whacking great load of guilt and grief, but really, Bertie, he looks like a stiff wind will carry him off. He looks more like he’s in the middle of his two-hundreds than just past his first century.

Trust Vera to look at a dark lord terrorizing the country and call him a gobby upstart. He’d seen photos of Albus recently and he agreed with Vera. Voluminous robes only his so much and Albus always had been nervy, no matter what he pretended otherwise for the magical public.

Honestly Bertie, I’m worried. He’s always worked much too hard and taken on too much responsibility, but he’s never been so frail before. He wouldn’t even go to tea with me and there is little Albus Dumbledore loves more than a cream tea and a good gossip. He doesn’t go anywhere, either. He used to love the theater and I can’t remember when he last made up part of a theater party. I think he might be punishing himself, in some bizarre way.

That was the part that spurred him into action. A quick note to the Deputy Headmistress and he secured a Saturday evening away for Albus.

He isn’t researching and he won’t meet with friends and it’s as if all he’ll allow himself is duty. It can’t go on. It simply can’t, Bertie. You remember how he got after exams? We’re headed for a crash the likes of which we’ve never seen and I’m so frightened it’ll take him from us. You’re the only one I could think of who might get through to him. Our Vally needs the Demon Prefect to come out of mothballs.

He'd see what he could do. Vally Dumbledore (nicknamed for the way he’d valiantly come to the defense of anyone he thought wronged) was the most infuriatingly stubborn young man he’d ever met.

We’ll plan a little reunion for all of us this summer. Dahlia wants everyone to see her gardens, in any case. She’s doing some interesting things with roses these days. Or perhaps, if you can persuade Vally to take care of himself, we could make up a theater party. I hear the latest from that Carruthers girl is splendid fun.

With love and thanks,

Vera

PS It probably isn’t my place to say so, but I’m going to anyway. He always had. G.P. for you and you ought to have swept him off his feet, all Oxford-polished, before That Man had a chance to get his hooks in. You helped create this problem by being as obtuse as a box turtle, so you can fix it.

Bertie sighed and went down to the Floo room. He knew he bore some responsibility in never acknowledging his own feelings. He simply hadn’t thought it appropriate since he was a perfect and then Head Boy. He could easily have picked up their acquaintance once Albus left Hogwarts. Although…there came a point where Albus pushed everyone away after his mother died, when all those lovely plans he’d made fell through so he could care for his sister. He never really let any of them back in after.

He wondered if he could have made a difference there, kept Albus from ending up so cut off from the academia he loved that he clung to the only person able to keep up with him. They would never know, he supposed.

He checked his pocket watch and collected coat and hat from his hovering valet.

“Thank you, Deverell. Don’t feel the need to wait up if I’m late returning.”

“Of course, sir.” If he didn’t know better, he’d think his valet quietly judging him.

Most likely the man judged his early departure. If he knew Vally as well as he once did, it would take quite a bit of persuasion to rout him out of his office and make him dress properly, especially if Vera was right and he was somehow punishing himself for his failures, perceived or otherwise.

Vera, irksomely, was usually right.

As he stepped to the Floo and gave the direction, he wondered if he should bring his old slipper. It always made an impact on a  recalcitrant Vally.

-----------

Hogwarts hadn’t changed in the decades since his leaving. Like Oxford, she endured, only she housed grubby schoolchildren instead of grubby undergrads. Professor McGonagall sending him through the internal Floo system came as a surprise. He’d never really thought about the professors needing to get somewhere quickly before.

He stepped out into the Headmaster’s office and brushed the slight traces of soot from his clothes.

“Good evening, Vally.” He began.

Albus looked up sharply from a thick book propped on his desk.

“Bertram Harroway? What are…how…”

He ended by staring as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Thankfully, he looked a good bit better than Vera described. Still too thin, of course, but he’d always forgotten meals or spent an hour just moving his dinner about his plate when in the grip of An Idea (or nerves). He looked as if he'd let go of some of the guilt and grief weighing him down. His hair, which had turned white practically overnight, had regained its more youthful ginger hue. The deep lines carved into his face by decades of worry seemed to have filled in. He looked more like he ought to look, like a non-magical of fifty or sixty instead of a man nearing the end of his life.

