#this one is an excerpt from my next book!

[redgoldsparks]

I wrote a 12 page epilogue to my 2019 comic "Harry Potter and The Problematic Author" because I found, in 2023, that I had more to say. You can also find this comic on my website, and I have PDF copies available on etsy. I may sell print copies at some point in the future.

instagram / patreon / portfolio / etsy / my book / redbubble

Full transcript below the cut.

PAGE 1

Part one: Ruddy Owls!

I was in fourth grade when the first Harry Potter Book was released in the US.

Panel 1: Sometimes our teacher would read it aloud in class. “Mr and Mrs Dursley of number 4 Privat Drive were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

Panel 2: I was 11 years old when Harry Potter finally broke through my dyslexia and turned me into a reader.

Panel 3: Every night in the summer before sixth grade I waited for the owl carrying my Hogwarts Letter. I cried when it didn’t come. “I have to go to Muggle school!”

PAGE 2

Part Two: Hats

I dedicated myself to being a fan.

Panel 1: I began collecting Harry Potter News article.

Panel 2: I asked my relatives to mail me ones from their local papers. I filled a thick binder with clippings.

Panel 3: I wrote my own trivia quiz

Panel 4: and participated in the one held annually at the county fair. “Next contestant!”

Panel 5: I usually got into one of. the top five spots. I won boxes of candy, posters, stationary, and once a baseball cap. (Hat reads: I survived the battle of Hogwarts).

Panel 6: In high school I sewed a black velvet cape and knitted many stripped scarves.

PAGE 3

Part Three: Double Trouble

Watching the last film in 2011 felt like the final note of my childhood. 

Panel 1: I remember driving home from the midnight showing thinking about the end of 13 years of waiting; wondering what would define the next chapter of my life. 

Panel 2: That same month I heard of something called Pottermore. “Okay, so there’s a sorting quiz… I already know my house! Patronus assignment? Mine’s a barn owl. Duh!" 

Panel 3: You can read the books again but with GIFs? Why? 

Panel 4: I lived in a place with very slow and limited internet at the time. Pottermore sounded inaccessible, but also boring. I never joined. 

Panel 5: "I’ll just read the actual books again, thanks." 

PAGE 4

Part Four: Sweets

In 2016, a series of short stories titled "History of Magic in North America” were released on Pottermore to pave the way for the first Fantastic Beasts Film. These stories display an extreme ignorance of American history, culture, and geography, but the worst parts are the casual misuse of indigenous beliefs and stories. Fans and critics immediately spoke up against this appropriation. Some of the most quoted voices included Nambe Pueblo scholar Dr. Debbie Reese who runs the site “American Indians In Children’s Literature”; Navajo writer Brian Young; Johnnie Jae (Otoe-Missouria and Choctaw), founder of A Tribe Called Geek; Dr Adrienne Keene (Cherokee Nation), a Professor at Brown University who runs the blog “Native Appropriations”, and writers N.K. Jemison and Paula Young Lee.

PAGE 5

Rowling is famous for responding to fans directly on twitter, yet she did not respond to anyone calling out the damaging aspects of “Magic in North America.” Her representatives refused to comment for March 9 2016 article in the Guardian. She has never apologized. All of this, plus the casting of Johnny Depp and the specific declarations of support by JKR, Warner Brothers, and director David Yates left a sour taste in my mouth.

For further thoughts on the new films read The Crimes of Grindelwald is a Mess by Alanna Bennett for Buzzfeed News, November 16, 2018.

PAGE 6

Excerpt from Colonialism in Wizarding American: JK Rowling’s History of Magic in North America Through an Indigenous Lens by Allison Mills, MFA, MAS/MLIS (Cree and Settler French Canadian)

Although Rowling is certainly not the first white author to misstep in her treatment of Indigenous cultures, she has an unprecedented level of visibility and fame, […] One of the most glaring problems with Rowling’s story is her treatment of the many Indigenous nations in North America as one monolithic group. […It] flattens out the diversity of languages, belief systems, and cultures that exist in Indigenous communities, allowing stereotyping to persist. […] It continues a long history of colonial texts which ignore that Indigenous peoples still exist. […] In the Wizarding world, as in the real world, Indigenous histories have been over-written and our cultures erased.

from The Looking Glass: New Perspectives in Children’s Literature Volumn 19, Issue 1

PAGE 7

Part 5: Music

Panel 1: Also in 2016 I discovered two podcasts which radically altered my experience of being an HP fan. The first was Witch Please created by two Canadian feminist literary scholars Hannah McGregor and Marcelle Kosman.

Panel 2: “If it’s not in the text it doesn’t count!” “Close reading ONLY!”

Panel 3: They talk about Harry Potter at the level you’d expect in a college class with particular focus on gender, race, class, and the troubling fatphobia, fear of othered and queer coded bodies, violence against women, white feminism, gaslighting and failed pedagogy in the books. They bring up these issues not because they hate the series, but because they LOVE it.

PAGE 8

These passionate, joyful conversations went off like fireworks in my mind. I had never taken a feminist class before. I gained a whole new vocabulary to talk about the books- and the world.

PAGE 9

Panel 1: The second podcast I started that year was Harry Potter and the Sacred Text, created by two graduates of the Harvard Divinity School, Vanessa Zoltan and Casper Ter Kuile.

Panel 2: They read one chapter per episode through a theme such as love, control, curiosity, shame, responsibility, hospitality, destruction, or mystery. Like Witch Please, they are interested only in the information on the page, not thoughts from the author. The delights and failures of the text are examined in the context of the present day, and new meanings constantly arise.

PAGE 10

What does it mean to treat a text as sacred?

Trusting that the more time we give to it, the more blessings it has to give us.

Reading the text repeatedly with concentrated attention. Our effort is part of what makes it sacred. The text is not in and of itself sacred, but is made so by rigorously engaging in the ritual of reading.

Experiencing it in community.

“To me, the goal of treating the text as sacred is that we learn to treat each other as sacred.” -Vanessa Zoltan

PAGE 11

Part 6: Tooth and Claw

In October 2017, Rowling liked a tweet linking to an article arguing that trans women should be kept out of women’s bathrooms because of cisgender women’s fears. In March 2018, she liked a tweet about the problem of misogyny in the UK Labour Party which included the line “Men in dresses get brosocialist solidarity I never had.” The author of the tweet had previously posted many blatantly anti-trans statements.

Rowlings publicist claimed she had liked the posted by accident in a “clumsy and middle-aged moment.” Yet, in September 2018 she liked a link posted by Janice Turner to her column in the Times UK titled “Trans Rapists Are A Danger In Women’s Jails.”

Screencaps of these tweets can be found in the article “The Mysterious Case of JK Rowling and her Transphobic Twitter History”, January 10 2019 by Gwendolyn Smith (a trans journalist), LGBTQNation.com

PAGE 12

Excerpt from: Is JK Rowling Transphobic? A Trans Woman Investigates by Katelyn Burns

Ultimately, the answer is yes, she is transphobic […] I think it’s fair that she receives criticism from trans people, especially given her advocacy on behalf of queer people in general, but also because she has a huge platform. Many people look up to her for creating a singular piece of popular culture that holds deep meaning for fans from different walks of life, and she has a responsibility to handle that platform wisely. (Published on them.us March 28, 2018)

PAGE 13

Part 7: Home

At age 30, I’m still not over Harry Potter.

Panel 1: I’ve recently found a local bar that does HP trivia nights. “Poppy or Pomona?” “Poppy!”

Panel 2: I currently own an annual pass to Universal Studios so I can visit Hogsmeade.

Panel 3: I love talking to kids who are reading the books for the first time. “Who’s your favorite character?” “Ginny!”

Panel 4: And I’m planning a relisten to the audio books to next year to help me get through the election cycle. “Jim Dale, I’m going to need you more than ever…”

Spoiler from 2023: I did not do this. By mid-2020 JKR had posted her transphobic essay; we were in covid; I never visited Universal Studios again.

PAGE 14

But I do want to learn from her mistakes. I never want to repeat “Magic in North America.” As I write, I will do my research. I will consult experts and compensate them. If a reader from a different culture/background than me speaks up about my work, I will listen and apologize. I KNOW I WILL MAKE MISTAKES. But I will own up to them and I will do better.

PAGE 15

Excerpt from Diversity Is Not Enough: Race, Power and Publishing by Daniel José Older

We can love a thing and still critique it. In fact, that’s the only way to really love a thing. Let’s be critical lovers and loving critics and open ourselves to the truth about where we are and where we’ve been. Instead of holding tight to the same old, failed patriarchies, let’s walk a new road, speak new languages. Today, let’s imagine a literature, a literary world, that carries this struggle for equity in its very essence, so that tomorrow it can cease to be necessary, and disappear. (Buzzfeed, April 14, 2017) 

PAGE 16

Harry Potter is flawed, & JK Rowling is problematic. But the books helped me learn a lot: 

*One of the greatest dangers facing the modern world is the rise of fascism 

*The government cannot be trusted 

*Read and think critically

*Question the news: who paid the journalist? Who owns the paper? 

*Trust and support your friends through good times and bad

*Organize for resistance

*Educate and share resources with peers

*The revolution must be diverse and intersectional

* We are only as strong as we are united

*The weapon we have is love 

MK 2019

PAGE 17

PART 8: EPILOGUE

In 2021 I removed a Harry Potter patch I sewed to my book bag over a decade ago. I took 15 pieces of Harry Potter fanart off my walls. I got rid of my paperback book set, 2 board games, and 8 t-shirt. [images: a Hogwarts a patch with loose threads, a pair of scissors and a seam ripper]

Panel 1: Maia holding up a shirt with the Deathly Hallows logo on it. Maia thinks: “Damn, this really used to be my entire personality.”

Panel 2: The t-shirt gets thrown into the Goodwill box.

PAGE 18

I wrote my zine wrestling with JKR’s legacy in 2019, after her dismissive and racist reaction to indigenous fans and critics of “Magic in North America” and after she had liked a couple transphobic tweets. Since then, she has gotten so much worse.

A Brief Timeline (mostly from this Vox article)

June 2020- JKR posts a 3600 word essay making her anti-trans position clear

August 2020- The Robert F Kennedy Human Rights Org issues a statement about her transphobia, JKR doubles down on her position and returns an award they gave her

December 2020- JKR claims 90% of HP fans secretly agree with her anti-trans views

December 2021- JKR mocks Scottish Police for recognizing transgender identities

March 2022- JKR criticizes gender-inclusive language and legislation

December 2022- JKR retweets trans youtuber Jessie Earl’s critical review of Hogwarts Legacy, starting an onslaught of transphobic harassment towards Earl

December 2022- JKR removes her support from an Edinburgh center for survivors of sexual violence with a trans-inclusive policy and funds her own center which explicitly excludes trans sexual assault survivors

January 2023- JKR tweets “Deeply amused by those telling me I’ve lost their admiration due to disrespect I show violent, duplicitous rapists.” It got nearly 300K likes

March 2023- One the podcast “The Witch Trials of JK Rowling”, hosted by a former Westboro Baptist Church Member, JKR compares the trans rights movement to Death Eaters.

PAGE 19

What are The Witch Trials of JK Rowling?

Panel 1: Maia speaking. “It’s a 7 episode documentary style podcast hosted by Megan Phelps-Roper. Nearly every episode contains interviews with JKR as well as critics, journalists, historians, protestors and fans.

Panel 2: Maia speaking. “In episode 1, JKR speaks more candidly than she has previously about being in an abusive marriage. Her ex-husband hit her, stalked her, broke into her house overlapping with the time she was writing the first three HP books.”

Panel 3: Maia speaking. “What she went through genuinely sounds horrific. I have a lot of sympathy for the kind of life-long traumas those experiences leave.”

PAGE 20

HOWEVER.

It is clear from reading the June 2020 essay on her blog and listening to the podcast, that JKR still to this day feels unsafe. Despite her wealth and privilege she moves through the world with the mindset of a victim. And the group of people she finds most threatening are trans women.

Or rather, she is afraid that allowing trans women in women’s spaces invites the possibility of male predators entering those spaces.

Here’s a direct quote: The problem is male violence. All a predator wants is access and to open the doors of changing rooms, rape centers, domestic violence centers [...] to any male who says “I’m a woman and I have a right to be here” will constitute a risk to women and girls. - from The Witch Trials episode 4 as transcribed by therowlinglibrary.com, March 2023

Image: A stem of Belladonna with flowers and berries.

PAGE 21

Let me introduce here the term: TRANSMISOGYNY. The intersection of transphobia and misogyny, this term was coined by Julia Serano in 2007. Scout Tran, on tiktok as Queersneverdie said: “Transmisogyny occurs in people who have been previously hurt by traditional misogyny. Who have been driven to hate men or at the very least to be scared of men. They will sometimes take out that rage on trans women. (March 2023)

JKR claims to care for trans women and understand they are extremely vulnerable to assault and violence. In her 2020 Essay she wrote: “I want trans women to be safe. At the same time, I do not want to make natal girls and women less safe.”

So she cares about trans women… just less than cis women, and she’s willing to throw all trans women under the bus because of her unfounded, prejudice fears.

PAGE 22

Panel 1: Maia speaking. “JKR claims to have seen data that proves trans women have presented physical threats to other women in intimate spaces, but never cites sources. She also uses “producer of the large gametes” as a definition of “woman”.

What about transmen and nonbinary folks?

Panel 2: Maia leaning on a stack of all seven HP books, the first four Cormorant Strike books and The Casual Vacancy, gesturing to a series of quotes with a tired and disgusted expression.

I’m concerned about the huge explosion of young women wishing to transition and also about the increasing numbers who seem to be detransitioning. * [...] If I’d been born 30 years later, I too might have tried to transition. The allure of escaping womanhood would have been huge. -June 10 2020 essay

I don’t believe a 14 year old can truly understand what the loss of their fertility is.

