#I don't have to worry about finding purpose

[n1daehodefender]

can you write headcanons with your usual characters (dae-ho, thanos, etc) were they find reader crying in like the bedroom or smtg and they just got home so they don't know what happened, but still kinda comfort reader the best they cant (idk if this makes sense)

Their reactions to finding you crying

Pairing: kang dae ho, Nam gyu, thanos (Su Bong) Separately!

Warnings: Warnings: Emotional comfort, mentions of crying and emotional distress, gentle themes of reassurance.

A/N: requests are open

Kang Dae-Ho

Dae-ho had been looking forward to seeing you all day. Work was exhausting, and all he wanted was to relax with you, maybe joke around about something silly or talk about your day. But the moment he walks through the door and hears the faint sound of muffled crying coming from the bedroom, his heart drops. His playful energy vanishes, replaced by deep concern.

He doesn’t barge in immediately. Instead, he pauses to collect himself, not wanting to startle or overwhelm you. Quietly, he knocks on the doorframe, his soft, “Hey, are you okay?” breaking the silence. When you don’t respond right away, he carefully opens the door to find you curled up on the bed, tears staining your cheeks. The sight of you like this pulls at his heartstrings, and any jokes he might’ve planned to crack to lighten the mood are completely forgotten.

Dae-ho moves slowly, not wanting to make you feel pressured to explain yourself. He sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently brush a stray tear from your cheek. His voice is soft, filled with that golden retriever-like warmth you’ve come to love.

“I’m here, okay? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

He gives you space to decide whether you want to lean into him or not, but when you do, his arms wrap around you like a safe cocoon.

Dae-ho’s hugs are everything: firm yet gentle, warm and grounding. He strokes your hair with one hand while the other rubs soothing circles on your back. Occasionally, he presses a light kiss to the top of your head. His presence is steady, reminding you that you’re not alone.

He doesn’t push you to explain, though it’s clear he’s worried. Instead, he keeps his words gentle and encouraging:

“You don’t have to say anything right now. Just know that whatever it is, we’ll get through it together.”

His tone is earnest, his voice trembling slightly from how much he hates seeing you hurt.

Once your tears subside, Dae-ho suggests small things to make you feel better, like getting some fresh air, eating something comforting, or just lying together for a while. He stays with you the entire time, not leaving your side even for a second. If you eventually open up about why you were crying, he listens without judgment, offering reassurance and positivity where he can.

Nam Gyu

Nam Gyu doesn’t expect to find you upset when he gets home. He’s usually the one you greet with a smile or a sarcastic comment, so the quiet, heavy atmosphere hits him immediately. He hears faint sniffles coming from the bedroom, and his mind races with worry.

The second he sees you crying, his heart clenches painfully. He doesn’t hesitate to approach, his strides purposeful but not rushed. Kneeling in front of you, he cups your face gently, his eyes scanning your expression for any signs of what might’ve happened.

“Hey, what’s going on? Did something happen? Who do I need to deal with?”

His tone is serious, laced with protectiveness, but his touch is gentle.

Nam Gyu hates seeing you cry and will do everything in his power to make it stop—not because he’s uncomfortable with your emotions, but because it physically hurts him to see you in pain. If you don’t want to talk about it, he respects that, but he’ll still hover protectively, sitting close to you and holding your hand. If you lean into him, he wraps you in his arms tightly, his chin resting on top of your head as he murmurs reassurances.

“It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you. Whatever it is, you’re not alone in this.”

His hugs are firm and grounding, making you feel like nothing in the world could touch you as long as he’s there. He rubs your back and strokes your hair, occasionally tilting your chin up to wipe away tears with his thumbs.

Though Nam Gyu isn’t the most emotionally expressive person, he steps up when you need him. His words are straightforward but heartfelt, and he’s willing to listen for as long as you need, his attention completely focused on you.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

If you eventually explain, he listens intently, his jaw tightening if it’s something that upset or hurt you. You can see the barely restrained protectiveness in his expression.

Nam Gyu will insist on taking care of you afterward, whether that means cooking your favorite meal, running a bath, or just lying down with you. He’s not the type to leave you alone, ensuring you feel safe and loved before he considers relaxing himself.

Thanos (Su-bong)

Su-bong is in a great mood as he walks in the door, ready to tell you about something funny that happened during his day. But the moment he hears soft sobbing coming from the bedroom, his mood shifts entirely. His heart aches at the sound, and he immediately heads toward you, his earlier excitement forgotten.

When he sees you crying, his playful demeanor is replaced by quiet concern. He kneels beside the bed, his brow furrowed in worry as he gently calls your name.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, love.”

Though his instinct is to crack a joke to cheer you up, he knows better than to do that right away. Instead, he focuses on being present for you, letting you feel whatever you need to feel.

Su-bong’s approach is a mix of gentle affection and lighthearted attempts to make you smile. He’ll wrap you in a warm hug, one hand stroking your back while the other holds your hand. If you don’t pull away, he presses a soft kiss to your temple and whispers:

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.”

If you’re unresponsive, he doesn’t push but stays close, his presence steady and reassuring.

He’s incredibly tactile, holding you close and wiping away your tears with the sleeve of his shirt (despite you protesting that he’ll ruin it). His touch is gentle, and his hugs feel safe and secure.

Su-bong’s words are soft and soothing, filled with unconditional love and support. If you eventually share what’s wrong, he listens attentively, nodding along and offering comforting words when needed. He’s also not afraid to be vulnerable with you, admitting that it hurts him to see you cry.

“You don’t have to explain, but if you ever want to, I’ll be here, okay?”

Once you start to feel better, Su-bong’s playful side re-emerges. He might crack a light joke or do something silly to make you smile, but he’ll also make sure you’re comfortable—bringing you snacks, cuddling with you, or watching something lighthearted to lift your spirits.

[nerevarswritingstuff]

Yes, I would love to see your icks🙏

HOOOOO BOY OKAY THEN buckle up kids this is gonna be a LONG ONE. Probably. We'll see by the end of this just how long this list actually is.

For the sake of everyone's sanity, I will be putting it under a read more just to be safe, because I have so many words to say about these things I hate reading. :)

AND just to note, most of these will revolve around LMK fics, or reader-insert fics in general. Just... things that make me drop a fic entirely and never finish it.

HERE WE GO!

Isekai

I cannot, and I mean cannot stand isekai fics. I can't stand isekai stories in general, but in my opinion, they're worse in fics. Nine times out of ten, the character just thinks the new world is better than their old one and forgets about their home. OR, they're panicking and worrying about their family and friends back home and how they're going to get back. Spoiler: This is forgotten after like maybe three or four chapters.

Isekai fics, in my opinion, are just lazy and boring. I've given too many of those kinds of fics a chance only to be sorely disappointed. In an isekai story, I'd like to see more of the plot line where our MC's sole purpose is to go home, no matter how much more colorful and whatnot the new world is. OR they slowly but surely accept the fact that they're not going to return home, and start to just rebuild their life in the new world.

Sadly, I've yet to even find a story like this, and I won't waste my time trying to look for one.

Awful Grammar

AS A DISCLAIMER: If English is not someone's first language and they struggle with grammar, that's fine. The same is said for people who suck at grammar but are trying. Grammar is a nightmare even for native English speakers, I can attest to this.

The reason why this is an "ick" for me mainly because of this: if the grammar is bad but I can still get an idea of what's going on even if there's a few mistakes here and there? I'll still read it. It's fine. But if I can't make heads or tails because the grammar is so fucking bad I'm unable to understand what's going on? I'm clicking off that fic RIGHT QUICK.

This is where I beg. On my hands and knees. PLEASE get a beta-reader. If English isn't your first language, then get a beta-reader who DOES understand English grammar. GET SOMEONE ELSE TO HELP YOU READ THROUGH IT AND FIX THE GRAMMAR. P L E A S E.

Dog Shit Pacing

The plot either goes too fast or too slow. You already know I'm a slow-burn mother fucker over here and I'll die on this hill. But I also like to keep the plot moving forward slowly but surely.

(Which, don't worry, now that the Big Reveal has happened, the pacing for the Show Plot™ will be a BIT faster, but we're focusing on Wukong and Macaque rn)

I'll give a TINY bit of leniency because pacing is hard to master, and even I'm still trying to find a nice point for it, but I don't like pacing that's so fast I get worse whiplash than riding a rollercoaster at a sketchy carnival.

When it comes to slower pacing, I need to stay interested. Give me some hints, some teasers, a few cliffhangers! I dunno man, it just bores me if I'm 15 chapters in and still see no end to the horizon besides Hatsune Miku.

In all seriousness, if you want your pacing slow, then that's fine, but you have to make every word count to keep your readers interested.

