#I can be painfully bland sometimes

[leaf-line]

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥

Yandere! Jiaoqiu X Gn! Reader

❏ Jiaoqiu finds himself enjoying your company that he wants to extend it more.

cw: might be lore inaccurate, might be ooc, a hint of angst, you being called annoying, force feeding, mentions of pinning, no beta we die like Tingyun, written in Jiaoqiu's pov + he doesn't talk, pls don't be confused, reader is loud.

w/c: 962

Immortality is a crime... No, rather, it's a sin.

"Alchemy Commission... Agh—!! Where was that place again?! Wait a minute... Hey there! You! The pretty foxian boy with pink hair!"

Jiaoqiu finds it hard to believe that a human like you were accepted into a prestigious place such as the Alchemy Commission. You weren't even a Xianzhou Native, just a regular human. Why did he even try to put an effort into knowing who you were? Maybe it was because apart of him was curious about you and why the hell were you so loud? Honestly, he shouldn't have.

"Ohhhh, so this was the place, wow, I could've sworn I've ran into here multiple times before, why didn't I see it? Speaking of which, can you even actually see that? Why are your eyes closed?"

He wasn't exactly sure why he welcomed you so easily into his life. To put it into words... You were eccentric, goofy, and a slacker with no sense of direction, you speak out loud what's on your mind, no matter the place and time.

"Alas, we meet again, blind foxian... So you're my senior? But you're so short—"

You were blunt, sometimes it was funny, sometimes it was annoying. But Jiaoqiu never heard you tell a lie ever since the first time he met you. Although if he ever hears you call him any more honest insults, he's gonna spike your lunch with one of his handmade concoctions.

"Noooo!! Please! I don't want to memorize another set of ingredients for a different medicine!! Have mercy!!!"

And did he mention that you were loud? He'd be lying if he said he didn't find it entertaining, since the people there were so serious and gloomy. You were like the clown of the class, and Jiaoqiu was simply there to be entertained.

"You mean to say that in your own eyes, you think that food is medicine? That's... Super interesting!!"

...That wasn't a lie right? Well, Jiaoqiu hoped so. You were cheerful, upbeat, and optimistic at some times, he's yet to be accustomed by that kind of personality.

"Oh, yeah, sure I'll have a taste of your cookings, leave it to me! I'm a good food critique!"

Have a taste, he says. He doesn't know what you will reply. Will you tell him it tastes garbage? Will you tell him it's the most godsend food you've ever tasted in your life? He doesn't know, not unless he tries to have you eat it. At some point you were brutally honest it hurts him through the gut, but surely at some point when he impresses you, it would feel rewarding, right?

"This straight up tastes awful, this one is painfully bland, and this is, hmm... Let me taste again, ...mmmm!! It's super delicious!"

Was it a wrong choice when he interacted with you more? No, otherwise he would have felt so much joy in a long while. Bit by bit, you warmed up your way into his heart, securing a comfortable place in it. There was a saying that the way into person's was through their stomach, so why was it when the more he poured into your stomach and the more he was successful at making you happy, the more was being poured into HIS own heart?

"Jiaoqiu... Thanks a lot."

The second you were calm and silent. Aeons, you were adorable, beautiful, handsome and majestic in your own way that Idrilla would be jealous. He wanted nothing more but to cup your cheeks with his hands and connect your lips to his own. He wanted to hug you dearly, bask in your touch, bask in your scent. But he holds himself to the ground, after all, looking at the picturesque scene in front of him will suffice more than enough.

"What do you mean my hair is turning white? I'm still young you know?"

...Oh. Did time fly that fast when he's having fun? Was it this early for someone he would willingly hold dearly to part ways with him soon enough? Or was time just cruelly toying him? How could he even forget that you were a short-life specie, just how?

"Ugh... Sorry and thank you, Jiaoqiu. I mean, for taking care of me, I'm still really sick, my body is just getting weaker and weaker by the day... I don't know why..."

Time is running out. Why was his time with you getting cut short? Why? Why? No. He's gonna fix this, he can. All he wants is a little more time with you, can't he have that? He doesn't want to feel lonely again. Please... Stay...

"Jiaoqiu... Are you okay? You've been stuffing your nose into books all day. I just... Have a feeling your doing something suspicious, don't get me wrong, I'm not accusing you, I'm just worried."

Immortality is a sin, he knows that, he knows it all too well. The only way to achieve it is through the flesh of an Emanator of Abundance. The last time that went... Didn't go well. Fuck around with immortality and there will be a cost... That he's willing to pay, unfortunately for you. All he needed is to make a medicine that will ensure you to live longer, even if you become mara-struck, it doesn't matter.

"Are you sure this medicine is safe? I don't think that it is..."

Aeons! Just consume it will you!? Do you know how hand it took him to get his hands in these things!? Do you want him to strip naked and beg you to consume it!? You want him to pin you and shove it down your throat!?

Jiaoqiu wouldn't really consider himself sinful... So he wonders why he's dragging you into the pits of hell.

a/n: uh... this is inaccurate as hell, i barely read the lore leave me alone— 😭

[erosiism]

GENSHIN MEN AND…

prompt: HOW THEY WOULD REACT IF YOU SACRIFICED YOUR LIFE FOR THEM | part two

character(s): childe, ayato [part one is finished, it features diluc & zhongli]

warnings(s): angst ofc—mention of blood, my first post on tumblr so my writing style may be a little icky, inaccuracies since I haven’t looked up genshin lore for a hot minute 

note(s): male reader, second person, present tense, not beta read

AYATO

note(s); you are his fiance

Your marriage alliance is purely for business. Ayato knows that. He’s the head of the Yashiro Commission's Kamisato plan—he’s busy, for god’s sake. He doesn’t want to waste time or beat around the bush: if he is to marry you, the only son of the L/n clan, he will, but he doesn’t want you to expect any pleasantries. He will be cordial and polite enough, but he doesn’t have the time to butter you up. He will mind his own business, and so will you. He is not one for earthly desires. He cares far more for his clan’s prestige and for surviving to play the role of a husband.

“[Name], right?” He smiles at you. You smile back, your posture stiff and your smile fixed painfully on your face. ��I’m sure we know what this marriage is intended for.”

Your skin feels tight. “I do.”

“You can go to Thoma should you have any inquiries. My sister will help you too should you need anything.”

You tilt your head. Your tone is straightforward and blunt. “And you?”

“I’ll be busy,” Ayato says politely.

“I understand.”

There: your first conversation had been completely unremarkable and bland. But Ayato had appreciated that you had been straight to the point. You had been completely no nonsense, and Ayato at least, did not feel annoyed. He has too many things on his plate to deal with trivial things like romance: too many rival clans are trying to assassinate him, too many people are trying to destroy his clan. He does his own things, you do too. Occasionally you two meet—it’s just one house, after all, and you two make polite conversation. You make for a rather amusing partner at times, you make him laugh, and with you he feels relaxed.

Sometimes he plays the tricks he plays on Thoma; but it’s almost impressive to see you stomach the strange food he feeds you. You tease him with a rather sweet straight face; in calm tones, you poke fun at him. Ayato forgets that the two of you are married, at times, but there are also the rare times that he’s almost pleased.

Months pass after your encounter. The two of you have lapsed into a routine. Ayato finds that there are times he almost looks forward to the occasions the two of you meet. He starts planning brief instances where he can see you: he starts to finish his work a little quicker so he’ll be able to see you. He lessens your workload so you won’t be tired. He buys trinkets that remind him of you. He starts to reach out to you a lot more. 

He notices you smiling more. You seem pleased, joyful, even at this. 

(“Gosh,” Ayaka tells him once, smiling sweetly. “You two do act like a married couple.”

Married. Ah. Right. Ayato has nearly forgotten.)

One day, as he’s out, he spots a gem the color of your eyes. He spends a decidedly long time looking at it, choosing it carefully, before he tucks it in your pocket. You deserve to have nice things, he thinks to himself. And so he will give it to you. His husband.

