#Also have people never heard of things like “TV canon”

[disasterbate96]

I'm choosing violence today: It makes me smile every time a Fallout: New Vegas fan gets pissed off at the show over the game being retconned. Legitimately one of the whiniest, cringiest fucking fanbases for any game I've ever seen.

[luckybyler]

My observations on the VR game re: Byler, including a couple of things I haven’t seen mentioned yet

I just saw part of a game walk through on YouTube (I can’t afford VR), and hoo boy!

1. The Mike that says El is so amazing and Will wouldn’t get it isn’t the real Mike, it’s the Mike that Vecna shows Will to terrorize him: In Chapter 3, Vecna possesses Will. Will resorts to a happy memory (Mike and him in Castle Byers), where Mike gives him a a ViewMaster. Will starts playing it, but Vecna makes every memory awful, full of spiders and particles. He distorts scenes, showing things like everyone ditching Will after calling him weird and other things that blatantly didn’t happen. Then he tells him he’ll show him suffering and shows that scene where Mike talks about El while particles fall down.

2. Will is confirmed to be a human being with wants and needs of his own: During that scene, Vecna goads him to tell Mike how he feels, and that he doesn’t want to meet El at all. At this point Will and El hadn’t met in the real world, and Will didn’t wish harm on her or anything, he just didn’t want her to be there, which is a normal and natural thing to feel about your crush’s hypothetical crush.

3. Vecna’s full of shit: In chapter four, Vecna tries to possess the four boys from the Party, and fails. He tells Dustin he puts double the effort into the friendship than the other three boys do, but Dustin turns him off with the TV remote (is Dustin’s happy memory watching tv?). Then he basically tells Lucas “you’re black and people judge you for it”, but he’s in a memory of a movie date with Max (at a drive-in theatre somehow) watching happy memories of the Party. Lucas does see the monster (so it somewhat hits?), but Max says it can’t do anything and they easily shut Vecna down. He also taunts Mike by telling him he’ll never see the most awesome person he’s ever met (El) and it’s his fault because he didn’t try hard enough, but he’s in the middle of a DnD battle with the boys and doesn’t even pay attention. A couple of dice bring Vecna down no problem.

4. Mike lovingly tends to Will’s nosebleed: Vecna does almost succeed in possessing Will, but he’s with the boys playing DnD, and Mike soon realizes Will’s nose is bleeding. He takes Nancy’s shirt and uses it to clean the blood/attempt to stop the bleeding, and admonishes Lucas and Dustin for not going to get a towel. Notice that in season 1 the boys saw El have nosebleeds and Mike was never as precious about it, unless she passed out of something and then they all helped. Lucas and Dustin are even heard in the background pointing out that nobody dies from a nosebleed. There’s a funny moment when Vecna tells Will he will always be alone right as Mike sweetly asks him if he’s ok while holding his face.

5. Brenner is training Vecna (???) and points out that he’s full of shit: I don’t know if this means anything for the show’s canon, but it’s interesting. Before Vecna tries to possess the boys, Brenner points out that they’re too young and untroubled, and afterwards he makes fun of Vecna for losing against children, again.

6. Will isn’t the weakest link, he’s the link Vecna knows best: Brenner points out to Vecna that the reason he could possess Will easier is because he already knew him (from the Upside Down) and knows the nature of his fear. When Vecna tries to possess Will, he does tell him to help him find out about Lucas’, Dustin’s and Mike’s fears, and actually asks him “what is Mike afraid of?”, indicating that he knows jack shit about them. Which leads us to:

WHERE THE LEDE IS BURIED:

7. LOSING EL ISN’T MIKE’S BIGGEST FEAR. OR SOURCE OF GUILT.

It might be a fear or regret of Mike, but it’s not THE fear.

Turns out Vecna was attacking Lucas, Dustin and Mike based on superficial knowledge, suppositions and stereotypes (Dustin’s the newest of the group, Lucas is black, Mike met El), not an actual, deep knowledge of their minds. Yes, good memories helped them keep Vecna at bay. Yes, those things Vecna told them might bother them. No, those aren’t the things that are at the core of their fear and guilt, or the right angle to drive them to either the dark side or suicide if pushed about them enough.

P.S.: At some point (that I haven’t seen yet, Max tells El that she doesn’t need to be a superhero all the time, that she’s more than fine as Jane, her friend. I think this might be literal, as in, superpowers are not the key to defeating Vecna. This is a psychological thriller disguised as supernatural horror, therefore the weapons to defeat him might be more psychological.

TL; DR: Vecna will be defeated with the power of Cognitive Behavioral TherapyLove and Friendship.

[everparanoid]

Wholesome Delinquent Behaviour┃Wriothesley

pairing: f!reader x wriothesley

genre: fluff , smut, light Angst

rating: 18+

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

tags: consent is hot, it's all good till the backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Reader is Not Traveler, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Squirting, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, biting kink, inappropriate use of cuffs, spoilers for wriothesley story quest, No use of y/n, Past Murder, Minor Original Character(s), Facials, PWP, Blowjobs, handjobs, everything between reader and wriothesley is consensual

wordcount: 9.5K

synopsis: The first time you met Wriothesley was completely by accident. Not that you remembered it too well; if you did, he wouldn’t confirm it without putting you through a gruelling test. No, the first time you remembered meeting Wriothesley was much later.

You are a prisoner at Meropide who meets and falls in love with Wriothesley over the years of knowing him, and he falls harder.

Originally posted: 30.10.23 on AO3

a/n: I am now reposting my AO3 stuff onto tumblr. If you know me....no, you don't. ;) Also check out my AO3 for more wriothesley fics.

Song Inspiration: ''Safeword'' by TV Girl.

I don't own any of the artwork used.

If everything could come to a stop, just for something she says,

The first time you met Wriothesley was completely by accident. Not that you remembered it too well, and if you did, he wouldn’t confirm it without putting you through a gruelling test. No, the first time you remembered meeting Wriothesley was much later.

You wiped away the sweat coating your brow with the back of your dirtied hand, heaving a deep sigh. The production zone, despite being at the bottom of the ocean, was like what you imagined the hot springs of Inazuma to feel like. You wanted to go there one day—to Inazuma. Although the borders were closed to the outside, the stories you heard of the beautiful Sakura blossoms filled you with the determination to get there. One day, you would. You were sure of it. If you didn’t get struck down by their archon first.

“Inmate, stop slacking! Unless you don’t want to eat tonight,” the guard manning the floor yelled at you.

You rolled your eyes and continued hammering at the heated chunks of metal. Your arms were weak, and your palms were sweaty. It was times like this when you wished you had a cryo vision. You wished for many things. You wished you hadn’t been caught. You wished Fontaine were a better place. You wished that Monsieur Neuvillette felt even an ounce of sympathy for your case, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and the court of Fontaine was as ‘fair’ as they came. The sky had down poured the night you were sent to Meropide. It was the worst Fontaine had seen in four hundred years. You hadn’t seen the sky properly since you probably never would. People rotted down here. So, all you could rely on was the glistening memory of bitter water, and your dreams.

It was better, you decided, to be punished here than in Sumeru, Inazuma, or even Monstadt. You’d been to Liyue once, but you weren’t there long enough to have a clear judgement of whether their form of justice would be any better. Then again you had been arrested before you got out of Liyue and they handed you straight back to Fontaine to be judged by your home region’s laws.

“Inmate!” The guard yelled snapping you from your thoughts. “You’re wanted at the administration area.”

You dropped your hammer, relieved for the break, and shoved past the guard on your way to the lift.

I thought the whole point was you were living on the edge,

“It’s your lucky day, kid,” another guard said as you meandered leisurely toward them.

This guard you liked.

Meropide inductions didn’t happen often. Most of the time the convict was thrown into their dorm and made to figure it out themselves. In the instances of special cases, you were brought out like a friendly face before the storm. You had no clue why it was you they chose, but you always got paid handsomely in credit coupons, so the particulars didn’t matter to you. You had long since abandoned the idea of fairness down here where the sun doesn’t shine.

“What have we got this time?” you asked cracking your knuckles.

“A kid, your age.”

You paused. It wasn’t often you met people around your age down here. Everyone was either one foot in the grave or an adult.

What could this kid have done to end up down here with the downs and outs? You looked out the large glass window, it stared out into the deep blue Fontainian waters. The sea was dark, so you guessed it must be night. Time was more of an idea, a concept if you will, down in the depths. So, you enjoyed rare moments like these to re-calibrate yourself. It was a shame. You had hoped to at least feel the sun’s rays through the water’s refraction, but it was like you said beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The lift lowered down behind you, and you turned to greet this so-called new inmate. You were greeted by a tall scrawny boy, probably not even a year older than yourself with dull icy eyes and jet-black hair. He was drenched in that same bitter water.

You put on your brightest smile and offered your hand.

“Welcome to hell,” you said.

Not your best work but it caused a small snicker from the boy, and your favourite guard who stayed close by. Strange. They never stayed around. Were they that concerned about your ability to induct a fellow teenage delinquent?

Wriothesley paused. When he was given his verdict by the Monsieur Neuvillette he didn’t expect such a warm welcome. Well, warm as far as being greeted at its entrance.

He didn’t take your hand, instead opting to stare at you with those haunted eyes. You were disheveled at beast and downright filthy at worst. Nothing to sing or dance about. Nothing to fall head over heels in love with either, but you didn’t care. Who wanted to find happiness in misery anyway?

“Hell?” Wriothesley echoed. His voice was steady and stern like he was aged beyond his years; by the lack of life in his eyes, he probably was. “Is it that bad down here?”

You shrugged one shoulder.

“Depends,” you said.

“On what?” he asked, calculating. You could feel his brain working from where you stood. 

Fascinating.

“Depends on how stupid you are,” you looked him up and down, chewing the inside of your cheek absentmindedly. Then, as if a rocket had been shot up your butt, you spun on your heels and gestured for him to follow with a lazy flick of your wrist.

He did so, catching up to you easily with his long legs and just as long stride.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you said as the lift doors closed behind you taking you down to the actual entrance of Meropide not the fancy entrance for visitors too afraid to see the truth. Fontaine was a giant opera, and you lot in Meropide were the hidden stage crew, slaving behind the scenes after losing your spot in the limelight.

“You didn’t ask,” he responded flatly from beside you.

“Clearly that was the hint for you to tell me.”

“It’s Wriothesley,” he said.

It didn’t sound like it was his actual name. Hell, it didn’t sound like a name at all, but who were you to judge? Meropide was a place to start a new; to redeem yourself from your sins, and nearly burn to death in the production zones breaking your back for an administrator who was a tyrant. What was a kid reclaiming their identity going to do to you?

“Nice to meet you, Ricecake.”

“Ricecake?”

“Hey, you give me a name I can’t pronounce you live with the consequences, Ricecake.”

The doors opened and the lift groaned as steam poured out of its pipes and vents. Some unfortunate soul was going to have to clean those later, and you prayed it wasn’t going to be you. You had a burn on the inside of your arm from the last time you cleaned those steaming pipes, it was a jagged ugly thing to look at, so you kept it hidden. Out of sight out of mind, right?

The receptionist sat behind the desk looking as melancholy as everyone else in this place. Wriothesley was going to fit in just fine, you thought, as you remembered that same almost dead look in his eyes.

“You coming?” you asked the boy who stood gawking at you from the lift. “It won’t take you back up you know. I mean you can try. It’s your sentence you’re lengthening.”

“You don’t recognise me?”

“No?” you said. “Should I?”

You tried to recall when you would have seen him before but only drew blanks. You’d seen so many of the same faces and watched so many of them die that telling anyone apart was a pipe dream for you. However, for some reason, you knew that Wriothesley would stick in your head. Not just because the name was so peculiar but because something about him intrigued you. He didn’t seem upset down here yet. No, he looked curious. Curiosity was dangerous. Curiosity got the smartest people in here killed or beaten half to death. No, Wriothesley stuck in your head because he reminded you of hope.

So, when those sounds start to drift down the hall, and stat to freak out the neighbours,

“No coupons, no meal,” the chef said, his voice booming through the place. You wondered over questioning who would be stupid enough to get into conflict with the head chef. He was a burly man, tall with a glassy eye and a wooden spatula the size of a person. The rumour was that he had been a Fatui skirmisher in the overworld. The truth was he was like every other soul in here, beaten and trapped. Upon seeing the familiar woolfy black hair, spiked in random places you inserted yourself into the conversation.

“Sorry about that boss. He’s new,” you said to the chef.

He waved his beefy, greasy hand at you to leave.

“Don’t let your friend come back unless he has coupons. This isn’t charity,” he said with a thick Snezhnayan accent.

“Gotcha,” you said and gave the chef a salute. Hooking your arm under Wriothesleys, you pulled him out of the cue. He nearly tripped over his foot. You dragged him to a secluded table a little away from everyone else, where your singular special box of bread and curry waited for you.

You let him go.

You pointed to the wall where it read, ‘If a man will not work, he shall not eat.’

“Sit,” you commanded pointing to the chair opposite yours.

Wriothesley stared at you like you had grown four heads.

“I have no food,” he said.

“I can see that,” you responded, opening your box and letting the steam waft out. Both of your stomachs groaned at the same time. It had been a while since you had had decent food from the chef, it would be even longer till you had another one; credit coupons weren’t easy to come by and they were better spent on other things like making sure you didn’t get smothered in your sleep.

“How much did that cost?”

“More than you’ll make in your first year,” you said breaking up the bread in your hands.

He gulped dryly.

“How do you know that?”