“Vera sent me, Vally. She said you’re getting old and could do with a bit of livening up. I thought you might like a night out. I have a box at the Savoy. They’re doing Pinafore at the moment and I know how you feel about well done G and S.” He moved into Albus’ office, helping himself to a chair when Albus continued to stare.

“Vera Dalrymple said she’d rather be boiled in Frederica Morningside’s failed potions projects than ever communicate with you again via any medium.” Albus finally spoke.

“I had just gated her for the rest of term. You can’t blame her for being distraught.”

“I couldn’t possibly go out on such short notice. This whole idea is patently ridiculous.” Albus nodded firmly, as if he’d made up his mind.

“You can go and get dressed right now is what you can do.” Bertram insisted. “The show starts at eight and I booked a table for supper after, at the Palace.”

“India Palace?” He at least looked interested at that. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve been there.”

The wistful note in his voice belied his firm refusal.

“It was the day you got Greta Saatchi’s autograph after standing in pouring rain for two hours and we spent a further two getting you properly warm again when you returned.” He chuckled at the memory.

How had they been that carefree?

Well, he hadn’t. He’d had to play the heavy when the miscreants tried to slip back into the castle with the Hogsmeade crowd, as if they hadn’t slipped off to London for a matinee and a curry. Albus shifted slightly, as if remembering Bertram’s method for warming him up.

“We were thrilled when you finally left to terrorize Oxford, did you know?”

“I’m sure you were. I’ve returned just to terrorize you, Vally, you know?”

“Oh how lucky am I.” Albus replied acidly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve decided.”

How well he remembered that rather sulky tone. He certainly heard it often enough.

“I suppose I could go and fetch my slipper if you need convincing? I don’t care to see Vera so distressed, you know.”

It wasn’t often that anyone shocked Albus Dumbledore into complete silence.

“You still have that…that thing?” It always entertained Bertram to see shades of their youth in his friends.

“Of course I do. It’s an exceedingly motivating piece of footwear. Now, be a good chap and go get dressed. Theater waits for no man and Professor McGonagall assured me you were overdue for a night out. Something about you working all hours?” He put a bit of the old Demon Prefect in that one, the same tone he’d used countless times when locating an Albus who quite forgot about such mundanities as curfews.

Albus was out of his chair and halfway to the door to his quarters when he stopped.

“What do you mean Professor McGonagall assured you?” he asked waspishly.

“Of course I wrote her first to ensure you could have a nice evening with an old friend. It’s no use organizing a surprise one can’t pull off in the end.”

Albus gaped at him. “You cannot just go about organizing the world as you please.”

“It’s worked for me thus far.” Bertram answered mildly. “Do go and get dressed, Vally.”

“I can go as I am.” Albus insisted.

“Oh no you are not. I know you own perfectly nice evening clothes. Go and put them on.” He cared very much for Albus, but he’d rather chew his own arm off than attend a public event with Albus wearing golden yellow robes patterned with swirling suns. “We aren’t leaving until you are attired to my satisfaction.”

Albus stared at him for a moment before turning, very clearly not stomping to the door, and entering his quarters. He shut the door just shy of a bang.

Bertram settled down, quite pleased with his evening’s work. They’d make the theater in a timely manner now, and he could treat Albus to a lovely meal after. He’d have to suggest Dahlia and Hitty invite a little party for dinner one evening. And perhaps Albus would join him for the theater more frequently now. Albus, now more than ever, needed the people who cared for him to pull together.

The feelings he once thought faded raised their heads again, like a parched garden in the rain.

[famousfilmsfan]

Fazbear Ruins Everything is a parody of ‘Adam Ruins Everything’ an edutainment show on TLC.

Fazbear Ruins The Bad Business Owner Plush.

(takes place during season 2)

Bryan: Hey guys, what’s this about? *shows his jacket it now has ‘Bad business owner’ spray painted on it*

Freddy: What? It’s true.

Bryan: No it isn't. I’m a good business owner.

Lefty: No, you’re not. The company says so as well as our systems, and they’re never wrong. It’s scientific.

A Freddy model pops out of he bushes.

Fazbear: Actually it’s not. It’s just an excuse animatronics use to mistreat people.

Lefty and Freddy jump.

Lefty: Who's this?