But when he returns home, he doesn’t expect to see the sight of you barely breathing, your breaths shuddering, your body limp. Thoma and Ayaka are not in sight. They must have gone out today. And you…

The gem clinks in his pocket as he runs towards you.

“[Name],” Ayato calls for your messily, the words falling over each other as they spill from his mouth, “[Name]!”

The last word is a yell. “[Name], please…who did this to you?”

“Those bastards,” you say weakly, “from…that…clan…they wanted information. They…”

“And you—”

“I didn’t give it to them, if that’s what you were worried about,” you manage to choke out. “I know how important it was to you.”

The information. Right. The scrolls. Right. Important? Perhaps months ago Ayato would have agreed. After all, that was months, almost a year of hard work. But looking at you now, Ayato begged to differ. Here you were, bleeding out, dying, because of him.

You sacrificed yourself. You sacrificed yourself for him.

“I know what this marriage was intended for,” you repeat the words he had told you when you two had first met. His husband. His beloved husband. His darling. “I’ve honored it.”

“No,” Ayato cradles you, feeling as if life escapes your body. Your body is turning cold. “No!”

It’s too late. The gem rolls out of his pocket, and Ayato despairs.

The gem is no longer the color of your beautiful eyes.

It’s bathed in red.

CHILDE

note(s); you are from fatui

There are countless deaths when it comes to Fatui. It has become disturbingly normal. And you are Tartaglia’s subordinate. The eleventh harbinger’s associate. You two hit it off, immediately: you are of similar age, and you have a little brother the same age as Teucer. Or: you had a little brother. He was torn away from you because of your poor living conditions in Snezhnaya. And that was what spurred you on to make a last ditch attempt to join the Fatui to find a purpose somehow; to riddle yourself with work so you cannot think of your brother’s death.

Childe has been nothing but sweet to you so far. You have been seeing two sides of him: the tender, gentle side to him when he talks about Teucer, when he speaks of the little letters he gets from his siblings, or on the occasions he speaks to you. And the other is more wild; more bloodthirsty—and in those instances, you can see the marks that the Abyss has left on him. That uncontrollable urge to ravage everything in sight; to leave it broken and damaged.

Today is no different. The two of you tread the snow as you walk up the mountains. Childe is laughing as he is telling you stories. You listen to him like you always do. Neither of you spot the Ruin Guards. Not even three—by some wretched curse, there are five of them, lumbering behind. And by the time their shadows loom before the two of you, it’s too late.

Childe flinches; you reach out to him in desperation before you see him shift into his Foul Legacy form. 

What rotten luck, you curse to yourself, adrenaline starting to fill in. What kind of stupid thing have we walked into?

You have seen him use it a few times—once against three Ruin Guards. He defeated them without much difficulty—but you had seen the after effects. You had seen the way he had panted for his breath; the way his face had turned pale, the way he had quivered and had grasped onto you and the Traveler for help.

He does the same. There’s still two remaining, and Childe’s still standing. But you see him clutching his head. You think of Teucer. Childe has a family to return to. You have no one. In a way, this action would be the most logical. The most understanding. It will be a sacrifice for Childe and his brother. You know the pain of losing a brother—you don’t want Teucer to go through that again.

“I think I can handle them,” you tell Childe quietly. You don’t have a vision, but you have a delusion you have yet to use. “Go. Rest.”

“[Name],” Childe warns.

“Teucer.” Is the only word you say.

Childe’s eyes widen. He bites his lip. He sees your point—you knew he would. 

“I’ll come back alive,” you promise.

“[Name],” he tries again.

“See you later.” It’s a clear dismissal. 

You push him a little to the side; Childe stumbles away. Then you quickly unleash the delusion you have kept and unsheathe your sword. Childe was the one that taught you how to use a sword—and now you recall his advice as you step to the side. The delusion has potentially lethal consequences. You know that. It’s your first time using it. You know that too. The energy thrums in your fingertips as you start to battle—the crimson lashes out between your teeth and blows start to rain on you.

You think of your brother. It was your lack of strength that caused his death—you can still remember his shouts, his screams—and even now they haunt you. You don’t waver, but your stance and your attacks become sloppy. Useless, you think harshly, useless! I can’t even—

The delusion unleashes more power in your desperation. The ruin guards start to sway and fall. You continue, but now blood is bursting from every crevice, every corner: wounds open, flesh tears away, and your mouth overflows with blood. The ventricles of your heart seem to be pulsing dangerously—the delusion is ripping away your mortality in return for its power. You continue. Your eyes start to tear—

Thuds tell you of the defeat of the guards. You slump in relief. Your feet carried you to Childe, who has collapsed on the ground.

“Childe,” you call weakly. “I…”

The words don’t leave your throat. Your broken stance is not the one that jolts him from his consciousness, but it is the splutter of blood and the horrid gargle your throat make when you start to retch out blood that horrifies him.

“[Name]!” He yells, “[Name]!”

“Let me close my eyes,” you plead. “I’m so tired.”

“No. Let’s—let’s get you to—”

“Please,” you start to beg him. “I think…”

Childe knows better. You will die if you close your eyes. He has to get you help—he can’t let you die. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

He has loved you. He loves you. He adores you.

“You promised me,” Childe starts to whisper brokenly, “you promised me, [Name]. You said you'd come back alive. You said you will…”

The promise is shattered when your head slips from his grasp.

Your first and last promise to him, broken.

comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated

[saurons-pr-department]

Isn't silvergifting weird ? I mean celebrimbor is the guy whom sauron straight up tortured and killed him painfully and it's 2nd most popular ship for celebrimbor?

At the risk of being a bit too blunt here, it's really only weird if you're under the (incorrect) impression that shipping is like when you think two of your friends would make a cute couple and not simply the idea that the dynamic between two or more characters is compelling in some way (which is what I've usually seen it be in the almost 20 years I've been in fandom spaces). There is value in stories that end badly. Lies and betrayal have just as much reason to be in a story as any other element.

Celebrimbor and Annatar/Sauron worked alongside each other for centuries. The arrival of Annatar usherd in a golden age of new discoveries and power for the Elves of Ost-in-Edhel/ Eregion as a whole. Celebrimbor let Annatar in despite the warnings of family, like Galadriel, and the Elves of Lindon telling Annatar to jog on and take his suspicious self elsewhere. Is he trying to make up for his family's tragedies caused by lack of trust? Does he want power? Does he want to outshine his (in)famous grandfather? Get one up on his father? And that's just Celebrimbor's side of this. There is so much to explore between these two, so it's really not surprising that romance is something that people include.

There's also quite a few flavours of Silverfisting/Silvergifting out there. There's the one where they both fall for each other. There's Sauron stringing Celebrimbor along because it suits his purposes. There's Celebrimbor playing along to try and get close enough to find out what Sauron is up to. There's Celebrimbor thinking Sauron actually wants to turn over a new leaf. There's the version where that's even true! There's Sauron thinking Celebrimbor could actually swayed to follow him. Etc. etc. etc. etc. I could go on forever.

And on a more general level, some of us like sad stories. Sometimes the cruelty just hits that much harder when it was preceeded by kindness. "I hate you" can sound kind of bland on its own, but when it replaces "I love you" it has the ability to cut that much deeper. It adds layers to each happy scene to know that that's not how it's going to end, to be privy to knowledge of a future the characters are hurtling towards, blissfully ignorant.

A ship doesn't need to be nice. It's purpose is to put an interesting story in front of us. And sometimes that interest comes from watching on in horror as the inevitable catches up with the characters.

[idanceuntilidie]

I get so hugry when you say you love me.

yandere male x gn reader.

Tw: Yandere behaviours| Mentions of kidnapping| Cannibalism| Slightly suggestive at only one point.

Requests open

It took me longer to write than I thought it would honestly and it’s not even that long. Sorry for that.

Now if you excuse me Im gonna eat a bowl of cereal and yes that is my dinner.

Turns out there is not many things you can do without your limbs.