“You’re a fresher. You’re basically free labour until you have some experience behind you, and some meat on your bones. You’ll be lucky if they pay you a tenth of what you should be getting in your first year. Unless you can fight.”

You let your words settle in the silence between you.

“What did you do?” you ask.

“What?”

“Your crime? What did you do? The guards treat you like a danger to humanity,” you said glancing at the guard who watched you both intently. You could understand them glaring at you but why him?

Wriothesley shifted in his seat, straightening up as if preparing for something.

“I killed my parents,” he said.

He didn’t say anything more than that, he didn’t need to.

You blinked.

“Both of them?”

“Yes.”

You let it sink in for a minute and then nodded.

“I will not be offended if you run, after all this is the entire truth,” he said bluntly. His stomach growled again, and he clutched it willing it to silence itself.

“We’re all crooks and criminals down here,” you said. “But that doesn’t mean we are all bad.”

He lifted an eyebrow at you. You supposed it was because he was expecting you to run. Which meant he obviously didn’t know you. 

“What if I am just a bad guy?”

You shrugged. It was not like you were the dog’s bollocks yourself.

“I have a good enough instinct to know that you aren’t, Ricecake,” you said and pushed your now broken-up bread and curry meal toward him. You were going to regret it. You hadn’t eaten a full-fledged meal in three months, but still, you gave it anyway. “Eat.”

You would have wanted someone to do the same for you when you got here. Friends weren’t made under the sea. His eyes widened and his pale face brightened for the first time since you had met him.

“This is yours,” he said, sounding flabbergasted.

“Now it’s yours,” you said. “Eat up and get some rest. You need to be strong if you want to survive around here.”

You noticed something in his eyes then, a spark. It was dull but it flickered. Your stomach flipped again.

You took a sip of your water before pushing it over to him. He was going to need it more than you.

“Thank you,” he said.

You shook your head.

“There is no need for thanks between us. See it as me looking out for a fellow delinquent.”

“Delinquent?” he said taking his first bite of the bread drowned in curry sauce and rolling his eyes in bliss at the flavours. He began to hoover up the box like it was running away from him.

You remembered when you were like that with every small crumb of bread you got when you first got here. Your stomach flipped. What kind of hell had Wriothesley come from?

“Slow down buddy meals like this don’t come around every day,” you said. “Take it slow, no one can kick you out of here to work anyway. Seems they’re too afraid of us.”

He did as you said. Licking off his fingers, he looked around the floor at the glaring stationed guards and occasional inmates. He faced you his eyes glimmered with light like a shooting golden star flying across an icy sky.

“So, how do I get them to trust me?” he said leaning in.

 You leaned back in your seat, your arms crossed and a smile on your face. You were sure now, that feeling in your stomach was hope.

remember that it's good, clean fun,

“Happy Birthday!” you grinned, setting down a box you had smuggled up from the cafeteria into his room. He raised a brow up at you. It was the 23rd of November, the day he’d decided was his birthday; the same day he was sentenced to Meropide.

“Ah, thank you,” he said politely. His stomach growled at the delicious aroma coming off the box revealing, despite his calm thanks, his eager anticipation for your yearly gift.

Guilt riddled him, as he dropped the gauntlet he had been upgrading, next to the cashflow machine he had found and tinkered back to use. He had wanted to pay you back. Every year, on the day he arrived you came with a box and another ten pieces of meshing gear for his tinkering, and as much as he secretly loved it, he felt like he wasn’t doing enough to pay you back.

It had been six years and yet he hadn’t gotten you a single thing he considered worth the amount of your kindness. Aside from a necklace with a piece of meshing gear that he had forged into a Cerberus insignia. You wore it everywhere. You wore it then, the rustic insignia rested on your chest. He had already put aside the pieces for a matching bracelet, a little trinket from him to you. A subtle hint to show that you were his, even if he hadn’t said it yet.

He unravelled the box and two tea bags fell out of the wrapping.

You picked them up and shook them before him.

“Tea for the occasion,” you said.

He smiled and closed his eyes.

“I fear, you know me too well.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know your favourite colour,” you said, brewing the tea in the teapot he kept on the wonky table.

“I don’t have one.”

Meaning he couldn’t choose one without them all tying to you. Maybe it was the colour of your hair, or eyes, or even the colour of your lips, he’d stare at those often. Too often lately. He was staring now. He looked away.

“Well, I guess I do know everything about you,” you chirped.

He thanked you as you handed him a cup of tea with two sugars just as he liked it. You knew these things. It wasn’t like you had spoken about them.  No, you had been around him so much in the last few years that these things came naturally to you. It was like breathing. You sat beside him on the ground. Your tea warmed your hands.

“What else does the birthday boy want on his birthday?”

He fought back the blush though he was sure the colour still painted his skin.

“Nothing.”

“Come on! There has got to be something?”

Wriothesley shook his head and opened the box.

“Okay then if you insist. Share this box with me?”

“But it’s yours.”

“And I want to share it with you. Are you really going to deny me on my birthday? Remember, you are the one who asked what I want.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Fine.”

He broke up the bread inside one of the compartments in the box, the same way he'd watched you do it countless times. You reached in and dipped a large unbroken piece of bread into the soup before bringing it up to his lips. He stared at your hand.

“Open up. Come on, birthday boy, if we are sharing then you’ve got to have the first bite,” you said.

When it became apparent that you weren’t going to give up any time soon, he opened his mouth enough for you to slip the bread between his teeth. Both of you without the other's knowledge held your breath when he bit down, and his lips brushed the tips of your fingers.

A shiver ran through your body, one you knew would follow you to bed and into your filthiest dreams.

He pulled back and quickly cleared his throat, as he chewed without tasting.

“It’s delicious,” he said.

“It is,” you choked out, though you hadn’t tried it yet.

He didn’t bother to correct you, too lost trying to calm the riot in his chest. When he felt like he had better control of the battle in his chest he picked up a piece of bread, dipped it into the curry sauce and held it toward you. You blinked.

“You should try some too. You know since we are sharing and all.”

You took a bite from the bread letting the flavours wash over you. They too were lost to the way you noticed his eyes watching your lips enclose around the bread. You nodded and covered your mouth as you chewed.

“It is good,” you agreed, with a mouth full of mush.

He nodded and looked away from you, scooping up another piece of bread and popping it into his mouth. You would have thought he was unaffected until you saw his ears were deep shade of crimson.

Just wholesome delinquent behaviour,

“What’s this about?” You asked as he guided you with his large cold, calloused hands over your eyes. You envied his cryo vision, and his ability to stay cool down in that heat pit. He hid it well, but you knew he had one. You’d seen it one day by accident and not breathed a word about it since. Vision holders were targets down here and the last thing you wanted was to put him in any more danger.

“Patience. Don’t you know all good things come to those who know how to wait,” he said.

 He had dragged you out of the production zone after finishing his work and disappeared off like he usually did only to reappear an hour later with that confident stride he had. You barely ever saw him these days, but when you did it would be like he was still the fresh-faced delinquent but older. You were both older. He guided you into a seat and then removed his hands. You missed the cool touch on your skin. It took a second for your eyes to adjust to the poor lighting.

“What is this?” you asked, staring at the giant box in front of you.

You looked up at Wriothesley. It had been twelve years since he came to the fortress and the once soft baby face was gone, lost to the grit of Meropide. Wriothesley commanded the trust and respect of everyone around him much to the administrator’s dismay. When you were working away in the production zone, to he would be off swaying the inmates and the guards, working his natural charisma on those around him.

“What happened?” You asked reaching up and grazing his split lip with your finger. He caught your wrist and dipped his head out of the way flashing you a half smile. He had grown even taller over the years and now you had to reach up to touch him. He glanced at the ring on your finger, and you snatched your hand away, your face flushed with embarrassment.

“I won some more coupons,” he said.

In reality, he had scrapped up the coupons that he’d hidden away in the case of a rainy day and used them to buy you the meal. A week earlier he had lost all his accumulated credit coupons in a single night to the Fortress’s administrator.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Is that so?” he sassed. “I suppose I should write a will.”

Your expression darkened.

“Kidding, of course,” he said.

“Of course.”

“I went to Sigewinne,” he assured you. “She said I would be fine as long I rested.”

“Good,” you said.

You turned back to the box.

Metal screeched on the floor as Wriothesley pulled his chair closer directly across from you. The place was unusually empty—only a few guards manned the area, but no other inmates could be spotted on the floor.

“So, what is this?” You could smell the faint fragrance of something familiar. Something you hadn’t smelt in years.

“Open it,” he said and gestured with his chin to the box.

You gave him a cautious look and lifted the lid. Inside sat four rolls of bread and two bowls worth of curry. Your heart fluttered. When you looked up at him, he was already watching you; his icy eyes shining like stars. You didn’t want to think anything of it… to hope. Hope was stolen from you. Hope led to you becoming trapped in a loveless engagement with one of the crooked guards.

“You really did it?” you said and ached a little inside.

This was supposed to be a happy moment but all you wanted to do was weep bitter water.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his toned scarred arms over his chest. He looked so broad and solid; all that boxing had morphed his physique into something godly.  “I told you I would pay you back.”

“That was twelve years ago, and this is more than triple what I gave you.”

“I added the interest,” he said.

“Why now?”

He looked down at your ringed finger again and frowned. His brows drew together in the way they did when he was annoyed or thinking more than he was going to let you in on.

“I’m going to fight the administrator,” he said bluntly.

You paused mid-snap of your bread.

“You’re going to fight the administrator?” you repeated, unsure of whether you heard him correctly. “Your sentence is up. Why would you do that? You’re going to die.”

He shrugged.

“I refuse to watch people suffer under the crooked ruling of a tyrant,” he said and eyed your ring again. Your finger felt like it was on fire; you dipped a bit of bread in the curry and handed it to him. He waved it away.

“Why are you like this?” you said, and dropping the piece of bread into the curry, you watched it drown and disappear into the thick liquid. “Is it not enough that you’ll be free?”

You blinked back tears, your hands clenched on your thighs. You had watched nearly all of his fights and every single time your heart was in your throat. Every time he bled, every time he shook hands with his opponent; every time the ringleader held up his beaten-up arm to declare his victory. You hated it. You hated all of it.

He said your name with a tenderness he reserved only for you. A tenderness you didn’t want to hear. A tenderness you blocked out with everything in your soul.

“Is it so strange that I would want to fight for those whom I promised a better life out of genuine care?”

“Why did you do that?” you yelled, your voice came out harsher than you intended but it was too late to take it back. That was the thing about words, they could never be unspoken. He cleared his throat.

“As I recall, I didn’t come here to live under the thumb of another driver, and I thought you would understand that more than anyone else, but I see now that I was wrong and clearly you have been broken down after all.”

You bit down hard on your lips, and your jaw clenched so tight that you were sure you would crunch a tooth.

“Ric—Wriothesley. That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“Indeed, it’s not but it’s the truth.” He glanced away for a second. “Look, I am in love with you, and I have been for the last twelve years. I can’t simply watch you be with someone you hate just to get a sentence lowered that you still won’t tell me about. I could have helped you. I am helping you. I’m helping everyone,” he pushed his chair back and stood.

“…What?”

“I’m fighting tomorrow. Show up, if you have some time, of course; or don’t, but I’ll be looking out for you. You can find me in my dorm before then.”

You fought back the urge to chase after him, to slap him, to kiss him, to hold his hand, to hold him so tightly and cry the way you haven’t been able to since the day you were convicted. Instead, you didn’t. You sat in silence and ate the bread and curry watching your heart walk away from you.

Oh, remember your safe word,

His dorm room was across from yours. It was sparse like everything else in the underwater fortress. A pillow and scatty blanket lay atop a barely functioning mattress in a corner. Wriothesley sat at the small table barely standing on its uneven legs. A tiny pot brewed a herbal smelling tea, and two teacups sat in front of him.

“You came,” he said barely above a whisper. His confidence was a quiet one.

“You love me.”

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, gesticulating to the second cup in front of the spare chair.

You had been in here countless times; shared many cups of tea with him; helped pierce his ears and manage his wounds; watched him shadowbox the air as you sat crossed-legged on his bed; you had wondered what life would be like if Meropide was a better place; you had wondered if the people you left behind missed you as you laid next to each other on his floor staring at the giant fan on the ceiling. Not that either of you had anyone but each other. Wriothesley had said his siblings were strangers to him, and he was probably a ghost they would never want to see again. An unfortunate reminder of something they’d all rather forget, but he never forgot. He refused to. He lived his truth.

 Every time he told you about his past you worried about how his view would change if you if knew your truth. However, Wriothesley never pressed too hard, never touched buttons he knew you didn’t want to be touched. Instead, he watched and observed, and took in all that you were willing to give him, just to see a glimmer behind the cracks of your mask.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked.

“Please.” He gestured to the chair. “Sit.” he filled your cup.

You took your seat and shifted around, unable to find comfort despite it being your usual chair. Feelings always made things feel different—uncomfortable. You knew this. Yet you still felt the discomfort, nonetheless.

“How did you know I would come?”

“I didn’t but I hoped and thankfully you didn’t disappoint, but you never do,” he said, filling his cup.

“No need to be modest with me, Wriothesley.”

“I am anything but modest with you,” he said your name softly.

You gulped. Wriothesley wasn’t one to mince his words, though tact was his favourite game.

“You must have heard about it already?” you brought the teacup to your lips taking a sip of the liquid. Credit coupons bought anything in this fortress, even the finest tea. “It’s all people can talk about when it comes to me.”

His expression darkened.