-Witch Trials episode 4

I haven’t yet found a study that hasn’t found that the majority of young people experiencing gender dysphoria grow out of it*. -Witch Trials episode 7

*No sources cited

PAGE 23

It’s hard to over emphasize how fixated JKR has become on these topics. As of the date I’m writing this, 14 out of her 20 most recent tweets (70%) are in some way anti-trans. She tweets against Mermaids (a UK based trans youth charity), against trans athletes, against gender neutral bathrooms, and in support of LBG Alliance- a UK org that denies trans rights while upholding gay rights. Here are some gems from her archive:

“People who menstruate.” I’m sure there used to be a word for those people. Someone help me out. Wumben? Wimpund? Woomud? -June 2020

War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength. The Penised Individual Who Raped You Is a Woman. - December 2021

And in response to someone asking “How do you sleep at night knowing you lost a whole audience?”

I read my most recent royalty cheques and find the pain goes away pretty quickly. -October 2022

PAGE 24

Hashtag Ruthless Productions a queer nerd podcast company created a great guide on ethical engagement with HP. Image: the two hosts of Hashtag Ruthless productions, Jessie (They/she) and Lark (he/him).

Stop buying all official HP Products: books, movies, games, toys, etc, Universal Studios tickets, food, merch.* Boycott any new TV series or movies. Instead: buy the books and DVDs used. If you still want to wear HP merch, buy fan-made. Engage only with fan content: fic, podcasts, fanart, wizard rock, etc. Show transphobia is bad for business. None of this will change JKR’s mind. But the Fantastic Beast series was canceled and after record Pottermore sales in 2020, they fell in 2022 by 40%.

*She gets a portion of ALL tickets. In 2019, this was her largest income source. Read the full guide: hashtagruthless.com/resourceguide

PAGE 25

As late as 2019, I was still reading JKR’s murder mystery series. But by the fourth book my experience began to sour.

Panel 1: Maia holding a copy of Lethal White. “The only gay character in this book is a government official who gropes his staff?”

Panel 2: “The only genderqueer character is misgendered and portrayed as a whiny faker?”

Panel 3: “The only Muslim character is disowned by his family over gay rumors?”

Panel 4: “Even the women aren’t portrayed very well…”

Panel 5: “Why is the main female character defined by the rape in her past?”

Panel 6: “Wait, what happens in the rest of this series…?” Maia scrolls on eir phone.

Panel 7: “Is the series heading towards an employee/boss relationship?”

Panel 8: “And has a man wearing women’s clothes to commit assault?”

Panel 9: “Yeah, I’m done. I’m never reading a new JKR book ever again.”

PAGE 26

And as for JKR herself?

As tempting as it might be to tweet your frustrations at her, I don’t recommend it. In 2021, she tweeted, “Hundreds of trans activists have threatened to beat, rape, assassinate and bomb me.” Getting hate online feeds her sense of victimhood and she waves it as proof of her moral high ground. Instead I suggest you block her on twitter, then delete twitter, go to the library and try to find a new book that feels magical.

Stack of books: In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan, The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater, Gifts by Ursula K Le Guin, Deep Wizardry by Diane Duane, A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik and Gideon the Ninth by Tamsin Muir.

PAGE 27

In “Emergent Strategy” adrienne maree brown writes: You do not have the right to traumatize abusive people, to attack them, personally or publicly, or to sabotage anyone else’s health. The behaviors of abuse are also survival-based, learned behaviors rooted in pain. If you can look through the lens of compassion, you will find hurt and trauma there. If you are the abused party, healing that hurt is not your responsibility and exacerbating that pain is not your justified right.

PAGE 28

Seeing anyone over age 12 wearing HP merch now makes me uncomfortable. Are they ignorant or actively a TERF? I hate wondering how much money JKR has probably poured into anti-trans legislation… This zine is a culmination of my slow breakup with a story that once brought me joy. Now it just makes me angry, tired and sad.

Image: Candle in a fancy holder burned down to less than an inch.

Maia Kobabe, 2023

#harry potter #harry potter and the problematic author #jk rowling #transphobia #jk rowling transphobic

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A media literacy handbook for Israel-Gaza

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

Media explainers are a cheap way to become an instant expert on everything from billionaire submarine excursions to hellaciously complex geopolitical conflicts, but On The Media's "Breaking News Consumers' Handbooks" are explainers that help you understand other explainers:

https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/otm/segments/breaking-news-consumers-handbook-israel-and-gaza-edition-on-the-media

The latest handbook is an Israel-Gaza edition. It doesn't aim to parse fine distinctions over the definition of "occupation" or identify the source of shell fragments. Rather, it offers seven bullet points' worth of advice on weighing all the other news you hear about the war:

https://media.wnyc.org/media/resources/2023/Oct/27/BNCH_ISRAEL_GAZA_EDITION_1.pdf

I. "Headlines are obscured by the fog of war"

Headline writers have a hard job under the best of circumstances – trying to snag your interest in a few words. Headlines can't encompass all the nuance of a story, and they are often written by editors, not the writers who produced the story. Between the imperatives for speed and brevity and the broken telephone between editors and writers, it's easy for headlines to go wrong, even when no one is attempting to mislead you. Even reliable outlets will screw up headlines sometimes – and that likelihood goes way up in times like these. You gotta read the story, not just the headline.

II. Know red flags for bullshit

The factually untrue information that spreads furthest tends to originate with a handful of superspreader accounts. Whether these people are Just Wrong or malicious disinfo peddlers, they share a few characteristics that should trip your BS meter and prompt extra scrutiny:

High-frequency posting

Emotionally charged framing

Posts that purport to be summaries or excerpts from news outlets, but do not include links to the original

The phrase "breaking news" (no one has that many scoops)

III. Don't trust screenshots

Screenshots of news stories, tweets, and other social media should come with links to the original. It's just too damned easy to fake a screenshot.

IV. "Know your platform"

It used to be that Twitter got a lot of first-person accounts from people in the thick of crises, while Facebook and Reddit contained commentary and reposts. Today, Twitter is just another aggregator. This time around, there's lots of first-person, real-time reporting coming off Telegram (it runs well on old phones and doesn't chew up batteries). Instagram is widely used in both Israel and the West Bank.

V. "Crisis actors" aren't a thing

People who attribute war images to "crisis actors" are either deluded or lying. There's plenty of ways to distort war news, but paying people to pretend to be grieving family members is essentially unheard of. Any explanation that involves crisis actors is a solid reason to permanently block that source.

VI. There's plenty of ways to verify stuff that smells fishy

TinEye, Yandex and Google Image Search are all good tools for checking "breaking" images and seeing if they're old copypasta ganked from earlier conflicts (or, you know, video-games). The fact that an image doesn't show up in one of these searches doesn't guarantee its authenticity, of course.

VII. Think before you post

Israel-Gaza is the most polluted media pool yet. Don't make it worse.

There's plenty more detail on this (especially on the use of verification tools) in Brooke Gladstone's radio segment:

https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/otm/episodes/on-the-media-breaking-news-consumers-handbook-israel-gaza-edition

The media environment sucks, and warrants skepticism and caution. But we also need to be skeptical of skepticism itself! As danah boyd started saying all the way back in 2018, weaponized media literacy leads to conspiratorialism:

https://www.zephoria.org/thoughts/archives/2018/03/09/you-think-you-want-media-literacy-do-you.html

Remember, the biggest peddlers of "fake news" are also the most prolific users of the term. For a lot of these information warriors, the point isn't to get you to believe them – they'll settle for you believing nothing. "Flood the zone with bullshit" is Steve Bannon's go-to tactic, and it's one that his acolytes have picked up and multiplied.

It's important to be a critical thinker, but there's plenty of people who've figured out how to weaponize a critical viewpoint and turn it into nihilism. Remember, the guy who wrote How To Lie With Statistics was a tobacco industry shill who made his living obfuscating the link between smoking and cancer. It's absolutely possible to lie with statistics, but it's also possible to use statistics to know the truth, as Tim Harford explains in his 2021 must-read book The Data Detective:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/04/how-to-truth/#harford

There's a world of difference between being misled and being brainwashed. A lot of today's worry about "disinformation" and "misinformation" has the whiff of a moral panic:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2023/10/are-we-having-a-moral-panic-over-misinformation.html

It's possible to have a nuanced view of this subject – to take steps to enure you're not being tricked without equating crude tricks like sticking a fake BBC chyron on a 10-year-old image with unstoppable mind-control:

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/28/fog-o-war/#breaking-news

#pluralistic #media literacy #fake news #disinformation #misinformation #israel gaza #gaza #israel #palestine #conspiratorialism #hoaxes #infowar #on the media #breaking news #npr #flood the zone

[meangirls-imagines]

Revenge of the Nerds (but like, hotter)

WARNINGS: none really. y/n kicks shane oman's ass. regina is kinda turned on. regina takes care of reader.

BASED ON THIS REQUEST: @droppedmyhotpocket: For your requests, unless you already have some, you could do Regina with a shy reader that ends up like beating someone up for talking bad abt Gina ☺️ honestly I would do it too like no lie

Okay.

Let's start from the beginning.

Y/N Y/L/N and Regina George have been dating practically since seventh grade. The news broke when Jason Weems told the entire school that he saw Regina and Y/N making out by the softball fields.

Regina embraced it, making a show out of kissing Y/N in front of everyone at lunch. From that point on, everyone knew not to mess with Y/N, or they would face Regina's wrath.

Well, almost everyone.

Enter Shane Oman.

Quarterback of the football team. Hottest guy in school. (According to him).

For the longest time, he had pined over Regina. Years even. He was one of the only ones in school that had a problem with Regina and Y/N being a couple. He believed it should've been him.

Y/N wasn't fit for Regina in his eyes. She was a nerd, she didn't talk to anyone but the Plastics. He just didn't get it.

Him and Regina would make the perfect prom king and queen in his eyes and he would do anything to make it happen.

He could never get close to Y/N due to Regina and the plastics always being around her, so he needed to plan. There was only one instance where Y/N was alone, right before lunch. That's when he was going to execute his plan: plant insecurities, make them break up, win Regina.

He had no idea of the shit storm that was about to happen.

Y/N was stood near the entrance to the cafeteria, looking down at her textbook. She was reading an excerpt out of her history book when it was knocked out of her hands.

She sighed and looked up to find Shane Oman standing smugly in front of her. "Can I help you with something Shane?" He scoffed. "Yeah, actually. Stay away from Regina. She doesn't want you." It was Y/N's turn to scoff. "Shane, you come at me with this same argument every week, dude. Let it go."

She reached down to grab her history book but it was kicked away by Shane. "Your guard dog isn't around to help you, nerd. You’re in my territory now." Y/N sighed, standing up straight again. "For the last time, Regina isn't my guard dog." She could feel the rage beginning to boil over.

Shane smirked. "Oh. My bad. She's actually your bitch."

What happened next shocked not only Shane, but the group of students that had gathered to watch the exchange.

Y/N cocked her arm back and swung as hard as she could, clocking Shane in the eye, knocking him on the ground. She proceeded to take advantage of Shane being stunned and began to wildly swing on the boy.

He shook himself out of it and began to fight back, landing a few good (really good) hits on Y/N. Coach Carr happened to be walking down the hall when he saw the commotion. He immediately pushed through the group of students, effectively breaking thought up, dragging the two to Principal Duvall.

Regina George was on a mission. Her combat boots smacking against the vinyl floor of the hallway as she stomped her way to Principal Duvall's office. His secretary opened her mouth to scold the blonde but quickly shut up at her glare.

She barged into the office, startling all three in the room. Her rage increased at the sight of her sweet, teddy bear of a girlfriend nursing a bloody face and a forming black eye. "What did Shane do?" Principal Duvall spoke up. "Ms. George, this doesn't concern you." Regina gave the man her famous ice bitch glare which shut him up.

She softened at the sight of her girlfriend. "What did Shane do?" Shane spoke up. "That bitch needs to be on a leash Regina! She's crazy!" The blonde whipped around, getting in the boy's face.

"The next words that come out of your mouth better be "I'm sorry for ruining your perfect face Y/N" or you will be receiving your meals through a fucking tube for the rest of your pathetic life. Do you understand me?" Shane nodded rapidly, shutting his mouth and remaining silent.

Regina smirked and faced back to Y/N. "What did he do baby?" Her tone was noticeably softer than before. Y/N went through the whole story, explaining how Shane insulted Regina and pushed her over the edge.

Regina took a deep breath and looked at the principal. "So how long is Shane suspended for?" Mr. Duvall stuttered. "Well, Regina. You have to understand, Y/N swung first." The blonde glared. "Shane called me an inappropriate name and shoved my girlfriend. It was self defense."

Duvall stuttered again. Regina held a hand up. "I would hate for my father, who puts a good chunk of his salary into this school, to get word that the principal is allowing LGBTQ+ students to get assaulted for being who they are." She smiled that devilish smile, making Mr. Duvall swallow nervously.

Shane got suspended for a whole week while Y/N just got sent home for the day. Luckily for her, Regina decided to skip and take Y/N to her house. Y/N's parents were notorious for always traveling for work so they were never home. Because of this, Y/N was usually at the George household.

After Regina had treated Y/N's injuries, (and kissed every single one), the couple snuggled up on Regina's huge bed, watching Love Island. Regina was the big spoon tonight, adamantly saying that cuddles will heal Y/N faster.

After a few episodes, Regina noticed that Y/N was fast asleep on her chest. She smiled, setting an alarm for Y/N to take more painkillers before falling asleep herself, dreaming of Shane Oman.....

Getting eaten by lions.