MC With No Backbone

I. Hate. This. Trope. I hate reading about OCs or Reader-Inserts that have little to no spine, and just get treated as a doormat. It's not interesting, and it's not fun to just read about a character that's constantly dogged on (9 times out of 10 for NO FUCKING REASON) by the other characters.

I will only like this trope if it's used in a way as character development where the OC/Reader-Insert learns to stand up for themselves in the end. I'm fine with that. Otherwise, kill this trope with fire.

The next point goes off of this point into...

The No-Backbone Character Snaps

This trope makes me mad for one specific reason: EVERYONE MAKES IT INTO SUCH A BIG DEAL. First, it's out of place, and second, every single character is just SOOOOO SHOOOOOCKED THAT THE DOORMAT ACTUALLY TALKS BACK. LIKE HOLY SHIT IT'S NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL SHUT UP AND MOVE ON.

And the FINAL POINT FOR THIS...

"Strong" Characters

Allow me to elaborate on this. You read about a character that's supposed to be strong-willed, sassy, and have a backbone. The complete opposite of the one I was complaining about earlier. Sounds great, right?

WRONG.

Because every FUCKING story I've ever read, these "strong" characters are just badly written. Period. The "sass" is quite literally just being a jerk. The strong-willed goes into that bit, too. They just literally act like a dick. There is a difference.

The most frustrating thing I see is when reading ANY kind of story, any "strong" character, and this is for ANY gender but ESPECIALLY female characters (OC or Reader-Inster), suddenly just... lose any sense of fight in them when around their love interest. They're submissive, they're a doormat, and just let their LI do whatever they want. I hate it.

I'm tired of this, grandpa. I'm so god-damn tired of seeing characters who are portrayed as strong, and out of nowhere when their love interest shows up, deciding to be more aggressive, the MC just crumbles. Stop that. Just stop. Seriously.

(The "no backbone character suddenly snaps" bit also applies to this.)

MC Can Do NO WRONG, APPARENTLY?

This is especially bad in LMK, but holy shit, guys. Calm down with this bullshit of "MC is the perfect person and everything they do is perfectly fine but the second someone does it to THEM suddenly THAT PERSON IS WRONG AND DUMB AND AWFUL!! >:("

Why do you think I make Nibby the way they are? They're right a lot of the times, sure, but they're equally WRONG a lot of the times, too. They make mistakes, and they own up to it. They fuck up. They do good, and bad. They. Are. Not. Perfect.

I'm so fucking done with seeing MC's (Reader-Insert or OCs) being treated like they know everything better than everyone. I'm so FUCKING done with MC's being treated like perfect demure little princesses even when they're the ones who are wrecking shit. They can do no wrong? Shut the fuck up and get out of my face with that.

CONSTANT, and I Mean C O N S T A N T POV Switches

This is mostly for writing and not really in any kind of comic or drawing aspect, but holy shit.

I've said this before in my little writer tips thing, but oh my actual lord, I cannot stand when we can't stay with just one character's POV for more than two paragraphs. I'm begging on my hands and knees, just stay with one character for at least half a chapter or an entire chapter. We do NOT need to know what everyone is thinking immediately. Just. Stop. STOP. AAAAAAAUGH.

ENDLESS. ANGST. TRAIN.

Oh my god I talked about it in my writing tips ask before but let me tell you something, guys. I genuinely hate it when angst doesn't stop. THE BEACH EPISODE IN ANIME EXISTS FOR A REASON. IT'S A BREAK FROM ALL THE BULLSHIT THE CHARACTERS GO THROUGH. PLEASE JUST STOP. LET THEM HEAL.

Before y'all try to be all "oh but Nerevar, you've written angst!" Yeah but did you forget I also write the healing that comes after? The growth of the characters that come AFTER their angst episode? Yeah, didn't think so.

I've read so, so, SO many fics that have had just... non-stop angst and it gets so tiring and beyond boring reading it. We get it, they're suffering. Can we please get to the healing, now? P L E A S E?

Hating Wukong for NO FUCKING REASON

This is mostly because of those annoying ass Macaque stans who will blame Wukong for everything that happened to Mac and call him horrible. Need I remind you Mac was willing to kill MK in episode 9 just to get Wukong to fight properly? Mhm, yeah, now sit back down and shut up.

I cannot stand this unnecessary hatred for a character that's actually morally grey and complicated with complex emotions, thoughts, and feelings. And it's always, always for the dumbest fucking reasons. Has he made mistakes? Yes, but who the fuck hasn't. He, just like everyone in the show, grew as characters.

And speaking OF Wukong...

Making Wukong Stupid For EQUALLY NO REASON

Oh my actual LORD I hate this so fucking much. One little joke between MK and Wukong has given birth to my least favorite headcanon in this fucking fandom.

MK: Can't read? Wukong: Uh... I get stage fright.

And now everyone's pointing and laughing at Wukong like "LOL HE'S SO ILLITERATE HE'S DUMB HE'S A BIG STUPID IDIOT"

We're not even going to go into the actual JTTW Wukong, this is SOLELY on the LMK version.

Ok, so, if he's illiterate and can't read or write, then how in the fuck did he write that letter to MK in episode 3 of season 2?

PROOF INSIDE THE PUDDING.

WOW SO ILLITERATE. SO DUMB. VERY LOL.

Like, have we watched the same show? Wukong acts stupid to lighten the mood. He knows how to take shit seriously, he knows how to turn off "funny guy" mode and enter serious mode.

I am the number one Wukong defender and I will NEVER STOP DEFENDING HIM NONE OF YOU CAN KILL ME IN A WAY THAT MATTERS.

Anyway, yeah, I hate that headcanon and y'all can keep that shit far, far away from me.

Six-Eared Macaque's Six Ears

Hoo boy here's the fun one. I have lost count on how many times I've seen this dog shit trope, and every time I see it another one of my brain cells die. If you're caught up with my fic, and have read chapter 35, then you already know that my version of Macaque is not bothered by loud noises such as thunder or fireworks or the like.

Why?

BECAUSE HE'S NOT A FUCKING CHILD.

"Oh, but Nerevar!" I hear you cry as I sit in my rocking chair. "He has six ears! He hears so much more than the normal human! Wouldn't that mean he'd hate loud noises?"

I'm sorry, are we seriously debating if the several thousand year old monkey can handle a little bit of thunder or fireworks? Are we seriously going to baby this actual adult?

Whether we go down the route of "muffle magic" or not, this man has had SEVERAL MILLENNIA to train his ears to handle such noises. Would some still annoy him/bug him? Sure. Yeah. But to render him completely inconsolable and lying on the ground clutching his ears and crying out in agony? Yeah, no. No. Get off my lawn and stay off my property.

(I also hate the follow-up trope of Macaque suddenly getting noise-cancelling earphones from the MCs. I seriously just don't get it. It's happened in every single fic I've read before. I don't get it and I don't want to because I hate it it's stupid.)

The Infantilizing of Literal Adult Characters

This is where some of y'all really start to piss me off. The only characters who are the youngest in this god-damn show (and are STILL LEGAL ADULTS) are Mei and MK. Before you try to come at me like "oh but on [insert unreliable website here] it says they're this age!" That's not confirmed.

Their ages are never fucking confirmed, that was just a fan-thing.

More fucking proof before you try to "UHM--ACTUALLY" in my dm's. Try me. You will lose this battle. Fuck off.

AND YET Y'ALL STILL WANNA INFANTILIZE THE LITERAL ADULTS. I will not give any leniency here. I hate this. I hate it so much that the minute I see any motherfucker treating the characters (Wukong and Macaque ESPECIALLY) like literal children, the desire to commit violence rises. They are not your precious little uwu babies you can coddle. They're actual adults. Please go touch grass and learn how to interact with society. I would LOVE to watch you talk to a real life adult the way you would to Wukong and/or Macaque in your dumb ass baby talk and see what happens.

Wukong, as goofy as he is, would hate to be treated like that.

Macaque would despise it.

Stop fucking infantilizing them. They're adults.

This is also especially bad with MK just because he acts more like a kid than the rest. Almost like he is, but he's still a legal adult (at the very least 18 bc that's the legal driving age in China) and should not be treated as such. He wouldn't mind people caring about him, but there's a difference between caring and coddling.

Allowing Macaque To Be The Asshole But Not Wukong

Get out of my house. Right now. I love Macaque and Wukong so much, you know this. I have a whole damn fic about how much I love them both. But what I will not stand for is this DISRESPECT TOWARDS MY MEN. Oh, little Macaque can do no wrong because he was ~*~twaumatized~*~ but Wukong is the awful person for saying a few things wrong?