Your eyes wandered lazily around the bright pink ceiling, you were hungry and bored. You don’t remember how many days Gummy kept you in his house.

No internet, no tv, music was allowed only on CDs or cassettes but you would only be able to listen to it when he was in the room with you. The room itself was, heavily decorated.

Very scene, very cool, you would appreciate it more if you didn’t spend most of your time laying down and being held against your will. Surround by pillows and plushies, on a huge ass bed.

Gummy took care of you. He made sure you were dressed up so nicely. He liked to talk about how when he was younger he had so many dolls and he could dress them up.Then he would look into your eyes and smile, you saw the same crazed look every time, then he would say that you are like a doll now. So pretty and his. It was easy to guess that he would do little fashion shows with you. From dresses to suits. He bought them just for you. Right now you wore very loose clothing that you are sure was his, you could tell by the smile and how… excited he got.

He rarely went out of the house. He fears that somehow you would leave him.

How the fuck would you even do that? Your legs and arms were chopped off. The worst part is that sometimes you still can feel them, sometimes it’s quick, other time you feel the burning sensation which makes you cry out.

So Gummy made sure not to leave the house all that much, when he trusts you more maybe, just maybe he will.

Groceries were kind of hard to get.

Your diet mainly consisted of fruits, vegetables. After some time you might get sick of those. The taste would get bland and well it made you sometimes want to throw up.

Currently you were waiting for the dinner, by waiting you mean you were laying on your back because moving without limbs was actually really hard for you. He promised that today he would prepare something great.

You hoped that maybe today he would give you an actual dinner.

And he did, it looked too good to be true.

“Hi sunshine! Sorry for taking so long I wanted your first proper dinner to be perfect!”

You heard him giggle.

He helped you sit up and you looked over his shoulder to see such a beautiful food behind him. Finally no more fruits. He hummed as he went to bring up the plate.

It smelled so good, you were a bit taken back since you didn’t know he would be able to cook anything else than water.

He began to feed you, it still was in fact so embarrassing every single time.

You chewed slowly, looking away from him. He laughed happily when he saw you enjoyed his cooking. It didn’t take you long to finish, Gummy put the plate away and basically pounced on you. You shrieked when he playfully licked your lips saying how good you taste like.

“I just ate that means you are just tasting your own fucking cooking!”

“Yea I know”

You tried to bite him, it only made him chuckle and grab your face.

“You taste amazing, my point still stands, and your meat was so easy to prepare you would have never guessed.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘my meat’?”

He let go of your face. He smiled eerily while he tapped the nub of your arm.

“The rest is for me, I will have a part of you inside me! Isn’t that romantic?”

Your stomach squeezed painfully, eyes widening. Did he.. Oh God. You felt the vomit it your mouth, Gummy laughed as he pinched your nose and covered your mouth.

“You better swallow and not waste my cooking.”

You didn’t want to, eyes blurring due to lack of oxygen. You didn’t want to, but when your eyes locked with his, hot tears streaming down your face, he just smiled.

[whumpshaped]

this spiralled out of control i apologise. beck's head will clear in 3, 2, 1-

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, suggestive stuff, mind control, threat of death, threat of murder, lots of threats in general, power dynamics, intimate whumper, murder mention

"Oh, I do love it here." Helle stretched out on the king sized bed while Beck was left to stand in the bedroom door, silently fuming. That was his bed, and his room, and his home. "Thank you for asking."

"I didn't," he said quietly, a show of ridiculous defiance he seldom afforded himself. But his home was being turned into a fucking vampire den! Helle went and looked at his treasured family photos, his decorations, touched all his possessions, all while he could do nothing but sit on the sofa and wait for them to leave.

And then they came back. Again. And again. And again. Because they could, and because this was now their new favourite hangout spot; ever since the fucking date night.

"No, I think you did." They gave him a look, a warning, one that Beck always felt compelled to heed. Not this time. He thought he had enough pent up anger to be a little disobedient, so he steeled his nerves and decided to speak up. Well, about as well as a mouse would've against the neighbourhood cat.

"You– you're being... very unfair," he said slowly, forcing out the words one by one, considering each one before committing to it. That wasn't what he'd wanted to say, of course. But he somehow had to repackage his... more blunt sentiments. "And, and you can do that, you can absolutely be as horrible to me as you want. I can't... I can't do anything about it. But I don't want to play along today."

Helle's expression turned playful, and they rolled over to one side of the bed, petting the other as an invitation. Beck wanted to explode when he saw his own fucking bed being offered back to him at a price — a very steep price at that. He didn't want to be anywhere near the fucking vampire.

"Oh, come on," they insisted when he didn't move. He just shook his head.

"Please, get off my bed. You're– you're in your street clothes, and you're rolling around on my blanket that I use after I've showered and I'm clean–"

"Oh, is that the issue?" they asked with a mischievous smile, glancing down at their clothes. "If it is, we can definitely remedy–"

"It's not! It's– it's one of many issues!" he snapped, his little outburst startling him more than it did Helle. "S-sorry. I– just, please, get off."

"You know, sometimes I like it when you get mad at me. Even beyond just the entertainment factor. Because, you see... you are so bland on the surface, but whenever you get angry, it is almost like... I can tell there is something more there."

Bland? What kind of backhanded compliment was that? Or was it just an insult? Beck was so caught off guard that he couldn't even respond before Helle had already moved on, petting the bed again.

"Now, do get over here before I lose interest and just start snapping some bones for fun."

He swallowed, the memory of Helle holding his wrist in their hand and cheerily explaining how easily they could break it seeping back into the forefront of his mind and making his legs move of their own accord. "I said I was sorry," he tried as he carefully lowered himself onto his bed like it was a minefield.

"Yes, I know. And more often than not, I am also fine playing along. But not today, right? Today we are brave and honest."

He hated the way they said that. He had no idea what stupid game they had in mind that required them both on the same bed, but he was starting to get increasingly nervous about it — while Helle easily propped themself up on their elbow, lying on their side, looking at him excitedly like they were at a sleepover.

"I want you to tell me what you actually think. Of me, of spending the night with a vampire, with the specific vampire who has been so mean to you. I want to hear it."

"Wh- what?"

"It is painfully obvious that you are holding back. An understandable choice. But now I want you to just say it. Tell me something absolutely vile."

"I, I don't... I... no, but this, this is what I mean, this is unfair, how can you even– you, you could hurt me so badly," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Is that an invitation?" They raised their free hand before he could answer, cutting him off. "I know, I know. It is not. Not yet, anyway. But very well, if you will not share of your own volition, you shall share under enthrallment."

Beck sat up immediately, his urge to get away suddenly unbearable. "No! No, you said you wouldn't, you said you wouldn't use it!"

"I will if I have to," they cooed. "Or you can just tell me."

"I... will I be punished for this?" he asked hesitantly.

"Oh, Beck, stop being such a coward for one second. Indulge. I can tell you my most depraved thoughts about you in exchange, if–"

"No. No, I, I don't think I want to hear any of that."

"Well, I might tell you anyway. But for now, let me hear your honest opinion."

He didn't want to be enthralled. Now that he was so focused on it, he could already feel it creeping closer and closer at the edges of his consciousness, poking and prodding and gently pushing him to just do it. He knew it could turn vicious at any moment, seizing the information by violently ripping it from his mind against his will.

"I hate you," he said in a shaky little voice, ruining weeks of fantasies of himself yelling these words at the vampire. "I, I hate everything about you, everything that reminds me of you, I hate feedings, I hate you being here, I hate you touching me and my things and, and bringing who knows what into my house, you're ruining my life, I– I wish–" He cut himself off, and Helle pushed further into his mind, forcing the words out of his mouth without his consent. "I wish you had been buried with a stake in your heart back whenever you died. I wish I was there, seeing it through, I wish I could've done it. Hell, you're the only reason I keep a stake in my home, you're the only vampire I ever imagine killing, but I imagine it often and in great detail. I am thoroughly fucking disgusted by you, and I truly wish you were dead and rotting somewhere."