#regina george x reader #regina george imagine #mean girls imagines #mean girls 2024

[crippleprophet]

i don’t understand how people can be so fucking cruel about people who can’t read much (including people who aren’t literate, though this post is from my experience with chronic illness). like, one of my main motivations behind posting excerpts of butch+femme writing on my main (@campgender ; it’s fine to go through my bookshelf tag but please only followers age 18+ on that blog!) is that it is fucking hard to read a full book!!

my reading comprehension & stamina decreased drastically when i developed ME, & while i’m overjoyed that i’ve recently regained a lot of that particular ability since getting blackout curtains, there are absolutely still texts i can’t even begin to parse that i once would’ve loved digging into — texts that it would be actively dangerous for me to attempt to struggle through because it would break pacing.

idk i’m not trying to be self-congratulatory here or whatever but like. the second i could access information through this means again, the focus of my (very fucking limited!!) energy has been giving it back to my people. my life has been unquestionably, deeply shaped by tumblr users who share excerpts of theory & memoir & poetry because they were providing labor of which i was in need & incapable.

finding, selecting, transcribing, formatting, & at times contextualizing passages takes a lot of fucking time & energy, but in order for me to encounter certain concepts, experiences, & histories, it’s work somebody else had to do, because i couldn’t read 200 pages of research or anthology in order to encounter the 10 that would change my life — but posted 2 or 3 pages at a time, i could save that in my drafts to get through on a good day, & quotes that were only a couple lines i could usually read right when i encountered them.

so, in memory of the years i spent unable to access theory through anything other than excerpts & secondhand summaries,

and in anticipation of the years to come where i will live the same,

and in acceptance that the brain is a muscle, in love of we the exercise-intolerant,

to you, dear reader — whatever form & frequency & duration that reading may take, even if it’s no further than this post — i make my motherfucking covenant: the issues i discuss around pulling quotes will be about the political act of the ellipse and the ethics of transcription, not shaming people for the methods of accessing information that are available to them. as often & as long as i am able, people can ask me to explain something or summarize in plain language and i will meet them with respect, interest, & effort. if someone’s looking for information on a particular topic, identity, experience & doesn’t have the energy to find it, i’m gonna give what i have towards filtering through the bullshit for the gems.

according to our abilities. according to our needs.

and the next time somebody tells you it’s not ableist to say everyone has to read [whatever work], tell them to go put their precious ability to better use in making it more accessible.

#mac.txt #continuing my trend of showing up on this blog once every couple months with an infuriated rant & then fucking off back to bed #me/cfs #reading #chronic illness #ableism

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOUR

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 3.8+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

4:00 ──ㅇ──────────────── 24:00

BIRDIE created a groupchat. 

BIRDIE added DINGUS, NANCE, JOHNNY, & ARGYLE 😎

DINGUS: why the fuck is my name dingus

BIRDIE: so… are we going to talk about how in love they look in that photo?

NANCE: Eddie looks like he’s going to commit a federal crime, Robin.

DINGUS: how do i change my name

ARGYLE 😎: a sign of true love my friends

BIRDIE: @NANCE SEE? he gets it. 

JOHNNY: Is this chat really necessary? 

DINGUS: guys seriously. how the fuck do i change my name?

—

HOUR FOUR - 7:00 PM

Let the record show that you don’t normally care about Lord of the Rings. You’d seen the movies out of obligation to your friends, nothing more, nothing less. You usually held complete indifference towards the trilogy. As a matter of fact, you’d nearly given Robin an aneurysm the day you’d informed them all you preferred the Hobbit trilogy over the original movies. 

Eddie, it seems, holds a similar sentiment to Robin. 

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” he sighs dramatically, sinking into the couch and looking far more comfortable than he had previously. A bottle of cheap beer dangles carelessly in his hand. He’d decided to grab both of you one the moment this argument had begun, “You casually bring up Gandalf, and then you proceed to have the worst opinions on the greatest franchise of all time. A crime against humanity.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely through genuine laughter. 

You were laughing. You were sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch, in his apartment, laughing with him rather than at him. It was a fluke in the system, a blip in the Universe. You tell yourself it’s just the effects of the beer. 

“What’s next? You tell me you prefer Star Wars over Star Trek? Or, let me guess, you’ve never read the books?” 

He looks nice like this, at ease. This hour might be setting the track record for the longest the two of you had gone without insulting one another, and you begin to wonder why you’d never been able to hold such a civil conversation with him before tonight. The two of you might not be agreeing or seeing completely eye to eye, but there was enough agreement to keep the entire debate chugging along. 

He notices your silence as you take a sip of the beer you’ve nearly polished off, smirking around the rim of it, a bit of beer lingering at the corner of your mouth. “Oh my God. You’ve never read the books.” 

“I never said that!”

“You never said you did!”

Your mouth is open, fighting back at the curl of the corners, unable to defend yourself because he was right. “I- Who even reads anymore?” 

“Excuse me?” his voice pitches as he sits up straight suddenly, “Oh, no. There’s no way you just said that. There’s no way you don’t read.” 

You shrug, and his beer is quickly set to the side. 

“C’mon, everyone reads. You’ve got to have a guilty pleasure book.” 

“Nope,” you tuck your bottle between your thighs, and catch the way his eyes had followed the bottle before snapping back to yours, “I just prefer the movies, I guess.” 

“No one prefers the movies. You’re a goddamn liar,” he shakes his head and some of the frizzy curls fall against his collar bones rather than continuing to tickle his shoulders, “You have to read something. Romance novels, boring essays, the news. Hell, even magazines or that written porn shi-” he cuts off when you smile at the mention of magazines. “Why are you smiling like that? Stop it. It’s creepy. Do you read those porno books?”

“God, no,” you laugh. A lie - you’d certainly read excerpts from Fifty Shades of Grey he was referencing to understand what the hype was to no prevail, “Just ironic you bring up magazines. You probably consider yourself a real connoisseur, don’t you?” 

He flushes crimson. His cheeks that had tinged pink from the warmth of the beer are now flaming red. “I have no idea what you mean.”

He clearly did. 

“Right,” you drawl, “So which article in that Playboy caught your eye? The one about the psychological deep dive into what makes sex so great, or the interview with that one porn star? No, wait, I got it! It was totally the one that gave fifteen ways to drive a girl crazy-”

“It’s not a fucking Seventeen magazine,” he snaps, but the malice in his voice is dull, “There’s no lists on how to get the girl, it’s a porn ‘zine, Jesus H. Christ.” 

“I know that, do you?” you press, reveling in the brush crawling its way down the side of his neck. 

He runs a hand over his face, groaning, “I’m not even going to entertain you with an answer. Fuck off.” 

“Do you just ignore all the photos of the beautiful women?” you don’t hold back your teasing, subconsciously leaning his way as your voice lilts with sarcasm, “Ignoring all those bushes? Or maybe you just prefer the Brazilian cut?” 

“I liked it better when we were talking about your illiteracy,” he deadpans, staring straight ahead at his entertainment center. 

“I never said I couldn’t read, just that I choose not to most of the time,” you finally pull back a bit, scared to push it all too far. You pull your legs up beneath you on the couch and move the beer that has gone warm to the table on the opposite end as his, “Sue me for trying to make friendly conversation.” 

You await his expected response about how this was not friendly conversation. You start to do mental gymnastics of a way to bring up the specific model he had marked the pages of, of the eerie resemblance she bears to you and a way to push his buttons regarding it. This conversation was following your script, not his.

Or at least, it was. 

“Fine. I prefer the bush, I always find the lack of hair kind of weird,” he says, throwing you off your game effectively. He stares at you with now expecting eyes, “What about you?”

You’re grateful you’d stopped nursing the beer, or you surely would have choked, “What?” 

“What’s your preference?” he clarifies, not backing down, “On yourself, on partners. Whatever.” 

“I- I don’t- I never-” you stumble over your words, at a complete loss for an answer. It only makes him smirk as he’s now the one leaning in closer, close enough to catch the smell of his cologne concentrated on him. 

You hadn’t realized you’d adjusted the boyish smell of the apartment until this very moment. 

“See? Not so fun when you’re the one getting asked the personal questions.” 

He’s right – you shouldn’t dish out what you can’t handle him throwing back into your face. 

“Fine,” you mimic him, squaring your shoulders, “Bush.”

“On yourself or others?” 

“Myself,” there was no use in being shy now, “But also on, uh, partners. Kind of unfair to expect something from someone I wouldn’t give in return.” 

He nods in surprising consideration at the notion. His face twists as if he’s taking words you’d thrown out there so carelessly to heart, as if there’s some hidden message that even you hadn’t realized was laced in the notion. For a moment, you start to believe he’s committing the words to memory before he answers you. 

“That’s fair,” is all he says. 

A moment of intense thought for that?

“What? That’s all you’ve got to say?” you scoff, and busy yourself with the beer again out of nerves. It’s warm and bitter on your tongue, but it’s better than looking him in the eyes. Warm, honey eyes you’d never really cared to notice before.

“Yeah,” he lifts his shoulders into an offhand shrug, “I mean, what else is there to say? Like you said, you can’t expect something from someone you can’t return.” 

Another silence drags out, and this time, it’s stifling. You never thought you’d live to see the day where Eddie being quiet would bother you, but it does. The lack of words in the air is leaving too much room for thought from both of you. It’s giving you too much time to think on those warm, honey eyes and those damn dimples. Trivial things about Eddie that you don’t care to remember past tonight. 

“My friend collects vintage Playboys,” you blurt out, internally cursing yourself immediately. What a stupid conversation segway. 

Should have teased him about the dog-eared pages, you regretfully think as you dare to look his way. 

His face is surprisingly smooth, eyebrows quirking up into the frayed edges of his bangs, “Oh really?”

You nod, “Yeah. Hell of a lot more bushes in the seventies.” 

A lot less of that model you like, you silently add, once more not voicing that concern out loud.

The dimples return. Those fucking dimples. “Hm, guess I should check them out, then.” 

“She collects them for aesthetic purposes,” you continue to ramble, filling the air, unsure of why you’re even defending yourself. You’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to dissect the small piece of your life you’ve offered, “It’s… It’s really cool, actually.”  

“It sounds cool,” he agrees gently. 

The other shoe is left dangling in the air, if it even continues to exist. 

You think about his earlier question, of whether you really wanted to keep up a miserable act for the entire twenty four hours. If the last hour hadn’t already solidified your answer, you knew now for a matter of fact that he had a point, even if he did proceed to insult you after the question. You didn’t want to spend this time miserable. The passing of time came easier when it was like this, all rounded-edged banter and friendly words exchanged. When Eddie Munson wasn’t being an asshole and making personal digs at you, he was actually a nice person to have around. 

You’d never tell him that, of course.

“It’s why I collect all that,” he motions his hand towards the shelving of figurines and trinkets, “I just think it’s cool, you know? I… Uh, I sort of lied earlier. Most of that shit isn’t that expensive. But it’s not about how much it’s worth money-wise, it’s just worth a lot to… to me.” 

A glimpse of crimson, a flash of vulnerability that proves that Eddie has a heart just as you do. It beats erratically, and it can bleed just the same. 

“That makes sense,” you offer in response. You may not get it, but you wouldn’t push his buttons on the topic. They may be nothing but clutter from your perspective, but the same could be said about the vintage Playboys your friend collects. The same could be said about plenty of things that are sentimental to you. “Doesn’t it get creepy, though? Like, you bring home a girl-”

“Or a guy,” he interjects, making you smile. 

“You bring home a girl, or a guy, and you’ve just got Gandalf staring you down while you make a move. Or… Or, Darth Vader?” you squint to pinpoint another figurine, “Is that Darth Vader? Didn’t you say Star Trek is better than Star Wars?” 

“Never said that,” he points at you with a tilt of his head, “I just don’t prefer Star Wars over Star Trek.”

“Have you seen Star Wars? It’s way more entertaining.” 

“Have you seen Star Trek?” he counters, but it’s clearly rhetorical as he continues on, “I like both. Having a preference for one doesn’t mean I’m completely against the other. Besides, the light saber effects are fucking incredible.” 

“So you prefer the prequels?” you ask eagerly. 

“I guess. I mean, the original trilogy is still badass and a classic,” he stands abruptly, and you’re worried you’ve said something wrong, but he just walks over to the Darth Vader figurine to pick it up and bring it back over with him as he flings down onto the couch, now several spaces closer to you rather than opposing ends, “It’s kind of hard to beat the ‘Luke, I am your father’ reveal,” his voice dips down to a deep tone, a fairly spot on impersonation, “But it was also nice seeing his origin story.” 

“Plus Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen are gorgeous,” you add, almost daring to lean over and bump shoulders with him. But you don’t. You keep what little space remains between the two of you. 

“Of course,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “The eye candy is what gets you.” 

“And the cool effects!”

“Right. Next you’re going to say you definitely watched for the plot, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“And the plot’s name just happens to be Ewan.” 

You bite down the grin that starts to ache your cheeks, because you’re not supposed to smile around Eddie this much. “Now you’re getting it.” 

The hand holding the Darth Vader figurine suddenly thrusts out in your direction, and you find yourself jumping a bit. When you don’t take it, he waves it around a bit, raising an eyebrow, “It doesn’t bite, you know.” 

“You said to not touch your shit.”

It’s a pathetic lie, you both know it. But he doesn’t know how scared you are to brush fingertips with him, how the way his arm being so close has electricity buzzing from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head. One small shift, one outreached hand, and your skin would brush his. 

It would surely be nuclear. An explosion with no survivors, least of all you. 

“Oh, c’mon. You’ve disregarded that rule the entire time, why start being a goody two shoes now?” he teases. 

Which is fine, except Eddie teases a certain way – with his entire body. His knee knocks into yours, he leans into your space, a boyish grin spreads over his lips. You’ve seen him dance around this kind of lighthearted conversation with everyone else in your friend group except you. It’s uncharted territory, and your heart nearly breaks out of your chest from its rapid racing.

You’re just lucky that there’s two layers of jeans between your knees. The nuclear explosion will have to wait for another day.

Instead of an answer, you reach out and grab the figurine nimbly by the small leg. Your fingertips narrowly evade Eddie’s and you’re eternally grateful and his arm retracts. You poke and prod, gently wiggling the red, flexible stick that serves as his lightsaber and pinch at the edges of his cape. 

In your silence, Eddie speaks, “It’s not a crazy collectible or anything, like I said. It probably would have been more valuable to keep it in its packaging, but one time Wheeler brought his little sister over while they were in town, and she wanted to see him out of the box, so I took him out. You know Wheeler, right?” 

You shake your head, inspecting the figurine even closer now. It still looks brand new; you’d never be able to tell that a child, presumably, had played with the ‘toy’. 

“Oh,” Eddie looks taken back, faltering slightly, “Sorry, I- I just sort of assumed that…. You, uh…. You had met Steve’s children.” 

“Oh!” your head shoots up from where your nose had been nearly pressed into the figure, taking in the detailing of the chest piece, “You mean Mike? I’ve heard about him, yeah. Just in passing, though.”

There’s more for Eddie to say, it’s clear in the way his mouth falls open with the corners quirked, but then you’re interrupted by a phone ringing. 

Your phone. 