Fuck off. :) Don't ever talk to me. :))

Macaque is an asshole. So is Wukong. They're both complex characters with complicated ass stories interwoven with one-another and y'all playing this "X is better than Y" bullshit annoys me. This is half the reason why I hardly ever interact with the fandom at all. Because some of y'all try to force these head canons down my throat and it makes me want to beat you with a broomstick.

Conclusion

This is honestly all I can think of off the top of my head. But yeah. These are all the things that make me never want to read a fic. In all honestly, it's half the reason why I stopped reading fanfics entirely, not just from LMK but other places. They're just so bad and each one is worst than the last.

I will never say no to fic recommendations, nor will I hate on anyone who LIKES the fics that I don't like, or even hate with every fiber of my being. You do you, my word is not law. We can enjoy our shit and still be chill with each other. Just don't try to force me to like something I hate. Please and thank you. <3

[collar-shocked]

Power in Property

TLDR: Bree discovers he's not as hopeless as he once thought inside the Goffard manor.

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The time of day is unknown. All the Frenchman knows is the sun is blaring through the windows and his shadow is following against the wall he lingers near. He's been living in this pompous stinkhole for about a year and two months now, and if he's learned one thing- one thing at all- it's that he's invisible. His only job is getting dressed up "properly", whatever the hell that means, and following Master Derek around like a duckling. Bree's gotten adjusted to his new lifestyle, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

His sole purpose is to be arm candy and play the role of Panic Pete whenever Derek sees fit. None of the help talks to him, none of the other Goffard's address him, and if he's not in his room- a room he shares with Derek, but just barely- he's in the garden, his one area of relief. The one place he doesn't have to worry about blood, or chores, or yelling, or... or sex. God, Bree loves the garden...

...But he's not in the garden. He's inside, walking to the kitchen to grab HiS mAsTeR his tray of dinner, pondering what could possibly be on that very special tray. Are all the crusts trimmed from his peanut butter and jelly just how he likes? Is it cut into quarters just the way he likes? He turned the corner and entered the vast, shiny kitchen, hardly taking note of the worker stacking the dishes. It wasn't hard to spot the tray. Bree cross the kitchen and lifted the tray, immediately turning around to head back to that room he's constantly held up in.

He did not see the extra shine on the floor.

One moment, he was carrying his masters food to his room. The next? He was behind-and-palms on the floor covered in marinara with a sore leg. Bree looked around at the spilled tray, his soiled clothes, the wet spot on the ground, his glasses now off to the side, and felt his eyes begin to sting with wet. He doesn't cry. He's not a cryer. But.. a little puddle is gonna get his ass beat? Really? Upon moving to push himself up, he flinched and whined loudly at his knee and ankle, both sent in awkward, stretched positions in the really, really embarrassing slip. Preparing for a struggle, h-

A shadow loomed above him. The helper who was busy with the dishes. They're... not supposed to do this. Not supposed to even look at Bree. He does not exist to them, else is means losing their hands or being fed to the dogs or something... but finding him out on his own is so rare! Where's the harm in extending a hand? Just this once?

"You okay?..." They spoke quietly, indicating this mutual weight of theirs as their hand hung in the air.

"..." Bree didn't respond. It felt.. unnatural being spoken to by someone else. Dangerous, even. This idiot's gonna get themself killed... He tried getting up without their help, just to wince and fall back down.

The eye contact was intense. The nameless worker gave him a small smile, and... he groaned and took their hand. They noted how soft his hands were.

"A-Ah ah ah, okay-" Bree hobbled up, turning to lean against the counter top. He gave them a stubborn, awkward, sorrowful look. ...He nodded a thank you, but couldn't vocalize it.

"..You're welcome." They could, though. They watched the man turn towards the hall and limp just a few feet, struggling the entire time. They sighed and caught up to him, grabbing onto his arm. "Let me help you, sir.."

Bree was frightened by the hold and yanked his arm away. What the hell, man?! The way he looked at them was disgusting... He grabbed both his elbows in a self-hug and inched away, sneering at them. "..I-.. I don't need help."

"Pff... really? Look at you, doll. You can barely walk! Please, let me-"

"-Leave me alone! M-My day is has been foul enough!"

...That's not exactly what they expected. Bree was always so small and shy- or, so they thought he was. They scoffed and fixed their clothing, turning away with copious amounts of sass. "Fine. But you don't have to be a jerk because daddy's not around to be one for you." Back to the kitchen they go with a hard hmph.

Now offended, but alone at last, Bree took his sweet time working with his aching leg. Bree slowly inched his way down the hall. He was lost in thought, going over all the very many ways Derek would throw a hissy fit back at the room. His stomach swelled with anxiety that just grew and grew the closer he got, his tears threatening to come back and limbs beginning to shake. He's gonna be in so much trouble for his clothes... he's gonna be in even bigger trouble for the lack of food, and- dear god, especially for the mess. He doesn't want to take another step... he doesn't want to go back to that room- that man... He hates him. He hates him but he's all he has. And even when he is able to reach out and briefly touch anything or anyone else, it turns out like.. that! An annoying stickler! He's a jerk?! A jerk for wanting space in his little time alone?! Bree began to shake in anger and anxiety, a sick feeling taking over. The hall then seemed so much longer, his limbs felt like string, his body felt like a waterbed, his mind was foggy and blurry and unreal and his face was wet. Goddamnit! He didn't want to cry!!

Eventually, after the journey and mustering up courage, Bree opened the door and rested against the frame. He caught his breath and sniffed in, feeling a certain amount of peace at the fact Derek, though present, hasn't acknowledged him. He's at his desk doing something on his computer with earbuds in... maybe Bree can sneak by without being notic- Of course he can't! That's too much hopeful wishing. It's like his first step inside the hellish room alerted the blond fuck like a dog picking up his scent.

...Because he did. Literally. Derek smelled the marinara and plucked his earbuds out, turning around quick on his swivel chair. "What took you so long?! I'm star- What HAPPENED?!" Derek scrunched his nose in pure, unfiltered anger at the sight of his pet coated in sauce and thyme. He got up and marched over, feeling a sense of satisfaction as Bree shuddered and loomed closer to the hall. He opened his mouth to spit more venom, but stopped.

Bree.. can't stop crying. Something about the stress from the earlier interaction combined with the slip combined with Derek being a confrontational bitch has left him.. defeated. If not mentally wounded. He said nothing and kept his weeping nearly silent, opting to bury his face in his sleeve instead.

"...What happened?" At this point, Derek knows Bree well enough. He's not a crybaby. He hardly ever cries, let alone breaks down like this. He's been through some real hardship under this roof and came out with a blank face- because he shuts down, not breaks.

Bree tried his best to move passed him, but his limp made it impossible. Derek reached an arm out to trap him, guiding his back against the wall instead. It frustrated him. It.. it made him so damn angry. "Can I have one moment of peace?!"

"Not when you're coming back from a SIMPLE TASK looking like this."

God, why is everyone pulling on his dick today?! Bree got angry. He placed a hand on Derek's arm and began to push. "Let me through! I can not do this right now!" ...An intrusive thought became something more. An opportunity. Bree is.. Bree is a good person. In truth, he won't be doing anything at all. He won't be. "I-I just want to lay down, Derek, please." He's playing up his patheticness.

And Derek sees through it like a layered brick wall. Not at all.

"You're covered in shit and got something wrong with your leg, you're not goin' anywhere until you spill." Derek is... protective of his pet. Not because Bree is Bree, but because Bree is his. He's his toy, his doll, his property, and no one else is allowed to put hands on him. He's the one thing in this entire world that is his alone, so yeah, he likes keeping tabs on him. Not just that, but... it feels like he's keeping him out of some kind of drama! He wants the details, he wants an excuse to yell at someone- and Jesus Christ, it's coming in hot.

...Bree isn't sure why he said it. He's not sure why he followed that little thread of a power-high. But... he did. And now taking it back isn't possible.

Not like he would, anyway.

"...Th.. they stopped me in the kitchen." He kept his eyes to the floor and rolled his nails against his palm. "...They p'hh.. they were mad or something. Hit the food out of my hands." Derek couldn't help but snort. "And they pushed at me in the hall.. A-And.. put their hands down my pants..."

"Hold up, what?"

Complete silence. ...Bree knew that would piss him off. He knew it'd grind his teeth. He knows how protective he is over his body, knowing he's the only one who's ever seen or felt it that way- he knew learning he's not exclusive to his master anymore would be the nail in the coffin.

Bree kept quiet and continued to push against the wall, as if he could just disappear into it. This aggravated the other who became increasingly aggressive. "What did you just say?!" He gave his pet a few seconds. No answer. "BREE!!"

Bree flinched and raised a hand in defense. With a hard swallow, he finally spoke back up. "They put their hands down my pants..."