Bryan: That’s Fazbear, he came out of the portal...I can't get him to leave.

Freddy: Okay...But are you sure about that? I mean, who says it’s not?

Fazbear: Well for one it’s not ‘Scientific’ there are no studies made about the process, mostly because the process is just a guessing game. Let me show you.

He drags the animatronics into a room. Inside is just a computer and a desk.

Fazbear: Whenever a person joins the company as a franchise owner their picture is taken and sent over to a system which decides if they’re ‘Good’ or ‘Bad’ at it.

The computer shows an 8-bit style of his process.

Fazbear: Then it’s sent to your processers and everyone takes it as facts.

Lefty: Yeah that’s because they are.

Fazbear: Oh really? What do yours say about Bryan?

Lefty: That’s he’s a narcissist man child. Duh

Fazbear: Oh really? And have you ever seen him act like a narcissist man child?

Lefty: Well..he cares about himself a lot.

Fazbear: Really? So he shows no empathy towards anyone, and he thinks he’s the best at everything?

Lefty: Well..no.

Fazbear: Then he isn't a narcissist, the only reason you think so is because of- *throws a blanket over the computer* Bob.

He removes it and it shows a Polar bear animatronic.

Fazbear: He’s actually a computer but the animatronic is more dramatic. Bob gets the pictures and a brief description of them and he types in what status they have.

Lefty: But they haven't even started working. That makes no sense.

Fazbear: Exactly, the whole system is broken. And it gets worse.

Freddy: Oh hell.

(Scene break)

Fabzear: Now have you ever wondered how the process of who is good and bad is made?

Lefty: Through hard research?

Freddy: Psychology analysis?

Fazbear; You’re both wrong. It’s more of a game of ‘Bang kill marry’

Bob: *cycles through pictures* Good, bad, bad, perfect, bad, good, bad, Ick! Bad!

Lefty: Wait he’a not even reading the description.

Fazbear: Yeah he isn't. A study on the program showed it just analyses the person face and what they’re wearing to determine what their status is.

A bar graph is shown.

Fazbear: An experiment was conducted where six people wearing identical clothing were shown to the program. The one's dressed formally we're given Perfect status, casual clothing was given good, and ‘sloppy’ were given bad status each time.

Lefty: Sloppy? What does that even mean?

Fazbear: Nobody knows, because Bob refuses to let anyone else weigh in on these decisions.

The polar bear has put a curtain around the desk so nobody sees it.

Lefty: So it all boils down to some random programs opinions? Are they even true?

Fazbear: Most of the time no, all his assumptions on their ability to run a business is only correct 0.5% of the time. Not even 1%. That means every single person is given a mean status by an AI that doesn't know anything about them, before they even start working.

Lefty: Then...why do they believe them?

Fazbear: Great question, unfortunately these opinions are taken as fact by the animatronics. And the majority, refuse to even acknowledge that it can be incorrect. The only reason is ‘The system is never wrong’

A bonnie Model is shown.

Bonnie: Okay, I know my owner and he’s super nice and well put together...but my system says he’s a bipolar sociopath..

Fazbear: That’s not an exaggeration that happens on Maryland, animatronics gave their owner copious amounts of medication to their owner without his knowledge for six months. He eventually overdosed and almost died.

Lefty: Jesus Christ. Why does this system still exist?

Fazbear: Like most things, it’s due to corporate greed. It started when the system was first introduced in the late 2000s. When a man in marketing decided that making the system would inspire franchise owners to work harder to get ‘Perfect’ status. It was sent to animatronic remotely from the computer BOB itself. The company knows that the system is severely broken, several CEOs and board members have said so.

‘The good business owner is a goal to work towards not a label’ -Henry Emily

Lefty: So why?

Fazbear: They do it to make sure their franchisers work and make them more money, they don't care about their employee's mental health and frankly they encourage this treatment. Look at these real pages from a manual from HR. *opens a book*

‘If someone calls and complains about their status tell them to suck it up and work’

‘If they say their animatronics hate them, tell them that it’s their fault’

‘Make sure to send Bad, and Good owners plushies of Perfect owners to encourage them to work more’

Lefty; What? Are these real? They’re mean *takes the book*

Fazbear: And real effective.

They return to the small table they started at.