Steve’s contact photo occupies the screen for the second time tonight, a ridiculous photo of him scowling at the camera in a yellow jumper while holding a can of pringles in front of him, one of his hands bringing a single chip to his pouting lips. 

“Let me answer it,” Eddie insists, holding out his hand as you stare down at the phone, still chiming annoyingly. 

“Were they supposed to call this often?” you ask, knowing well enough that Eddie didn’t have the answer. 

His hand waves in impatience, and you don’t put up a fight as you let him take the phone and swipe the answering bar, focusing instead on the Darth Vader discarded into your lap as he puts the call on speaker. 

“Hello?” Eddie answers in a chirpy tone. 

“How many times do we have to te- hold on. Munson?” Steve starts off aggressive, but his tone melts into confusion, “Why the hell are you answering her phone?” 

“Because I’ve murdered her,” he flatly replies, but his face doesn’t match his tone at all. 

He fucking winks at you. Your grip on Darth Vader tightens until you’re afraid you're about to snap it. 

“Not funny.”

“Not a joke.”

“Where is she, Eddie?” Steve sighs like an irritated parent, in no mood for games, “Please tell me you didn’t manage to make her lock herself in a room again.” 

“I told you. She’s gone. Sacrificed to the Dark Lord or whatever. Just got to go dump her body in the lake-”

You shouldn’t joke along with him, but you still whisper the correction of, “The canals.” 

“Sorry, I mean the canals.”

Another deep sigh. You can picture the way Steve was currently pinching the bridge of his nose at the two of you. 

“I heard her, you idiot. Now that we know you’re both clearly alive and well…. Where the hell is our photo proof?” 

You both share a look, and you quickly mouth, already?  

Eddie shrugs and mouths back, I guess. 

“We lost track of time,” you finally say out loud, still locked in eye contact with Eddie. His brown eyes are surprisingly captivating, several autumn shades all woven together. Burnt orange leaves, red apples, brown sweaters. You never thought you’d be able to see a season in someone’s irises, yet here you were, picturing it clear as day. “Let us hang up and we’ll send the photo.” 

Steve starts to speak, but Eddie’s thumb is quick to end the call. The moment your lock screen stares back at both of you, you look at the time. 

7:41. Shit. 

“Oops,” Eddie whispers as he hands the phone back over, “They really gave us quite the grace period that time.” 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, quickly opening your damn camera app. “So, how do we want to do this one?” 

Eddie thinks for a moment before he launches himself back to his side of the couch, and motions for you to toss him your phone. 

And once again, you put your faith in him, not even hesitating this time. 

It happens naturally; you both mirror each other, drawing up your knees, your sock-clad toes bumping firmly against one another. Your back is supported by the worn arm behind you, similar to how Eddie’s is, as you face him. 

He quickly angles the camera towards you, sticking a hand out into the frame while raising his middle finger. You don’t know what to do, so one hand holds up the Darth Vader as the other mimics flipping him off. 

A soft click from your phone. The photo’s taken, and you’re not even sure if you were smiling. 

“Trade,” he leans forward, one hand holding out your phone, the other reaching out for Darth Vader. 

You oblige, and go through the same process for his photo. His white socks contrast your black ones, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards no matter how hard of a line he presses them into. You can’t look at him directly, and settle for watching him through the screen as you hit the small grey button to snap the photo. 

Just as quickly as he had shoved away from you, he’s back at your side, watching you send off the photos to the group chat with a thumbs up emoji. You take a deep breath, scanning over the pair of photos until it’s confirmed that they’re delivered, and lock your phone. Your brows are furrowed in your reflection staring back at you through the black screen. 

“Do you really want to keep up the miserable act the entire twenty four hours?” Eddie’s voice echoes in your mind. 

No, you don’t. No matter how wrong this levity with Eddie feels, no matter how uncomfortable it is each time you remember that he’s meant to be the enemy and not someone to share laughter and smiles with, you don’t want to waste these remaining twenty hours being miserable. 

“What’s up?” Eddie’s actual voice echoes in real time as you continue to stare at your reflection.

“Just thinking,” you grunt. The thought of admitting your decision to Eddie is much more intimidating than simply acknowledging it to yourself. 

“Dangerous.” 

Instead of quipping something rude back, you decide to be vulnerable with Eddie. You decide to crack yourself open just a small bit, just as he had done microscopically when he spoke of his collection of items. It’s a dangerous gamble, and you don’t give yourself the chance to overthink it. 

“You were right, earlier,” you force the words out, fighting the way they try to cling onto your tongue and remain safely in your throat. 

“About… what?” He looks distrusting, and for good reason. He said plenty of things earlier - you could be preparing to remind him of any number of rude things he’d spewed. 

“About keeping up the miserable act,” you explain, turning your head to him and abandoning the phone, “You were right. I don’t want to be miserable this entire time. It… It goes by faster when we’re not about to strangle each other, believe it or not.” 

You swear you see his shoulders sag in relief. “Well, yeah, I could have told you that. I did tell you that, actually.” 

“Shut up,” you force a scowl, “My point is… I don’t know, maybe, we could try to- try to just- we could be-”

“Civil?” he finishes the sentence you stumble over. 

You nod, “Yeah. We could be civil.”

The word feels foreign on your tongue. Civility was not something you’d ever considered with Eddie, but the last hour had proven it to be possible. 

“Okay,” he nods along with you. He turns his entire body to face you, knees once again bumping as he sticks out a hand for you to shake, “Deal. We will try to be civil the rest of the time.” 

“Civil,” you repeat yourself again, more sure this time, still staring at his offered hand.

An olive branch. The opportunity to work together to survive the next twenty hours. The opportunity for his bare skin against yours. 

You think again of nuclear explosions and pulsing electricity, of open chests and matching scarlets, of smashing glasses against walls and ruined parties, of wounds healing over in scar tissues as they glow a gentle pink.

Civil. You wonder if that’s one of the words they’ll include on your gravestone as you reach out your hand and let Eddie’s palm meet yours. 

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #let's see if i can get it to post in one try this time

[girlreblogger]

the annoyance with blk y/n and the stories she’s in is hilarious. her characteristics might be the problem one day or her side characters the next. it legit feels like we may never get to a balanced solution on what to do with our own representation since the wrong ppl always talk about it and create it. we have mean and shallow ppl who take over the conversation, ppl who really self hate but try and cover it up with “i just don’t want her to be a stereotype” and then the ones who probably love and support tyler perry movies.

the bottom line is the ppl who do write those niggafying, toxic (it’s a buzzword but that’s what they are) or smutty fics (not talking abt the actual good ones with a blk reader though 🧎🏽‍♀️) can do wtv they want and owe you nothing. that’s why they get so frustrated. i don’t think all the times those should be crucified for what they write when other groups of ppl (or our own) write all kinds of other crazy shit.

and.. i know a lot of ppl who don’t want to say it but y’all keep bringing up the smut and niggafying as the main problem, but i think it’s some of the ppl writing it and their underlings. it’s just no one wants to say anything.

an excerpt from a draft of mine

“a lot of ppl on here be weirdos or mean asl. so when someone block you don’t be like “oh what i did” “they that mad cause of my (internet—fictional—digital on screen) presence”

like nobody got time to go to your acc and say “i don’t like you” who cares. oddly some miserable ppl do actually but still. the lack of awareness is ridiculous. that’s why ppl don’t f with y’all.”

i was talking abt all of tumblr and every other app but it applies here.

from what i see on here, some are just straight up weird, cliquey, and chiesty (if that’s how you spell it) and that’s why ppl be so mad abt those types of books 💀. we also have to acknowledge the amount of overwhelming & honestly damaging blk yn fics (not to be confused with ppls screwed ideas of stereotypical) there are. i understand why ppl write them for personal reasons but when it comes to our own reflections of ourselves as blk women it’s almost hurtful to read some of the things people put “her” through. i mean even her with a white man that use aave and has cornrows is hurtful.. 😔 (i’m trolling now 💀) naw but fr. i personally don’t like reading blk women just being written for smut or going through crazy situations or kinda like.. i don’t wanna say unfulfilling but like.. idk i can’t think of the word. (edit: ppl write blk yn to be in unfulfilling situations) but girl i can watch a tyler perry movie for all that.

again. ppl write these stories for there own personal reasons, relate to them and enjoy them for those reasons as well. that’s why depending! on what it is i don’t think blk writers should be bombarded with hate like that. also ion think smut should be banned like y’all go to far can we just slow down on it … there are some nice ones out there i promise 🧎🏽‍♀️

but in all seriousness there are many other reasons why i feel toxic and smutty fics are popular for blk yn but i don’t think anyone cares to hear that and the conversion will prolly go back to nigga eren somehow which is crazy cause y’all be arguing over a fictional white man.

oh! 😒 i almost forgot 😒 the ppl who are against “ghetto” y/n to try and advocate for more fluffy or like.. normal (healing) stories and from what i see the ppl who are the most up in arms about it in my personal opinion seem to dislike certain parts of blkness that i appreciate personally and so i just straight up disregard their opinions. y/n doesn’t have to “act” (😒) blk but i see ppl get mad about her protecting her hair….. with a bonnet….

sigh, anyway but yeah we need more soft and sweet fics or just like calming ones? but someone gon have to write it! i don’t like this app or my writing all too much so i gave up a while ago.

just like many other blk writers….

gaspp! we should also do like a fluff challenge or sumn where writers do like fluff … march? girl idk so maybe that will trend and all the ppl who spend time arguing and going back and forth with ppl who write stories they don’t like can like idk look for other writers who write soft, normal, fun stories and reblog them or make a list of them. or maybe like possibly write their own stories too????

everyone says the smut fics gets the most likes and they do. that’s why you keep seeing them. so maybe support or refreakingblog the fics that are comforting to you so others can be as well.

i actually made this page to repost softer fics because i was tired of blocking certain tags so i can avoid heavy smut and subtly abuse fics. also pls leave the ppl who niggafy anime characters alone they will not be stopped. i mean we still have ppl who have been calling chris evans jamal since 2020.. calling him that to this date. married and all.

sigh… 2 more days until blk history month ends. maybe next year we can find a balance between “dramatic” and smutty fics and soft and slice of life ones for blk y/n next year. remember this is tumblr too and the ppl writing aren’t even getting paid for this but it’s for the ppl yk.

ppl who are respectful and reblog tho.

muah

#anime x black!reader #aot x black reader #x black fem reader #black reader #x black reader fluff #x black reader #black fanfiction #x black plus size reader #x fem black reader #gojo x black reader #jjk x black reader #eren x black fem!reader #x black oc #connie x black reader #x black y/n #eren x black reader fluff #eren x black reader #i’m so dramatic #rant #rant post #complaining #ramblings #im just a girl #i’m also just being very sarcastic and condescending because i’m so tired of the blk yn bull crap. lemme just read. #i said what i said

[tvgirllvr]

remus lupin x reader (smut)

summary: remus finds your diary in the gryffindor common room and takes matters into his own hands to make sure your desires come true.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wear a condom), nicknames, semi-public sex, oral (fem receiving), praise, dom remus, probably more I forgot

___________________________________________________________________________________

It’s almost midnight, and since you seem to always be making dumb decisions, you’re up in the Gryffindor common room studying for a Herbology exam the next day. Bored out of your mind you decide to call it a night from studying. However, that didn’t mean you were done cracking some books open that night. You reached into your bag and pulled out your most prized (and private) possession. Your diary.

If anyone found your diary it would be the end of you. The embarrassment it would cause you, the journal containing some of your most secretive thoughts and stories. There was one specific individual you don’t want finding it, the one and only, Remus Lupin.

You had been crushing on Remus since the first time you saw him on the Hogwarts Express. Within then and now you had tried everything to get him out of your head. Fucking other guys, refusing to look at him in class, distancing yourself from Potter and Black. No matter what you tried, he was still painted in your dumb brain. That was until you found the true glory of journaling.

You learned that if you wrote down what exactly you wanted to happen between you and Lupin your desires minimized. Your diary was your outlet for the sexual desires caused by the tall, reserved, brunette boy.

You pick up your quill and began writing tonight’s excerpt of what you’ll be dreaming about later…

February 6th, 1978

I can’t stand it. All I want is for him to want me, to need me, the same way I need him. He has no clue what I do at night. Quietly in my bed touching myself to the thought of him doing it instead. I only think about what his cock looks like all the time. Sometimes I can’t stop myself from staring, I know it’s wrong. The second I realize what I’m doing I turn away. After, however, I vision him slowly fucking me from behind. I wonder what he’s like. Is he soft? Hard? Demanding? It doesn’t matter, I want it all. I want all of him. Universe if you're reading this, please, for the love of god, gift me with that boy.

Closing your diary, you gather what you think is all of your belongings and head up to your dorm. You change into your pajamas, brush your teeth, and slip into bed. You thought it would be easy falling asleep considering how tired you were, however, it didn’t take long to realize that you were experiencing horrible insomnia. Tossing and turning, there was nothing you could do to turn your brain off. You decided to make the grand decision of going back down to the common room and writing some more, hoping that it will be the fix you need. You get out of bed, slip your slippers on, and dig through your bag to find your diary.

Shit. Where was it?

At this point, all of your things inside the bag had been dumped on your bed. Throwing books, hair ties, lip gloss, and deodorant to the side, you realize you must have left it downstairs. Luckily, since it was very late at night, the chances of someone finding it were small. Still, you were eager to get your hands on it before someone else did. You rushed out of your dorm and down the stairs, only to find the worst case scenario happening before your eyes.

Remus was standing by the seating area with your diary wide open. His hands were large enough to fall off the cover of the journal. He was moving his pointer finger under every line as he examined word for word what you had written down. His eyebrows were scrunched. What was he thinking? God, he would never talk to you after this. After standing there for about ten seconds as you watched the boy completely invade your privacy, you realized you had to come up with some plan. Thinking, thinking, thinking, and nothing was coming to your head. Come on, think more. Thinking…thinking…thinking…

“This is yours?”

After looking up from your feet, Remus was staring directly at you. Not only that, he was talking to you. The journal was now closed as he was holding it up with his right hand. Fuck. Quick, you need to say something.

“Huh?” God. You sounded stupid.

“Is this your journal?” he asked again. His eyes were smaller, like he was examining you. His body language was very hard to read. He stood tall but still managed to keep his feelings reserved.