It was only a matter of time.

“You do, and yet you still love me?” you asked.

“I recall someone once telling me that we all are crooks and criminals down here but that didn’t mean we were all bad,” he recounted the words you had said to him when he arrived nearly verbatim. He leaned onto the table, and it shook on its uneven legs from the added weight. “Besides, I like hearing stories from their source.”

“Then ask.”

“What got you incarcerated?”

You took a deep breath. What did you have to lose? He had heard worse rumours.

For some reason, you cared about what he thought of you. You knew that feelings were fickle things, and yet, you cared that he loved you. You loved him too.

“Mariticide,” you said cooly, breaking the ice.

“But you were—“

“A child, I know.”

“I was illegally married off when I was eight years old to a man, twenty years my senior.”

Wriothesley remained neutral, you took it as your sign to keep going.

“He didn’t do anything to me until my twelfth birthday and then it started. At first, it was just touching and then it got worse. He was an influential Fontaine nobleman. One of the maids tried to help me report him but it didn’t work. So, one night when he came to my room, I had hidden a butter knife under my pillow. I castrated him and ran away, fleeing Fontaine. I wandered through Sumeru and then to Monstadt but even the city of freedom couldn’t protect me. So, I kept moving. It was when I was on my way through Liyue that the authorities caught up to me. The maid who had tried to help me was sleeping with the man and hence reported me. The hearing was quick, and I was put away fast. No one wanted to consider the implications of a thirteen-year-old being married to a thirty-three-year-old whom they all dined with. I heard he died a few years ago but my sentence keeps getting extended every time it gets close to the date of my term. I suspect it’s the maid. I was supposed to be here for eight years and well, I am still here. That’s why I must marry that Guard.” You took a long sip from your tea and then placed the cup down. “I’m damaged goods,” you said.

Wriothesley remained silent. He looked to be thinking of something and you had never seen his expression so dark.

“You’re not damaged,” he said, “and he’s lucky he lived after that.”

You smiled. It was a bitter smile; one filled with more exhaustion than remorse.

“Luck favours the rich.”

“If a man will not work, he shall not eat,” Wriothesley said, reciting the famous lines that painted the walls of Meropide.

You raised your teacup at him before taking another sip.

“Jokes aside, thank you for telling me,” he said.

He stood up and you feared he was going to ask you to leave. You wouldn’t be sad, at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself, but the sinking feeling came all the same.

He offered you his hand and you stared at it. Your brows furrowed before you hesitantly took it. He pulled you up to your feet. His cold hand intertwined with yours.

“Can I hug you?” he asked.

He’d never asked this before. Did you look like you needed a hug? Because you wanted one.

“Please,” you choked out.

You would never have described Wriothesley as warm, but when he held you in his arms and you heard his heart racing you couldn’t deny that he was undoubtedly warm. A single tear rolled down your cheek. Then another, and another, and another until you were sobbing into his shabby inmate shirt.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I know.”

You’d been holding onto these feelings for so long. Letting them fester inside you like a sickness. No one had ever stopped to hear your side of the story and you thought you were okay with that. You thought if they stayed away from you then you could pretend to be like every other inmate brought in for stealing a slice of cake meant for Lady Furina. You thought you could hide your truth, but behind every fake smile, you wore it on yourself like a body of armor.

His shirt crumpled in your hands. He swayed from side to side and traced tiny circles on your back with his thumb.

“You did what you had to do. If he was alive, I’d kill him,” he said.

You wiped your eyes and looked up at him. “Please don’t fight tomorrow.”

He brought a hand up to your cheek and brushed away your tears. He decided then that he hated your tears, and he would do anything to see to it that you didn’t feel that way again.

 However, he hated the idea of you living with this pain more. He hated seeing that diamond on the finger where his should be. He hated it even more that you knew that he hated it before he had admitted his feelings for you. If his resolve hadn’t been solidified before now it would be completely. He would free you, and if you decided you wanted to be with him once you sprouted your wings, then he would accept you with open arms. He wouldn’t put you in another cage. He’d hate to see your heart break because to him you were his heart.

Wriothesley’s attention dropped to your lips; they were wet with your tears. He leaned down and brushed his lips to the corner feeling your sadness.

You turned your head at the last moment and captured his lips.

He froze.

You gripped his shirt tighter and reached up on the tips of your toes pressing your mouth further into his; willing him to reciprocate. Your first kiss with Wriothesley tasted like bitter water. It was soft and desperate. It knew what it was without the need for words or discussion.

His chest heaved as he pulled away.

“Don’t leave me,” you whispered.

“I won’t…” 

He wouldn’t—at least not tonight. Although, he didn’t know whether it was day or night outside of Meropide. The underworld was a different world entirely. It never truly slept. It didn’t adhere to the rules of the sun or the moon. It was filled with endless possibilities. Possibilities that could alter both of your existences and if he couldn’t free you above ground, he knew sure as hell would free you below. Although, one night of keeping you safe in his arms couldn’t hurt.

You sat down on his mattress. You looked so much smaller than he remembered, then again it had been twelve years.

He recalled your soot-covered face, and dull eyes when you had greeted him, the day he arrived at Meropide. The day he had begun his new life; his birthday. Although the circumstances weren’t great, he knew from the moment you said, ‘Welcome to hell,’ that he would love you.

He sat beside you.

“Tell me what you want?” he said, earnestly.

You leaned into him.

“I want you to be yours.”

It was true. You wanted him. Engagement be damned. Even if it was just one night, you wanted something for you. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was asking for too much, but you didn’t care. You had spent too long denying yourself the things you want to maintain a peace no one else upheld.

Wriothesley gripped your wrist and groaned what sounded like your name, but you couldn’t be too sure.

“Give me a word,” he said.

“What?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he began.

“I am not fragile.”

Though in front of him, you were.

“I know you are not. Give me a word so I know to stop if it gets too much for you.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and rested his forehead against yours.

“Time,” you breathed.

That’s what you wanted—time. Time to love him, time to live, time to take back all the things you regretted and start again. Time to meet him before you both became who you were.

“Okay,” he said, leaving a kiss behind your ear. “Tonight, you’re mine.”

Only tonight. He reminded himself.

He could promise you that for certain. He couldn’t promise tomorrow, not because he was a pessimist but because he knew tomorrow was never certain. He had you now. He would make sure he had you forever but now would have to be enough. He would make it enough.

“Yours. Completely,” you said.

Another tear rolled down your cheek.

He pulled off his shirt. 

Your mouth merged with his, your tongue slipping into his open mouth tangling, exploring searching. He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes closing despite the desire to see every expression on your face.

You broke the kiss and leaned back pulling off your shirt. His eyes dropped to your breasts.

“Just for me,” he whispered, taking them into his hands and kneading them slowly.

He traced kisses down your neck, wishing to mark you, to lay his claim to you. He wouldn’t however, not yet…not tonight.

You fiddled with the string to his bottoms, untangling it and reaching in to feel his erection. He groaned against your neck unafraid to let you know how good it felt. You grasped his cock. It was thick, thicker than you expected, and so hard.  You needed both hands to grip him properly.

“Take off that fucking ring,” he hissed upon feeling it on his skin. You did, taking off the ring and dropping it with your shirt on the floor. You gripped his cock again, your hands feeling so much lighter without the mental weight of the ring.

“Harder,” he growled as you stroked him.

You tightened your grip watching as the crease between his brows grew. He rolled his hips into your hand.

“Oh, that’s it,” he panted.

You bit your lip and focused on the reddened tip.

Your thumb brushed the crown wiping away the drops of precum. He jolted, his jaw unhinging, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. You froze and released his cock. He opened his eyes, worried, only to see you on your knees between his legs.

He opened his legs wider and slid closer to the edge of the bed. He brushed your hair out of your face and gripped it in his hand as he used the other to keep him up on the bed.

“Go on,” he said. “Show me how much you want me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Gripping, his cock you gave the tip a lick listening to his pleased grunts. Slowly you took him into your mouth, enjoying the sensation of his hand gripping your hair.

“Good girl, taking me so well.”

You were soaked just from listening to his praise. You slipped a hand into your underwear and began rubbing your clit.

His breath quickened, and his mouth felt incredibly dry from his inability to close it. His hips jerked, as you took him deeper. He heard you gag as he felt your throat quiver around his cock. He pulled out, letting you catch your breath before he thrust back into your throat. Your eyes rolled and drove a finger into yourself.

You bobbed your head keeping up with the brutal pace he was setting. You loved hearing his grunts and groans; you loved feeling his cock twitch and his pace stagger as he got closer. Despite how hard it was, you looked up at him. His mouth was agape, his eyes barely open. You released him just when you knew he was going to cum.

Wriothesley opened his eyes to see you waiting, mouth open, your mouth and chin dripping with saliva. You looked glorious.

“You’re stunning,” he breathed and released your hair, wrapping his hand around his cock and pumping it until the first spray of cum splattered your lips. “So perfect, with such a pretty mouth.”

You licked your lips and opened your mouth again, leaning closer till the tip rested against your tongue.

Wriothesley felt like he was in a dream or heaven or both.

“Swallow it all,” he panted as he pumped the rest onto your tongue.

You did so, licking your lips and opening your mouth to prove it.

At the sight of your flushed face, your blown lust-filled eyes, and your hand deep in your pants, he found himself hardening again. He had promised tonight, and tonight he was going to have. If he died tomorrow, he’d die a happy man.

“Get on the bed right now, naked and on your back,” he ordered.

You shimmied off your work pants and your underwear, laying on the bed under his hungry gaze. He stood and stripped the rest of his clothes away before joining you on the bed. It was barely big enough for both of you, but he was going to make it work. He kneeled before your closed legs.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Good.”

“Just good?” he teased, a smirk on his lips.

“Mhm just good,” you responded, reciprocating the expression.

“Oh, we’ll have to fix that,” he said, and scooping under your thighs, he opened your legs and pulled you closer to him.

You giggled at the speed at which he had your legs wrapped around his waist and his hard cock pressing against your soaked folds. He caged you between his arms as he rolled his hips slowly.

“I love you,” he said, staring into your eyes.

“I love you too,” you responded.

“I know.”

He kissed you with everything in his soul. At some point, he knew you loved him even if you hadn’t said it till just now. He knew it like how he knew the back of his hand but hearing it made it even better. It made it real.

He rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked hole, pushing in the tip just enough to feel you quiver before pulling out and running it over your pussy again.

“If I fuck you, you’re mine. No one touches what is mine. Do you understand?” He asked

Your heart stuttered.

“I understand.”

“After all, no one will be able to fuck you the way I can. Once I’m inside you unless you tell me otherwise, I’m not stopping until we both see stars,” he said, making sure he looked straight into your eyes as he did.

This wasn’t a game for him, he meant every single word and you knew it.

“Wriothesley, there will never be anyone like you.”

He groaned and slid in. Your back arched at the sheer size of his cock stretching you beyond your limits. You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw, grabbing onto the sheets for support.

“Breathe, relax,” he whispered. “Hold onto me.”

He continued to slowly push in bringing his knees closer giving him the right angle to get in as deep as possible. He gasped upon seeing himself completely disappear inside you. You tightened your legs around his waist, and dragged him down gripping his back, locking you into a mating press.

He waited till the need for release subsided before he began to move. The shitty bedframe, not built for the purpose it was being used for, squeaked, and hit against the wall. The sound of skin slapping against skin, and stifled cries joined the air disturbing whatever sorry soul had the misfortune of being on the other side of the wall. Neither of you cared at that moment. Within minutes you had already come twice.

Your chest heaved, and Wriothesley cupped them leaving bites all over your breasts, he avoided any place people would be able to see but needed to mark you somewhere. He moved back up to your ear and nibbled on the lobe.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he said quietly.

You slipped a hand between your rocking bodies and began to rub your clit. Wriothesley leaned back till he was kneeling. Gripping your waist, he continued to fuck you watching with hawk-like focus the way your fingers played with your clit. It was like you were under display, laid out for him to observe and study, and you were.

“So, that’s how you like it?” he said, feeling your walls clench around him for the third time that night.

You whimpered in response, your words had long since failed you. You began to slow as your hand grew tired and your body became closer to a collection of jolting nerves than functioning limbs.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. You can give me two more, right?” he said.

You moaned as he replaced your hand continuing to rub your clit just as vigorously as you had started.

“Wriothesley,” you cried,

“Ssh, you’ve got this. Let go. Be a good girl and give me two more,” he urged you on.

You bit your lip and threw your head back letting out another cry which he swallowed eagerly. Your walls clenched again, and your body began to show the signs of a squirt. You sprayed, your legs shaking, your toes curling.

“Shit, you’re incredible. One more,” he captured your lips. “You’ve done so good. Just give me one more, my love,” he said against them.

One more and he would be satisfied. One more and he could guarantee that he would have enough resolve to follow through with his plans. Just one more.

You shivered again and bit down on his bottom lip as your final climax washed over you barely a minute later. He growled at the pain, tugging his lip from your mouth, and kissing you properly.

“Well done,” he said but continued thrusting at the same brutal pace. “I’m nearly there.”

You used what little strength you had to keep him inside. He said your name for what was the thousandth time that night.

“Not tonight,” he panted, smiling against your lips. “Trust me, I want to. I do, but not tonight.”

He pulled out and kissed you softly, stroking himself until his release painted your stomach. He kissed your forehead and rolled off you to not squash you under his weight.

You turned onto your side and cuddled into him. He wrapped his arms around you and entangled your limbs. You faced each other on the damp sheets.