Fazbear: This whole ‘Good and bad’ system is utter nonsense that’s only there to emotionally blackmail employees, set unrealistic expectations, and are made by a program which makes sure to not be correct.

Freddy: So what do we do?

Fazbear: Frankly, nobody can do anything this system is grandfathered in, the only way for it to change is for the whole company to go through a makeover which will probably never happen.

Bryan: Now, have anything to say?

Freddy: Fine...I’m...Sorry.

Lefty: So am I.

Bryan: Good.

[httpiastri]

Questions for “Last Christmas” (extremely random): How tall are you? Thoughts on mint chocolate chip? Favorite form of potato? Favorite form of pasta? Tea order? Something you’re proud of yourself for? Have you ever gone to therapy? Pet peeves? How many tabs do you have open right now? 💞

i'm 174cm tall (google says 5'8.5 feet?) !! well my problem is that i can't do mint at all, i think i'm like... not allergic but almost? because something goes pretty wrong whenever i eat mint 🙃 so no mint chocolate chip for me!

too many good forms of potato to choose just one... i really love tater tots lol even though i have them maybe once per year. in sweden we have something called potatisbullar (i would translate it to potato buns?) which is kind of like a big tater tot, but in the form of a patty. very common in schools, but i always have a bag in the freezer and pop them in the oven, and 20 minuter later i have the best meal ever 🤤 we also have a kind of potato pancake that i really love!! and waffle fries are amazing too. soft potatoes > crispy potatoes. and potato gratin!!! pasta doesn't matter a lot to me, it depends on what kind of sauce imo. penne is great though, works with almost everything!!

i don't actually drink tea... idk, there's just something about it that sits wrong with me. i've tried so many types, but nope. i love ice tea though (the european version, not american) !!

i'm actually proud of myself for being so good with the kids i coach. it's not often that i feel proud of myself for something, but i can sometimes acknowledge that i'm doing a good job with the girls and then i get happy and proud of myself over that <3 i started going to a therapist this fall actually, i went to someone else two times before this summer but we did not click at all (he told me that i need to be angry more 🤨 sorry sir but i am not going to force myself to be angry) lol

oooo a recent pet peeve of mine is girls who have like really high ponytails? idk why?? i used to think they looked really cool and even did them myself, but now i don't wanna look at them. and idk if it counts as a pet peeve but i just can't take people chewing on ice cream (like the water-based ones, ice lollies or whatever)? i get goosebumps just thinking about it?? chewing on regular ice is okay, but i just shivered imagining myself chewing on ice cream, no kidding

i cleaned out all of my tabs and windows yesterday so now i only have one window open with 19 tabs!! feeling tidy 👍

[askgothamshitty]

Hi! I really don’t want to annoy you but I am really frustrated and I don’t have anyone to talk to and I feel a little alone so I hope this long ass message isn’t going to be too much of a bother to read. I have been having conversations with my boyfriend about what’s been going on with the show called The Boys (I don’t watch the show I just hear what’s been happening from him) and what’s been going on with a character name Hughie and it’s brought up a lot of conversations about male victims of SA/DV and female abusers/sexual predators because Hughie was repeatedly sexually assaulted this season. It’s not that I don’t think he has valid points but sometimes he gives me MRA vibes and I love him a lot so I wanted to get your input if I am being irrational or I am missing something from my thought process that is keeping me seeing from his perspective completely. And if he is wrong on some parts can you please tell me your thoughts and how you would explain it? Because I am at a loss on how to properly address female abusers/predators and male victims in a way that doesn’t make me feel like we’ve hit MRA talking points and in a way that properly addresses how male victims/female assailants are treated. On tv male victims have the absolute worst representation, I have lost count on how many times a woman has raped a man on screen and it was treated like an oppsie or a minor bump in the road or it wasn’t acknowledged at all by show or fandom, like it has ruined SO many shows and movies for me (and they’re pretty popular too). My boyfriend mentioned The Boys and How to Get Away with Murder and Bridgerton as examples. He said male victims are treated way less seriously in comparison to female victims and at least women are allowed to be victims but there is something that bothered me that I can’t quite put into words why. In Bridgerton what Daphne did to Simon was rape as well as reproductive coercion but because it was a women doing it to a man it’s not seen as either. Do you know how to address this kind of thing that would be helpful to male victims of this kind of thing? And do you think this is an appropriate or accurate way to talk about this? Something is not quite right about this to me, the way that people usually talk about male victims and female perpetrators implies that there is equality that that male victims have yet to reach to where female victims are at and thinking about female perpetrators needing to be treated as seriously as men make me want to break out in hives but at the same time they ARE treated as if they’re less guilty. I don’t know how to properly explain why there is something off with this framing to him so I was wondering what are your thoughts on how we should address male victims and female abusers/predators? Is imagine if the roles are reversed way of talking about this valid or is it just an MRA thing? And do you think male victims have a harder time being believed than female victims and have a harder time in general?