“Nope.” Nice save.

“It isn’t?” he asked shockingly.

“Nope.”

“Then why is your name in it?” Fuck. He got you there. Are you that crazy for lying though? I mean, the guy who you’ve been wanting to screw for years on end just read about the dreams you have where he fucks you right, left, and upside down.

“Ok. It’s mine,” you replied. Every little bit of dignity you had left was washed away with the words you spoke. You noticed as Remus placed the journal down on the closest table and walked in your direction. He now was only a few inches away from you.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what part was my favorite?” He asked you. He seriously did not just say that.

“...What?”

“I guess I’ll just tell you anyway. I very much enjoyed the passage dated a few weeks back where you wrote about how badly you wanted to... hmmm… let me find the page... “ride me until your legs are jelly and you had cum several times.” That part was my favorite,” he said, very confidently. You were stunned.

“What are you getting at?” you questioned. It seemed like he was just trying to humiliate you.

He put the journal back down on the closest table and took a step towards you.

“Do you want it or not, princess?” he whispered in your ear. Gosh, did you want it.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Please,” you begged, “I want it.”

Within moments he had pushed his lips against yours and placed his hands on your waist. He was so much taller than you, so in order to kiss you more efficiently, he grabbed your ass and picked you up so you were then straddling him. This made you let out a small moan into his mouth, making his very hard dick twitch in his pants.

“I wish I would have known,” he said within kisses on your neck, “I would have let you do whatever you want to me years ago. Give my doll whatever she wants.”

You decided to reference back to the part which he said was his favorite and direct him to the closest sofa. As you started to fiddle with the elastic of his sweatpants, he groaned under his breath.

“Slow down, slow down. Plenty of time love.”

He slowly laid you down so now he was on top of you. He grabbed the waistband of your pajamas and pulled them down, his head going down with them, stopping at your core. He stared directly at the wet spot created between the tension of you two.

“So fucking horny. I’ll make you feel good, you just gotta wait. Work for it a little bit,” Remus told you as he became eye level with you again and circled your clit through your underwear. He slowly removed them and pulled them off your ankles. He kneeled on the floor and pulled your legs so now his face was met right at your cunt.

“Remus,” you moaned loudly. It was hard to believe that this wasn’t one of those wet dreams you had on the regular.

“Shhhhh. Have to be quiet baby,” he reassured you, “I’m gonna make you feel good. So good, so….” He cut himself off as he attached his mouth to your clit and began abusing it with his tongue. Inserting one finger inside you, he let out a low groan, sending vibrations all throughout your body.

“How am I going to fit in there?” he questioned. With the way he said it, it didn’t even seem like he was trying to tease you. It sounded like he was genuinely concerned about the size of his cock compared to your cunt.

“So fucking good,” was all you said in return.

He continued to eat you out quickly but also managed to keep a nice pace, a pace that was only adding to the build-up of your orgasm. As he placed a second finger inside of you, you managed to only produce a small gasp for the time being. That didn’t last long as he added a third, and began thrusting in and out of you faster.

“Holy shit I’m gonna cum… fuck!” you whispered harshly. Your orgasm lingered through your body for a while, even after you finished. Remus’ tongue didn’t leave you until you had to physically grab his face and pull him into a kiss.

You two made out for a minute, him still on the ground. You grabbed his buff shoulders and motioned them so he was now laying on his back. The outline of his cock was now visible through his pants and to provide some comfort you began teasing him.

“Take them off,” he demanded. You now realized that he was fully clothed and you still had your shirt on. You used this time to get completely naked and remove Remus’ pants. However, as you went to remove his sweatshirt off, he stopped you.

“Just leave it on, doll,” he whispered. You obliged, not knowing why someone as beautiful as him wouldn’t want to show that part of himself to you. You continued to make out with him for some time while also jerking him off. God, was he huge. You had never been with something that big before, his worries about you not fitting him were now shared. The faces he made while you pleasured him were so pretty. The way his eyebrows scrunched when you slowly touched his tip made you wetter than before, not knowing if that was even possible.

“Baby, you gotta do something or this is going to be over before it starts,” he said with his head thrown back. As much as you wanted to see him cum, you also wanted to have him inside you.

He opened his mouth to ask you a question, but he was struggling a bit, “Mmph - do we need a - “

“No,” you said, “not unless you want to use one.”

“Okay, okay, oka-.”

You slowly lowered yourself onto his cock, only being able to take an inch or two at a time. You let out small gasps and you began bouncing up and down on him, taking a little more each time. Remus was biting his lip in an attempt to keep quiet but eventually gave up and let out a low groan.

“Dirty girl,” he whispered in your ear, “this is all you think about.” He placed both of his hands on your hips to guide you. It was obvious that you were struggling to hold yourself up and he was kind enough to help you.

“I can’t,” you whined out to him. By that, you meant you couldn’t move that fast with the size of him.

“Need me to stop? I’ll stop baby,” he said while slowing down.

“No! No, no, no, no,” you yelled at him, “just need help.”

He let out a low laugh and gripped your hips tighter. It took him no time to begin thrusting into you at a brutal pace, looking in your eyes for confirmation that it was okay. Even though you were on top of him, his natural dominance filled the empty room signaling that no matter what you did, he was still in charge. Tears of pleasure began streaming down your face as he brought his right thumb to your clit, fiddling with it like a button.

“Poor baby, thought you could take it. You’re so cute, using your tight cunt to make me feel good,” he rambled on. Based on his rambling you could tell he was getting close, but so were you too. “You gonna cum?”

You let out a high whimper in response but he didn’t consider that enough.

“Answer me. You gonna cum on my cock?” he asked demandingly.

“Yes!”

“Yes what?” God, he really did get off on making you look so fucking stupid.

“I’m going to cum on yo-your cock!”

That seemed satisfactory to him as he picked up the pace on your clit, pursuing your release. You felt him slow down the pace as you came, not wanting to hurt you since you had to be sensitive. He grabbed your head and brought your ear to his mouth.

“Where do you want it?” he whispered.

“What?”

“Bunny don’t play dumb, where do you want it?”

Oh.

“Inside me,” you replied.

“You sure?” he moaned out, trying to cover it. The thought of you letting him fill you up was the end of it all, it would only be seconds before he came.

“Yes! Inside me, please.”

He began slowly going faster again, however, you both knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer. Sloppy kisses were now being applied to your neck, hickies that wouldn't be easy to cover up appeared. You felt his dick twitch inside you as he let out a low, quiet moan in your ear. You decided to take all the energy you had left and ride him until his orgasm came.

“That's my girl, fuck -,” he quietly said as you felt his cum spill inside of you. You two sat there for a few seconds until he pulled you into a kiss.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Gosh, thank you.”

#enemies to lovers #james potter #james potter smut #marauders #marauders smut #remus lupin #remus lupin smut #sirius black #sirius black smut #smut

[moonydustx]

So I have this thing...

I need more Law x Reader fics pleeeaassee (；ＴДＴ)

Anyway...

May I ask a reader (up to you what gender) reacting to law proposing to her? Which I doubt canon law would even do but I guess since it's fanfiction, who cares if it's Canon, right???

OMG, this is incredible, hold my hand and I'm with you on this, thank you so much for the request. In my HCs on the Law (I will still post them) I think if it was important for him to do it without even blinking. Surely it would be something more discreet, a small ceremony between just two? I don't know, I might be rambling too much.

Apologies because I didn't have much time to review and maybe I got carried away writing it. I hope you enjoy!

Important: italics are for flashbacks and character readings aloud.

The proposal - favorite moment (part 01) Part 02 - Part 03 (soon)

Law counted the minutes until night arrived, it was one of his favorite moments. That was when you would sneak around the submarine and end up knocking on the door on it. In most of these situations, you didn't get out anytime soon. He's not much of a follower on the calendar, celebrating each month together - and come to think of it, everything happened so naturally that it was decided on which day it started to be difficult for you to be a boyfriend.

Like so many other nights, you found yourself doing what was one of the only things Law could name as a hobby. You were nestled between his legs, your body resting on his chest as you attentively read another book. He found himself leaning against the wall, one of his hands resting on his body while with the other he tried to leaf through one of the new editions of Sora comics that he had picked up on the last island he visited.

He had already lost count of how many times the two of you had wasted hours tangled up in his bed reading and something else he was used to hearing you sniffle at something, like you were doing this time. His eyes looked away from the painting and went straight to where you were reading, just out of curiosity. The other times you were sniffling, he had found you reading about some character who died, some reunion, some couple who got together. This time, from what he could see, it was a marriage proposal.

He already knew it was an important topic for you. He also knew that if he had to choose to spend his entire life with someone, it would be you. Law had thought about the hypothesis a few times and when reading the small excerpt from the book, he let himself think about the idea.

"Wow." your feet were planted in front of an immense showcase. Dresses were stacked side by side in various sizes and textures, some with huge trains and others full of silk.

"Don't tell me you're one of those marriage freaks." Ikkaku planted himself next to you, next to Bepo.

"They are beautiful." the bear confirmed, touching the glass.

"Not freak…" you tried to find the words, you really didn't want to sound like a crazy person. "I mean, marriages are two people coming out in love to the world, to the government, to whatever god they may believe in or to no god at all, as if nothing could intervene or separate them."

"Okay, insane then." Shachi appeared behind you, mumbling.

"Actually, that's a nice way of thinking." Ikkaku replied to him, watching you just shrug. "And I won't deny it, they are beautiful dresses."

"Time to go." The captain's voice echoed closer than you imagined, as if he had been there the whole time listening.

Seeing the crew members move forward, agreeing to the captain's request, Law took a few seconds to evaluate the display that had distracted everyone. He could just be daydreaming, but one day you would look incredible wearing a dress like that along with the new name you would carry. Ms. Trafalgar.

From that day on, the idea of ​​proposing to you never left his mind, Law just needed to find the perfect opportunity and it appeared before his eyes.

"Okay…" your choked voice took him out of his reverie. "That's enough tears for today and I'm getting sleepy." you closed the book, turning towards him and snuggling even closer against Law's body.

"Do you mind if I keep reading some more?" he asked and you just mumbled no. His hand got tangled in your strands of hair and it didn't take long for unconsciousness to take you away.

Law gave himself a week to put the plan into practice. The small room at Polar Tang was tidier than usual however you could notice Law more tense than usual behind his back.

"Everything is fine?" you asked, quickly turning to face him. Law seemed distracted from the book in his hands.

"Everything amazing." his lips quickly touched the top of your head. It was now. All the other battles he had faced had not even come close to the anxiety he felt at that moment. "That book you were reading last week?"

"Ah, it's this one. I'm almost done. It's a period romance, princess, knight and all the little things that involves." you laughed, knowing that from your description he would hate the book. "There's no point trying to convince me to read Sora, this one is much cooler."

"So cool you were crying the last time you read it." he said in a teasing tone.

In a casually planned way, even if it went unnoticed in your eyes, he placed the comic he was reading on the bed.

"It's because he was so sweet to her, made an amazing statement."

"Really? Let me see." He moved even closer to your back, looking for space on your shoulder to follow the written words and find the perfect cue.

"Here. Can I read it?"

"Please." he asked, feeling his hands sweat cold.

"Of all the countries I've visited, I don't think I've ever found a home except in you. You've been my home, my safe haven." You started reading, already feeling yourself melting with those words. At the same time, Law took out a small box hidden behind one of the pillows. "So let me be the sword that protects you, the heart that loves you infinitely. I thought happiness would only find me in the next life until I found myself lost in you. What do you mean by that, my love? So, the The knight fell to his knees, the wounds of the battle he faced seemed not to bother him, not when Annya's eyes rested on him. Annya then heard the four words that carried a lifetime of promises…"

"Would you marry me?" Law's voice echoed alongside yours.

Before you could ask what he thought, a small black box appeared in your field of vision. Inside it, a golden ring with a small heart symbol glittered. The book fell from your hands, finding your lap, as you turned to your boyfriend.

"Law?" at that moment, your voice was not the most reliable. As shaky as she was, your vision was blurred by what you suspected were tears. Your hands covered your lips, still not believing what you were seeing.

"Maybe my sword heals you more than defends you, but that doesn't mean I'll let anyone hurt you in this world. You're my home, my safe haven and I can't wait for you to be my wife. I'd even kneel, but It's a little complicated." he smiled, seeing you still paralyzed on top of him. "So, would you marry me?"

"Yes." the first time came out as a whisper. "Yes Yes Yes!" with each new time the word left your lips, you allowed euphoria to take over your body.

Law took your hand, placing a small kiss before putting on the ring and repeating the gesture, as soon as the jewel was in the place where it belonged. His hands pulled you so your legs were around his waist.

"That's…" you even tried to speak, but it was impossible to put everything you felt at the moment into so few words. You saw him pull out a ring that was the same color as yours, without all the details. "Let me do it."

Before he could put it on his own finger, you took it from his hand and repeated the same thing he had done to you. He placed a small kiss between the tattooed fingers and let the jewelry take its rightful place.

"I don't believe." You looked at your hand and then at him. "Law, that was so amazing."

"You're incredible. I can't wait to see you become Mrs. Trafalgar. My beautiful, smart, a little crybaby…" he wiped away your tears, bringing a laugh from your lips. "My dear wife."

"I love you so much." you cupped his face, taking his lips to yours.

Even though it was full of emotions and promises, it was a calm kiss. Law, like you, wanted to record every second of that moment, every inch of skin kissed, every touch.

In the end, Law was also a marriage nut - just with his dear Lady Trafalgar.

----

Little extra:

Law was never a big fan of public displays of affection, but that morning he had made an exception. Seeing you happy, showing off your new ring and the promise of marriage, ideas of what to do on the date, honeymoon suggestions. He couldn’t deny it, it was amazing to see how happy you were with the whole situation.

His happiness was short-lived when he saw three sullen faces - one of them looking like a bear - sitting in front of him.

"So Law, my friend." Penguin began.

"Shut up, it's me."

"But I'm his best friend." Bepo grumbled.

"What do you want?" he asked, trying to understand what the three were discussing so much

"Which of the three of us will be the best man?" Shachi warned and Law watched the three in front of him cross their arms and wait for a response.

Before he could respond, Law felt two arms slide and lock around him.