It felt like time stopped. Everything melted away, you didn’t know whether it had been forty or four hours, and you didn’t care. You felt sticky and wet, the only thing cooling you down was the natural coolness of his skin on yours. Sleep drifted over you like a blanket not soon after. You tried to fight it off, wishing to talk to him longer; to try and convince him against fighting the administrator; to find a way with you because as long as you had each other you knew everything would be okay…

“Everything is going to be okay,” he said quietly as if he had read your mind, sending you off to sleep. “It’s all going to be okay.”

When you woke the next morning, well when the sound of the guards woke you from your sex-induced coma, Wriothesley was gone.

Remember your safeword.

You woke to cool scarred arms wrapped securely around your waist. Wriothesley’s head rested on your breasts. Flecks of grey mixed seamlessly into the stream of black hair reminded you that you were no longer in the past. You shifted slightly to free an arm. He grumbled something and nuzzled his head further into your breasts, securing his arms tighter around you as if afraid you were going to disappear. It was a habit he had developed over the years, an incessant need to hold onto you when he slept. You didn’t mind it too much, you liked being cold when you went to bed; it helped you sleep better.

“Wriothesley,” you whispered and ran a hand through his hair. You laid a peck on his forehead, and he stirred.

“Is it morning already?” he grumbled, though his eyes remained closed.

He had been awake for as long as you had been lost in your thoughts, silently listening to the sound of your pounding heart. He couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts ailed you on nights like these.

You admired the thick dark lashes casting shadows over his face.

“No, I just can’t sleep,” you said.

You knew his skin like the back of your hand. The scar under his eye, the scar on his neck that led down to the center of his breastplate and stopped on his sternum. The ones wrapped around his arms, the ones that scattered his waist and stomach, the ones on his thighs; even the small faint one on his calf from when he fell over as a kid. He told you that was when he knew his skin was going to be littered with scars. Wriothesley scarred easily and he scarred badly. However, despite their jagged appearances, none of them were too hideous for you to bear. You didn’t like them, but you loved Wriothesley, and as they were as a part of him as any other part of him, you learnt to love them too. They represented how many battles he had won. They represented every promise kept.

You lifted his head up and kissed the scar on his face, the one right under his eye.

You could feel his hardened cock pressing against your thigh. His pupils were blown when he finally opened his eyes.

He loved you so much it hurt. Yes, physically but also mentally. He loved how you accepted him, he loved how you chose him, and he loved how you chose you too. Most of all he loved how you looked when you teased him, so raw, so ripe, so ready to dismantle you completely.

“Oh, I can think of ways to help with that,” he murmured.

“I don’t know if I have the stamina, your grace,” you teased.

He let out a guttural noise.

He nibbled and sucked on your nipple, messaging your other breast in his cold, rough hands. Your breath staggered as you gave in to his touch. The sound went straight to his cock. He had fucked you into the sheets earlier that night, till you were blubbering and couldn’t remember your own name. Still, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough; he would never get enough of you. Despite your fear that one day he would disappear, he never would. It was Wriothesley who worried that one day you would grow tired of his incessant need to be near you; to have you, to consume you. So, he savoured every squirm, every shiver, every breathy gasp of his name that you would spare him, terrified that they’d be his last.

“Ah, well it’s a good thing that I have enough stamina for the both of us,” he said switching his attention from one boob to the other. The earlier hickeys had already darkened on your skin. “Think you can cum again?”

He would kiss each one later wishing for them to last forever.

“You’re insatiable,” you blushed.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I have my favourite meal right where I want her,” he said and began to trail his tongue down your stomach towards your sensitive clit. He wanted you on his tongue, in his senses… everywhere.

“Do you remember your safeword?” he asked. It was what he always did before you both did anything sexual beyond intimate fondling and brisk kisses.

“Time,” you said.

“Good girl.” He half grinned.

He continued teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, absorbing every twitch and shake of your body.

“Wriothesley,” you spluttered. “I need you.”

“You’ve got me,” he said.

He slipped his tongue into you, circling, lapping, like a man possessed he devoured you. His nose brushed against your skin. It was knowing his eyes were on you the entire time that made everything feel ten times more stimulating. You let out a quiet gasp and gripped his hair.

“You’re so good for me.” He gave you a broad lick. “So perfect.”

He replaced his tongue with his fingers, curling them inside you and scissoring them open to stretch you out not that you needed much with how well he had fucked you before. Still, it was the thought of giving you pleasure that spurred him on.

“Wriothesley,” you said.

He hummed to show you he was listening, the vibration made you quiver.

“I want your cuffs.”

He paused and pulled away, perking up. He secretly loved it when you surprised him.

“Oh? What for?”

You smiled and gestured for his cuffs. He scrambled off the queen-sized bed and walked butt naked to where he left his cuffs. You admired his ass from the bed. He had a great ass, he knew it too, it was why he wore his jacket around Meropide. His nickname Ricecake had gotten around the Fortress years ago and whilst it was okay when he was a convict, he didn’t need that level of familiarity as the Duke. Besides, you were the only one he wanted observing his ass.

He climbed back onto the bed and handed them to you, the spiked metal looked so good in your hands. His eyes flickered to the rings on your ring finger—his rings. The ones he gave you when he officially proposed.

He never ended up fighting that day due to the administrator’s sudden disappearance.

He recalled how you had run around Meropide searching for him, your hair a mess, the beginnings of one of the love bites he had left dauntingly close to view, poking out of one of his shirts that you had thrown on instead of your own. He recalled how you had slammed open the door to the administrator’s office, breathless, beautiful, with your eyes full of tears to him sitting behind the desk organising the abandoned files. He recalled how he claimed you again there, in that office over and over and over again. The other man’s ring was long gone somewhere down the many drains of Meropide, and your sentence cleared not long after. There were perks to becoming the administrator of the fortress of Meropide. Perks that had the maid of that man who hurt you disappear to a place only known by Celestia, the Archons, Navia, and Wriothesley. Neuvillette knew too but unless there was a trial, he would keep his nose out of it.

You knelt on the bed swinging the cuffs on your fingers.

“Where have you gone?” you cooed bringing him back to reality.

“Mm, nowhere, just admiring the view,” he said coolly.

You shook your head and pushed him to lay back against the pillows.

“You’re working too hard, your grace. I can fix that,” you said and straddled him.

Reaching above him, you cuffed his arms to the bed frame.

He cocked a brow and playfully tugged against the restraints.

“Ah, I hope so,” he said.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, smirking.

His cock twitched at the memory of your first time together.

“Remember the safeword?” you asked.

Seeing you sat on him, your eyes filled with life, he couldn’t care less that you didn’t remember your past before Meropide. He didn’t care that you didn’t recall how he was the boy you gave bread to once when you spotted him wandering away from his home. How you had given him, a complete stranger what looked like your last piece of food because he was sitting alone. He didn’t care if all you remembered was your last two and a half decades together… because you were here now with him. You chose him just as he chose you.

“Time," he responded.

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[alastors-antlers]

Why Alastor is good aroace rep after all, written by an aroace

Hello all! I just want to start off this post by saying that I'm one person who definitely doesn't speak for all aroaces, but I wanted to make a post on this anyway, and maybe some folk would be interested in hearing out another perspective?

I'm not really caught up on everything that's been said over the course of HH's creation - only more recent interviews, since I'm pretty new to the fandom. Apologies if I've missed anything, but also I do not have the time to keep up with all the out-of-canon-material backstory unfortunately. I'm working with what we've got here.

So here's the thing:

Alastor is cruel, he's narcissistic, he doesn't care about anyone except himself, he's a serial killer and a monster.

(That's the argument I've heard - please tell me if that's not really what people are going for lol, in which case I've totally misunderstood?)

The issue with aroace rep when it paints asexual people with those traits is that it aims to dehumanizes them. Sex and love are essential to the human experience, right? So why wouldn't someone be interested? Because they're self-absorbed, and cold, and detached. They don't have the capacity to love others enough to feel romance.

And sure, Alastor is a killer, and a schemer, and prideful, and a monster by hell's standards. But no matter how above it all and stylish and in control and provocative he wants to be, he's a very human character, and his aroace-ness never serves to add to his alienation. You could even say that it makes him seem even more personable.

That's what I think is the key difference.

why he's human

Alastor's whole persona is about control, and he basically straight-up says this. He's controlling what his enemies know, what his public image is like. His goal is to be the Radio Demon -- overlord of Hell, charismatic, Machiavellian, and undefeatable. He's not. Despite that smile plastered over his face (a powerful tool, huh) he's so expressive for someone who's constantly pretending.

You see his exasperation with the Egg Bois and with Charlie's ranting; his nervousness in front of Zestial; his frustration with Lucifer and the petty lengths he goes to to piss off the ruler of Hell.

You see his desperation, making that deal with Charlie. He's surprised by the idea of being vulnerable in front of an enemy like Adam, and so close to danger. He drops the radio filter and the affect out of fear, and runs on broadcast TV to let out panic and anger and bitterness in his hideout, where no one else can see him.

He has a smile that tells us he's genuinely happy to see someone; it's a little wider than his default. You see it with Mimzy's greeting, you see it with Rosie. Rosie, especially, serves to make Alastor more human to the audience. More on this later, but for now, I'm just saying that you can see that he at least seems to respect her greatly. Whatever bond they have, we know that he trusts her to touch him, to share history with him, and with support that he trusts no one else for.

He pretends, but he can't pretend it all away. Loads of these emotions aren't even advantageous for him to show. It isn't necessarily how the typical asexual psychopath acts; he's not emotionless or only capable of anger or brutality.

He's so full of emotion that it leaks through, despite all that he does to avoid it. He's not inhuman and aloof, not really - he's so, so human, even when he tries not to be because he thinks that'll be what keeps him above all the rest. In control, and free from his chains.

(If anyone wants to see images about all this, I'll make a separate post - just let me know.)

(I also have another post, talking about why Alastor is at least a little attached to the hotel's residents too, shown via conversation with Niffty. In what way? different question.)

how the aroace part contributes to that

Now, to be fair, we don't hear much about his aroaceness in canon. It's just not relevant a lot of the time.

In the pilot, Angel's proposition ruffles his feathers so much that Alastor blanks for a moment. It's a joke, sure, but that ace panic face is a pretty popular Alastor moment in the fandom - Alastor, thrown off-balance by a sex joke of all things, after so many years in Hell that he should probably be used to this.

It's a moment that makes him more approachable; his aroaceness shows him unprepared for something someone else does for one of the only real moments in the whole episode.

And the other part: the ace in the hole statement.

Rosie apparently knows Alastor so well that she read that he's aroace. That tells us about their relationship; namely, that it is long-standing and genuine enough that she gleaned a piece of real information from him. It's a casual fact that she knows about him before he even figured it out himself. It lends legitimacy to their bond - this bond that shows us a more comfortable and warm side of Alastor that we don't often see.

If their relationship is purely business, isn't this something pretty frivolous and personal? It's not like he has anything to gain by telling her about his life, but she learned about it somehow. How close are they? That's where it adds a layer of complexity and personality to his character..

thoughts on representation

Overall, Alastor's an interesting character who has a level of depth and care and personality (outside of cruelty) that asexual psychopath tropes lack. Again, the moments where he's being represented as disinterested in sex or romance don't make him seem detached. Again, they don't say "look how hostile toward relationships his behaviour is - how separate he is from our humanity". That's what bad villain ace rep is. That's not what the show's doing.

Also: I'm not saying that we need to lower our standards or anything, but even if you think it's not the best rep, I feel like we should be supporting HH's efforts here. I know that on Tumblr we have a pretty queer-friendly space going, which is honestly an understatement lol but

Aces are incredibly underrepresented in fiction. There's a whole Wikipedia page about asexual characters in media, and it's short as all hell, and even if you consider what's on there you see quite a number of one-off characters who are never mentioned again.

In terms of real life business - before the DSM updated their definition of hypoactive sexual desire disorder (HSDD) in 2013, identifying as asexual wasn't even a recognized thing. If you talked to a clinician about your lack of sexual desire, you could be diagnosed with a disorder. Only in the 5th edition do we now have a little exclusion footnote about it.

The concept of asexuality hasn't been explored nearly as much as other queer identities in our scientific research. We get crumbs in terms of mainstream representation and understanding. House M.D. has an episode where House "disproves" us because he's just so smart.

Alastor isn't going to be perfect representation. There's no such thing as perfect representation, and from the moment he was conceptualized, you could see how people would take him poorly. Still, I think he's a net positive.

He isn't a side character or a token ace - he's a core part of the show, whose personality and character motivations we can reasonably presume are going to be explored much more deeply in upcoming season(s). He's loved by the fandom. Right now, given what we know, I trust Vivziepop to write the aroace representation he deserves, because with the way I've heard the cast/directing/etc. talk about him, they're trying to do the aroace community justice, so I wish people would let up just a little on the whole "Alastor is bad rep".

Let's give him a chance, all right?

[psuedosugu]

You know something I've noticed? Yeah, Nifty is your typical yandere but can we talk about Vox? You technically don't even have to request him as a yandere unless you want it to be romanticized toward you and/or further explored because according to ALL of the recent regular Vox x readers (and the show itself), he clearly has many traits of one especially toward Alastor. He acts like a toxic, jealous ex 😂 He cyberstalks people for one, he's manipulative, insecure (this is where possessiveness and jealousy tends to stem from), doesn't take rejection well as we heard from Al, is capable of being obsessed with someone, and an overall control freak. He wants to keep the Vees' image and everything looking perfect. Imagine this guy being attached to you. An absolute nightmare. Never any privacy, eyes and ears everywhere, can teleport with or without a screen, blackmail is 100% on the table as well as other tactics, and constant validation for him whether your relationship is forced or not. What sucks about the last part is that it's a double-edged sword. If you fuel his ego, he's enabled but if you don't give him enough attention, he'll try harder and tighten his hold on you. So while Val absolutely horrible, it's like you can never win with Vox. Not when you don't have equal power and he's stated to be very strong. Especially these days, tech is an absolute must since even jobs heavily rely on it. Life and the afterlife here is much harder without a smartphone. He's literally a TV. He wants to be watched and noticed.