"And you LET THEM!?"

"I did not know I could stop them!"

"WHY?!"

"They told me if I touched them I would be in big trouble!" Bree used his language wisely. More withheld and short-winded phrases as opposed to his usual mean, loud, agitated arguments- the kind he uses when Derek's in a more... threatening position. "I am not really much of anything, but they are all employed here, s-so..."

The anger was indescribable. He was so pissed. Derek finally stepped back, looking around the room while rolling his tongue over the front of his bottom teeth, huffing and puffing and finally shoving Bree hard against the wall- not once, but twice- the bang of his head against the causing him to choke-up and breathily sob. "Well now you ARE so you should'a hit em' ANYWAY! Why are you always gettin' into shit?! Why are you SO fucking stupid!?"

Not all of this is fake. Bree truly is.. terrified. Derek can act out in such terrible, disgusting ways when he's blinded by anger. And he still feels sick! With a hard shudder and a hand to rub at his head, he sniffed in, feeling humiliated, and just.. nodded. He doesn't want to get hit any harder than that. "I don't know!... I-It's not my fault!..."

That seemed to do something. It went quiet. No activity, no aggression, no yelling, just the sound of wind outside the window and Bree's nasally sniffing. Derek moved. He's letting him go. "Change your damn clothes and go to bed."

Didn't have to tell him twice. Bree moved as quickly as he could to his little area. Passed the sheer curtains and onto his inflatable mattress, working on getting out of the cold, heavy, sticky clothes. He plucked his shirt off with a loud grunt before tossing it aside on the rest of his dirty laundry, moving his hands to his pants and freezing. Bree has this little ritual of checking watch before going farther than his shirt, but in doing so, he discovered he doesn’t have to worry.

Derek isn’t in the room… at all.

The Frenchman got un then redressed as soon as possible. The pit forming in his stomach told him his master didn’t just leave to use the bathroom or something, and he was determined to catch him before the innocent janitor- or whatever the hell they are- got caught. He shuffled awkwardly out of the room and followed the voices back down the hall- back in the kitchen. That pit increased…

Bree eventually latched onto the corner and peeked around it, eyes widening upon spotting Derek, that worker, and a table fork. The nameless employee- the one who helped him earlier- is on their knees, nose spilling blood, with Derek standing behind them gripping a fist-full of scalp-distance hair. If their tearful eyes didn’t lock onto Bree, they’d be gazing down the prongs. They seem to be in some kind of… disagreement.

“H-He’s lying!! He lied about everything, HE LIED!!” The desperation painted the air as they struggled in their awkward pose- spread knees trapped under them as their back arched and stretched with Derek’s pulling.

“Ah, so he just… faked his leg, then? Dumped the spaghetti on himself just ‘cause he doesn’t like you specifically? Am I reading you right?” Derek was full of energy and bitterness. In a way, it made Bree feel.. kind of nice. He felt important for once.

Then it made sense. He doesn’t have a pit in his stomach. He has butterflies… Committing such a violent, painful act by not even his own hand, simply because this person had annoyed him… He felt powerful. He felt in control. It felt like the pedestal belonged to him this time- and so did they. Panicked eyes stared Bree down, and he loved it. He is their saving grace.

But Bree is no longer a graceful man.

“Teh-! TELL HIM!!! TELL HIM!!” They begged at a stadiums volume. Derek then glanced over and spotted Bree, taking him in.

Bree hugged the wall and gave his best puppy-eyed look. Everyone in the room understood.

A loud squelch would bounce off the walls, but not louder than the shriek following it. The clang of the now wet and dirtied fork hit the floor- as did their body, writhing and gripping their face as the tiles were painted red, and Derek caught his breath. “Let this be a lesson for the next time you feel brave enough to take what doesn’t belong to you, bitch!!” Derek ended their little discussion with a hard kick to their side, moving past them towards Bree while wiping his hands off on a handkerchief. “C’mon. Back to bed.”

With one good, wavering eye left, they cough loudly and wiggled, pushing themselves up to watch the pair go- and their blood ran cold. Bree held a smile you’d assume ended at his eyes. It was devious and sharp, and the only reason they are catching it now is because he stayed to watch them. With one click around the corner, Bree had turned to join his keeper, officially leaving them alone.

They got back to the room. For once, Derek was… patient. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push. He offered no assistance but he kept his mouth shut, and that is a lot to appreciate for someone like him. Once that door closed, they both took a seat. “…You can defend yourself.” The younger of the two finally spoke up. “If you need to push or shove, you can. Don’t let something like this happen again.”

Bree was filled with delight. He feels like he just committed a crime and got away with it! He feels like he cheated at a game and nobody noticed! Derek has not a single idea that he and his position in this household were just used… by the pet. He’s a walking weapon around here and Bree has the benefit of his protection. It only took a year and some to die ove this kind of vile potential. “…Okay.”

Derek is an asshole. Bree fucking hates him. Hates his entire being, hates his entire family, hates his stupid amount of money. He often makes this known and is usually just shut down or sent to his room to cool down. Derek doesn’t need him to like him. Hardly even desires it. …but when he likes him, it feels like bliss. Like the mean, evil family pet has chosen his lap to sit on. Being nice to Derek, even for a moment, fills Bree with so much indescribable rage and disgust that any other person would explode under that pressure- so even if Derek treats him better for a time in trade for kindness, he refuses to show it often.

Even so, he clears his throat. “…D-.. Sir?” A name he is often ordered to use with force, and only with force. “Thhh… thank you.”

A glint appeared in Derek’s eye at the painfully given validation. He nodded back and gave him an all-too-cool, brushed-off mumble of a response, not wishing to expose the… embarrassing excitement. He watched Bree struggle to stand, limping off through his see-through curtains to finally lay down and rest up. Derek went back to his computer, first new tab he opened being DoorDash.

From here on out, Bree got his wish to remain lonely. The lesson was learned, the example was set, and no one wanted anything to do with Bree from there on out. It’s like everyone but Derek could see how the dynamic had ever so subtly changed.

Both of them now hold the end of a leash, and it is everyone else’s problem.

[theshadowsingersraven]

Just some POV to support OP: I don't think anyone here would doubt that I love Azriel. And I absolutely did this in my own writing.

Loving a character doesn't just mean blindly wanting surface good things for them. It can also mean wanting them to face the music for their actions and becoming better for it. This is how I handled Azriel rightfully feeling shame for how he treated Lucien:

Azriel deserved that. He knew he deserved that to the point where he felt an apology creeping up his throat. But his pride snatched hold of it before the traitorous words could leave his lips.

Lucien sighed. “Perhaps one day you can view me as Solara does—a friend. Not just a cage thrust upon Elain, demanding her compliance. I've never thought badly of you until now, Azriel.”

Friend.

Azriel was purposely hurting Solara’s friend, purposely choosing each word as if it were a torture instrument. As if he were no better than the witch she'd sacrificed so much to kill. And a part of him knew that, deep down even then. How disgusted would she be when she learned of the other aspects of his work? For how Azriel was speaking to her friend? Solara would be furious, so disappointed, and—

“I…” he found himself fumbling for words he had no desire to say, but everything in him screamed that he needed to say something. Needed to remedy the harm he caused, even if it was only for the spiteful words he'd just spewed. “I couldn't do what you do. If I were in your position…it would kill me. I do not know how you are not miserable.”

“I never said I wasn't. It doesn't particularly feel good to see your mate falling for a male who gets to be around her. Who she can actually tolerate. Not that you have to worry about that with your mate. You had the privilege of knowing her, being her friend first. You knew what her laugh sounded like and how she liked her coffee before you tasted her fear and panic. I was not so lucky.”

Azriel averted his gaze, keeping his mask of indifference in place despite the tempest of emotions whirling in his chest. The shadows hung off of him instead of curling up like normal. They were probably as exhausted from this day as he was.

As their gazes finally met again, Azriel didn't say anything—couldn't, really. It's not as though Lucien was wrong.

After a pause, the russet-haired male sighed. “I'm not going to lie to her for you, Azriel. That's all I'm saying.”

“Understood,” Azriel murmured, his nostrils flaring slightly, wings tucking in tighter.

Lucien turned on his heel and made his way toward the front door. Azriel watched him close his hand around the ornately carved knob, and then he found himself taking a slight step forward. Found himself saying despite his pride's protests, “I judged you sooner than what was wise. You…You are an honorable male. More honorable than me, I think. By a large margin.”

It wasn't an apology. The Mother knew he was too prideful to apologize, but this was something, at least. And though he doubted this was what his shadows had in mind when they told him about singing the truth, they seemed to perk up a little. Azriel also knew that it was a rather lackluster comment despite the fact that it was enough to give Lucien pause. He heard the slightest sigh come from Lucien, and he looked over his shoulder back at him.