Their hold on him suddenly disappeared, and he was left with the knowledge of what he'd just told Helle to their face. He couldn't run away. He couldn't defend it. He couldn't explain it away. All he could do was sit there and watch them process all of it, hoping that whatever punishment this warranted, he could negotiate it to be a little lighter.

He had never realised just how terrifying a concept enthrallment was. He had been spoiled before, continually presented with choices he thought were impossible... but no, impossible felt completely different. It was his mind being effortlessly taken over and toyed with, it was being helpless, completely helpless against it.

"Okay," Helle said after a while, plopping down onto their back. "Bring your stake and get it over with."

"What..?"

"If you do not comply with this order, I will find the stake and drive it through your heart."

Beck almost fell off the bed in his haste to grab the stake from the drawer of his nightstand, clutching it in his hands uncertainly as he turned back to see Helle still lying on their back, docile as ever. They didn't make a single move to stop him as he reluctantly inched closer.

"You– you wouldn't actually let me," he stammered, and they shrugged.

"You are not going get a better chance."

Well... that much was true. And yet, all he did was kneel there on the bed with a stake in his hand and stare at the vampire.

"You know, from the amount of family photo albums I have flipped through, I could easily find and recognise your mother. Or your brother, really. I wonder whether they would be any more fun, or this particular brand of blandness runs in your family." They looked up at him with a coy smile. "I might just go find out for myself after I've staked you."

There weren't many things Beck was as fiercely protective of as his family. Rage bubbled up in his chest with every word Helle uttered, and he instantly moved to straddle their waist, raising the stake high above his head. He had a clear shot. Helle wasn't defending themself. They were telling him that only one of them was going to leave this room alive, and that if it was them, they would slaughter the rest of his family.

And yet... now that he was actually here, on top of the vampire who had been tormenting him, the thought of killing them was intimidating. It wasn't even killing, all he was doing was sending them back where they belonged! But... but what vampire would take over their territory? Would those vampires grab him too? Would they immediately enthrall him, pump him full of venom, leave him to die? Did he... did he really hate Helle that much..?

He shook his head a little, trying to get rid of the thoughts. This had to be the lingering effects of the enthrallment he'd read about. He did hate them, he hated them more then anything, he wanted them dead, properly, permanently dead. And yet his body wouldn't comply. He wasn't a murderer. He just... he couldn't...

Beck flinched and almost dropped the stake when Helle suddenly moved, trailing their fingers up his thighs, over his hips and onto his waist. He lowered his hands to push theirs away, but they were faster, grabbing him by the wrists and tugging his hands over to their chest. The point of the stake was now right above their unbeating heart, mere inches away from killing them; and they looked up at him with the same calm as always, almost– fond, or... or...

"You could do it now," they whispered, not letting him pull his hands back even if he wanted to. "All those mean, condescending insults, all that pain from feedings, all the ruined date nights, all that frustration from having to tolerate a leech like me in your home... gone."

"I can't," he whispered back, trying to blink away tears of shame. He just couldn't. His life was on the line. His family's life. And he couldn't.

"Why?"

He shook his head again. Maybe he didn't fully know, maybe he just didn't want to talk about it. Maybe he felt like he could just say no now that he was holding a stake to their heart.

"I thought you hated me."

"I do." His hands were shaking badly, worse by the second as Helle slowly worked his fingers loose from the stake. "But I– I don't know what would happen afterwards. And I don't want to kill anybody–"

"I'm already dead, Beck."

"I know." He let them take the stupid piece of wood, the one he now knew he'd never actually get to use because of his own cowardice. He yelped when Helle suddenly flipped their positions, settling comfortably between his legs and putting the pointed end of the stake against his heart.

"I let you do this because I thought it would be a nice little lesson," they said easily, almost pleasantly, no doubt enjoying the way he trembled under them. "I knew you would not be able to do it. At least I was confident enough. Of course, had you tried, I would have simply stopped you... but you did not even try."

There was no trace of fear in their voice or on their face from having been so close to death, nor was there a single tremor that would've run through their hands as they threatened someone with a very much lethal weapon. This wouldn't have been their first kill; nor their first death, for that matter. Beck stifled a little whimper at the thought.

"Whether you admit it or not, you love to hate me. You love to point to me and say I am the source of your problems, you love to fantasise about my death being the end of your misery, but you know it is not true. You love knowing that you do not have to fear vampires out at night anymore, aside from the one you already know. One that is, quite frankly–"

"Spoiling me," he blurted out, and their smile widened.

"Yes. Spoiling you. No magic. No quick and easy scrambling of your fragile, human mind. You love to think I am strict and cruel, because it makes you feel better about the world. You love to think I am the worst of it. But you know it is not true."

"I do, now." He could hear the blood rushing in his ears as he stared up at the murderous being so close to killing him, and he dared hope they wouldn't. Because he knew them, and they knew him, and he dared hope that in itself was enough to keep him from dying tonight.

"I killed my sire like this." They sounded nostalgic, as though they were recalling their most pleasant memories. "There is something... quite special about staking someone. Forcing a piece of wood between their ribs, piercing their heart... I do love doing it. It is quite... intimate."

Beck felt the point be driven further into his skin, nestling between strands of the fabric in his shirt and drawing blood underneath. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to drive it through someone's chest without any momentum. Helle was definitely more than capable.

He held his breath, waiting for his death as the vampire watched the droplet of blood soak a small circle of red into his pristine shirt. Then they threw the stake aside, grabbing a hold of his wrist instead. "But if I staked you tonight, how would I ever turn you into my adoring little vampire servant? No, I am afraid that will have to wait." They kissed the inside of his wrist, and Beck shivered, bracing himself for the bite that would come as a direct result of his own incompetence. "But I am very pleased that this honesty hour has brought us a bit closer together."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks

[flower-boi16]

Why Adam & Lute Suck

So HH's first season is over, and after watching the whole thing I can say that...it was STILL painfully average. The last two episodes were kind of good I'll admit, but aside from that the show is still kind of a 6.5/10 to me. But now let's get into one of my biggest issues with the show, Adam and Lute. These guys are supposed to be the "main antagonists'' of the show, but unfortunately, not only do they suffer from many of the same issues that plenty of HB's villains have, they also have some...new ones, and so, In this post, I'm going to explain why Adam & Lute, as the show's main antagonists, suck.

1. They're 1-dimensional

Anybody who has seen my post about HB's villains would know that an issue that I have with a majority of them is how boring and 1-dimensional they are, and unfortunately, Adam and Lute have the same problem. Now, like I already said in that post, a villain doesn't always need to be super deep or compelling, sometimes they can just be fun and entertaining to watch. But as you can guess, Adam and Lute aren't interesting nor are they fun to watch.

Adam's one personality trait is that he has a big ego and he swears a lot. That's kind of it, he's not a character that's very interesting and again, he's extremely boring and 1-dimensional. He's not a character that's very fun and entertaining to watch as an antagonist, even those types of villains need to be interesting and have more personality traits beyond "ego and swears a lot".

Lute meanwhile...barely has much of a personality? Like, she doesn't have much of a character beyond being Adam's minion and right-hand woman, and also kind of violent. Lute, like Adam, isn't an interesting character nor is she fun to watch, they are both just criminally boring with little personality beyond very one-note traits. I'll admit, the final did give a hint that they cared about each other which does give them a little bit of depth, but aside from that, they aren't very interesting. They, like a majority of HB's villains, suffer from being incredibly boring and one-dimensional, they aren't interesting and compelling nor are they entertaining and fun to watch, they are just boring. Now let's get into the next problem I have with them, that being...

2. We Barely Ever See Them

Adam and Lute have VERY little presence as antagonists. This mainly has to do with the show having a pretty low amount of episodes (only eight), we only ever get to actually see Adam and Lute in episodes 1, 6, and 8. That's a pretty big gap throughout the season, and it makes it so they barely have any real presence within the story. Now, let's move onto my last problem with these two, that being...