So he'll get it.

exactly brooo

cw: themes of manipulation, blackmail, and toxic, controlling relationships.

gender neutral

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

ੈ✧̣̇ || honestly atp he’s practically a canon yandere.

ੈ✧̣̇ || i kinda talked about this before but i feel like he would manipulate reader into thinking that they need him when its the other way around

ੈ✧̣̇ || as u said, he’s insecure as hell and he needs someone to boost his ego and make him look superior

ੈ✧̣̇ || he also needs some source of stability in his (after) life which is where you come in.

ੈ✧̣̇ || hed also never let things go or get over you.

ੈ✧̣̇ || he started beef with a dude that he hadn’t seen in 7 whole years, for gods sake 😭

ੈ✧̣̇ || bro will start fights over things that happened months ago and are over now done with

ੈ✧̣̇ || he also craves control, not only will he spy on you through your electronics but he’ll also try and control other things that he has no business controlling like what you wear, who you talk to, ect.

ੈ✧̣̇ || if you mention your concerns about it he’ll try and back off, but hes just so paranoid that something will happen to you even though he knows you’re capable of taking care of yourself.

ੈ✧̣̇ || he needs to feel like he’s needed.

ੈ✧̣̇ || he also exerts his control by threatening you with blackmail, wether it be secrets that you told him or pictures.

ੈ✧̣̇ || not like you don’t have a fair amount of dirt on him too, though.

ੈ✧̣̇ || he’d definitely fight a bitch for you, if you’re getting threatened, stalked, and/or harassed by someone (that isnt him ofc) said person better prepare for his wrath.

ੈ✧̣̇ || hes a whiny ass bitch which is either annoying or hot depending on who you ask and what the context is.

ੈ✧̣̇ || its also kind of confusing how he acts, he’ll be practically ignoring you one second and begging for your attention the next.

ੈ✧̣̇ || another reason why he’s so scared of you leaving is because of how vulnerable he’s been to you.

ੈ✧̣̇ || he’s told you things that he’s never told anyone, shown parts of him that no one has ever seen, and the thought of what you could do with this info if you ever were to turn on him makes him feel sick to the stomach.

ੈ✧̣̇ || despite how it feels sometimes he really does care about and love you, he just has an unhealthy mindset when it comes to love.

ੈ✧̣̇ || perhaps you should stay around (not like u rlly have a choice), teach him how to love someone properly. you wont regret it :)

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

i do requests!

check out my masterlist!

[dallasgallant]

Two bit headcanons-

I did some for Steve so it’s only fair to do some for Two-bit as i also adore him and he’s a little underrated.

I heard people say that his sisters name name is Semi-officially Brenda? So I’ll combine that with my headcanon — her name is Brenda-Mae. Hyphenated!

That being said “Bren” or just “mae” is more commonly said

She is the most ruffle covered ten year old you will ever see in your life. Her dresses/skirts, her curtains, her bedskirts

Not even his mom and sister Call him Keith, it’s rare for anyone too… sister and mother call him “Bitty” sometimes to have a sort of monopoly on nicknames

Had to step up in the house since his dad left, he really did try at first but he grew more and more bitter about it— he mainly makes sure his mom is comfortable and sister is fed

Their mom works a LOT at the diner so he and Brenda are latchkey kids (really who in the gang isn’t?) though his sister has a lot more after school activities or play dates than he does. -> half the time he “babysits” pony more than his own sister

Has a black and white Tv which is part of the reason why he’s so hypnotized by the Curtis’s

Will eat any gross thing for $5 and a laugh

Somewhat canon but he’s a functional alcoholic

Next to Steve he also does his hair in complicated patterns- where as Steve does a Jelly roll , Two bit does a elephant trunk (he has something adjacent in the movie)

Likes Mickey Mouse so much due to some deep seated psychological reason he’ll probably never figure out.

He is a card holding member of the Mickey Mouse club since he was five.

Plays dumb but understands things better than even Soda

Embodiment of “here for a good time not a long time” -> ironically I think he’d be one of the longest living of the gang.

[nkogneatho]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒, 𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒:

—♡How gojo fell in love. (POC!READER)♡—

#mlist #emergency commissions #liawot

—cw: fluff, gojo is flirty, romance, oblivious reader, reader's body isn't described, I tried to keep it neutral, not proofread.

—wc: 1.3k

—a/n: Self indulgent lmao, but I was watching K3G and it reminded me how similar gojo is to Rahul. Though this is desi movie story, I tried to include the canon verse too.

It was comical. It was unrealistic. It was unbelievable. I mean...why would you ever believe a man like him would fall for you? Let his guard down for you? Yet, he did. Not only he let his guard down, he broke all the walls that stood between you and him. And it was all love at first sight.

It started when he saw you jumping, cheering for your favorite player as you watched the match. You weren't the only one there jumping in the crowd. You weren't the only one cheering. Yet, your voice could be heard the loudest to him. Your excitement, the happiness, it all radiated when Satoru followed the voice, and it led him to the left side, where he found you staring at the big tv screen near the street. This is it. That's what he thought. This is who I was waiting for.

Being the leader of a clan, and a big shot with loads of money, girls and boys were all over him. Or rather his money. All those people dressed in expensive attires, rich background, and all the lavishness that came with it...bored him. Bored him to the core because it wasn't fun. But you. You were. You were dressed in the fabric that he's sure he's seen on a hundred people walking down the street and never thought of it. Yet, when he saw you in the same piece, he was jealous. He wanted to be draped like that sky blue mesh around your body. And he was sure to make his dream come true.

He shouldn't be this determined over someone he saw once, right? We doubt fate, though. When two people who are meant to be together come across each other once, there will be a second time. A third time. A lifetime.

"How dare you not bully him back?" You screamed at your little sister, adding up to her tears and frustration after she got teased for having greasy hair.

"But—"

"I mean, I know they are the richest here. Can't they teach their children manners?" You continued ranting, and it was only cut off when two of the most known people appeared (surprisingly also the one you were cussing) at your hallway.

"Y/n. Look it's Gojo-ji and Megumi , your father announced. "Go get them some snacks."

"No, sir. That's not nece—" before gojo could speak, he was cut off by your comment.

"They are the last people we should worry about not getting enough food, dad." Beautiful and a sharp tongue. I like it. Satoru thought. Your father had left to the other room due to a call.

"Megumi. Go apologize to Nobara for what you said about her hair before," He pushed the ten year towards Nobara to fix his wrongdoings. Megumi apologized to her and those two made up.

"I wanted to talk," the white haired man said.

"Okay. I'll go bring dad," as you tried to swiftly sprint and call your father, he grabbed you and came closer, till both your breathes could be felt on each other's face. Maybe it was just an accident. Maybe he didn't mean to. The why wasn't he pulling away? No, no. Why weren't you pulling away?

"I wanted to talk...to you," his eyes were on your lips. He slowly pulled away, giving you space and go back to the position you were standing in before. But, suddenly, your body felt timid under his presence. Which never had been the case because of your strong demeanor.

"If these children can drop the mutual hatred between two different classes and make up, don't you think we should too?" Your oblivious self didn't understand him. You just hit him with a "huh?"

The next thing that happened shocked you to your core. Gojo leaned in and planted a quick, soft kiss on your cheeks, and whispered "tell me if you want more." He winked and quickly disappeared, leaving you flushed, and stunned.

His antics continued for a few weeks. Before you knew, you started seeing that motherfucker more often. He started dropping by your sweet shop, ordering so many items, till you sold out in just one single order.

"Ya! Gojo Satoru. You're doing it on purpose, right?" You glared at him.

"What?"

"Dropping here everyday. Buying everything."

"How do you know that?" He reached out for a barfi in the sample section, and took a bite. "Maybe I just happen to have a sweet tooth." There it was. That smug character you hate. But you weren't going to back down, either.

"Alright. Eat all you want. It only helps me if you die of diabetes soon." And then there was your character that he oh so adored.

______

You were so mad that your sister, Nobara, brought you at the amusement park festival. Not because of the event, but because she invited the last person you wanted to see. Yes. Him and Megumi. God, you wanted to choke your sister for this.

While Megumi and Nobara went on rides together, you and Satoru were left in the awkwardness. Just two people, standing in a corner. One thinking about how to repay his brother for accepting the invitation, the other planning murder of her sister for inviting them in the first place. All those thoughts were whooshed away when you stumbled across a workshop you liked. Oh my god. Festival goodies are your favorite thing in the world.

You quickly started checking out everything. The earings, the necklaces, the rings. But then, your eyes fell on the sage green bangles. There were immediate heart eyes visible on your face. You started giggling in excitement. The same when he saw you for the first time. That's when Satoru knew. Now is the time.

"Let me help." He trailed the set of bangles from your fingers to his, grabbing you by your wrist, the man pulled you closer. You felt fragile. Weak, under his touch. Shying away all of a sudden. Something changed. You've always known heard his rebellious side, yet he was gentler with you when he pushed one bangle down your wrist.

"I know what you want," your voice timid.

"And what's that?" Gojo thought you knew what he truly desired.

"You want to shut down our shop. You rich motherfuckers hate us hard workers."

"I—" no sentences left his mouth for a while. He was only baffled by your stupidity.

"For someone who is sharp and spews venomous words, you truly are stupid when it comes to love," is all he could say to confuse you further.

"Love?"

He came closer. Ridiculously. The pale skin fingers brushed against yours as he gently placed the second bangle on your pouched palm.

"Yes. Love. You," him speaking in syllables only made it harder for you to comprehend. "Tell me if the steel wires hurt or sting," he pushed the green circle down your wrist.

"You see, no matter how smart you get, y/n...some things can only be felt, not said. Is it stinging?" He asked again. You nodded in a no.

"And that's what I feel with you. It's not your shop I want. It's you."

"Tsk!" you hiss in pain. The bangle suddenly felt tighter. Or was it his fingers wrapped around your wrist. Your body felt hotter.

"Did it sting?"

You were blushing. Was it the right expression for someone who just got stung by the steel string designed on the bangle? You suddenly realized it wasn't the accessory he was talking about. It was your heart getting stung by the arrow of his love, his devotion.

"Yes," you slowly nod.

"Me too," before you could shy away and run, Satoru grabbed your lips by his, confirming his feelings for you. You didn't pull away. The jewelry on your wrists clinked against his ears when your fingers grabbed his neck, lips pressing further into the kiss.

There it was. His dream coming true. What Gojo Satoeu truly wants, he gets.

[eisforeidolon]

The writers were aware of fandom wank, which is why a lot of the “Dean/Cass” stuff ends up on the cutting room floor. It’s like they’d write something that seemed fine on paper, the. they realize people will read too much into it when performed and cut it out.

That was some of it. Like the infamous fake heaven scene they thought would be so hilarious to fill with pictures of Dean - where Jared had to point out some fans would take it seriously as a hint to where the story was going. So they removed it because that wasn't the intent. Like the crypt scene were Jensen pointed out Dean would not say I love you there. So Robbie changed it to what he more explicitly meant in terms of it being familial affection by his own direct admission.

Hellers want to insist all those little cut moments are PROOF of a conspiracy to ~*cheat them*~ out of an intended D/C story the writers were trying to give them, damn the meddling network and producers! However, what all the details we've actually heard about show? Is the ship being a thing in canon was so far outside of the genuine agreed intent multiple writers not only didn't think about the implications and not only used it as a punchline? But usually immediately removed those supposed hints when anyone pointed out the prospect of it being taken seriously by fans. Of course, when you have fans so desperately searching for clues they can turn literally breathing in the same room into ~*epic romance*~ it's hard to remove everything unless the characters literally never interact (and then you end up with "negative space" meta, so there's no winning).

Sure, there's a deeper question there as to whether they thought that specific pairing was ridiculous in the context of the canon (absolutely) or they generally thought m/m pairings were only fodder for jokes (not cool). Except that's a whole different discussion, because either way? What is clear is there was never some intentional secret storyline in easily cut throwaway moments leading up to making D/C canon the REAL story of the show. And not just because the idea anyone would tell a story on tv that way is fucking bonkers.

The writers definitely became more aware as time went on about fandom wank in regards to the subject? Though I think it was complicated a bit by them also having some quote unquote writers join the team towards the very end who were desperate for attention and actively wanted to bait those unhinged fans, like Bobo the Assclown and whatsherface the minion underling.

[iinariah]

If you don't mind me asking, who are your favorite romantic relationship's couples in books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series (can be canon or non-canon)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before......Thanks....

HI OMG IM SO SORRY FOR THE VERY LATE REPLY, IVE BEEN VERY BUSY BUT SURE! And since I'm a multishipper, I'll just list my top 5 ships out of fandoms I've been in

FengCui: Feng Xiao x Cui Buqu (Wushuang/Peerless) - The reason I love this ship so much and is my top 1 out of all the shows and books ive read and watched is because I'm so in love with their dynamic, development, and interactions with each other. They first start of as rivals then gradually start to fall for each other with each case they work and time they spent togther. I also loved the fact that the author didn't use stereotypical tropes with the main cp. While its enemies to lovers, to me, it's enemies AND lovers because when they do get together, their dynamic didn't change and they still remained the same. And that's one of the reasons why I love this pair so much.