As he pulled the door open, the emissary said, “Well, I believe that is perhaps the one thing we agree on. Farewell, Azriel.”

Azriel’s hands flexed at his side. He deserved that, too, really. Deserved every word from Lucien's mouth, and deserved worse, probably. But he had to keep trying—had to do better. Be better. Even if it was just so he could stand next to his mate and not feel like he was so undeserving of her and the fire she embodied. The fire that seemed to warm and melt every frigid layer of ice he put around himself. And if Azriel wanted any of this to go well, he needed to at least feel like the male Solara would finally find underneath all those protective, icy walls was more than his scars, his anger, and his bitter jealousy. Azriel wanted the male underneath it all to be worthy, no matter what it took.

I really want Azriel to know and feel for himself the depth of the mating bond, so that he feels shame, true shame, for what he did to Lucien.

[teaboot]

if ur a murderbot nerd now do u have any fun opinions abt it yet?

Oh my goddd you have no idea

I really, really, really like Murderbot because it comes at life with this perspective we don't often see that is very real among people who have already been through traumatic experiences, who developed skills and abilities to suvive that were once useful but no longer have context- that search that traumatized people go through to recalibrate and reorient ourselves in a world where we no longer really need those things to survive.

A bit personal here, but my own issues personally involved a lot of psychological abuse that made it difficult to trust my own perceptions of reality, and as a result I found I was very easy to lie to and manipulate.

To handle this, I became obsessive over writing things down, cataloging details and making notes of things as they happened- I'd carry recording devices and make audio recordings and stay up late at night to transcribe what they'd picked up, read those over and over again to reassure myself of things I wasn't certain about.

While doing this, there were others close to me that I felt responsible for, who I had to protect from others and protect myself from at the same time. Life was about two things: Evidence, and defusing threats

Over time, I learned to trust myself as my memories matched what had been recorded where their narrative didn't, but I never really kicked the habit. Like Murderbot, I had added something to my own programming that reassured me I was safe, that I was in control of myself, that I couldn't be mistaken or crazy or broken or used.

I'm only on book two, but already I see myself in Murderbot again. No spoilers here, but when I left home- left that dangerous context- I didn't need to repeat these patterns to survive anymore, but I still did, because I didn't know anything else anymore. It felt safe, comfortable, knowing knowing that the past couldn't repeat itself, because I'd written that flaw- blind trust in myself-  out of my programming and replaced it with something else.

Still, though, I'd become something specially suited to thrive in a very specific environment. Nothing else felt right like followinghigh-risk situations, like witnessing and watching and recording and knowing I had proof of the truth where others might not.

People took notice. I wound up in security by accident, but's an environment that I thrive in due to the same patterns and behaviours I originally developed when I had no other choice. I climbed the ladder pretty quickly, once supervisors caught on that my reports were the most accurate, most objective, most factual, detail-oriented and timely. I keep others and myself safe and prioritize public safety above all else, and I perform well under pressure

Now I'm in a position where I often wonder, do I enjoy this job, or is it just what I'm good at? I have a set of skills now, but do I have the option of choosing not to use them? What would I be, if not this? Could I be anything else? Can Murderbot be anything else?

It has a set of skills that set it apart, make it different, special. It does what it knows best. But is it free? Does it want to be? What does it want? Does it have to do what it was built to do? What if it didn't?

I know what I'm good for. The idea of deliberately leaving what I'm good for for something uncertain, that I might hate, that I might be useless at- the choice to give up what was so important to me for so long and become deliberately obsolete?

Let go of my entire purpose? The only thing I know, that I fit so well into but don't actually know if I enjoy? Now that I can choose? Now that enjoyment is a luxury I can afford to consider?

Yeah, that resonates.

I like the Murderbot series so far because it feels the way I feel: Like the most significant and formative part of my story, the part where I became what I am, has already happened

And now I have to just. Keep going

Into... what?

It feels absurd. Like a microwave giving up on reheating food and deciding to start a life around abstract dance.

So, uh. Yeah. It's really very wild to see this same philosophical-ish dilemma I've been digging over in the back of my mind and in therapy for the last forever laid out so plainly in a genuinely exciting and enjoyable story like this. I feel much less alone, and I... kind of really need to see how it resolves, I think.

So, uh. Yeah. Read Murderbot, I guess

[lucabyte]

Perceptive kid, I wonder just how much they pretend not to overhear.

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

[dcviated]

Right. The woman is a cinephile. Every quip he makes finds itself traced to one movie reference or another. But how the hell does a rock climbing wall have to settle that too? He laughs, more at Sonia than the actual reference itself. He's satisfied he got the flush, making sure to stare appropriately when she makes the remark in turn.

Not to worry, Sonia. Wylan is adept at multitasking. As seen here as they go about their shopping excursion amidst the displays and racks.

"If it's somewhere that gets snow on the ground, I try not to be there when the snow is. Alas, we can not in fact always get what we want." And, really, he should be epitomized by that sentiment. Though the twisting nebula of timelines had brought him to this point, taking clothes from his now-girlfriend to try on in extravagant fashion. It never evades him how many other opportunities were missed because of his circumstances. What kind of person could Zachary Reis have grown up to be, otherwise? "But if you try sometimes... Well." Wylan lets the remainder of the line be left to the air as the variety of items are taken in hand.

The wrench to his lips is played off comically, despite being sourced to the distaste of how his initial control of fate had set him down into the pits. No, Sonia, he doesn't really dislike your choices, but it's funny to act as though he's being judgmental. A leer sent her way as he leans in.

"There's a severe lack of cartoon characters and humorous logos on these shirts. I wear this and I might be considered someone who acts my age. Not a problem, I'll just compensate. It seemed to work some on your cousins, and I was barely even trying there. It was more trying to keep myself from being beaten up, but y'know."

After a hum, he smiles. Then slips into a changing room to start the show. Everything fit fine enough. And he made sure to dramatically present the fits to Sonia. One time going so far as to step out without any pants on. One of the sweaters being put back because he disliked how far it fell down his hips. That in itself doesn't alleviate some of the creeping feeling underlying this endeavor. That evasive part of his mind, one that wished to stay slippery and never wanted to be pinned down, knew what this was.

Reflecting on movie references, how many were there that included a scene of the rebel being cleaned up and pressed into a stiff ensemble? Sure, these clothes didn't itch as the stereotype usually implied, but Wylan felt a similar sentiment. After all. This wasn't a one-off attire or event for the purpose of fitting into a role. This was going to be him. Wylan Rechtur needed to be a clean cut individual so that he might be a fitting partner for Sonia Nevermind.

For her. For Sonia. For Sonia.

The wrench in his heart is swallowed back. The man stands, staring in the mirror, pensively. It clicks away, he clicks away. Adopting several different poses to see if he couldn't break free character-wise. Or if that mattered. Did it? Probably not. Just as Sonia was handed clothes to wear, the assassin imagines it'll be the same case for him. Some little assistant toddling after him that could go so far as to fuss over which buttons he bothered to snap.

Right then.

"These'll work." He lies, smoother than the coffee he had just been drinking with no betrayal on his features. The smile he passes to Sonia is genuine as he slips out of the changing room one last time (this time his pants are on, not going to pull that twice in one setting). Now back in his prior clothes with everything he was inclined to grab over the arm. "And if they don't, I'll make sure to take the blame, and not immediately throw you under the bus since you picked them out."

Ah, he seemed to misunderstand, Sonia thought as she smiled. An honest mistake, but one she should probably explain before he met the rest of the family. They likely wouldn't find it quite as amusing as she did. "The bias against America is primarily due to the fact that your country rejected monarchy," She replied with a shake of her head. "Not necessarily safety: despite America's deep love of firearms, every able-bodied and able-minded Novosonian is trained how to operate them for military duty, so they are less fearful of Americans in that regard. Your right-wing conservatives are much more vocal than ours, though, but I imagine some of the restrictions on royalty that trickle down to the rest of the aristocracy might please people with those values anyway."

But she seemed to misunderstand as well, and while Wylan's was an easy mistake to make, hers wasn't. Sonia knew, to some degree, what his life's work entailed and that he didn't likely take holidays off for fun: he likely couldn't afford to, for the very same reason she guessed was behind her staff's own worries. Safety concerns. Sonia briefly wondered how many people were currently out for his blood, if they could identify him and track him down, and she shivered. At least she could write it off as the weather's responsibility.

"Sorry, I should have realized you would be traveling there for...erm, work," Sonia apologized. She hadn't meant to stress that particular word but it just slipped out, a casual admittance of her worries for him. About so many things: keeping him alive was only one of them. It would be a test to see who was more risky to his health: his past employers or enemies, or her own family.