"We haven't decided that yet guys. We can talk about it later." you asked and watched them begin to argue among themselves who would be what.

"Thanks." Law muttered, making you laugh. You bent down to his ear level.

"And you, I'll be waiting for you in the room. I got someone to cover my duties today, now I want to continue feeling what my dear fiancé can do for me." In contrast to the whispered and sexy voice that left your lips, you left a chaste kiss on Law's cheek and left towards the dorms.

#fiction #reader insert #one piece #no use of y/n #requests open #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader

[strangeandoff-putting]

why I'm happysad that they let Numa be the narrator in Society of the Snow.

So if you, like me, have been more than a little obsessed with the story of Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 for a very, very long time, your stomach probably dropped like mine did when the narrator introduced himself as Numa Turcatti. (My immediate thought was, "why would you do this to us?!") If you went in blind, I feel for you!

But while the film gave us a version of Numa, since it's from his perspective what it doesn't really give us is the group's perspective on him. He comes across a bit like an outsider, and although, yes, his only surviving friend was Pancho Delgado, he wasn’t an outsider for long at all. On the contrary. So, here are a few excerpts from the books that tell you more about what he was like and how much they all loved him, because I feel like that’s important.

From Alive, Piers Paul Read:

Next to Parrado, Numa Turcatti was the most generally beloved of the boys. [...] Since he had known few of the boys before leaving Montevideo, it was proof of his strength, simplicity and complete lack of malice that he became so loved and respected by them.

On celebrating Numa's birthday while trapped under the avalanche:

The boys gave him an extra cigarette and made a birthday cake out of snow. [...] Many would have liked to give him a better time on his birthday, but instead it was he who improved their spirits. "We have survived the worst," he said. "From now on, things can only get better."

From Society of the Snow, Pablo Vierci:

‘When I talk about Numa, I can’t help but cry,’ says Coche Inciarte. ‘He’s the best person I’ve ever met in my life. However tenderly I cared for those who were losing heart, Numa did it much better because he never got tired. He was constantly aware of everyone else’s distress. He radiated peace, he never gave up, and when he came near me, I felt like Jesus Christ himself was among us, with such mercy and compassion in his eyes. I don’t know where he got his strength.’ ‘I could never imagine him living in everyday life, because I met him and I loved him in that torment of the Andes,’ says Coche. ‘He had a hard time eating, like I did. We ate the bare minimum in order to survive. I lost one hundred pounds, he lost more. And just like me, his leg became infected after the avalanche. We operated on our legs together with a razor blade. But he deteriorated more quickly than I did, because he had given so much more; he had been too generous.’

Moncho Sabella:

Numa taught us about the anonymous heroism of giving more of himself to others than he reserved for himself. In that balance between solidarity and selfishness, which decided whether you lived or died, he tilted the balance in favour of the others to the detriment of himself. [...] And when the avalanche came and covered the plane, the one who worked the hardest, the one who removed the most snow so that we could come back to life, was Numa. Again, he was exceeding his own limits. [...] In the end, his immune system was so devastated that he got one infection after another. We gave him antibiotics and the doctors on the mountain attended to him every day, but finally he left us. And with him, we all died a little more.

Gustavo Zerbino:

I always remember Numa up there, full of despair, when he told us that he would rather die watching the sky, walking, instead of ending life immobilised in a cave of broken metal. For that reason, after the avalanche, he kept digging and removing snow without rest until he burned himself out with exhaustion. He always thought that his time had come but he wanted to work until the final moment, doing whatever he could to help. I cared for him all those days; I saw how he was hurried to the brink of death, with no defences, getting one infection after another. I went up to him and first I gave him a kiss on the cheek to greet him and asked him how he was doing. He just stared at me with a kind of infinite peace. He never complained. But Numa was quickly deteriorating: from that physical strength and vigour he had had at the beginning, he finished as a skeletal dying boy. He held on to his characteristic qualities until the end though. He was that same stoic guy when he was strong and when he was wasting away.

‘Gustavo Zerbino didn’t tell us the whole truth [about the expedition] because he didn’t want us to be discouraged. When I asked Numa about it, he couldn’t lie and he told me: “As far as we went, all you could see were more mountains.” But even so, he always wanted to be an expeditionary. “I want to go,” he told me, even though I knew at once he could never go, he was too exhausted and too hurt.’ So Numa approached Daniel Fernández, knowing that he had influence over the others, and he tried to convince him: ‘I can do it, Daniel, please believe me. I can do it.’ Daniel recalls, ‘When I told him that his injury made it impossible, he started working even harder than ever, like a bull, shovelling snow to unbury the plane after the avalanche to show that yes, he could do it.’

Finally, from Alive, after Numa died:

On this particular afternoon, Javier Methol lay at the back of the plane. "Be careful," he said to Coche as he rose and stepped over Numa's body. "Be careful not to step on Numa." "But Numa's dead," said Parrado. Javier had not realised what had happened, and now that he understood his spirits dropped completely. He wept as he had wept at the death of Liliana, for he had grown to love the shy and simple Numa Turcatti as though he were his brother or son.

I'm not sure the Numa we see in the film is quite the same person that he actually was on that mountain, but I'm so, so glad that he got a voice. He fought so hard for them all.

So, yeah. In the immortal words of Jake Peralta,

#numa turcatti #society of the snow #alive #andes plane crash #Uruguayan air force flight 571

[dearly-somber]

Twister | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, eventual romance, fluff, humor, f2l (friends-to-lovers), pining, found family, high school!au, eventual smut

-> w/c. 1180

-> rating. 13+

-> a/n. Devil All The Time is an actual book I read, and, to this day, it’s still one of my all-time favorites. The excerpt at the beginning is also real!

-> warnings. None!!

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Aug. 16th, 2022 @ 15:00

-> fin. Sat., Sept. 16th, 2023 @ 16:59

-> edited. Mon., Oct. 30th, 2023 @ 23:03

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

Unless he had whiskey running through his veins, Willard came to the clearing every morning and evening to talk to God. Arvin didn't know which was worse, the drinking or the praying. As far back as he could remember, it seemed that his father had fought the Devil all the time—

Someone knocks on Jungkook’s door. You look up from your book (The Devil All The Time by Donald Ray Pollock) and smile smugly at Yoongi as he stands in the doorway, a grumpy pout on his face. “Can I help you?” you ask saccharinely.

He grumbles something you don’t catch before saying, “We’re playing Twisters downstairs.”

You gasp dramatically. “Am I dreaming or are you actually being nice to me for once?”

He growls low in his throat. “Don’t push your luck, human.”

You set your book face-down and skip past him, bounding downstairs with a smug grin. “I’m not leaving anytime soon, Boongles, so you better get used to it!”

“What did you just—“

“Y/N!” Jungkook’s face breaks out into a blinding smile as you enter the living room a few paces in front of Yoongi, his metaphorical tail wagging excitedly.

“Hey, Kook. I heard you’re thinking about me,” you tease, gently patting his back when he rolls his eyes and pulls you in for a hug. As you pull away, you ask, “So! How are we doing this?”

“I was thinking teams, since it’s only four of us playing,” Hoseok says, looking up from where he’s slung an arm around a still-grumpy Yoongi’s shoulders. “We can have two players move during one spin, and the other two the next, that way we can take turns so it’s not too chaotic.”

“The others aren’t playing?” you ask, kind of disappointed. Oh, the amount of chaos there would’ve been if more of them had joined you.

Jungkook shakes his head no. “They’re not feeling it. We convinced Jisoo noona to spin for us, though.”

Jisoo walks in from the kitchen with a glass of red wine in hand. She smiles amicably at you as she takes a seat. “Hey, Y/N. How’s the book so far?”

“Good, thanks.” You turn back to the others. “I assume JK and I are gonna be in a team, then?”

Hoseok grins mischievously as he shares a strange look with Jungkook, saying, “Told you. It’s me and you, hyung.” Hoseok smiles down at Yoongi, who sighs his acceptance.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbles.

You turn to look at Jungkook, who quickly tries to hide a dopey smile. “Why? What did Hobi oppa tell you?”

“Shh.” He turns you back to the mat with his hands on your shoulders. “Focus on winning.”

“Alright!” Jisoo sets her glass down and picks up the wheel. “First spin!” She flicks the plastic arrow, waiting a few seconds for the outcome before calling out, “Right foot, yellow!”

“You go,” you tell Jungkook. He nods, dropping his hands from your shoulders and taking a confident step forward as Yoongi does the same.

“Next… Right leg, blue!”

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

In hindsight, Jungkook should’ve seen this coming. He should’ve known Hoseok was trying to set him up from the second he asked if “angel” would be joining them for Twister, even though Jungkook had been more than content to let her stay in his room a little longer. (His complacency with her absence had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that her scent was getting on his sheets.)

Now, with Y/N bending in front of him in a makeshift downward-dog and only one viable option for his next callout (right foot, blue), Jungkook wants to smack his head against a wall. He’d have to move his leg halfway across the mat, so he wouldn’t have any balance.

Unless, of course, he held onto Y/N’s hips.

Twister was a cursed game and he’d never play again.

“Jungkook, you gotta make your move in the next five seconds or else you’re out,” Jisoo warns.

He panics and shifts his foot farther out than he meant to, holding onto Y/N’s hips as his balance gives out and thanking whatever god is out there that Y/N can’t see the disgustingly bright pink hue dusting his cheeks with her ass so close to his crotch.

“You’re gonna make me fall!” Y/N complains, teetering forward. He tightens his grip on her hips and pulls her back ever so slightly. Hopefully he won’t get a boner. Gods, that would be embarrassing.

“Just—focus on your next move!” he half-yells, mouthing a curse at Hoseok, who was knocked out almost five minutes ago and is now standing smugly off to the side trying to contain his laughter. Asshole.

“Stupid game,” Y/N grumbles under her breath, her arms shaking.

“Left hand, red,” Jisoo announces.

Y/N grunts as she moves her hand closer to her body, unintentionally pressing into Jungkook. He bites down on his tongue and focuses on his breathing as blood rushes to his cheeks.

Yoongi huffs as he crouches and sets his hand on the red circle closest to him, grinning up at them with a dark look. “It’s over for you,” he taunts.

“Alright, Kook. Left hand, green,” Jisoo says.

Jungkook crouches down and sets his hand behind him, making eye contact with Y/N for the first time in almost ten minutes straight. “Next time—“

Y/N gets cut off with a yelp as, on their next turn, Yoongi bumps into her and sends her falling back into Jungkook’s lap. He groans, his hands shaking with the effort to keep himself up.

“Asshole! You pushed me!” Y/N yells, her ears turning red with rage as she pushes herself off Jungkook, about to angrily rush Yoongi when Hoseok picks her up around the waist and holds her off to the side with an arm around her shoulders.

“Now-now, kids, no fighting,” he teases.

“Beat his ass, Kook!” Y/N says in response, glaring at Yoongi.

Yoongi rolls his eyes as the game continues. The longer Jungkook has to play, the more tired he becomes—holding weird positions for long periods of time is surprisingly taxing. Just when he thinks he’s going to give out, Yoongi’s sweaty hands slide to the side and he ends up falling over, ass in the air.

Y/N squeals with excitement and rushes Jungkook as he stands up to his full height, massaging his lower back with a grimace. He oofs as she slams into him, her arms around his neck. He blushes and hides his face in her shoulder, trying to subtly breathe in her scent as she drops down before excitedly smacking him on his arm.

He smiles down at her and avoids looking at Hoseok (who he’s sure is having his own little mini-celebration) as Yoongi sighs as he stands up. “Well played,” he grumbles.

Y/N grins triumphantly, but holds her hand out for him to shake. “Good game.” Yoongi hesitates, but takes her hand. Y/N grins. “How does it feel losing to a human?”

“Gods have mercy…”

#bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts a/b/o au #a/b/o au #bts a/b/o #shifter au #shifter jungkook #bts werewolf au #werewolf au #werewolf jungkook #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts angst #jungkook angst #ao3 #archive of our own

[buckgasms]

PLEASEEEE PLEASE PLEASE WRITE A PART TWO TO DADDY!BUCKY FINDS PRINCESS’ SPICY BOOK!!!! YOU HAD ME AT THE EDGE OF MY SEAT!!!!

Ok ok I cannot resist! Just promise to keep sending in ✨amazing requests✨

Part One

Also this went so off course but I hope you enjoy it 😂

Princess would definitely definitely buy a book about a millionaire with a sugar baby or an alpha hunting an omega because let's face it, princesses don't need to think much when they have an imaginative Daddy amiright?

But anyway.....

So while you read the highlighted sections, Bucky had you trapped on his lap, fingers in your folds and rubbing at your clit painfully slowly, tapping, pinching it when you stutter or pause.

"Didn't say stop did I Princess?" He whispers in your ear as he squeezes it hard again. You squirm and whine in his lap, hands gripping the book as you try to focus, the embarrassment boiling in your face. Only when you start reading again his fingers start circling slowly.

After a few more excerpts Bucky is starting to get restless. He is enjoying the little whines and pants coming from you, but hearing about someone being fucked is nowhere near as fun as fucking you.

📚

He carries you into the bedroom because your legs are too wobbly to walk. He vaguely remembers something about clothes being ripped off, so he takes the silky fabric of your skirt in his hands and rips it in half making you gasp.

He growls with approval when he sees your damp underwear and sticky thighs. "Such a filthy little slut aren't you?" You whimper and pull off your top to speed up the process.

"Daddy please.... Can't wait anymore" you pout, tears filling your eyes with desperation. He leans down and captures your lips in a kiss before gripping your throat and whispering, "You're gonna wait till I say sweetheart. I should be punishing you really for that trashy book shouldn't I? Am I not enough babygirl?"

"Daddy!!" You gasp and scramble upwards. You babble like crazy, telling him that he's all you want, better than any book, better than anyone. As you do you pull off his clothes, mostly his trousers and pants and kiss at his thighs up towards his heavy, leaking cock.

"Nothing better than you daddy" you mumble as you rub your lips over him. He runs a hand through your hair and smirks, "Prove it baby, show me what you really want..."