2. Cezhou: Shen Zechuan x Xiao Chiye (Qiang Jin Jiu/Ballad of Sword and Wine) - I honestly debated if this should be my top 1 but I ultimately decided this would be my top 2 mainly bc I prefer fengcui's dynamic more, But of course, that doesn't make this ship any less great and amazing! In my opinion, this is enemies to lovers with sexual tension done right. I used to hate the trope enemies to lovers because of experience and personal things... But this ship changed my perspective on it a lot. Even though they got together early in the novel, they're still the ship that has the most amazing development and growth I've seen in such as a long time.

3. Hualian: Xie Lian x Hua Cheng (Heaven Official's Blessing) - Ah yes... the classic. I had to put them at my top 3 because TGCF and hualian is what mainly got me into danmei and to this day, I still adore them with all my heart and I'll never ever forget how they made such a huge impact on me... They're like romeo and juliet but done right. They're also the couple that made my standards so unrealistic to the point that I think I'll never ever be able to find someone to love as much as how much they love each other... As much as they're unrealistic, they also made an impact on how I view love in general. I also relate to hua cheng when it comes to appearances because dawg... I am also so insecure of that as well... and when Hua Cheng is insecure about it and Xie Lian is just telling him that he's gorgeous and not ugly like he thinks he is just makes me want to cry because that validation and comforting words is what all of us insecure people need. Just having the reassurance that we're perfect just the way we are...

4. Lucathy: Lucas x Athanasia De Alger Obelia/Athy (Who Made Me a Princess) - I LOVE THEM SO MUCH! Athy is so precious to me and I will protect her at all cost! And I love how their relationship just naturally progresses on the time the spent together and isn't just immediate love at first sight. And I also love how lucas went from "I'm going to watch this bc this is entertaining" to "If you ever hurt her, I'll destroy all of obelia" and bro... LUCAS IS SO WHIPPED FOR ATHY ITS SO FUNNY AHAHAH (Also reminds me on how Xiao Chiye is so whipped for Shen Zechuan but that's another time). And not only that, but I love how Lucas got back from his quest, heard about how Athy got humiliated, bro was like: "Should I kill him?" like bro did not care if it was her father, if someone did shit to her, he would deal with them.

5. LoidYor: Loid Forger x Yor Forger (Spy x Family) - BRO I IMMEDIATELY FELL IN LOVE WITH THIS SHIP!! Assassin x Spy? OH HELL YEA! I've honestly been waiting for this kind of trope for such a long time lol. Not only that, but I low how yor is such a girlboss and protects her family even if it isn't real. I honestly really like their progression so far and I hope that they honestly become a family in the end... I have nothing really much to say about this ship because I haven't been keeping up with SXF but I really love them and they're trope because I haven't seen Assassin x Spy trope in fandoms I've been in.

So here are my ships! There are a lot more than these but I just decided to pick which ones that I really love the most and rank them by that. Anyways, thanks for reading this blog!

[queer-ragnelle]

hello..👋👋

as someone who wants to get into arthurian legends.. where do you think I should start? is there a precise canon to follow? oh and.. this might be a stupid question but.. how would you describe guinevere's and lancelot's relationship...? i personally really like them because of what I've heard online, but i got shamed for liking it a while ago from people who really hated guinevere and said gawain or galehaut(not sure if i spelled it right) would be better for lancelot..

Hello anon!

I have a Beginner’s Guide to Medieval Arthuriana pinned on my blog. There’s no precise canon to follow, but you’ll get the most bang for your buck reading the works of Chrétien de Troyes and the Vulgate Cycle. Much of what Chrétien developed ended up in the Vulgate, like Lancelot rescuing Guinevere from kidnapping, but there are more elements added from other stories, such as Lancelot’s upbringing in the lake which originated from Lanzelet by Ulrich von Zatzikoven. On the other hand, Yvain’s journey as Knight with the Lion doesn’t make it into the Vulgate, so that’s worth reading on its own.

Regarding the part about people shaming you: block them if you haven’t already and anyone else who does so in future. I’m terribly sorry those people were unwelcoming as you begin to read and learn about Arthurian Legend. Let that not reflect on the community as a whole—there’s many lovely people here that’ll be happy to help you along. I hope you’re able to cultivate a positive online experience to the best of your ability and start enjoying the legends with us! :^D

But back to the fun stuff—I also really like Guinevere/Lancelot! My favorite dynamic is when Arthur is included too, but Guin is my number one pick for Lancey. ;^) It’s hard to describe them in so few words but I think it’s important to establish that they’re friends. This is an oft overlooked aspect that really deserves attention. They care for each other deeply. She helps him out of his madness and he helps her out of danger. This is something Arthur couldn’t do for either of them, much as he wanted to. That’s what makes the pair special, to me.

As for shipping wars about medieval characters….kinda ridiculous! And shaming other people over it is just abhorrent. I’m sorry you had to deal with that! Personally I enjoy Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot and Galehaut/Lancelot. I think it’s obvious I favor Gawain with his wife Ragnelle lol but Gawain/Lancelot is fine too. Gawain can have a little Lancelot. As a treat. I even enjoy “crackship” type pairings, like Bedivere/Lancelot or Kay/Lancelot or maybe a little [unrequited] Agravaine/Lancelot, and if the author or filmmaker chooses to write her in a positive light, Elaine/Lancelot as well. But that’s just it—there’s certainly no such thing as a “better” person(s) to couple with Lancelot. It’s literally fake. It’s fiction. It’s for fun! Doesn’t sound like the people you’ve encountered were having very much fun and put that on you, which was wrong.

Here I’d like to mention I run a discord server called the Arthurian Theater Server. Every weekend I stream TV shows and movies, mostly Arthurian, sometimes random fantasy. But it’s more than visual media—my friends and I share resources, character playlists, art we made, stories we wrote, we’ll liveblog retellings or newly discovered medlit translations, and discuss anything else Arthurian! We have custom made emojis for all the knights and ladies, a variety of original art stickers of the characters provided by several members, and an array of sounds bites ripped from films and TV for the soundboard to be played while streaming. Tumblr can be a little hard to navigate with the unreliable tag system, so this server is dedicated to an organized and moderated exchange of ideas and content. You’re welcome to join us!

Let me know if you have any other questions, it’s never a bother. Take care!

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/663370772509802496/do-you-know-what-the-origin-of-the-sold-to-one

So I was looking at this old post of yours (in your fandom meta tag) and has anyone else noticed that Hogwarts AU fanfic and meta about if this or that character from another fandom would be Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw has completely disappeared? I assume that this is related to JKR’s transphobia making her (understandably) persona non grata to a lot of online queer people of the kind who dominate fanfic fandom at least on AO3 (I’m less familiar with Wattpad or other corners of fandom that are overwhelmingly cishet and writing het, and the Bridgerton drama has taught me a lot about just how out of pace a lot of them are with even elementary queer stuff, yeesh). but I was wondering if others have noticed that. It did seem to really start to crater around 2019-20 when she stopped being coy and blaming it on “middle aged moments,” and started openly making transphobic tweets and writing essays about it rather than just “liking” others’. Like when I was into Yuri on Ice circa 2016-18, it was still all over that fandom, even though people were already souring on the actual official franchise stuff such as those terrible Fantastic Beasts movies.

So I’m mostly active in anime, JRPG and Western genre TV fandoms so I was curious if this was also happening elsewhere. I’m also wondering if the fact that actual HP fandom seems to be increasingly divorced from canon (like fanon pairings of characters who never interacted in canon being the most popular lately) is related to this too.

Cuz having a Hogwarts AU used to be a sign that a fandom had Arrived. I remember in 2016 you saw people doing house sortings for the people on the frickin 538 political podcast. Now I never see any of that even with huge fandoms.

It’s interesting to me given that it feels like her transphobia hasn’t dented much of her popularity with non online nerd culture. Like the third Fantastic Beasts movie failed but those had never been good and had been declining in box office numbers already. But the Hogwarts Legacy game sold really well. You still see HP in stores all over the place with other nerd culture staples like Star Wars and Marvel. Still constantly see brands doing collabs. I often find non online friends and family, including many who are genuine allies to the trans people in their lives, who have no idea about her transphobia. Or they’ve only heard a little and assume it’s some weird insular online culture thing that is just fans nitpicking, maybe having heard about some other Twitter “canceling” over nothing and figuring it’s like that. They’re always shocked and horrified when I tell them what she’s actually saying and doing.

--

Interesting question.

For me, as an Old, it just feels like Hogwarts AUs are part of my childhood, and why wouldn't they be less common now? But realistically, if they actually are declining, it does mean something.

There's no way for us to know if the "Would X be a Hufflepuff?" posts are really a thing of the past. That could be a question of whom one follows or of fans leaving one's platform. But we can at least poke at some AO3 tags and see if they show a pattern.

The relevant tags are Alternate Universe - Hogwarts and its metatag Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting.

There are 21,426 works in the metatag. Obviously, not everything uses the tag, but it's a starting point. (Some cursory playing with filters on big tags makes me think that maybe around 3/4 of HP AUs are actually tagged with a relevant AU tag.)

If we look at the AU tag itself, the numbers have come down in the last few years. (This year is obviously only half over, so we'd expect those numbers to be smaller.)

But we have to take into account how big the archive itself was. It's been growing significantly since it opened to staff accounts in late 2008 and then more widely in late 2009, so the overall rise doesn't mean much, but the recent drop might.

It does seem like there's a downward trend lately, but it doesn't look like it's falling off a cliff.

[imakatperson22]

That post is so interesting to me bc Mickey is also canonically a misogynist and a racist (which we can explore and understand is bc of his environment and his dad ) but that’s ok bc I like him. He also has internalized homophobia and he actually has done worse to people even with his trauma but we can have nuance when we engage with his story but they can’t do the same to Tommy lol? Also the way that one person didn’t understand that Tommy literally said having Gerard is like having the father I already had literally implies his father was the same . He makes it clear that he doesn’t talk to his father and that Gerard was bad but all this one user heard was yeah Gerrard was a father figure to me and then asked where the media literacy was like we’re not the ones at fault here…….

🎯🎯🎯

Anon, you hit the nail right on the head and I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Mickey is all of those things but because we see the absolute living daylights beaten out of him, him being SA’d on screen, and he’s half of the most popular ship on the show, some people sympathize with him more and become apologists for his behavior yet they cannot bring themselves to have the same grace for Tommy because he’s “blocking” the most popular ship in this fandom from going canon and his trauma is more implied than explicit because 9-1-1 airs on ABC not Showtime. (Can you imagine if 9-1-1 was on HBO though? It would go hard haha)

I personally am still rooting for buddie canon but I’m a patient woman and can see the value in telling queer stories outside of buddie, especially to the wider audience that accesses network tv. And in this current age of network television (and somewhat beyond network), queer characters are often written with less flaws (or none at all) than nonqueer ones for the sake of “good representation” and virtue signaling but when you write queer characters as unproblematic most/all of the time, you ignore the truth of reality and start bleeding into fantasy which can be just as bad as no representation at all.

And even if Tevan is endgame and we end up never seeing buddie canon, it doesn’t mean the story told in canon is a bad story or one not worth being told just because a better one (again, in my opinion) could’ve happened.

@literallykaveh

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 24)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 3,440

Summary: It's been 15 years since Horacio and Javier brought down Gacha in Tolú, and now they're back where their story began.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Brief allusions to period-typical prejudices/politics/legislation, very brief sexual references, smoking, swearing, all the fluff.

Notes: Well....I feel like I should post this with a fanfare or something (just imagine there's one playing), but oh boy, oh man, oh god. I did it. I flipping did it 😭 It's only taken 36 months, copious amounts of blood, sweat and tears, a deranged amount of research, the last shred of my sanity, and probably a fair amount of back/neck pain from sitting at my laptop for too long to get here. But hey, if I don't write a self-indulgent novel-length fix-it fic for a criminally underrated rarepair from a defunct TV show, WHO WILL, I ASK THEE? 😂

I can't fully explain the journey this fic has taken me and my writing on, or the deep love I have in my heart for this ship and the OHDH universe that has lived constantly in my head these last few years. Even when I'm not actively writing, so many things remind me of these two everywhere I go. They got me through the darkest days of the pandemic and somehow became my comfort ship, despite er, certain canon events we don't talk about in this house.

Anyway, I think you've all heard quite enough from me for the time being. So, I will just say thank you so, so, so much to anyone who has read, commented, kudosed, reblogged, liked, sent me messages, made me things, suggested music recs, generally been incredibly supportive and kind ❤️

And thank you to anyone who may stumble across this fic in future. Please never be afraid to leave a comment, even if you're reading several years down the line, I will always love to hear from people about this story.

There will also be some moodboards and playlists posted on my Tumblr at some point (and *maybe* some new - much shorter lol - fics eventually) once I've caught my breath back a bit.

For the final time (unless I randomly think of anything I've forgotten, which is more than likely lol), I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested.

Chapter 24: Suerte (Epilogue)

Early evening rays painted the pastel horizon, their last act of the day transforming the shimmering ocean into an inky palate of fuchsia, violet and saffron, the golden sands at the shore still warm to the touch hours past dusk.

Come the weekend, Colombians would travel far and wide to descend on the many beaches, bars and restaurants that dotted the waterfront. Or if they were feeling adventurous, they would birdwatch, dive off the Islas de San Bernardo, or canoe amongst the mangroves.