Thankfully he changed the subject to something else, anything else. "Rock climbing walls? Like in The Princess Diaries?" She piped up before turning pink in embarrassment. "It is not my usual film choice but, when my floormates heard during my first year of Uni that I hadn't seen those films, they insisted that needed to be rectified. As an actual princess with a certain disdain for the Disneyfied versions, they were not too terrible." The second one in particular was resonant: a Royal Council's obsession with finding the crown princess a husband as God forbid she try to reign alone.

A topic a little too close to home, and therefore Sonia would do what she always did during times of anxiety: briefly chew at her mouth before diverting the conversation elsewhere.

"Well, if it is anything like the film then I trust you," She assured him, "But as I remember last night with some amount of clarity, watching my ass means you will have to give my thighs a respite. It may prove too taxing to keep both areas of my body in your sights at the same time."

If he was going to start with banter, she'd be sure to have the last word. At least, that was her intention by purposely reminding him of what her ass was attached to. "I am not sure that the Galeries Lafayette sells pet and pet care items," She admitted as they began to descend the stairs back into the department store proper. "Barring something from Louis Vuitton or Gucci. Does a luxury designer leash and collar have the same effect?" In short, nothing cheap.

Then again, nothing in the grand department store composed of three different buildings in one was cheap. Something Wylan would have to get used to. Something Sonia quietly hoped he never did. They re-entered the men's building and while he entrusted her to pick out something she wanted to see him in, what Sonia really wanted for him was for him to not lose himself in it all. The wealth. The pomp. The familial pressure to acclimate and perform in the manner of tradition he hadn't been indoctrinated into since the day of his birth, like the other peers he would soon be surrounded by. They'd have a leg up on him in every possible way, save two.

The ability to take a life, and the ability to keep her heart.

"You'll need a good coat, especially for the current season," She began. Perhaps best to start with outerwear and work her way in. Or under, she thought briefly as she blushed at the idea of picking out undergarments for him. Hopefully he could handle that himself. "Truth be told, I am often just given clothes to wear and do not often have the luxury to choose anything I wish. And um...I am rather more used to undressing men rather than dressing them. So this is a first for me, really: But I shall do my best. Even though I would love you even if you just wearing a paper bag, Wylan."

Something that could be interpreted as another challenge, Sonia thought as she guessed at his sizes, pulling out a deep gray wool overcoat, two blazers, three pairs of trousers and a pair of jeans, five button down shirts, and two pullover sweaters. Besides the gray, she'd mostly chosen shades of dark blue, navy, and green: they coordinated with or matched his eyes, as well as the usual colors the family wore. Accessories, shoes, sportswear, and sleepwear were whole other categories that needed their own focus and devotion.

"Perhaps try these on for the sizing and feel," She suggested once several workers arranged them all in a dressing room. "I should've asked, I suppose, if wool irritates you. I think you might appreciate it, alongside the cotton and silk blends, for this part of the world at this time of year. I cannot imagine that Las Vegas is conducive to cold winters at all.

[unnonexistence]

i started doing climate data transcription on Zooniverse today & it's nice. i feel a certain kinship with these 1950s weather observatory scientists who were trying to use up their stack of preprinted-for-the-1940s observation sheets & had to keep crossing out the "4" in the year field. they were doing it until at least 1952

[icharchivist]

also in my defense

i think i'm most normal for someone in my situation, why is he haunting me like this

(link)

[gxlden-angels]

the only person who was actually right about the world and human nature was Max striner everyone else is a fucking moron

Striner? I hardly know 'er!

Anyways, I'm not a philosophy expert. I'm just some guy. I like the egoist belief that there isn't a universal moral truth. I like the absurdist belief that, because nothing matters, we should be radically sincere. I like the christian belief in a place without suffering after this life. I like the Universal Random Number Generator idea my therapist and I talk about

All of them have their flaws though. Egoism gets used to condemn social movements and civil rights advocacy. Absurdism and the RNG can create a sense of existential dread and a loss of motivation. Christianity encourages the loss of identity and free will

I'm just some psych student with a weird ass therapist that understands my weird ass brain. He encouraged me to look into absurdism since I took a class on absurdist literature my freshman year of college and he said I might enjoy looking into the actual philosophy. And I do! At least a lot of it! I like the idea of a chaotic universe and us humans trying our best to control it. I like the idea of letting that go and living authentically instead of with a direct purpose. There's chaos and mayhem and entropy and I'm just here to react to it. And I can react in ways that makes others happier if I wanted just because I can

Egoism/egotism feels too disconnected from the human need to connect to me. It traps me into that feeling that doing something good for someone is selfish if you're doing it to feel good. I'm actively working to get out of that spiral Christianity put me in now

I don't know, though, anon. I'm just some college student with an ex-christian tumblr blog and a lot of trauma. I like to believe there's some Universe-sized Abstract Computer with a random number generator that causes the chaos we call home. I skim wiki pages and reddit posts and decided if I want to engage any further/look for textbooks. I could possibly be looking at the wrong page about the wrong philosophy. I'm honestly just on this earthly plane for the bit

[dcviated]

He actually found it a pretty apt comparison. Wasn't she just as blood thirsty? The young man still feels the sting on his shin. And, well... Zelda could be considered a number of different things, Zachary realized. Perhaps, however, Bombchu would remain most apt. With how energetic she was, it sure seemed to fit. Though, typically people would run from Bombchus.. here he found himself. Time after time.

Following along after her.

The foray served its purpose. Most of his frustration found itself assuaged by the destructive force of the rather formidable alley. Like most people, Zach had never thrown a bombchu before let alone a bomb. So, seeing those devices zip their way around the walls and down the floors was equal parts frightening and incredible.

Zelda had gotten the bulk of the plays, having her allowance as large as it was, but Zach did good for the one round he did play near the end. Though he- just like Zelda, found himself walled by that bizarre little bird and the sliding traps from the grand prize. It took a certain discipline not to spend all of his own savings on the game.

Still. Frustrating that may be. It helped him forget Fulk for the time being. Leaving the establishment his expression was brighter, the wrinkle in his lip one of calculating rather than self-loathing. Green gaze flits over to Zelda, as she recounts the better parts of their endeavor. He finds himself smirking before he replies.

"I mean, I'd like to- but practicing with bombchus isn't exactly practical. Where do you even get your hands on those things? I'd like to know, to be honest.." He huffs, knowing that the royal guard wouldn't have anything along those lines. Swords and shields. Some lances. But bombs? Tch.

Zelda begins to dash away, but before she's out of arm's reach- Zach catches her by the wrist. Where his expression had been pensive, now- at least for that fleeting moment- it was concerned.

"Oy! What'd I say about making my job harder? Don't run off without me. I gotta keep my eye on you, y'know. Especially since it's getting later." He sighs, falling into pace and only releasing her hand once it was matched. And he was confident she wouldn't dash again.

"Listen, I'm.. glad you-" He mulls his words. "-decided not to go back. Don't worry about paying me back for any of this. We can just grab some treats that I can bring back to my sis, and that'll be more than good. I think. And then I'll escort you home."

Finding a shop that offered treats might be difficult this time of day. With everything winding down, there's only a variety foodstuffs store that seems to be available. Dang. Had they really spent that much time in the alley? Not that he regretted it, but... oh well. There'd be tomorrow for the other things, wouldn't there?

And besides. Then he wouldn't have to worry about Zelda.

She puffed out her cheeks indignantly, "I'm not a cuccoo and that's a bad comparison anyway. Cuccoo's are blood thirsty beasts if crossed the wrong way." Zelda just felt a bit dejected as all. Was this really what Zach dealt with from the other knights? She knew he was one of the few commoners among the ranks, but she had never predicted he would face scrutiny for being the knight closest to her. Being Royalty was rough...

Luckily Zack seems intent upon forgetting the encounter and enjoying the game. It left Zelda with much to ponder, but he had been kind enough to escort her out here. She can't just dejectedly go running back with her tail between her legs now.

A nod as she followed him inside. The game was as chaotic as expected. They went for several rounds, and Zelda had a surprising amount of fun once she got really into. Although, she kept getting stuck at the last round where you had to avoid blowing up a rather stalwart cuccoo.

It couldn't be real, right?

Her bad mood was seemingly forgotten by the time they had finished, and they had managed to at least win one small prize. A haphazardly made ceramic charm of a bombchu.

By the time they exited the building the sun was tinged in orange and the liveliness of the market had seemingly dispersed for the day.

"--Oh but when you whirled around and managed to bomb the second wall that one time while avoiding the razor was really cool! You should teach me how to do that sometime!" Zelda exclaimed excitedly as they walked back from the entertainment district.