3. There's No Dynamic/Chemistry Between Them

Part of what makes villainous duos or duos in general fun to watch is the dynamic and chemistry the two characters may have; whether it would be a friendship, a rivalry, or whatever, these dynamics can be fun and entertaining to watch if done right. Adam and Lute...don't have this. There doesn't feel like much of a real dynamic between either of these two, and that would most likely have to do with them again, them both being fairly one-dimensional as characters, meaning there can't really be any interesting and fun dynamics for them as characters.

As a duo, they kind of fail because there isn't a dynamic between them that's fun and interesting to watch, which contributes to the problem of them just being boring. Because of how one-dimensional both of their characters are, their personalities don't get to mix or clash with each other, it's just a very bland and milktoast "evil guy and right-hand woman" dynamic that isn't very fun to watch. Again, the final episode does bring something interesting to their dynamic by making it so they did care for each other, but that's kind of it. Aside from that, their dynamic is boring, uninteresting and downright non-existent.

4. Conclusion

So ya, that's why I don't like Adam and Lute as villains, so...bye.

[jaxxsoxxn]

Hi, first, i need to say that i love work and your AU. Second, i have some hcs if you are intrested, specificlly about Owen:

He didn't died when he was 8, he survivid, using the same tecnic that Eobard use when he got shot in the head.

Now i gonna explain how, so Owen is Digger and Meloni's son, and Meloni's father is Eobard;

Owen have a negative conection with the speed force, because Eobard have it, and Meloni have this conection as a recesive gen, and his father ( in the comics) doesn't have any kind of conection, so by genetic he get the same conection as Eobard.

In conclusion, with this such traumatic event, he became a full negative speedster, and he end up doing not so good things, and have this Black part in his eyes.

Sorry if i said some stupid shit, haven't read the comics. And inglesh is not my first lenguage, so theres sure mistakes in text. ❤

*johnny bravo voice* Woah mamma!

thank u for dat, Kaliesuriens! (noting the fact that u liked my bsing about hail/cold weather: if no-one got me, I know Kaliesuriens got me!)

Me, actively ignoring canon Owen bc he's full of time travel bs: D:

Also me, loving the idea of Owen being a speedster by blood and not the good one: :D

He was eight years old when it happened - eight years old and dead. He woke up in a bag, which was painfully slowly dragged along. Well, maybe dragged was a bit too rough of a word for it. He was carried around, but it seemed like every single step took hours. His hands reached to grab it, not fully understanding the situation, when he just went through the material.

Owen felt short of breath, his eyes moving faster than light, his whole body moving faster than light. His stomach was wet, for some reason, and the strangers around him cocked their heads in his general direction, but it felt like they took years to do so. He didn't want to be here, he couldn't understand what was happening.

So he ran.

By the time he realized how fast he was running, it was too late. He had no idea where was he or where was his dad. His stomach ached, so he finally stopped on the side of a random highway, checking it out. While the material was bloody, under it his skin was slowly coming together, healing the wound. He found himself watching it with horrid curiosity, his mind empty.

He didn't exactly feel hungry, but he felt weak. Slowly, stared to run again. It took him a very short time for a human to understand what was happening, but for a speedster? It felt like days went past. He knew of Flash, his father having "inside information" about the man, and it wasn't exactly hard to put two and two together.

But there was no excitement, only bland bitterness. Was his power the reason why he was separated from his dad? Was his power the reason for the hole in his stomach?

Was it the reason why he couldn't stop stomping on the border of Speedforce and normal time?

His mind and body were stuck in their too fast for normal humans ways. Aging took him a hundred times as long, and it seemed he couldn't be let go of. Even when he finally found his father, one single time after two years, he couldn't tell him of his body and mind still being here.

Sometimes he saw a few weird men there and there - some flashlike, some more like the reverse version of the man. He started taking advantage of his half-being by bringing hurt to people who stood in his way in any shape or form. How dare they? He tried so hard to be set free, just for them to not even cherish their freedom?

How could they?

The first time he and Reverse Flash met, he was fifteen. Godspeed just got freed from the Speedforce and Thawne, like usually, had to run - away or against Flashfamily? It didn't matter, it never did. He was just so bitter - why can he get out whenever and all he does is go back? Always, always, always-

Before he noticed, he put a foot in front of the man, with enough speed in his step to get there in a 0.0001 second, or whatever. A yellow Flash costume flew with its owner's body inside, Thawne as shocked as the Flash family standing behind him. There was a horrid, cold zap of electricity when he showed up, his whole body heaving when his lungs suddenly needed air.

He was back, or as back as he could be. There was something wrong with his body though, his arms and legs shielded by a black lightning, electricity in the air making other's hair stand. He felt twitchy, needing to move, needing to run. So he did, ignoring confused stares and the sound of footsteps after him.

He was free.

He went to find his father, who was as hard to get to as always. It took him a while. It took him too long. What he ended up finding was a group of rouges messed up and lacking a member. He was everything, but happy. Using the knowledge he acquired as a kid and mixing it with his power, he became for a while Captain Boomerang The Second, until he could find his father.

Imagine his shock, his surprise and his anger when it appeared that a woman called "Amanda Waller" got him not only collared, but also chipped. You never realize how scary is a speedster until it's too late.

Or would be if not his meeting with Kid Flash, who happened to be there. They called him Junior Revers Flash, the speedster family, like it was about them. Like it ever could be. But they also practically handed him over to the woman.

The bomb didn't do jack shit, and trying to cancel his speed with the same weapons as they cancel Flash's speed worked out as well*. But she finally figured it out, because of course she did. Now, he was paying for it, but was the deal not worth it, when few dead people could cost him his father's freedom?

He knows how it is to be stuck in one place and even if he'd have an issue with him, he would never wish the same fate upon him.

a small fanart for it (n my design of the kid thats fueled by revange)

some explanation bout it, too <3

Don't worry bout this edgy kid! Im sure Flasher n Digi will take care of him at some point <3 (at the moment he's around 25 lorewise, since my good sir Digger is 45 in my mind) But yeah, meet Waller's hellhound, who took after his father the typical response to be the one doing everyone's dirty work lmao

[unknownauthorrr]

3 songs that describe your relationship with wednesday.

This is the first ever story I’ve written and posted. I write on my own time and have never shared it with anyone. but tonight I couldn’t sleep and I’ve had this on my mind for awhile so I decided to try my hand at writing. If you have ways I can improve, let me know. :)

—————————————————————————————

*Yes to heaven: Lana del Ray*

“Give peace a chance. Let the fear you have fall away. I’ve got my eye on you. Say yes to heaven, say yes to me. If you go I’ll stay, you come back I’ll be right here.”

Wednesday would rather die than ever admit that she understands her parents infatuation with eachother. She used to think love was a sickening display of weakness. Something that chips away at your heart continuously and painfully slow until eventually there’s nothing left. And in some ways she was right. But then she met you. You are an anomaly that gives Wednesday a breath of fresh air. The thing that brightens up her gloomy days, and brings flavor to her bland life. She would do anything for you, you just have to make it known. She had to admit at first she was a little scared of what you made her feel. Sometimes the butterflies she felt when she heard your voice made her feel like she had maggots crawling up her throat and out of her ears. When you touched her it burned like acid eating away at her flesh. When you’d sneak away at night together she felt the most at home she had ever felt, and the most alienated simultaneously. The talks you had, the glances, gentle touches and silent moments basking in eachothers existence watered her skin into lovely patches of roses. She seeks your presence like a moth drawn to light. A parched man to water. She craves you in so many ways she would rather get covered in glitter than lose an ounce of your favor. She would follow you to the ends of the earth. Kill for you, die for you. Name it and it’s done. Wednesday loves you. she’s willing to give everything up if that means she can have you. ————————————————————————————————

*cars outside: James Arthur*

“oh darling all of the city lights never shined as bright as your eyes. I would trade them all for a minute more”