But it was mid-week and mid-December – when most locals were at work and school or preparing for Christmas. So, for now, Horacio and Javier had the place to themselves.

There was the added bonus of the coastline turning into a dense forest of palm trees just along from their beach house, civilisation a mile or so away on either side of them, so even at peak times, they remained secluded. It had become a daily ritual to luxuriate in the peace and quiet; a pre-dinner swim with no trunks required followed by entwined limbs and sand in their hair as the sun went down.

Today was no exception, the gentle lapping of the waves around them and their shallow breaths the only sounds to be heard, the taste of salt and scent of sun lotion heavy in the air and on their skin as Horacio rocked into Javier, slow and deep, their chests and foreheads drawn together.

It was almost dark when Javier switched on the shower taps, cascading soothing jets over his head, neck and shoulders. As he soaked his hair, the lights from inside the beach house sprung to life, illuminating the outdoor bathroom with an ambient glow. It was a feature of the premium accommodation they had splashed out on, a rare treat away for a special occasion.

The outside space was a mix of wood, tiles and natural stone for the walls and floors, encased by tall plants and trees for extra privacy. A double shower stood on a platform at the end of a walkway, with a large hot tub branching off in the other direction. On their first night here, they had opted for the tub, surrounding it with candles as a belated ode to Día de las Velitas, lost in each other beneath the bubbles and the stars.

A sturdy embrace enveloped Javier from behind, a position they had found themselves in every morning by the shore before breakfast, looking out to a tranquil sea and a kaleidoscopic sky. The day jobs kept them both on their feet and in good shape, although there was more softness around their stomachs, and Javier was stockier than in his younger years. But his upper body was even broader with muscle now.

He was no gym fiend, but he had accompanied Horacio in some of his strengthening training, wanting to keep his stamina up as much as possible. Not just for the obvious but because he was sometimes required to carry the heavier supplies at work and didn’t want to be shown up in front of his largely youthful team.

It was a welcome development to Horacio, whatever the reason. Not that he ever had any complaints before, but watching Javier blossom as he aged was a wonder to behold. Not to mention, there was more of him to enjoy now.

As for Horacio, aside from the sloping curve of his midriff, he was sheer jaguar strength. Not only in the noticeable places, but his core muscles were in peak condition, the daily horse riding improving his posture and taking him back to the drill commands of his cadet years. His skin was more weathered, and his days of being meticulously cleanly shaven at all times were long gone. But Javier assured him – a lot – the ruggedness was part of the appeal.

Javier wasn’t one to talk either, stubble being a more regular feature alongside his moustache nowadays. But that was mainly due to lack of time in his busy schedule rather than preference, so it wasn’t unheard of for Horacio to do the honours for him. For some reason, Horacio delicately scraping a razor blade across his jaw from the comfort of his lap was far more appealing to Javier than doing it himself in front of the bathroom mirror.

Their hair contained more grey patches, especially around the temples, which was easier to hide when they grew it longer. That wasn’t practical during the sweltering heat of a Texan summer, so they kept it shorter in the hotter months. But in the winter, they could run their fingers through choppy waves and coils of curls to their hearts’ content. And luckily for them, their anniversary fell in December.

“Can you believe it’s been 15 years to the day?” Horacio asked, scattering kisses across Javier’s back.

“This doesn’t even feel like the same fucking place, to be honest.”

“Tell me about it.”

Horacio let out a huff as flashbacks of leading his men on a fleet of raiding crafts towards Gacha’s hideout collided with memories from merely days ago of him and Javier island hopping in a hire boat along the same waters. They had taken a platter of fresh seafood and fruit, exploring the remotest beaches and lagoons, where their only company was the local wildlife.

He could still remember the sensation of the blood at his temple as he lay disorientated on the sand in the aftermath of the explosion, a stark contrast to dozing together under the shade of a palm tree or reading aloud to each other the words of Lorca, Gaitán Durán, Arbeláez, Neruda, Paz, Castellanos and Mistral.

“Although, I did notice signs for the barracks towards Coveñas when we were driving here,” Horacio added with a nostalgic smirk.

“Oh yeah? You didn’t want another night there for old times’ sake?” Javier tilted his head until he found Horacio’s lips with his teeth.

Horacio hummed and put up no resistance, his wet hands sailing with ease down Javier’s body, finding purchase at his hip bones. “It was tempting. But I figured you’d want to make the most of this before Christmas.”

“Damn right.”

They took turns massaging shampoo into each other’s scalps, lathering the suds through thick spirals, tenderly pulling at strands until they purred, thoroughly indulging in the sensation whilst they had the chance. And then they did it all again, rinsing off the soap, floating away on the meditative pressure of the faucet and their fingers.

“We could always see if Alejandra has more spa freebies if it gets too much, though,” Javier suggested through the haze of steam now cocooning them.

“I like your thinking.”

It had been a while since they last used such tickets, their previous visits not dissimilar to how their current vacation was playing out. But despite the chaos that would no doubt ensue, they were looking forward to catching up with Horacio’s side of the family. Between expanding businesses in Texas and Manizales and the oldest half of the brood living and working elsewhere now with the twins staying at home studying, they didn’t get to meet up as much as they would have liked.

However, Elena visited Laredo several times, swapping life stories and recipes with Chucho and joining Horacio and Javier in San Antonio one spring for the Fiesta. Her last holiday outside of Colombia had been before Alejandra and Horacio were born, so she was determined to take advantage of having family abroad before age finally caught up with her. There had even been discussions of a trip to Madrid if Horacio and Javier could arrange cover at work the following year.

“Pops is flying out on the 20th, right?”

“Yes. Marco and Raúl are covering the ranch and animals until your father’s back on the 28th. And Jorge is covering the farm until we’re home from Miami in the New Year.”

No one was keen to leave Luna, Sol and Leo, who had long since retired from ranch duties, but between work and Christmas commitments, Connie taking a full-time job in a different hospital, now Olivia was a teenager going on 30, and the earlier-than-expected arrival of Felipe’s and Juana’s second child – Óscar, a little brother to Claudia – New Year was the only time everyone’s schedules matched up.

These days, Luna, whose main residence was the cottage now, Sol and Leo spent most of their time nestled on furniture or looking for treats in the kitchen whenever food was prepared. However, Luna would sometimes still ride in the back of Horacio’s truck and keep him company in the lower fields.

Kira and Fuego had become old pros, showing their younger siblings, Cielo and Tierra, the ropes, not as replacements to the trio but as a new team with their own quirks and personalities. Thankfully, the dogs and Coco had taken well to the pair of barn cats, Churro and Tamale, who patrolled the outbuildings and dealt with any rodent intruders.

Meanwhile, Chucho showed few signs of slowing down, except one summer when he twisted an ankle, and even that was hard work to get him to rest. But he had been happy to step back from some of his more physically demanding responsibilities in recent years, trusting that the ranch and farm were in capable hands. With their expansion plans a resounding success – plus some new ones up their sleeves – he had become more involved in the business side of the operation alongside Miguel.

And, of course, he was always happy to offer Horacio advice whenever needed. But for the most part, he left him to it since Félix’s retirement, preferring to arrange for the guesthouses to be refurbished or to deliver fresh batches of cooking to aid workers and exhausted arrivals alike on the frontline of the border.

“Bet Jorge was as thrilled about that arrangement as my team.”

“Well, we can always delegate to our deputies whenever necessary. One of the perks of being promoted.”

It had taken Horacio five years under Félix’s watchful eye – and decades of experience – to be granted the title of farm manager. Then, Félix had retired the previous year, satisfied he had picked the right man as his successor and Jorge as deputy.

Horacio still had plenty to learn and likely always would with the constant conveyor belt of change to farming methods and technology that landed on his desk each month. However, there was a sense of familiarity with certain parts of the job, like the meetings, the paperwork, and the budget constraints. Except, this time, it all came without the funerals, the upper echelons of the CNP breathing down his neck, and the crushing weight of a country’s future on his shoulders.

“And a holiday on the Caribbean coast was necessary, was it?” Now that Javier’s hair was free from sand and shampoo, he turned to face Horacio, their lips almost touching.

Horacio nodded sagely and closed the gap. “A critical business need.”

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

Once dried off, they lay in a hammock in matching white towel robes under the thatched porch of their beach house with a perfect view of the sea, moon and stars.

“So, you like it here?” Horacio asked after a comfortable silence.

“It’s beautiful. I’m glad we came back – to see it how it’s meant to be.”

“Me too. Although, I fear violence will always be a parasite latched onto Colombia. Just when you think it’s gone from one place, it rears its head again in another. Or even the same place twice if you’re unlucky.”

Horacio remembered the stories he had heard from Trujillo in the last couple of years – particularly about Operation Orion. Officially, the incursion on Comuna 13 had been a success by the Colombian military against the likes of FARC. Unofficially, however, there were rumours of a leaked CIA report, disappeared individuals, and collusion between an Army General and none other than Don Berna’s subordinate. It was hard to keep faith that Medellín would ever be free from its past when history had such a predictable habit of repeating itself.

“I know. It feels like one step forward and two steps back in the States, too. Terrorism might be the new bogeyman, but re-branding to ICE and throwing a shitload of money at the DHS hasn’t stopped the drugs and the people finding their way over the border.”

Javier had heard directly from Steve about the shift in his job role since 9/11. Overnight, Steve’s whole department was removed from their current caseloads and signed up for every counter-terrorism and narco-terrorism course under the sun. It was now customary for DEA agents to be redeployed to the FBI as intelligence analysts if resources required. And if their eyes and ears were pulled away from the drug traffickers, it didn’t take a genius to figure out the consequences.

Meanwhile, in Texas, if anything, people only took graver risks in the wake of a beefed-up Border Patrol. Javier had spent a lot of the past year helping to set up new aid teams in Arizona and New Mexico, the inhospitable conditions of the desert not enough of a deterrent to stop families trying their luck or handing over their life savings to coyotes who didn’t care whether they made it across alive.

“But small things can add up to change. Bit by bit,” Javier added. “And at least they can’t arrest us for fucking in our own home anymore.”

“True. Not that the law stopped us before...” Horacio nuzzled against Javier’s neck before making a move to get up.

They may have joked in the here and now, but it wasn’t a change they took for granted. In fact, Luz and Carla had even persuaded Javier to attend a protest or two and pay bond and legal fees for those who had been arrested. After all, he’d had plenty of experience exchanging money for people’s freedom.

When news of the Supreme Court decision spread, it was another weight off their backs and one less reason to look over their shoulders, a chance to permanently put to bed memories of being spied on during such unguarded sacred moments. It was the final line to be drawn under those dark years, not to erase them because that was impossible. But it was, at least, closure.

Their cigarette was almost done, and Horacio had left the opened pack on the kitchen counter. Once retrieved, he took out another and leaned into Javier across the hammock, pressing the tip of his unlit cigarette against the lit one until it sparked.

“But you’re right,” Horacio continued, holding Javier’s gaze between exhaling a plume of smoke. He balanced on the edge of the hammock, just enough to stop it tipping sideways. “Things can change. But only if we want them to.” He perched their new cigarette between his lips as he reached into the pocket of his robe.

Their first cigarette was little more than a stub, so Javier stooped down to the ashtray on the floor to extinguish it. Once he sat up again, a small cubed box was presented into his spare hand.

Javier stared at the black box and blew out remnants of smoke, eyeing Horacio with an unreadable expression, an unspoken question and answer lingering between them and the mist of tobacco.

He prised open the box to reveal a ring of plain silver. Or, so he thought at first glance. But as he raised it towards the moon, the iridescent light caught on the inner band to reveal an inscription.

Suerte que encontré a mi media naranja.

(Lucky that I found my soulmate.)

“Fuck, Horacio…” Javier’s voice was strained, and his words came out as little more than a whisper. He held the ring between his thumb and forefinger, letting the ethereal reflection from above capture each word.

Horacio watched every shift in Javier’s face with bated breath and a dry throat, his limbs lead and weightless all at once.

“The world’s changing around us,” Horacio said at last; swallowing his nerves and summoning his courage. “But no matter what the law or courts say in any state or country, this can mean whatever we want it to mean.”

Javier’s jaw worked back and forth, his teeth clamping down on the inside of his cheeks. But it was no use, and he let out a trembling scoff, an attempt to distract from the shining pupils he finally confronted Horacio with.

And then a broad smile crept across Javier’s features, his palm connecting with Horacio’s cheek before he plucked the cigarette from his fingers and took a drag. “Pass me my jeans.”

It took Horacio a moment to process Javier’s request. Of all the responses he had prepared for – the good and the bad – that hadn’t been on his list, funnily enough. With narrowed eyes and pursed lips, he complied and fetched the jeans that had been flung over a sun lounger when they stripped off to swim earlier. Apparently, regardless of how humid the climate in Tolú became, denim remained a reliable staple of Javier’s wardrobe.

“Check my left pocket.”

Whatever Javier was up to, Horacio was torn between intrigue and irritation at Javier’s temerity to issue orders despite leaving him hanging. But he did as he was told, and in an instant, everything made sense.

“I can always take it back if you’d prefer…”

But Horacio was already opening the near-identical box, and any teasing faded to white noise as he came face-to-face with the gold equivalent of his own proposal.

“Hold it up to the light.”

The night sky was brighter now, making it easier for the inscription to be revealed.

Mi amor, mi vida, mi hogar, mi vaquero. Siempre tuyo.

(My love, my life, my home, my cowboy. Yours always.)