You wrap your lips around him and suck, taking him deeper and deeper on each bob up and down. Your fingers massage at his heavy sack and your eyes water as he gags you. "Fuck princess... More of a slut that that girl in the book hmmm? They couldn't write a slut like you could they baby?" You preen under his praise, releasing him with a pop before licking up and down. He groans as you resume your sucking, taking him all the way down and holding him there. He leans back and fucks his hips upwards, making you choke and grip his thighs.

"Get up Princess, show me that pretty pussy." You giggle as you crawl up his body. He goes to hold your hips but you keep crawling until your aching heat is hovering over his face. He chuckles as you giggle, gripping the headboard and sinking down to his mouth.

His hands spank and squeeze your ass cheeks and he pulls your heat down closer to his lips, sucking and licking until your legs shake. "Daddy...fuck...please?" He hums, as if debating what to do next, and it sends a shockwave through your body and you lose your grip on the headboard, squealing as you almost topple off him.

Before you know what's happening he's planted you on the bed, hovering over you, a giggle escaping your lips as he manhandles you, lining himself up and catches your lips in a kiss. He tastes salty sweet like you do and you moan in his mouth and he sinks in.

"Tell me babygirl... You gonna keep that book?"

"No daddy" you pant, watching as his cock slides slowly in and stretches you out oh so nicely. He pushes your legs upwards and produces said literature. He increases his pace and starts spanking you with the book, only gently but enough to make your walls flutter.

"I find another book like this I'll make sure you don't sit properly for a week, and I won't fuck you like this for two....."

You pout and shake your head, "promise daddy, I promise, no more naughty books..."

He grins and leans over kisses you again before fucking you properly, pinning your arms down and peppering kisses and bites over your neck, chest and cheeks. "My good girl" he growls as your peak comes ever closer.

"So close" you whisper as your arms wrap around his neck and dragging him closer to you, your lips dragging over his skin. "Come on baby girl, come for daddy now" he growls as his finger snakes down and rubs at your sensitive clit and his thrusts come faster and faster.

You cry out and dig your nails into his back as your orgasm peaks, walls fluttering almost painfully as you feel his hot come coat your walls. He fucks you through it until his release leaks out of your heat.

"Daddy.... So sensitive....please..so good" you whine and he chuckles, stilling for a moment and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Take a breath baby, gotta lot more in store than that...."

#💌 #darling nonnie #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #daddy!bucky #princess!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky imagine #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut

[i-heart-hxh]

A Day in the Life of Killua

I wanted to share a translation of an excerpt from this Hunter x Hunter Characters Book, published in 2001.

Translation:

A Day in the Life of Killua

My own big prediction!

Although he has lived a life soaked in blood, Killua is probably no different from a normal 12-year-old. Let’s take a closer look at the life of Killua, who says he loves sweets!

10:00 Wake up

11:00 Gon arrives.

While I was dozing off in the morning, I hear Gon's voice inviting me to play with him. I’m embarrassed for some reason, so I hit him without thinking.

12:00 Play with Gon

14:00 Lunch

We have lunch while wandering around town. I feel it’s more fun to eat outside than in a restaurant.

15:00 Snack

16:00 Play some more

17:00 Discover Illumi.

While I was making a pit trap to trick Gon, somehow I found Illumi. I dash away like I'm about to die, and calm myself down.

17:05 Buy Chocobo

19:00 Dinner

20:00 Go to Gon's room

22:00 Go to bed in Gon's room

While talking with Gon about what we did in town, it gets to be late at night. It’s too much trouble to go back to my room, so I go to bed next to Gon.

A word from Killua

You're totally wrong! Why do I keep eating sweets all the time? And why is my brother Illumi buried in the garden? You're making fun of me!?

Japanese Transcript:

(Just because I went through the trouble to transcribe it, and in case anyone wants to do their own translations!)

とある１日のキルア

勝手に大予想

血に染まった人生を歩んできつつも、たぶんは普通の12歳となんら変わりのないキルア。そんな、おかしが大好きだというキルアの生活に迫る！

１０：００　起床

１１：００　ゴンがやってくる

朝、ぼーっとしていると、ゴンの遊びを誘う声。なぜか照れているので、おもわず殴る。

１２：００　ゴンと遊ぶ

１４：００　昼ご飯

街をブラブラしながらの昼食。お店で食べるよりも、外で食べたほうが楽しいと感じる。

１５：００　おやつ

１６：００　さらに遊ぶ

１７：００　イルミを発見

ゴンをだまそうと落とし穴を作っていたら、なぜかイルミがいた。死にそうなくらいダッシュでにげて、心を落ち着かせる。。。

１７：０５　チョコロボくんを買う

１９：００　夕飯

２０：００　ゴンの部屋に行く

２２：００　ゴンの部屋に就寝

ゴンと街で遊んだことを話合っているうちに、深夜に突入。自分の部屋に戻るが面倒なので、そのままゴンの隣で就寝。

キルアより一言

ぜんっぜん，ちげぇーよ！なんでずっとおかしばっかり食べてんだよ。それにどんな意味があって、庭にイルミ兄が埋まってるんだ？バカにしてるだろ！？

Another thing I want to note about this book is that it has a full story in it, which you can find translated here! It's an interesting read in general--it's based off episode 46 of the 1999 anime, which deviates from the manga and has its own original story, and this story then expands upon that original story. One thing I think is especially interesting is the story starts off with Gon and Killua sleeping in the same bed, so this book makes two separate mentions of that being something they do, which is cute. ❤️

While Togashi didn't write the story himself or likely the contents of this book, he did write an afterword to it, so I'm guessing he must have at the very least read it over and approved of the contents before it was published, and it's certainly possible he had more involvement than that as well. Take the canon status of it all with a grain of salt, I'd say it's more semi-canon/a different version of canon than 100% canon to the manga (similar to how I consider the 1999 anime additions/changes as well), but it's interesting nonetheless and fun as far as shipping fuel goes!

#hxh #hunter x hunter #gon #killua #killugon #gonkillu #translation #my posts #long post

[ghostedcas]

Ok so like, I really like ghost and könig....I was wondering if you could do a not so safe for work story for me? I don't really mind how it plays out as long as you could maybe put some knife/gun play in there and lots of teasing...would mean a lot to me

knifeplay and gunplay🤭🤤 i am such a whore for these it's so sad

i hope you eat well darling 🫶

könig x afab!reader x ghost

wc: 896

tw: SMUT SMUTTY SMUT SMUT, knifeplay, gunplay, penetration with an inanimate object, a lil bit of a blood kink (just a teensy bit), poorly translated german

MINORS DNI

a/n: i had the most evil lil smirk on my face when i read this request, i love it sm. when i tell y'all i was smirking uncontrollably as i wrote this?? also can y'all tell what petname i like the most lol

a/n 2.0: i tried to make this relatively gender neutral but reader is described with female genitalia

--------

"schatzi, can you come here? ghost and i have something we want to discuss with you." you hear könig say, beckoning you into his and ghost's shared quarters. his tone sounded rather serious and it made you fear that perhaps you may have done something wrong.

however when you entered the room you knew that that was not the case, or so you hoped anyway. in ghost's hand you saw your journal. it was no simple journal though, no, this journal contained all of your dirtiest thoughts an fantasies.

"nice of you to join us, love. we found quite the intriguing... stories in this little book of yours." ghost says, you can practically see his smirk behind his balaclave.

"oh my go- i can explain!" you say, trying to think of a defense for the things written in that book. things that may or may not have involved some very filthy deeds between yourself and your two boyfriends, things far filthier and taboo than you had already experienced with them.

"no, no, maus. we don't want an explanation, we don't want to hear your pathetic little excuses, dirty little thing..." könig says with a chuckle. "there was one entry both ghost and i found rather... intriguing. something that we would love to make a reality, our süße schmutziges mäuschen."

he pulls you over to the bed and has you sit next to ghost who begins to read off an excerpt from your journal. you can feel your face begin to heat up in embarrassment as he reads, making sure to emphasize every dirty little detail.

you wanted nothing more than to sink into the bed and disappear, this was so embarrassing that words couldn't even describe how embarrassed you were at the moment.

"you naughty little minx, writing down all your little fantasies in this little book. i bet you wanted us to find this, hm?" ghost asks qith a smirk. "you knew exactly what would happen, you knew we would find this book filled with all your filthy little thoughts."

"no! no, i didn't!" you protest.

"knives and guns? my, my maus... you have quite the imagination." könig chuckles deeply.

"sweetheart, if you wanted to try these things, you could've just asked us." ghost adds.

the next thing you knew you were tied down to the bed, clothes discarded as ghost and könig sat on either side of you, könig tracing a large hunters knife gently down your torso as ghost ran one of his pistols across your cheek, caressing your face with the gun.

"hold still maus, wouldn't want to cut your pretty skin... unless? would you? would you like to bleed for us schatz?" könig asks with a dark chuckle, you can feel your heart skip a beat at the suggestion. it was hard to tell if he really would or not, especially as he ran the blade of the knife across your skin so slowly and carefully, if he pressed any harder he would definitely break the skin.

"maybe another night little love, for now, just enjoy our teasing." ghost says with a smirk, mask still on, but you could hear the smug smirk in his tone of voice.

"just lay there nice and pretty for us maus, our good little maus, ja?"

and so there you laid as your two boyfriends ran their weapons across your body, slowly and agonizingly teasing you with them, it was torturous, agonizing even. but in the most pleasurable way possible.

just as you were getting used to the sensations they were subjecting you to, you felt könig's cold blade lift away from your skin as ghost trailed the gun down your torso. the next thing you knew you could feel something solid press to the entrance of your cunt. the handle of könig's knife.

without much warning he slowly began to press it into you, watching your face as it contorted in surprise and pleasure, soft gasps and moans escaping your lips.

as könig thrusted the handle of his hunter's knife in and out of you, you felt ghost bring a hand up to your throat, wrapping around it just so.

"that's it love, just lay there and take it. lay there and let us take care of you. we'll make all of your little dirty fantasies come true." ghost mutters as he leans down, whispering in your ear.

you felt ghost bring his other hand down to rub your clit as könig continued shoving the handle of his knife in and out of your cunt, your orgasm building a lot quicker than you anticipated it would. and your boyfriends could tell.

"go on maus, let go for us. cum for us like a good mäuschen..." könig demands.

"yes sweetheart, that's it, just let go. that's a good good mouse." ghost encourages as your orgasm washes over you, body shaking under their touches.

as you come down from the intense pleasure, the two clean you up. ghost hands you a bottle of water after untying your wrists from the headboard and massages some lotion into them as könig wipes your release from your thighs with a warm, damp towel he retrieved from the bathroom.

"you did so good baby, so so good." könig smiles.

"we hope we lived up to your filthy little written fantasies," ghost adds. "because we have many more stories to recreate."

#ghostedcas #casper writes #casper's 💌 #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader smut #simon riley x reader smut #simon riley smut #konig x reader smut #konig smut #konig x reader x ghost smut #ghost x reader x konig smut

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut; Match is technically also a Luthor.

“The stylist,” the chauffeur–Mercy, apparently–says, sounding disgusted. 

“Well, I’m hardly going to be letting the boy run around downtown wearing someone else’s branding,” Luthor snorts. Match considers pointing out how he’s always wearing the Agenda’s branding no matter how he’s dressed, given the obvious, but can’t imagine Luthor appreciating the interruption. Then again, Luthor also might not appreciate finding that out later, if for some reason he’s unaware, so . . . 

“I’m already branded,” he says. Luthor pauses, then turns his head towards him, his eyes just barely narrowing. 

“Clarify that statement, Lysander,” he says.

“The Agenda had me branded during development,” Match says, because despite his survival instinct immediately kicking into high alert at the sight of that narrow-eyed expression, he’s also not stupid enough to defy a direct order from his new owner. Or any kind of order from his new owner, at this point. He doesn't know where the line is for Lex Luthor yet. “There’s a tattoo of their insignia on the left side of my chest.” 

“Hm,” Luthor says, watching him strangely intently for someone who’s not actively attempting to kill him. “Hope. Mercy. Pencil us in for another meeting with Erica next week. Just wherever she’s decided to go to ground by then, obviously.” 

“Yes, sir,” Hope and Mercy reply in crisp unison. At least, Match is assuming “Hope” is the bodyguard, at this point. 

. . . did Luthor rename them too, actually? Because “Hope” and “Mercy” don’t sound like very Amazonian names, and also are suspiciously close to complementary on top of that. 

Well, that clearly is something Luthor’s willing to do, so maybe. It isn’t important or useful information, but it’s still information, Match supposes. 

He doesn’t even know why he noticed something that unimportant, though. 

“Good,” Luthor says as the elevator stops and its doors slide open all in perfect silence. He adjusts his cuffs, which still don’t need it, and then strides out into the . . . apartment, it looks like. There isn’t a hall, just a flat area with incredibly expensive-looking marble flooring and an end table next to the elevator door, and a much larger open area sparsely-decorated with things that make “incredibly expensive” seem like an understatement. 

More than just an understatement, in fact. 

Match follows Luthor, because Hope and Mercy seem to be waiting for him to and he hasn’t been told differently by Luthor. There’s no higher floor, as far as he knows, so . . . 

This is definitely an apartment. Match has never actually been inside an apartment before, but he knows what they’re supposed to look like from his uploads, and there are too many little hints of personality for it to be an office or hotel. Or at least, he thinks there are. 

He really doesn’t know why Luthor brought him here, though. Maybe he just needs to pick something up and this is a detour. Maybe he doesn’t feel like going into whatever lab he’s intending to leave him in today. Maybe–

“I’m home!” Luthor announces to the empty penthouse, and Match feels something move farther into the apartment–back towards the back of the floor, in a large and cluttered separate room that isn’t decorated anything like the rest of the place. And then that something runs out of the room and towards Luthor, a bigger something following it, and Match has exactly enough time to realize what that “something” is before a child rushes into view from the opposite side of the living room, another apparent bodyguard following after her. This one is a generic-looking man in a suit, and looks more harried than Hope and Mercy did in open combat. 

The child is . . . five, or maybe six. Female and skinny and tall for her age, with green eyes and chin-length blonde hair held back by a gold barrette, and wearing bright green leggings and a purple T-shirt dress with electric yellow stars on it. She has a few books and notebooks clutched to her chest, and a handful of colored pencils in her free hand. She’s . . . 