You weren’t superficial. But my hell would you trade every single birthday wish, every prayer, every tear, every whisper into the night for her to look at you this way for one more moment. She’s absolutely breath taking. And she’s all yours. How did you get so lucky? Wednesday Addams was misunderstood. But you felt like you understood what her eyes were conveying perfectly. They were twinkling in the afterglow of Jerichos very busy day. Wednesday had offered to walk with you when she saw you sneaking out for your not so rare nightly outings. You couldn’t sleep well and they helped clear your mind. She isn’t too keen on you leaving nevermore alone given recent events. But she was going to have to settle with accompanying you herself. It wasn’t like she minded spending time with you, alone without prying eyes. You had decided to sit down at a regular spot you visited along the edge of the forest that separated the school and city. You got a perfect view of the stars, but Wednesday wasn’t paying attention to that. She was looking right at you. And you were looking back, lost in the stare that credited you like you had just hung the moon for her viewing. —————————————————————————————————

*here with me: d4vd*

“as long as I’m with you I’ve got a smile on my face”

You missed all of your classes today. You woke up late with a fever and a nasty cough. Looking at the clock and deciding it was too late to get up anyways, you went back to sleep. Wednesday noticed your lack of presence immediately. She was honestly worried. It wasn’t like you to skip class without telling her. She did the most sensible thing she knew and left immediately after the bell to look for you. Of course the first place she looked was your dorm. Lucky for you both, you had a single dorm this year. So, she walked right in without knocking. Her eyes were drawn to your form wrapped in one of her hoodies and a blanket, eyes half open and flushed cheeks. She still thought you were the cutest thing to grace the earth. How could she think differently?

“Wednesday?”

drawn by the groggy sound of your voice she made her way across the room.

“y/n. You don’t look great.”

“wow thanks. You sure know how to make me blush Addams. I’m sick, I know I should’ve-“

Wednesday cut you off. “you should have told me. I would have stayed with you. Let me feel your forehead”

Frowning, she removed her hand and left without a single glance in your direction. Shaking your head you laughed it off and laid back down. Moments later wednesdays return was announced with the creeping of your door. Looking up, you were met with a tray of soup, chocolate, medicine, and a heating pad in case you got cold. Wednesday may not be able to pronounce her love through words very often but her actions loved you enough for the both of them. Wednesday wordlessly slipped into bed beside you and wrapped an arm around you. looking up at her, you apologized.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner ‘Day”

how could she ever be mad at you? You looked so soft and fragile underneath her.

“that’s alright. But next time I won’t be so understanding. I want to help you y/n. I want you to feel ok”

Wednesdays words whacked you in the heart. No matter how many times you said it, it never became any more true. She was your source of happiness. She was the reason you smile. She was the reason you were ok. Not some soup and medicine. Her mere presence was enough to brighten your day and quiet your mind, everything that she was calms everything that you are. And you would have it no other way.

[yaknowlikenyah]

Dude okay this may sound stupid and silly but how you got the confidence to just, find yourself hot and sexy?? Like..I don’t have that! I just look at myself and think ‘eww stinky’, there’s always something that I don’t like, I’m either too skinny or bloted or something stupid.

I’m sorry if this comes off like a rant or a vent, I’m just genuinely curious how you can have so much confidence, it’s spooky to someone with barely any.

Incase you do end up reading this, I hope you are okay! Apologies for the probably strange ask, and here, take a apple juice :)

🧃

I may be a nsfw blog but part of my jokey little ‘Big Brother’ thing is that you can practically always come to me for advice. If it’s coming from a place of wanting to improve yourself and just having someone to talk to, I’m here to help.

Answer under the cut cause oh boy. This will be long and painfully rambley and involve a pic of me as a High schooler.

SO. Keep in mind, this is something I’ve been doing for years. This is not an instant thing, but this is general advice. I’m trans. Right? I experience dysphoria and especially when I was a baby 16 year old, it hit HARD.

I, as a teen, did stumble upon accidentally CBTing myself. Not in a bland ‘you are beautiful you are powerful’ way, but I caught that I was getting crazy self conscious and actively started to try and fix myself. The way I did this? Simple.

Pretty birding.

What is pretty birding you ask? You look in the mirror and instead of looking at the whole of yourself, you look for little pieces of yourself that you like. Don’t like how your skin looks? Look at your eyes as a sole item. Look at your hair. Find something you do like.

So lets look at a pic of me when I was 16.

This is I think?? The moment I started pretty birding. But I wasn’t confident. I didn’t realize my hair was curly so it was always frizzy, my acne was insane and overall, I just felt kinda gross cause damn. Who doesn’t. What I did was I started looking for things I like. I forced myself to look in the mirror and compliment myself every time I felt gross. Sometimes it would just be as simple as WOW I’m hot. I didn’t think it at the time, but it helped. Ya know? And over time it became a sort of ritual. Just like joking about having a piss kink, if you joke about being soooo hot and sexy then it will become something you slowly believe.

This also became a thing for seeing myself as sexually attractive, (which lead me down some weird paths but fuck it. What 16 year old isn’t curious about that shit)

NOW. the pros of this. My confidence went up, I genuinely started to feel better about myself, and because I was constantly hyping myself up it became second nature to compliment others.

The downside after 8 years of this, is that I have lost any kind of humility and If I don’t look in the mirror at least once a day I melt into ash.

From a trans perspective, it REALLY helps with my dysphoria. I think it’s very easy to get caught up in what you should look like. You start to get this image in your head of what’s attractive or how someone should look and it’s the dissonance of looking in the mirror and seeing something different that fucks with you.

I didn’t realize how much that was until I lived with my Ex who didn’t keep any mirrors in the house cause they hated what their appearance looked like. When I finally got out of there, I was horrified seeing myself in the mirror at first and couldn’t figure out why, until I realized I had forgotten what I looked like. The memories had gotten so warped seeing myself as someone else or what I thought I looked like that my body came as a shock.

So. Now. 8 years later, I am a very vain pretty bird who loves looking at myself. It’s not like everything is ‘fixed’. I’m still gonna have little insecurities and still do. (My torso is long, I’m crazy boney, my hair is pretty thin so if it parts weird it looks like a little bald spot, etc etc whatever) but I work to love the little insecurities I have. And sometimes the way I get over them is a little weird.

I’m crazy boney and uncomfortable to cuddle -> I look like one of the baldur’s gate tieflings and actually that fucks. Those guys are hot.

My torso is long and I feel like a stretched out jpeg -> I have a super masculine torso and hips actually

My hair is thin -> …Honestly still working on that one. But my go to is that fuck it. Worst case scenario I’ve shaved my head down before and I have a good headshape for being bald so ya know. I’ll still be hot even if I shave it.

You kinda just have to fight your thoughts until they come over to your side. Or as my mom once joked, conning with walkfidence.

(Also thanks for the juice)

[archivedstories]

everything @ once

summary: a small excerpt that I can't include in walmart parking lot. moon basically has an existential crisis.

word count: 585

---

Moon stared down at the cactus plant in his hand, a dripping brush in the other. You had gone asleep and, just as Sun was before, he was left alone in the depths of the apartment.

He was trying to paint the bland pot it sat in, but his thoughts were wandering off to other matters. Specifically, you.

Moon doesn’t know what to make of you. 

For one, you’re odd, and Moon knew odd. He was practically the embodiment of it. But you, however, had very silly ideas that even he couldn’t grasp. The way you spoke with Sun so patiently with the idea of him being his own individual, despite Sun insisting the opposite, was mindboggling. And although both Sun and himself didn’t believe in such an idea, Moon couldn’t help but cling to your words and wonder what could be. Sun told him it was dangerous, that he shouldn’t trust your flowery language so easily, but Moon wanted to believe otherwise. So when he was given the chance to meet you, to speak with you face-to-face, Moon made sure to make the most of it.

Moon…isn’t completely sure if the virus was wiped from his system, and Sun wasn’t either. All he knew was that he didn’t feel fuzzy anymore. There were no more annoying messages, no violent impulses, but instead, a sickly calm that was all too overwhelming. He couldn’t even remember a time when he hadn’t been infected. It was a tightrope to walk, one that Sun wanted to cut, but Moon was willing to pursue it. 