It was Javier’s turn to observe, and it didn’t take long for Horacio to raise a brow in his direction, shooting him a look of feigned exasperation that only came with the territory of a relationship as enduring as theirs.

“What?” Javier said with disingenuous innocence and a vulpine smile.

It was a contagious kind of smile, one that reminded Horacio they were equals in this and that he shouldn’t have been surprised Javier had the same idea.

“I take it my mother showed you her ring?”

“On my first visit to Manizales. It was beautiful. And so’s this.”

“As is this.”

“I like to think I put my own spin on it.”

“You did.”

They sat side-by-side on the hammock, legs facing towards each other with the rings held in their outstretched hands.

Javier’s thumb slid across Horacio’s left palm, tracing patterns over new callouses born from hard labour rather than war. He circled his wrist, waiting for the familiar rhythm but finding a beat that was, unsurprisingly, drumming quicker than usual.

After subduing with his touch, Javier retrieved the gold band, gliding it carefully onto Horacio’s ring finger, easing it over the knuckle until it rested snugly at the base.

They sat transfixed, marvelling at the light dancing across it as Horacio’s thumb ran back and forth over the curved surface in fascination.

Horacio repeated the ritual of mapping Javier’s left hand, lacing their fingers together as a tangible reminder of their bond. Their devotion. Their vow. Their choice. Whether the law honoured it one day or not.

He picked up the silver to his gold, shimmying it along Javier’s ring finger and passing beyond the slight resistance at his knuckle. Not too much force, but firm enough for it to sink perfectly into place.

With palms connected and fingers interlocked, their foreheads met, chests rising and falling in tandem.

“Te amo tanto, Javier.”

“Yo también te amo. Tanto, Horacio. Tanto.” Javier whispered, over and over in Horacio’s ear like a prayer – their prayer – before brushing his lips above Horacio’s brow, the bridge of his nose, both cheeks and down to his mouth, creating their own sign of the cross with each kiss. A new beginning and a welcome home.

They untied their robes and collapsed onto the hammock in a tangle of limbs, silver and gold melding at their chests and hands; their past, present and future as inseparable as their hearts, bodies and souls.

With one smooth motion, Horacio pinned Javier’s arms down into the netting of the hammock, a dark, hungry gaze passing between them as cool metal fused with hot skin.

15 years and several lifetimes may have gone by. But when Horacio had the man he loved, the man who loved him, his media naranja, underneath him, only one word ran through his head. Mine.

Old habits die hard, he supposed.

[vladdyissues]

It's so cute that you uploaded some puffy, you're so kind 😭💞

But I have a question, why did they even block his account? How does Tumblr block an account? He didn't upload anything bad [?]

To the best of my knowledge—and I say this because I did not see every single one of Puffy's posts—Puffy did everything that Tumblr requires when it comes to posting "mature" artwork. She tagged her posts, used Community Labels, cropped and/or censored thumbnails, and made use of the "Read More" option. She was bolder than me when it came to posting certain art styles and speaking unabashedly, but that's a difference in personality. Puffy is a free spirit, incredibly witty, and absolutely hilarious. I'm old and crotchety and try to avoid drama if I can help it—not to say that Puffy in any way invited or deserved termination. She did not.

But she was no match for a targeted mass-reporting campaign. And, unfortunately, there's no way to know just how many people were involved or how much harassment she's been receiving since she joined Tumblr. I know there were at least three asks, likely more, and one rude comment left on one of her artworks early on.

But Tumblr has a poor track record when it comes to making decisions and meting out justice. They don't typically perform thorough investigations, they panic when they see certain words, and they're also prone to outrageous hypocrisy—like the fact that gifs of graphic, live-action porn somehow still manage to survive on this site after 10 years and a purge that cost the company a billion dollars in value, and how they claim to be "the queerest place on the internet" while simultaneously alienating and fostering a hostile environment for the queer artists who are largely responsible for Tumblr's success. Porn and spam bots run amok, but the blogs of marginalized people and artists are first on the chopping block.

I myself have had blogs deleted for lesser reasons. A couple years ago I created a "ship week" event blog, which was deleted simply because at one point in the TV show, one of the characters in the ship was a minor. The blog posted G-rated prompts. It was text-based with completely worksafe header graphics. It didn't endorse any age ranges, but left that up to the discrimination of the participants. The participants complied with Tumblr's TOS if they posted 18+ content, cropping images, using Community Labels and such. Everything adhered strictly to Tumblr's guidelines.

But I was the target for a lot of hatred from the rest of the fandom. They hated my guts because I shipped "the wrong ship"—because it was a gay ship, because it upset the canon heterosexual ship that one of the characters was in, because I wasn't sniveling in fear whenever they sent me hateful asks, because I refused to be bullied or shamed. They went after us because we were a tiny group of fans, easy to target and eradicate. Disgusting behavior, really.

I tried to appeal the deletion, but I never heard back from Tumblr. Fine. I moved the event to another platform (and it looked much better there, too), and that was that.

In short, Tumblr would rather delete a hundred innocent blogs out of fear of offending their ad sponsors rather than 1) investigate the claims made against the blog, or 2) give the blog owner a chance to delete the offending content.

One final thing:

Last month, around 17 June 2024, several Pompep fans on Tumblr received anywhere between 1-3 anonymous asks telling us to kill ourselves or "get raped".

Over cartoon characters.

It's a sad state of things when there's more sympathy, respect and agency given to drawings of fictional lines than living, breathing people.

[keikakudom]

Lemme try and make sense of Vox's mindset, and correct me if I get anything wrong?

I think Vox in RR!au hardly actually thinks about suicide. He's too much of a busy man to do that, after all! Thinking about death is for people with too much time on their hands, who don't have to deal with a billion problems on the daily. And sure, maybe it wouldn't be a terrible accident if he was locked out on extermination day one year (not that there's exterminations anymore), but he'll never bother to actively seek it -- why would he? He has things to do. Empires to run/build. Deals to make. Resorts to run, residents to settle, princesses to talk to.

Really, everything would be just fine and dandy, as long as progress is being made, nothing goes wrong at the resort, heaven doesn't come down for no good reason, and that deer freak manage to not bother him for a single day. All dandy!

So what if he's been going through business ventures like someone going through Doritos at the back of the car? It's difficult to stay on top, in Hell, and he can't rely on tech or media forever, not when they cycle faster and faster(and he would know, of course, his whole body is made of it). He's doing what it takes, and if it's risky, what business isn't?

And re: Alastor, vox may have once had feelings for him, but now it's probably soured into maybe wishing that Alastor would just fuck off somewhere where he'll never be heard from again. I think Vox knows very well from years of companionship that Alastor considers him a source of amusement and entertainment rather than an equal, and that hasn't truly changed even after he left, and in a way that has to bite? That Alastor cannot leave it alone, has to make his opinions and disdain clear to all of hell every single day, and also make it clear that vox cannot do anything to stop him (that tv still runs on radiowaves fundamentally, that he can't get rid of Alastor's influence).

Like the way I interpret canon!vox's feelings re:alastor has a lot more insecurity and the desire to show he's stronger now, he's over it, he doesn't need him, than just being rejected romantically, and in contrast RR!vox grinned and bore it longer without letting on, and then at some point just gave up, by which time his feelings have soured so far past insecurity and bitterness into straight up nihilism. (Doomed yaoi my fav)

Ok I'm just rambling now but yeah I think vox in RR!au is really really interesting? Bc he's y'know not in the best place but also he's fine. He's not, probably never, going to actively do anything, left to his own devices he's just going to keep at his daily routine and eventually self-destruct on his own hubris by taking on far more than he is capable of (people pleasing tendencies, hm?). But otherwise he's fine.

*drops my glass of milk* yea, this all. Checks out.

(that tv still runs on radiowaves fundamentally, that he can't get rid of Alastor's influence)

I think RR!Alastor is also chasing RR!Vox because he knows something is really wrong when Vox wants to cut something *fundamental to his functions* out from his life... If Alastor had any heat to his words, he could do some serious damage to Vox.

But Alastor was not able to reciprocate back then(or in general) the way Vox ever wanted him to. Alastor might think, "What's so wrong about being amusing to me? What's so wrong in being cared for that way?" But we know that Vox, even in canon, is pretty damn emotional. A confession was bound to happen, but since RR!Vox never did, he opt'd to shut them off. It started off with distractions, and those worked too well. Eventually he gave up trying to figure out his emotions and took the "easy" way out, nihilism--but like everything Vox dips his foot into, it's never enough. Only this time it's not only power(like I interpret canon!Vox to seek) that's growing/he's greedy for, it's this all-encompassing void.

Another interesting characterization to tack onto RR!AU Vox is his strong lack of self-preservation, I did mention it here when I had some thoughts on canon!Vox, but rather than "confidence", he does not care. And on occasion, he can go irrationally, batshit crazy for the same reason.

Let's set the stage in hmm, 1980s? He starts not to care about smaller allies, the people he stomps on, eating them up to become an overlord. Recruits Valentino, doesn't care that Val is immoral. At first it's "not his business", but it starts spreading. What is it that he's looking for? Power? Love? Entertainment? People to accept him?

Which is why RR!Vox decided to jump the gun a little bit and shoot for becoming a form of "GOD", aka the original reason for all his anguish in Hell(his religious roots as a human). It's kind of...an endpoint? It's not the most sane, or sensical route-- but he doesn't care that much. He's functioning on this tired/desensitized, pseudo-robotic, logical reasoning with a combo of "oh god I'm running out of interest"(in existing/running himself to the ground). So....hm, "fine" is a tragic word, indeed.

He's not, probably never, going to actively do anything, left to his own devices he's just going to keep at his daily routine and eventually self-destruct on his own hubris by taking on far more than he is capable of (people pleasing tendencies, hm?). But otherwise he's fine.

Welllll, he did always want to go out with a bang. If he did. I don't know, something really big. Like becoming God! Yeah.....That'd do it.

IMO, the premise of RR!AU isn't in stasis-- the reason Vox picked up this project in particular is an aggressive move. He's no longer distributing the same amount of work to the other Vees either anymore, so there is....some urgency, is what I like to think....

[eisforeidolon]

So every year GLAAD has put out a 'Where We Are on TV Report' and they've publicly archived back to the 2006-2007 tv season. There's a lot of data there about what types of and how many relevant recurring series characters are appearing in shows. I'm not going to get into the methodology or the finer details, because the point I'm aiming for really only has to do with their yearly comparison between the five main broadcast networks: ABC, CBS, The CW, Fox, NBC). Specifically, how The CW compares and how fucking stupid reasonable it is to call it, specifically, homophobic relative to the industry as a whole over one single specific ship not being canon.

After it not having any notable inclusions for the 2006-2007, 2007-2008 years, they make a note that the CW had its first regular LGBT+ character in the 2008-2009 season [X] . With similar minor increasing additions in 2009-2010 [X], 2010-2011 [X], before a drop in 2011-2012 [X]. In 2012-2013 it is the third most inclusive network out of the big five (ABC, FOX, The CW, NBC, CBS) [X]. Also third in 2013-2014 [X], then dropped to last place in 2014-2015 [X]. It doesn't look like there was a ranking by network as part of the report in 2015-2016 [X], and then it's listed as third again in 2016-2017 [X]. After which the CW jumps to number one in 2017-2018 [X], and remains there through 2018-2019 [X], 2019-2020 [X], 2020-2021 [X], 2021-2022 [X], and 2022-2023 [X]. The most recent report for 2023-2024 is up and in it The CW drops to fourth, only beating out Fox [X].

Which means that around 2020, when SPN ended? The time during which hellers are claiming there was some vast homophobic conspiracy at the CW? Which the cast troll has now flip-flopped to parroting after previously not only saying there was no conspiracy/no other scripts/reciprocation was never pitched and then taking another job at the CW and praising the network's diversity on Gotham Knights? Of the five main broadcast networks, the CW was smack in the middle of a running streak of having the most representation on broadcast tv, and that year's percentage of recurring LGBT+ series characters was at 14.2% - about 4 percentage points higher than the next closest at 9.9%, and about eleven percentage points higher than the lowest at 2.9%.

Look, I'm not saying there aren't issues with the landscape of television overall when it comes to representation. I'm not even saying that an otherwise inclusive network can't make decisions out of homophobia. But in this specific case? The showrunners and the actual stars made it clear over and over and over again what the show Supernatural was - and wasn't - about. The network has otherwise been widely recognized as a leader for its inclusivity of prominent LGBT+ characters during that time period by legitimate organizations and even by spineless trolls named Misha. Who was one of many, many people refuting that the network had anything to do with the pathetic mess that was Castiel's death scene and its subsequent irrelevance to the story when the final episodes aired. The people Misha's parroting now in calling the network homophobic ~*just so happen*~ to consistently reveal themselves to be butthurt shippers high on the fumes of their own bizarre reinterpretations of SPN as a thwarted super sneakret hidden gay love story that it never intended or promised to be. Time after time, they make it very clear no other representation but the very specific thing they ship actually "counts".

So is the network homophobic, or are hellers entitled obsessed children trying to co-opt legitimate social causes while being lead on by an inconsistent pandering conman who has vaguely heard of integrity as something that happens to other people? Gosh, we just don't know!

Finally, there is a world of difference between criticizing a network for something it it openly actually doing (look at almost literally any article about Nexstar's CW buyout) and parroting butthurt shipper conspiracy bullshit you are entirely aware is bullshit in the crassest way possible specifically so a shrinking pool of obsessed weirdos will keep giving you money as long as possible.