Match has never actually seen a child in person before, unless in-development and un-decanted clones count. Which they don’t, obviously. 

He has absolutely no idea why there’s one here. 

“Father!” the child says excitedly, then runs up to Luthor, and Match has the absolutely insane-seeming experience of watching a six year-old prattle on as she shows Lex Luthor a picture of a kitty and a flower and a nuclear reactor. 

. . . what? What is actually happening here? 

“The reactor design looks promising,” Luthor observes, inspecting the picture with all apparent interest. Match might be hallucinating, he thinks. No, he’s definitely hallucinating. “How’s your new babysitter behaving?” 

“He’s inefficient and bad at physics,” the child says with a pout, then makes a face. “And boring.” 

“You’re fired,” Luthor instructs the bodyguard pleasantly, who looks alarmed. “Get out.” 

“But–!” the man starts to protest, and then Luthor quirks an eyebrow at him and he goes very, very pale and scurries for the elevator. Luthor doesn’t watch him go, his attention already back on the child. 

“I’ve brought you something,” he says. “Lena, this is Lysander. Lysander, Lena Luthor the second.” 

. . . is this what Luthor wants him for, Match thinks as he stares blankly at Lena Luthor and feels the ex-bodyguard duck into the elevator. Does he want a better bodyguard for . . . whoever this is? There wasn’t any information about any other Luthors in his uploads aside from a passing mention of a sister, so . . . is this that sister, or a niece, or . . . ? 

“Lysander,” Lena says, looking past Luthor to inspect Match calculatingly. “He looks like Superboy, but he’s colored in wrong.” 

Match resists the urge to bristle. He isn’t–wrong. There’s nothing wrong with him.

“I’m an upgraded design,” he says, short and flat, and then Lena looks fascinated and peers closer at him. 

“He’s your new baby brother,” Luthor says, patting Lena’s head. “Make the most of him, hm?” 

Lena looks even more fascinated. Match is too busy being absolutely fucking baffled to even say anything to that. He’s physiologically older than her. And also, what the hell does Luthor mean by “brother”? Calling him Superboy's brother is one thing, stupid as it is, but Lena Luthor is a real person.

But also, he’s older than her. 

This is the most ridiculous day of his life.

#wip: match is technically also a luthor

[galedekarios]

trying to distract myself by writing another meta post (delving more into the relationship gale and mystra had in early access and how it's presented within the narrative and canon of the game) and re-reading gale's ea dialogue (with the added hindsight of the full release version + epilogue) and once again i'm left like

[excerpt from the early access tadpole dreams] Gale: I... why, yes. Clearly the tadpole isn't the only one who can read me like a book.  It's indeed Mystra I see. And yet it cannot be her. There was a time when I would have believed - but no longer. I told you that I lost her. Lost her favour and lost so many of the powers I took for granted. What magic I can still weave is met only with undercurrents of disappointing silence.

&

[excerpt from the early access weave scene] Gale: Magic is... my life. I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There’s nothing like it. It’s like music, poetry, physical beauty all rolled into one and given expression through the senses. Player: I didn't realise the depth of your devotion. You sound like a smitten school boy. Gale: It’s a kind of love after all.

&

[excerpt from the early access post tiefling party romance scene] Gale: Once upon a time, not quite that long ago, there lived a wizard in a tower. The wizard was what one might call a prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the Weave, but compose it, like a musician or a poet. Such was his skill that it earned him the attention of the mother of magic herself. The Lady Of Mysteries, Mystra. Player: What did Mystra’s attention feel like? Gale: Love.  Player: He sounds like a very talented individual. Gale: He was. Even though it was in Mystra’s affections that his true power lay. Player: Teacher’s pet, was he? Gale: He fancied himself much more than that. He fancied himself favoured above all others. Perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. It was most certainly love to him. Mystra showed him the secrets behind the veils. The gossamer veils first, draped across the Weave. The delicate veils next, draped across her body. ‘Chosen One’ she whispered, as she slipped them off completely.

&

[excerpt from the early access post goblin party scene] Gale: What can I say? She considered me a Chosen One. Little did I know how ephemeral that title was. Before long Mystra tired of me. Gale: What was I after all but a mortal plaything in sacred hands?

and on and on it goes.

fragments of this are still an underlying current to many of gale's dialogues in full release and are still there somewhat present - with new things still added in the epilogue, like elminster, another of mystra's chosen seeking out / meeting gale when he was about eight years old - but... early access certainly paints a vivid picture.

#not tagging this as of yet because i have to order my thoughts more to make an actual meta post out of it but #yeah #ch: gale dekarios #ch: mystra #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #grooming cw #abuse cw

[mostlysignssomeportents]

An excerpt from The Bezzle

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me next in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

Today, I'm bringing you part one of an excerpt from Chapter 14 of The Bezzle, my next novel, which drops on Feb 20. It's an ice-cold revenge technothriller starring Martin Hench, a two-fisted forensic accountant specialized in high-tech fraud:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

Hench is the Zelig of high-tech fraud, a character who's spent 40 years in Silicon Valley unwinding every tortured scheme hatched by tech-bros who view the spreadsheet as a teleporter that whisks other peoples' money into their own bank-accounts. This setup is allowing me to write a whole string of these books, each of which unwinds a different scam from tech's past, present and future, starting with last year's Red Team Blues (now in paperback!), a novel that whose high-intensity thriller plotline is also a masterclass in why cryptocurrency is a scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865854/redteamblues

Turning financial scams into entertainment is important work. Finance's most devastating defense is the Shield Of Boringness (h/t Dana Clare) – tactically deployed complexity designed to induce the state that finance bros call "MEGO" ("my eyes glaze over"). By combining jargon and obfuscation, the most monstrous criminals of our age have been able to repeatedly bring our civilization to the brink of collapse (remember 2008?) and then spin their way out of it.

Turning these schemes into entertainment is hard, necessary work, because it incinerates the respectable suit and tie and leaves the naked dishonesty of the finance sector on display for all to see. In The Big Short, they recruited Margot Robbie to explain synthetic CDOs from a bubble-bath. And John Oliver does this every week on Last Week Tonight, coming up with endlessly imaginative stunts and gags to flense the bullshit, laying the scam economy open to the bone.

This was my inspiration for the Hench novels (I've written and sold three of these, of which The Bezzle is number two; I've got at least two more planned). Could I use the same narrative tactics I used to explain mass surveillance, cryptography and infosec in the Little Brother books to turn scams into entertainment, and entertainment into the necessary, informed outrage that might precipitate change?

The main storyline in The Bezzle concerns one of the most gruesome scams in today's America: prison-tech, which sees America's vast army of prisoners being stripped of letters, calls, in-person visits, parcels, libraries and continuing ed in favor of cheap tablets that bilk prisoners and their families of eye-watering sums for every click they make:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

But each Hench novel has a variety of side-quests that work to expose different kinds of financial chicanery. The Bezzle also contains explainers on the workings of MLMs/Ponzis (and how Gerry Ford and Betsy DeVos's father-in-law legalized one of the most destructive forces in America) and the way that oligarchs, foreign and domestic, use Real Estate Investment Trusts to hide their money and destroy our cities.

And there's a subplot about music-royalty theft, a form of pernicious wage theft that is present up and down the music industry supply-chain. This is a subject that came up a lot when Rebecca Giblin and I were researching and writing Chokepoint Capitalism, our 2022 book about creative labor markets:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

Two of the standout cases from that research formed the nucleus of the subplot in The Bezzle, the case of Leonard Cohen's batshit manager who stole millions from him and then went to prison for stalking him, leaving him virtually penniless and forced to keep touring to keep himself fed:

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2012/apr/19/leonard-cohen-former-manager-jailed

The other was George Clinton, whose manager forged his signature on a royalty assignment, then used the stolen money to defend himself against Clinton's attempts to wrestle his rights back and even to sue Clinton for defamation for writing about the caper in his memoir:

https://www.musicconnection.com/the-legal-beat-george-clinton-wins-defamation-case/

That's the tale that this excerpt – which I'll be serializing in six parts over the coming week – tells, in fictionalized form. It's not Margot Robbie in a bubble-bath, it's not a John Oliver monologue, but I think it's pretty goddamned good.

I'm leaving for a long, multi-city, multi-country, multi-continent tour with The Bezzle next Wednesday, starting with an event at Weller Bookworks in Salt Lake City on the 21st:

https://www.wellerbookworks.com/event/store-cory-doctorow-feb-21-630-pm

I'll in be in San Diego on the 22nd at Mysterious Galaxy:

https://www.mystgalaxy.com/22224Doctorow

And then it's on to LA (with Adam Conover), Seattle (with Neal Stephenson), Portland, Phoenix and beyond:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#bezzle-tour

I hope you'll come out for the tour (and bring your friends)!

Between 1972 and 1978, Steve Soul (a.k.a. Stefon Magner) had a string of sixteen Billboard Hot 100 singles, one of which cracked the Top 10 and won him an appearance on Soul Train. He is largely forgotten today, except by hip-­hop producers who prize his tracks as a source of deep, funky grooves. They sampled the hell out of him, not least because his rights were controlled by Inglewood Jams, a clearinghouse for obscure funk tracks that charged less than half of what the Big Three labels extracted for each sample license.

Even at that lower rate, those license payments would have set Stefon up for a comfortable retirement, especially when added to his Social Security and the disability check from Dodgers Stadium, where he cleaned floors for more than a decade before he fell down a beer-­slicked bleacher and cracked two of his lumbar discs. But Stefon didn’t get a dime. His former manager, Chuy Flores, forged his signature on a copyright assignment in 1976. Stefon didn’t discover this fact until 1979, because Chuy kept cutting him royalty checks, even as Stefon’s band broke up and those royalties trickled off. In Stefon’s telling, the band broke up because the rest of the act—­especially the three-­piece rhythm section of two percussionists and a beautiful bass player with a natural afro and a wild, infectious hip-­wiggle while she played—­were too coked up to make it to rehearsal, making their performances into shambling wreckages and their studio sessions into vicious bickerfests. To hear the band tell of it, Stefon had bad LSD (“Lead Singer Disease”) and decided he didn’t need the rest of them. One thing they all agreed on: there was no way Stefon would have signed over the band’s earnings to Chuy, who was little more than a glorified bookkeeper, with Stefon hustling all their bookings and even ordering taxis to his bandmates’ houses to make sure they showed up at the studio or the club on time. Stefon remembered October of ’79 well. He’d been waiting with dread for the envelope from Chuy. The previous royalty check, in July, had been under $250. The previous quarter’s had been over $1,000. This quarter’s might have zero. Stefon needed the money. His 1972 Ford Galaxie needed a new transmission. He couldn’t keep driving it in first.

The envelope arrived late, the day before Halloween, and for a brief moment, Stefon was overcome by an incredible, unbelieving elation: Chuy’s laboriously typewritten royalty statement ended with the miraculous figure of $7,421.16. Seven thousand dollars! It was more than two years’ royalties, all in one go! He could fix the Galaxie’s transmission and get the ragtop patched, and still have money left over for his back rent, his bar tab, his child support, and a fine steak dinner, and even then, he’d end the month with money in his savings account.

But there was no check in the envelope. Stefon shook the envelope, carefully unfolded the royalty statement to ensure that there was no check stapled to its back, went downstairs to the apartment building lobby and rechecked his mailbox.

Finally, he called Chuy.

“Chuy, man, you forgot to put a check in the envelope.”

“I didn’t forget, Steve. Read the paperwork again. You gotta send me a check.”

“What the fuck? That’s not funny, Chuy.”

“I ain’t joking, Steve. I been advancing you royalties for more than three years, but you haven’t earned nothing new since then—­no new recordings. I can’t afford to carry you no more.”

“Say what?”

Chuy explained it to him like he was a toddler. “Remember when you signed over your royalties to me in ’76? Every dime I’ve sent you since then was an advance on your future recordings, only you haven’t had none of those, so I’m cutting you off and calling in your note. I’m sorry, Steve, but I ain’t a charity. You don’t work, you don’t earn. This is America, brother. No free lunches.”

“After I did what in ’76?”

“Steve, in 1976 you signed over all your royalties to me. We agreed, man! I can’t believe you don’t remember this! You came over to my spot and I told you how it was and you said you needed money to cover the extra horns for the studio session on Fight Fire with Water. I told you I’d cover them and you’d sign over all your royalties to me.”

Stefon was briefly speechless. Chuy had paid the sidemen on that session, but that was because Chuy owed him a thousand bucks for a string of private parties they’d played for some of Chuy’s cronies. Chuy had been stiffing him for months and Stefon had agreed to swap the session fees for the horn players in exchange for wiping out the debt, which had been getting in the way of their professional relationship.

“Chuy, you know it didn’t happen that way. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about when you signed over all your royalties to me. And you know what? I don’t like your tone. I’ve carried your ass for years now, sent you all that money out of my own pocket, and now you gotta pay up. My generosity’s run out. When you gonna send me a check?”

Of course, it was a gambit. It put Stefon on tilt, got him to say a lot of ill-­advised things over the phone, which Chuy secretly recorded. It also prompted Stefon to take a swing at Chuy, which Chuy dived on, shamming that he’d had a soft-­tissue injury in his neck, bringing suit for damages and pressing an aggravated-­assault charge.

He dropped all that once Stefon agreed not to keep on with any claims about the forged signature; Stefon went on to become a good husband, a good father, and a hard worker. And if cleaning floors at Dodgers Stadium wasn’t what he’d dreamed of when he was headlining on Soul Train, at least he never missed a game, and his boy came most weekends and watched with him. Stefon’s supervisor didn’t care.

But the stolen royalties ate at him, especially when he started hearing his licks every time he turned on the radio. His voice, even. Chuy Flores had a fully paid-­off three-­bedroom in Eagle Rock and two cars and two ex-­wives and three kids he was paying child support on, and Stefon sometimes drove past Chuy Flores’s house to look at his fancy palm trees all wrapped up in strings of Christmas lights and think about who paid for them.

ETA: Here's part two!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/17/the-steve-soul-caper/#lead-singer-disease

#pluralistic #the bezzle #martin hench #marty hench #red team blues #fiction #crime fiction #crime thrillers #thrillers #technothrillers #novels #books #royalties #wage theft #creative labor