He could still feel the ghost of your shoulders beneath his hands when he tried helping you to the lamp. He became painfully aware of one thing in that moment: You’re soft. A delicate being made of flesh, filled with the organs and components that define you as alive. Human. 

You had no wires. No processor or programming that forces you to act the way you do. Instead, you had the choice of who you could be. You had the privilege of being shaped into the person you are now rather than built as it is. Your role in the universe was unknown, but you managed to create one for yourself.

There’s a part of Moon that longs to experience such a thing. To be alive with a beating heart that pumps the very blood that drives the human spirit. Arteries, cerebral hemispheres, veins, trigeminal nerves— he can go on and on. And even if he can identify, name, and understand the purpose of the human body, he will never get to experience what it is to truly be human, nor be treated with such a luxury by others.

And yet, as he watches you, the way you insist on treating Sun like a person, the way you speak to them as though they’re truly someone, Moon swears he can feel something stir within him. A heart. A live one, beating, drumming against his chassis. Sometimes, he would bring his hand up to his chest, feel the way it rhythmically beat, and that was enough to provide him comfort. 

But those were delusions, he told himself. Delusions he built to cope with the loss of a former identity. The fire had destroyed everything he had known and the virus put him in a state where he didn’t even know who he was anymore. 

What was he expected to do now that he no longer could fulfill the purpose that he was once built for?

[thisaintascenereviews]

Jax - Dear Joe,

A couple of years ago, there was an awful trend of random artists posting their music on TikTok and begging the question as to whether or not they made the “song of the summer.” It was almost always really bland, dated, and cringy pop that utilized Gen Z slang in the worst ways, or they took nursery rhymes and tried to make them into “edgy” songs. I hated those songs, and a lot of other people did, too, but one of those kinds of artists released their debut album this past Friday. Jax, real name Jaclyn Miskanic, was a contestant on American Idol about a decade ago, but she randomly started gaining traction for the song “Victoria’s Secret,” basically a track that subverted the idea of the women’s brand that men actually own it and control what beauty standards are in society. It’s a bad song, despite the intentions being good, whether it’s for the cringy use of slang, her vocals not being that good, or the song being forgettable pop garbage.

I had no idea she was releasing a new album, entitled Dear Joe, and when I say this album is absolutely awful, I mean it. I had the itch to listen to this the other day, just to see what it was all about, so I finally went ahead and did just that, only to find out firsthand that this album is one of the worst I’ve heard all year. I had a feeling it was going to be bad when that song is here, as well as an interlude entitled “Hawk Tuah,” especially when that just went viral like a week ago. That is a good idea of what this album entails, though — cringy Gen Z slang used heavily with boring pop songs sung by someone who doesn’t have any range, and despite the subject matter not being half bad most of the time, the execution is awful. What she sings about are sometimes poignant and important topics, namely being groomed by an older man who was a teacher, or a small interlude about how hypocritical Christians can be, but it’s done so painfully bad.

There’s an interlude that’s called “neurospicy,” and she says everyone is just “a little neurospicy.” It hurts to type that, but here we are. It’s so offensive to people who are actually neurodivergent, but the album has a lot of those really pointless interludes. It just feels way too long for no reason, especially when a lot of the actual songs sound the same. It’s all mistempo pop music that sounds AI-created sometimes. I don’t hate this album to the same degree as the new Aaron Lewis or Nothing More albums, but it’s close. I can’t even recommend this to anyone, because who is this for? Why would anyone want to listen to this? This is some of the most generic pop music I’ve ever heard, there’s no way anyone actually listens to this, right? I guess if you want to torture yourself, you can give this a listen, but I can’t imagine you’d want to.

[gothicastles]

I know this will come across as pick-me and so dramatic for no reason but like I can't stop thinking about the fact that I've gone basically my whole life without understanding the "relatability" aspect of art as a means to enjoy said art in the first place because I've never fallen in love (romantically) nor experienced heartbreak (romantically) and literally the breadth of art IS about romantic love. Ofc that doesn't mean that I cannot empathize at a human level with these experiences but I still get a bit frustrated whenever I play music on shuffle and 99.9% of the songs that come up are all about romantic love to some degree (desiring it, having it, losing it, etc.), or that whenever I search fics on ao3 99.9% of them deal in their majority with romantic love/relationships and ppl falling in or out of love, or that whenever I sit down to read a book or poem I can always expect that romantic attraction/relationships will thematically take center stage or constitute the major plot points that'll move the story forward.

Now by this I don't mean that everyone should just stop singing, painting, writing, or making art in general about romantic love ever; after all, it IS something that affects and concerns so many people at a fundamental level and that calls for catharsis and abstraction and creation. But I simply wished that this specific part of human experience (among the literal kaledoiscope of experiences that constitute our lives) wasn't SO pervasive in all areas of art to the point that it becomes a real struggle to find those narratives that explore other themes or don't place romantic love at the foreground of everything, and that the majority of those who DO feel simplistic and disney-fied, as if targeting a younger audience with largely "feel-good", wholesome vibes (I'm thinking of like those painfully bland and derivative "found family" narratives or that fucking book the house in the cerulean sea I don't know what the fuck that follows me fucking everywhere).

I hate that it's rare to find well-constructed, elevated, adult works of art (both current and old) that don't place romantic love at the center stage, or aren't preoccupied with it at all, while still exploring various facets of life that are just as important (especially sex and sexuality). What this does is send the covert message that romance IS and SHOULD BE the ultimate pool from which we must extract artistic inspiration, and this by extension implies that a life lacking in romantic love is not worth the effort of artistic endeavours. Also I'm aware that other big themes in art aside from romance (such as death, grief, grappling with identity, justice, family, morality, etc.) exist and have their own weight, however, if you pay attention, they oftentimes come in pairs with romance, or find resolution/solace/complexity as a result of being in tension with romance, instead of existing in their own accord or outside the realms of romance if that make sense.

I've tried to implement my own non-romantic experiences into my writing and to focus on what I'm much more interested in at an intellectual level (themes of desire, sexuality, obsession, possession, destruction, imbalance, the breaking of the inner self, morality) whilst trying not to fall for the trap of feeling like I must add romance/romantic attraction and/or idealization somewhere in the mix for them to feel "complete" or "relevant", but it's hard sometimes when most of the messaging surrounding art seems to be drenched in romance as both the core of human life and the inner force that gives art itself its vitality. I'm so tired of all the stories being love stories and the songs being love songs. Like amatonormativity makes the arts (and fandom spaces by extension) a bleaker place.

Again, I'm not saying that "romantic stories" are wrong in any way or that works that deal with other topics don't exist, just that the ratio of art about romance in some capacity vs. art without romance is DIRE. Like WHERE is the rich tapestry of life outside of romance being represented. Where where where.

[hidras-tiny-cave]

Journal Of A Human Failure

Part four: winter comes when the flowers bloom.

I’ve seen how you look at me now. It’s barely different but I can tell, you think that was gross.

Despite accepting (and enjoying) my situation, I do know how immoral it might seem to you all.

You must also think, that to enjoy such treatment, I must’ve had a traumatic past, or bad social bonds. Well far from it! I was loved all my life, before now.

I was forgiven easily. The other children loved me dearly. Truly, they did.

I remember I had a best friend even. Let us call him “Lennan”.

Lennan was sweet, kind, a good boy one would say.

I believe there wasn't more naive and frail then a good natured boy like Lennan.

As simple kids, we did simple things.

We played, held hands while running around, laughed and it felt as if the world couldn’t be better.

Lennan was kind, too kind. Others would surely “stain” him. They would use him, abuse him, ruin him.

Kill him.

They would kill him. Slowly, painfully. And he wouldn't notice.

I pulled him out of the darkness that awaited him. I grabbed his arm and opened his eyes.

Suddenly, other children did not look at us the same way. They looked afraid.