You’re not bothering me at all, lovely! 😊

This is my perspective: it is true that male victims of sexual assault are not taken seriously, especially when the perpetrator is a female. This is due to the patriarchal ideology of rape that only understands men as (“natural”) rapists/women as (“natural”) victims.

There are ways in media that male victims are treated differently than female victims. Particularly, there is a persistent trope that treats male rape as funny and goofy. Pop Culture Detective on YouTube has a great video about this.

However, just because female victims are not involved in this trope does NOT mean things are easier for them in our culture. They are not taken seriously, they are seen as hysterical and overreacting, particularly in cases of intimate partner rape. They are not seen as victims, rather they are often seen as women who had a regretful sexual experience or a vengeful ex or a promiscuous slut. They are not believed, they are dismissed and ignored. Male perpetrators are not hated, they do not have their lives ruined, they are not blamed.

So the bottom line is, yes, male victims are not taken seriously. Neither are female victims. Our rape culture denigrates victims of all genders.

Further, yes, this “haha a woman raped this man” media trope is unique to men and you don’t really see the opposite happening on prime time TV. But there are also unique ways female victims are treated in media (specifically, coercive behavior is played as romantic on TV/movies, and assault/battery is eroticized in porn).

I would definitely say that trying to argue that women are privileged in this area, that women are believed when men are not, is an MRA talking point. This doesn’t necessarily mean that your BF is in MRA/red pill communities because this rhetoric is pretty popular everywhere, even among women and online social justice advocates.

Maybe sit down with him and talk about how terrible those tropes are (again I recommend that YouTube video) and how those play into myths about “legitimate” victims and perpetrators. But also make it a point to explain how the inverse is NOT true, and that female victims are also mistreated, not believed, etc.

[medicalhealthnewsflash]

Three ways yoga helps in ‘interesting times’