There's a pause as she stops.

"...Oh we should go buy some snacks and stuff before the shops close for the evening. I did promise to buy you lunch. C'mon." Zelda says, remembering her earlier promise before darting off ahead, assuming Zach would follow behind.

[buttercuparry]

1k+ notes over a day, only for the fundraiser to barely have moved at all in 12 hours.

I don't know maybe you are tired of hearing about Siraj Abudayeh ( @siraj2024 ) but you have to remember that he is trying to survive through a genocide. I can guarantee you that he doesn't like asking for help either, rather everyday he struggles to reach out to people. I mean it is kind of horrible to have gone through Zionist harassment and then finding out that people have stopped responding to you in every way. It kills something inside, especially so soon after finding out that the occupation forces have once again bombed your already destroyed house for no purpose at all, except to flex their power .

Right now Siraj's family is struggling to make do. With the early set in of torrential rains, they don't know what is going to happen. They don't know if the 10 children of the family and the elderly parents will survive through this incoming winter! It is so horrible to have to beg for a chance to survive. So horrible to explain every detail of your life, your every action which in this case entails why he had to increase the end goal of the campaign. I don't know why the donations have stopped but you do realize that he wouldn't be bothering any of you if a settler colony was not bent on destroying Gaza to cement its existence right? He would have been in his home. His kids, his nephews and nieces would all be in the home he took a decade of pain to built. They wouldn't be terrified of the harsh winter ahead and that house of theirs would have given shelter to generations!

Siraj is begging you to donate so that he may buy shaders to water proof his tent. If in the next week the rains start without mercy, then the family at least wouldn't have to worry about leaks of icy water.

$80,121 / $82,000 CAD

1.8k to go. Please help Siraj reach the goal BY TOMORROW so that he may at least buy the shaders to waterproof the tent. Boost and Donate.

Vetting #219

[7nuh]

MR. CRAWLING YANDERE HEADCANONS !

CW 𓂃 gn!reader, gaslighting, canon-typical violence

AN 𓂃 ik i said i'd have HCs for all of them but this ended up being too long so... 🧍‍♀️ also unedited bc i have an exam later ill be back to edit this later pls

Mr. Crawling is the protective type. He spends half of the entire game following you wherever you go and going through great lengths to protect you from the other residents of these cursed apartments. However, I can see how that protectiveness can get twisted in the long run when you remain completely helpless and unable to defend yourself. Mr. Crawling would have no choice but to step in and make decisions for you instead because he cannot afford to lose you just like that.

Out of all the homicipher men, mr. Crawling is the one who has the most respect for your choices and boundaries. He leaves when you tell him to, patiently guides you throughout this maze, and comforts you when you are upset— and he's never violent unless threatened.

Such a sweet and gentle guy would never hurt you intentionally. He loves you too much to hurt you.

That being said, though he'll never intentionally hurt you, he doesn't realize it whenever he's being possessive and suffocating you instead. After all, having wandered these halls for so long has desensitized him to violence and made him forget all his human memories. Simply put, his concept of love is warped in its own way. He doesn't understand nor remember how to healthily love another person by societal standards, but he (usually) means well.

He may not understand love but he knows one thing for sure— you're very precious to him. You're so full of life, so kind (to him), and so persistent to find your way home despite everything. Everyone else just kind of does their own thing around there... but you need him. You give him purpose and he's ready to give himself up for you in return.

But as much as he respects you, he knows you sometimes don't know any better. You almost got yourself killed multiple times despite his numerous warnings, and he's not confident you completely understand him just yet. So whenever he feels as though something got lost in translation, he won't hesitate to push you aside or cover for you in that instance. Thankfully, you can now regenerate your limbs.

You don't know any better. This sentiment becomes a mantra that repeats itself in his head over and over again. The two of you haven't made any significant progress on finding an exit, but you've almost died more than a dozen times by now. How are you supposed to survive without him?

What even is your home like? How can he be sure that you aren't going to get yourself killed over there too? Can he follow you there too to protect you? Can't you just stay here with him instead? Would that be so terrible? Of course he wants you to find whatever you're looking for...! it's just that...

The thought of losing you only intensifies his anxiety and over-protectiveness. Whether by departure or death, he cannot stand to be apart from you. Why are you so eager to leave this place anyway?

Mr. Crawling is gentle, but love can force him to be violent. He's not as cruel as the rest, but it doesn't mean he won't be when you're put in danger, especially when his possessiveness and overprotectiveness spiral out of control. He doesn't want to restrict you in any way because he loves and respects you too much to do that, but you just keep getting yourself in trouble. He overcompensates and goes overboard instead trying to protect you, even if it means killing someone.

And the thought of you moving on and forgetting him depresses him. He knows you had a life before this, but he wants a life with you in it. He'll be selfish just this once, but never again. He'll make sure you're safe here you so don't worry about that! Just don't leave him. Just stay with him, please.

It starts little by little. He starts telling you to rest more often and misleading you farther away from the elevator. Sometimes, when you tell him to leave you alone, he pretends not to understand you anymore. When he sees that dreaded green light from a distance, he tells you there is something malicious up ahead. In times like these, he's glad you're so blindly trusting of every word he says. It's difficult for him to watch your resolve break down, but it's for the best. When you're with him, you're safe and that all that's matters.

I can see some of the others like Ms. Bride and Mr. Silvair being in on it. Ms. Bride is very excited that her wedding garments will be used for their actual purpose this time whereas Mr. Silvair finds your unconventional relationship an interesting area of study. Whenever you find yourself 'lost' (escape from Mr. Crawling), they will redirect you back to him.

Eventually, you do give up. Maybe you even become more monstrous by the day and accept that you're better off here. He loved your persistence, but maybe he can show you giving up and that staying here isn't so bad. After all, you have him. He makes sure to be extra affectionate and cuddly after you give up <3

You'll learn to accept it, won't you? For him? Whatever's beyond those elevator doors can't possibly be better than being loved unconditionally and safe within his arms. You're even free to be yourself down here! You can be as violent as you want, and Mr. Crawling will happily watch you bludgeon someone to death on the sidelines with nothing but adoration.

Alternatively, if you do find your way home, he WILL follow you whether you like it or not. But if you don't want him there... well, do expect a few inconveniences. Whatever it takes to convince you to let him stay or to convince you to come back, really. Maybe like blood on the walls spelling 'me love you' and 'me miss you' or a cold pair of arms wrapping around your waist at night.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids (pt.2)

[<- part 1]

"Oh, yeah," John jerks his head up like he just remembered the fact people are supposed to have names at all. He gestures to the kids, pointing to each of them as he introduces, "Daniel, Daniel, and Danielle."

This time, all three kids flip him off simultaneously. Bruce clears his throat, trying to figure out if Constantine is messing with him and, if so, in which parts. Since, so far, everything the man has said sounds like a poor attempt at pulling his leg.

"I don't think they like those," he cautiously says, and the kids whip their heads at him, nodding furiously. Bruce can't help but be just a little enamored with the way they behave.

"Of, sod off, at this point I don't care what they like," John straightens up with a dismissive, albeit weak, wave of his hands, and rubs his face, "They are menaces. Sometimes by accident, but mostly on purpose. Their grandfather thought it would be easier to handle them if they were not teenagers, and while I agreed with his reasoning at the time, I-" he glances at the kids, who all have displeased grimaces of various levels on their faces, "I have been made to reconsider. I swear that ancient bitch is laughing his ass off wherever he is now."

The kids suddenly grin. They are not very friendly, nor polite smiles - if anything, they look a bit nightmarish. An old grandfather's clock in his study makes a very loud ticking noise.

"See?" John whips his head to look at said clock, the expression on his face bordering on insane. His eye twitches.

If Bruce doesn't do anything now, he might become one of the very few people who managed to witness John Constantine, the Laughing Magician, have a meltdown. So he sighs and decides to solve the problems one at a time.

Which means that no matter how alarmed or suspicious he is, his first move would not be to interrogate either the man or the kids.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I trust you can find it on your own," he tells John, almost softly, as he catches the girl from slipping away from his lap, "Is there anything I need to know about children before you fall unconscious?"

John slumps with relief, so obviously that Bruce almost smiles. Hardships of raising - or, watching, for that matter - kids, he understands.

"Yes," he breathes out with an air of exhilaration and turns to the kids again, pointing to the middle child, "Danny is the original. He is from this dimension and timeline, that is. Dan," he turns his finger to the older boy, "is in the wrong timeline, he's Danny's future evil self redeemed into older bratty brother. Dani," he switches to the girl, "is Danny's clone, made by his arch-nemesis of a godfather. If she starts melting at any point, wake me up immediately. If any of them start floating, sprouting tentacles, speaking to walls in static, or glowing, don't."