They did not understand.

Lennan looked the same to me. Sometimes he would cry and try to run away, but those tantrums stopped quickly.

Overtime, I saw myself in him more and more.

He looked like me more and more.

As if he was going trough a physical change, his blonde hair darkened, his star filled eyes turned to a bland brown in wich only the moon could reflect.

His sun-kissed skin got paler and he lost his poutty cheeks.

As winter came, he got colder.

He wore a red scarf made of wool. Too big for him as it belonged to his father.

He was definitely like me at this point. There wasn’t anything else to do. No one could hurt him anymore.

Until one day.

We got into an argument, a silly one. I had tried to take his scarf away.

“objects with emotional value will do nothing but make him vulnerable” I thought.

I believe I was right. Lennan did not let go, he opposed himself to me.

He tried to get away again. This time, I felt disappointed

In the end, no progress was made.

All that was left to do was erase my mistakes.

I pushed him to the ground. I sat above his stomach.

Thin, so thin. So small.

I did struggle, as the gloves I wore were getting in the way.

But the fragility of his neck made it easier to choke him out.

He looked frightened, but somehow, it felt as if he knew what was going to happen.

He knew that day, the 4th day of winter, was the one in which he’d die.

[deadstarsrisingsblog]

6 or 7 for the writing asks?? 🥰

Alamo!!!!!! 🥰 you're getting both bc ily

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

*nervous laughter*

Ngl I think I really fear that I can't hide(?) in my writing? And sometimes I worry that I trip myself up bc of that. I get a lot of comments and even DMs about how I write grief or friendship or whatever 'painfully well' and I LOVE those comments obv but a lot of times I'm also like oh God oh God oh no I'm being perceived, which can be tough.

I also have a lot of anxiety about my writing itself as a result. A lot of 'am I being too prose heavy? Have I lost the thread of my narrative? How much detail is too much?' right alongside 'is it too bland? Is it too repetitive? Have I carved out too much of myself bc I'm AnxiousTM'?

Annnnnnd I probably answered that too seriously. Sorry? 😅

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

(You know how to PICK these questions)

My deepest joy is definitely in the creation process itself and in the relationships I form via writing (Yes, you. I love making fandom friends)

I don't always love my work when I finish it but the drive to write is always in the back of my mind. I was always that weird kid with more eyeliner than skin and notebooks full of notes and stories and ideas and there is NOTHING that has ever soothed my soul like the act of sitting down and just writing, even if I never shared them (which is why I always took notes by hand, even in college).

Especially bc even if I don't like the finished product someone else might and then I make a friend 🥰

And I always learn from each chapter I finish. I'm so thankful to have so many kind and passionate readers!

Lol sorry for the Minor Novel and thank you for the ask! 💜

[waterbottlqueen]

i recently dug up this weird awkward rant-thing about garou i typed out over discord back in february and thought that i should try comparing my thought on his character now to my thoughts from a little over two months ago.

- "get rid of heroes"

i wouldn't say that he was trying to get rid of heroes. in a way, he wanted to be a hero himself. i think that he not only just wanted to prove a point (heroes arent as awesome epic cool as the media makes them seem), but he also only ever hated the idea of false heroism. not heroism itself; instead the false heroism that the heroes in the association parade around for popularity and ranks, not worrying about the issues too small for them to care for. he wanted to replace this false heroism with... real monster-ism. lol. just his "absolute evil" stuff. honestly, from the way he worded it, absolute evil is just unbiased justice. peace and order achieved via unethical means. because in his eyes, this evil could spread where good wouldnt. (if he just (literally) got gud it would have the same effect. same strength but give him a heart made out of rainbows and puppies like mumen rider)

-  "heroes win too much"

i still stand by this. heroes/protagonists in fiction need to lose more often. gets kinda bland when in every form of media it is always the protagonist winning to state a moral at the end of "dont be a bad guy". but garous relevance as a character isnt about that. it isnt about him being a bad guy. its about him being a good guy under the guise of a bad one. and the lesson to be learned from him and what he says is that the people who appear good often only appear good for face; on the inside, theyre the real monsters. during garou's flashbacks regarding justice man, a cartoon that he and many other children watched, we find that the villains of the show tend to have actually good reasons. like the monster that garou defended who was trying to restore peace to the ocean. (maybe following the direction of garou, the ha could air a children's cartoon centred around a monster as the protagonist. i would unironically watch it.)

- "the pity card"

i feel now as though garou was never meant to be written as a bad character. instead, i think that he was always meant to be a strange sort of hero. by the "pity card" i am referring to when writers take a character who is initially evil and gives a backstory to get viewers to like the villain more and understand their side. but while that may work on me sometimes, you'll notice that this isnt the case with garou. even from the start, (or, well, not from the START, but from the beginning, i guess. his start was beating up a bunch of people lmao. but most of them were bad people, so my point is still there in a way) garou is a good person. hes a sort of mentor figure to tareo and stands up to bullies for him, protecting the shed and deflecting bullets just so that tareo doesnt get hurt by a "hero". he doesnt kill metal bat and his sister when he has the chance. later on, he saves someone from getting used as a sacrifice to the monster association as well as an old man getting mugged. (granted, he dine-and-dashes after, but its fine. hes just a silly little guy.)

- "id let him destroy the world and even then, he wouldnt" 

again, i agree with february me on this. even while under the influence of god, who gives him the power to live out his original goal of ruling the world, garou starts sobbing when he realizes that he killed tareo from the radiation. we see him desperately crawling away in a meager attempt to save the young boy. from this you can tell that he finally comes to the truth: world domination would never achieve the peace he wanted. the people he tried to save with his absolute evil, those helpless, bullied children on the school playground that painfully remind him so much of himself would've died. garou snaps out of gods influence from that, asking saitama to take gods power in his place. garou says that he himself is the ominous future that must be defeated, as he is the one who killed the only thing that had mattered to him at that point. im guessing that garou never remembers this moment, but it does impact his character.

- "because hes a good guy"

back to the topic of garou not actually being a villain! as i mentioned, he isnt a bad person. he has more compassion and regard for human life than some members of the hero association (amai mask nearly slaughtering human people under mind control, metal knight knowing information about the hostage they had to save but still refusing to comply, etc.) hes more of a hero than a majority of the heroes in the ha. just a little unhinged. but hey, so are at least 60% of the s class heroes, garou would fit right in. hes definitely strong enough, hes clearly fine with killing monsters, hes good with kids, and hes a little crazy. (most importantly hes got accidental rizz comparable to amai. i can picture him running from an insane fanclub. the girlies would love him.)

so has my opinion really changed? not really, lmao. still love him, always will. forever my favourite character in the series. i think that i maybe understand him better though. do i feel cringe for writing this long ass shit about some fictional dude? yup. wont stop.

[motorclit]

I still don't get the blandification of spaces.

I have a theory not rooted in any evidence that I could give you, though. It's trying to make bland things the norm to balance out the reality of people's quality of life; make people think things aren't so bad, that the individual is overreacting.

Another theory is that rich people live a rather bland aesthetic lifestyle because they can afford to do things in life that make up for it.

And another is that establishments are cheap bastards who don't wanna spent a few extra bucks making the place look nice (hence why many fast food restaurants all look the same and shit).

The last one might actually be it, though. I say this because 9 times outta 10, it all boils down to something as simple as rich corporations wanting to make as much as possible by spending as little as possible, and not some illuminati-level pay-ops something or other. Because sometimes it's not that deep. It's just painfully simple.

For decades stoners were renowned for their aesthetics. For their blacklight posters and lava lamps, for their airbrushed dragon murals and electrical shock orb thingies from Spencer Gifts. Then they legalized weed and every weed store became the flattest, emptiest minimalist void imaginable. They're putting a weed store in a former Rainforest Cafe and they're tearing out all of the rainforest decor to make it just a big empty space with walls painted the blandest green they can find. They tore down paradise and put up a place where a business major tries to tell you CDB oil can cure cancer