  When your day job is teaching American government to college students, it turns out yoga is an excellent complement to the tumult and challenge of interesting political times. And boy, are we ever living in such times! I spend my days with students who live in largely rural parts of middle Tennessee. Many of them have never traveled more than 50 or 100 miles from where they grew up. It’s tough to convince them of the value in paying attention to the broader world, especially to political figures who appear to be more often corrupt and self-serving than genuinely invested in representing their communities. More pressingly, though, for those of us who make a living by or a habit of paying attention to the world, it’s really hard to foster presence and equanimity when so much seems so wrong. How can yoga help in these times? Here are three things that work for me. Notice how effort brings reward in your movement practice. The other day, I realized that I felt lighter, more energetic, and calmer than I had in a few days. And then I realized that I’d done a yoga practice the night before for the first time in a week! Despite the image many have of yoga teachers as doing energetic practices daily, I struggle to incorporate more than five or ten minutes of yoga into most of my days, particularly as a college professor in the middle of a semester. That moment when I realized that I felt better because of concrete action taken the previous day was a lightning bolt moment for me. It’s also an excellent mindset for approaching a noisy, challenging world. We sometimes feel we must fix all of the problems, all of the time—I don’t think it’s just me who feels that way, right? But yoga reminds us to stay in the present and focus on just one thing at a time. On the yoga mat, that one thing is how we’re feeling in our body. This practice of focusing on one thing and making the most of what you have in that moment? These are great tools off the yoga mat as well. How can you focus on one thing, take concrete (and doable) action, and see an incremental change? Let that be your guiding focus. Cultivate (or nurture) a gratitude practice. When the world feels a bit too much, we often feel our thoughts scatter to the seven winds. A gratitude practice helps bring us back to the moment. If you’re anything like me, the notion of firing up a ‘gratitude practice’ can easily morph into permission slip to go shopping; buy a special gratitude journal, maybe some new and colorful pens, and redecorate a gratitude zone at home. In fact, as I write this, nothing would make me happier than to pop over to Staples or Target right now to buy new gratitude supplies. These are just ways to pretend we’re doing the work, though. It’s shortcutting our way to a sense of gratitude. Here’s what my gratitude practice today looks like: When I start to feel overwhelmed, dispirited, or pessimistic, I look for something good around me. Maybe it’s just that I drive a car that I absolutely love. Or that nobody in my house has yet found the box of Tagalongs I squirreled away so I’d still have some at Christmastime. My gratitude list is not written, is not glamorous, and would not merit public sharing. Instead, it’s full of very simple, very small things that buttress my life in unobtrusive ways. Noticing these things, and saying a silent thank-you to the universe for sending them my way, is one of my favorite ways to bring yoga into my daily life. Acknowledge what you cannot control, and let that shit go. The most powerful thing that happened when I began doing yoga regularly, and especially when I went through Curvy Yoga teacher training, was the dramatic increase in my comfort with acknowledging the things I cannot (or prefer not to) do, and then letting that shit go. I remember being in a training session with Anna and breaking into tears when I tried to force myself into a downward facing dog pose. I felt boiling anger and frustration bubble over at myself: “How can I be a yoga teacher if I hate down dog?” I implored her. Her answer was simple but profound (and prophetic): I’m a yoga teacher who never, ever teaches down dog in her classes. It’s that simple. I let that pose go (for me). The sovereignty that comes in embracing your yoga practice, both on and off the mat, allows us to place boundaries around our energy and focus. There was a time when I’d be in a weekend yoga workshop, and I’d feel like I had to do the aggressive flow practice that was the “break” from our discussion. For me, letting that shit go looks like opting out of that practice. Instead, I began propping myself up into my favorite restorative pose and resting there while the rest of the class huffed and puffed through boat pose and crow. People would come up to me after class and ask if I was sick. I would just smile and say, “I’ve never felt better!” If this isn’t a metaphor for living in interesting times, I don’t know what is. We have limited mental, emotional, and physical energy, and we must identify what things in the world deserve those precious resources. Sometimes, that’s paying attention to the world, yes. But we do not have the power to change everything. And, if we try to fix everything, we will ultimately only create more problems, more need, by exhausting ourselves. Acknowledge what you can do, what feels like a worthy investment of your limited resources, and let the other stuff go.   — If you’d met Liz Norell as a child, you’d have never predicted she would end up where she is today. For starters, she did not grow up in a particularly political family, yet somehow felt a spark of interest in politics when she accidentally crossed paths with an RU-486 rally on her first (school-sponsored) trip to DC. Ultimately, she earned a Ph.D. in political science from the University of Texas at Dallas … although not without a number of swerves along the way. She spends the academic year teaching government courses at Chattanooga State Community College and thoroughly loves her work. Every yang needs its yin, though, and for Liz, that’s yoga. In 2016, she completed her 200-hour YTT with Curvy Yoga. She has since logged more than 500 hours of yoga teaching in Chattanooga, Sewanee, and Tracy City. Her classes are gentle, meditative, and designed to include those of all body types and flexibility levels. In the last year, she has brought her teaching into the water, leading gentle aqua yoga classes to those who never imagined they could do yoga. She will complete her 300-hour YTT in 2019 at the Asheville Yoga Center, where she has focused her advanced studies on trauma-informed, restorative, and yin yoga classes. She lives in Monteagle, Tenn., with her partner, Doug, two stepchildren, and a feisty rescue mutt named Lexie. Connect with Liz on her website or Facebook. The post Three ways yoga helps in ‘interesting times’ appeared first on Curvy Yoga. https://www.curvyyoga.com/three-ways-yoga-helps-in-interesting-times/

[awellboiledicicle]

i keep imagining that, post game, the MC playing with their little collection of dieties and introducing them to Ingo because you gotta warn a guy before making him fight god... and Dialga/Palkia just.  “He’s not when OR where he’s supposed to be.” “What the fuck. Hey dad” Arceus turns. “Did you pull this one too?” “..I summoned but one. This is... rather strange.”