Bruce looks down to the kids. So, definitely metas, that would explain the government trying to get them... Or, no, it wouldn't because he is fairly certain no government is going to blatantly ignore the Meta Protection Acts.

"Don't let them raise the dead, and if you give them food, make sure it doesn't have a face. If you find more than three of them, it means one of them has duplicated, don't worry, they will absorb it back later. Absolutely don't let them touch any guns," Constantine is backing down to the door as he speaks, his gaze flickering from the kids to Bruce and back every second. Like he is leaving a ticking bomb in Bruce's lap, and not three children. "Danny is, comparatively, the most responsible one, the other two are up for any dubious trouble they can get to at any moment. Oh, and their memories are wonky because of de-aging, they remember some things but not others, so if they say something particularly disturbing, it's most likely some random piece of knowledge they managed to keep."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He did get the part about the kids being, well, abnormal in the matters of their origins, but the disjointed set of rules and advices doesn't help as much as Constantine probably thinks it does.

"Allergies, preferences, ages they were before?" He tries to get at least some more info down before John disappears through the door. Actually, maybe he should send someone to handcuff the man to the bed lest he disappears completely.

"None, but don't let them eat cutlery. Danny likes space, Dani has a thing for exploring, and Dan likes violence." The older kid stirs in Bruce's lap and says something in the direction of Constantine. No sound comes out, but the man seems to get what he's trying to say anyway, "Okay, yes, that was rude of me, sorry. Dan likes... exercise," he ends up with, and that placate the boy enough to slump down and cross his arms. John sighs, "They were seventeen, fourteen, and twenty respectively. Now," he snaps his fingers, and suddenly Bruce can hear the girl - Dani - humming a tune under her breath. So, he lifted the silence spell, it seems.

"Good fucking luck," John wishes to Bruce, earnestly, and all but vanishes away.

Bruce sighs and looks down to the kids.

"Are you hungry?" He tries, and all eyes are on him at once, attentive and unblinking.

"Fruitloops," Danny says, and while Bruce is positive that's the name for a cereal, he gets a feeling that's not what the kid meant.

[hxney-lemcn]

Passionate Hearts — Overblots x gn! reader

summery: what making out with the overblots is like.

tw: steamy-ish, this is as steamy as I'll ever get (not much at all lmao)

a/n: idk where this came from. Idek how good this is. I don't even like writing steamy stuff so this kinda reads more artistic somehow?? Idk

wc: 1.3k (~ 185 per character)

Master List

❥ Riddle Rosehearts

How uncouth of him. He can’t seem to stop you as you continue to enchant him with your lovely kisses. Riddle is nothing but a lovesick fool when it comes to you, and it becomes apparent as your kiss becomes more fervent. He’s a blushing mess as you seem to be unable to pull away. His heart is a stuttering mess, and he never wants you to stop. No matter how passionate your kisses become, it's still gentle. The way he caresses your face is soft, his lips caressing yours so lovely that you feel weak in the knees. And when you pull away, finally getting your fill of his love, you both are a bit of a mess. Hair slightly disheveled, clothes a bit crooked, lips a bit puffy. You couldn’t complain though, it wasn’t every day that you saw the Heartslabyul housewarden so unkempt. Riddle also didn’t seem to mind so much, as long as you only do such actions behind closed doors. He doesn’t think he could handle the embarrassment if Ace or Deuce caught you both in such an intimate act.

❥ Leona Kingscholar

Unlike Riddle, Leona is ruthless when it comes to your more passionate moments. Fervent kisses turn wild with lips being bit and prodding tongues. It feels like you’re being devoured every time and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You had never seen him so passionate about something until he refused to let your lips part. He loved the way you felt, your soft lips puffy with abuse, hair tangled between his fingers. Leona was addicted to your taste and he isn’t shy about it. Sure, he is a bit lazy, beckoning you to come closer to him, but he’ll leave you breathless and wanting more by the end. It isn’t fair how unaffected he seems after he’s done, pulling you closer for a nap (he needed to re-energize after all that labor). His silky hair was barely rustled, his clothes as messy as they normally were. The only evidence of your actions was his slightly puffy lips. Don’t worry though, people know he’s yours with the way he’ll kiss you anywhere anytime. Leona isn’t afraid to put some runts in their place.

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

Azul has a love-hate relationship with the idea of kissing you. On one hand, he can’t live without your lips slotted on his, on the other…he hates how vulnerable he feels. Though that feeling dissipates quickly when he’s suddenly surrounded with you. Your touch, your smell, you love. He’s a greedy man and he’ll take any attention from you he can get. His kisses turn desperate quickly, like he’d die if you were to pull away. Azul is a bit more of a messy kisser than he’d like to admit. His desperation for your love overpowers any of his other thoughts and he finds himself scrambling for purchase, holding onto you for dear life. Azul looks at you with so much love when you pull away you feel like your heart is about to explode. As much as he’d like to continue, he forlornly concludes that you both can’t stay like this forever. Perhaps another time, you’re always welcome in his VIP room at the lounge after all…just make sure Jade and Floyd don’t notice your disheveled appearance as you exit. 

❥ Jamil Viper

It wasn’t often that Jamil indulged in such acts. Let himself be so vulnerable. But as you continued to leave sweet short kisses, he found his resolve crumbling. It scared him that you were able to make him give in so easily, but he trusted you, something that not many people had. His kisses feel a bit controlling, his hand pressed against the back of your neck keeping you in place. Jamil’s kisses are slow and deliberate. Every action has its purpose, and he loves to take his time and savor you. You find yourself hypnotized without his signature spell. Despite the deeply intimate act, he’s still tender with you. Jamil isn’t touchy with you often, so he’ll make sure you know how much he loves you. He hates to admit how he doesn’t want to stop, but his break is almost over. You’re more messy looking than he is at the end, and Jamil can’t help but look smug. People won’t catch you in the act, but it raises some eyebrows when you come out of Jamil’s room a little more messy than when you entered. 

❥ Vil Schoenheit

You lucky bastard. Another one that doesn’t indulge in such actions often. Vil doesn’t like to admit how much you get to him. The fact that he restrains from any physical affection with you mixed with how much he wants to drown you in love…yeah lets say he finds himself releasing his pent up emotions on your poor lips. He only allows such acts when you're both unwinding for the day, and you are not allowed to leave any evidence (he has an image to uphold). Vil kisses you with so much passion you’re left breathless with the first one, and he won’t hold up either. You seriously question his remark of you being his first partner because the way he kisses you makes him feel like an expert. He looks like a God (always) by the end. Eyes dilated, chest heaving, golden hair barely out of place (but enough to make your heart flutter, you did that). Once you both slow down, he’ll pepper your face with kisses wishing you a good night's rest as he plays with your hair…you're not sure if you could sleep after that. 

❥ Idia Shroud

You will always be the one to initiate such intimate acts. As much as he wants to, he’s too shy. An innocent kiss going a little farther as Idia couldn’t resist the temptation that was you. And as your lips locked, Idia found his nervous energy leaving him as his mind melted into a goop. His kisses are inexperienced, teeth clashing with yours (he didn’t mean too), but he’ll learn over time. He can be a fast learner, and who wouldn’t want to get some practice in? (Idia is more willing than you’d think). He gets a bit uncharacteristically confident the longer you two kiss. Pressing your lips together more firmly, shaking hands holding onto your figure, small whimpers swallowed by your awaiting mouth. Both of you are flustered beyond imagination by the end, warm cheeks and fast beating hearts, shaky breaths. Just like that, Idia finds himself short circuiting. You were just so amazing, lovely, warm…you were gonna kill him one day. Don’t even think of doing anything like that in public though, he might actually die (and cry and never go outside again). 

❥ Malleus Draconia

Every time you shared a kiss it would be one of passion. Malleus loves you so much he felt the need to express it, make sure you clearly understood how much you meant to him. But you would have to be the one to push further, as Malleus usually left it at one kiss, he wanted you to set the pace. He won’t back down if you continue to kiss him, his actions will become more possessive. Hands that cradled your cheeks move to the back of your head, his kisses becoming more hungry. He basks in your warmth, in your love, in your being. He loses himself in you, and he internally thanks you for allowing himself to indulge in your love. Malleus isn’t foolish enough to think it's appropriate for such actions to be indulged in with others present…but he also finds himself uncaring. He loves you, and if you wish it, who was he to deny? (Sebek will be so stunned that he can’t get any words out). Not to mention how exhilarating to see the fae prince’s composure shattered. Pink cheeks, dilated eyes, puffy lips…oh what a sight indeed.