And then the three of them just slowly pivot to look at Giratina, who is deeply invested in it’s berries all the sudden. Just deeply interested in the lil details so it doesn’t look guilty. 

“Giratina.” “What?” “Was this part of your doing?” “No.” “Giratina.” A sigh from an eldritch being tends to read more as the brief twisting of all things around it, but it soon passes. “Maybe? I just opened the doors, i didn’t check if anything came through. I just new it would make Dialga and Palkia mad enough to come see what was happening.” Arceus has to will his other children not to give a divine noogie to their sibling. “Put the human back.” Eldritch pouting results in the temporary inversion of existence for the grass under it. The look of celestial parental disapproval didn’t help matters. “You didn’t put yours back!” “MC is still serving their purpose.” “DON’T GIVE ME THAT! YOU’RE BORED.” “And i can return mine chosen at a whim. You continue to not clean up your messes.” “FIRST OF ALL--” Dialga clears its throat in much the same manner a waterfall lightly cleans mud off a rock. “You can’t remember when you pulled him from.” Palkia rolls its shoulders and the vibration feels tangible. So does the impression that it was enjoying teasing its sibling. “Or where.” “So you can’t put him back.” “Because you don’t know how.” Giratina ponders, briefly, if MC’s unconditional love is worth sharing space with these three. The math solves out to ‘yeah’ and once again things twist for a moment. “Fine! I don’t know which layer of reality, what time, what place! Are you happy now? I was wrong, and unlike the great and infallible Arceus, i errored. And i can’t fix it.” A light stomping sends the grass into another questionable turn of reality. “Won’t send him back, will it?” Arceus slowly inclines its head, gaze unyielding and even as ever. “It is well that you acknowledge this. Some maturity has been gained, after all.” Another incline in the opposite direction as Giratina pondered if it’s parent suddenly granted it a mortal set of lungs to be able to feel the weight in the air as it continued. “Work with mine chosen to remedy your mistake and perhaps we will discuss the future-- before your sibling pulls it to us.”

Meanwhile the MC and Ingo are just watching these literal titans make noises at one another and pondering how many pokemon a literal god can fight before passing out. Probably evolves into MC getting a series of Ye Olde Texts because while they could all talk in Mc’s head, it’d overwhelm them if arguing started and also its easier for them to just show ingo the arcphone.

Also so i can imagine Ingo going home to Emmet, supervised by MC who is now just being popped around the multiverse as much as Arceus feels like exploring in effegy. mostly so i can also imagine the giant fuck off battle the subway twins would have against the player character. imagine them having to borrow a stadium just because it WILL get wild, it WILL be big, and it WILL contain god

[fruitcoops]

hey eve, so idk if you’ve ever heard about how chris evans took elizabeth olsen’s hand and drew on it because he was nervous/anxious. But if you want, could you do something like that with coops? like sirius being anxious and remus just silently holding out his hand for him and he just starts doodling? anyways, have a great day!

Yes, I love that story! It's a very Sirius thing to do as well, so thanks for this request :) Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“Alright, so,” a young woman began, sitting down at her desk with her hands spread. Behind her, a green screen showed a silent video of the last Lions press conference. “I was watching this interview last night—the one back here—and I noticed something a little…weird? Is weird the right word? It’s right here over my shoulder, and Dumo is answering a question and on the far left, Cap isn’t paying attention. Which is totally chill, I don’t care, the question wasn’t directed at him. But then I looked a little closer and this man is straight-up writing on Loops’ hand.”

She moved aside and pointed to the pair. “It’s not super obvious or anything, but dude, you already married him. He doesn’t need your phone number. I also really want to know what it says because I’m nosey.”

The video swapped views and Sirius smiled. “You’re right about the phone number and wrong about the writing. Re?” There was a hum of acknowledgement offscreen and Sirius looked over, then flipped the camera; Remus looked up from his plate of pasta and gave a little wave, his mouth full. “Can I see your hand?”

Remus swallowed, then frowned. “Which one?”

“Left.” He still looked a bit confused, but held his left hand up. Sirius gently took his wrist and turned it so the back faced the camera, revealing a mess of smudged doodles. “He’s washed his hands a couple of times since last night so it isn’t very clear anymore, but I was actually drawing. Not writing. I’ve spoken in the past about my anxiety, and this is one way I cope with it when it starts to pop up. What did I put on you this time?”

Remus took a one-handed bite of pasta and squinted at the doodles while he chewed. “I think there were some flowers over here, and then a moon and stars, and…is that Saturn by my thumb?”

“Might be.”

“You did a little sunshine over here, on my wrist. Hold on.” He set his fork down and tugged his sleeve up, revealing another inch of ink. “Right there, see? The clouds turned out really nice. It’s like an eye-spy game.”

“I just put whatever came to mind,” Sirius laughed.

“And I’m a very willing easel,” Remus said with a smile.

Sirius shook his head when the camera turned back to him, though he was grinning. “Usually I have paper with me, but there wasn’t any for that interview. So, yeah, that’s it. Just doodling. I promise I was paying attention to the conversation, even though I needed a little extra help to stay grounded. You have very good vision!”

[tojikai]

Alright, but if Y/N is indeed pregnant, could you let her keep the baby? I saw the “mentions of abortion” tw but like please, I want her to keep it. I don’t even care if she doesn’t get back with Satoru in the end. I don’t know but I’m always so soft for babies.

So, I see that some people have this very visceral reaction to Y/N in this chapter, and guess what? I want to defend her like those K-Pop stans. I don’t care about changing their feelings about her but I just want to let them KNOW.

Y/N has made a mistake, a single one, and it makes her no different from Rie, the other woman, but seriously, Y/N is still far more dignified than Rie can ever be. Both committed a mistake. And then what? Rie decided to continue to live in La La Land and created more fuckery while Y/N did everything she could to not do anything wrong again. Y/N immediately told the truth to Suguru and Shoko while Rie and Satoru knew the truth but kept it a secret to save face or whatever tf. After the cheating, Y/N was firm with Satoru about not getting back together with him while Rie went ahead and accepted Satoru’s advances despite feeling guilty.

I saw someone say Y/N is bad at decision-making. LIKE WHERE??? Unlike Rie, Y/N made all the right decisions for someone in her position. They are a foil to each other and the entire series shows how different they are as a person by showing what they decided to do after making a mistake. Like are you being serious with me now? But I don’t know, maybe you read this series with your eyes close or smth, and you simply refuse to see that. Rie and Y/N are the “same” in this situation but overall, as a person, they are not.

LOL, alright, sorry for going off like that, I’m Y/N's biggest fan as you can tell. She’s not me, she’s my precious baby 🥺.

All in all, thank you, Kai, for this chapter! Oh man, this series is going to end soon. What a ride it is! I can’t wait to see how this will end. I actually can’t believe that you just started writing when you created this blog. You’re so good??? Coincidentally, I was an English Major too LOL and I wish I was as talented as you. Once again, really enjoy this update. Looking forward to the next and have a nice weekend, okay? <3 (2/2)

you know what, YOU'RE HEAVEN SENT. im so glad u pointed that out bc there's an ask in my inbox that seems to be downplaying rie's actions yet enraged by what happened between yn and satoru. i cannot bring myself to post it bc it stressed me a bit LMAO, it's like they just skimmed through every chapter and paragraphs. like they didn't pay attention to the contexts and hints that i put it in there. i mean we all know what yn did was wrong, i am not justifying it and that is why yn's facing the consequences now. yn acknowledges it and is doing everything not to do it again, unlike rie who stood tall and straight despite knowing that her new rs is a product of betrayal. i just … dont get what they're fighting for. really.😭 LMAO and im glad u mentioned this bc i was having a really hard time thinking where i lacked explaining in the story. i understand that there are still things which are unclear right now. but that's why we still got 2 more chapters left😭

anywayssss, omg as usual, that was an amazing read !! 2 more weeks and this series is over 😭 this is the longest one i've written yet. and yeah i started writing on april 19, wrote home and posted it on the same night😂thank you so so much and omg you're an english major too !! im sure you can write fics as well, u just have to start !! your reviews and analyses are GOLD, never fails to amaze me how you always get all the points that im trying to get across in the story. im grateful for all of them and for your support, you're amazing, thank you sooooo much !! <33 i hope you're doing great~