#I know I already posted the fic as a whole but

[starmocha]

want me, need me, love me [Sylus/Reader ★ 1510 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] When you had made that plan to sell Sylus, you didn’t realize it would come back to (literally) bite you. A/N: This…was originally just a scenario, but I guess it turned into a ficlet in spite of my self-ban that I wasn’t going to write Sylus fics right now until I finish Bride of the Dragon King. In my defense, it’s only appropriate to post this during the cat banner and I always lie to myself <333 Snuck in some light breeding kink because @yourlocalcatscammer got into my brain and I fear I have already exposed myself enough with my last few fics so why bother hiding this anymore 🥹

It was pretend. Just a little ploy.

You knew it.

Sylus did too.

So how did it end up with you trapped underneath him on a couch, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his voice so hoarse and needy? He wouldn’t stop rubbing his cheek against you, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply.

“Sy-Sylus, what’s gotten into you?” You tried to push him off, but he was too heavy, too unwilling, too…gone. Was it because of the special gene product? It couldn’t have possibly rewired his whole demeanor, could it? You vaguely recalled him attempting to snatch a parrot earlier when, for a brief moment, the feline instinct in him was triggered. You continued to struggle. “Snap out of it!”

“Miss…you really are heartless,” he rasped, nibbling on your earlobe, “Letting another woman have me so casually?”

You flustered, confused. “What are you talking about?” You looked up at him wide-eyed, startled by the darkened gaze that peered down at you. You swallowed slowly, your words careful and measured, as if you were soothing an agitated wild animal, “Sylus…it wasn’t personal…”

He narrowed his eyes. “I know,” he said, his tone terse. His kissed along your shoulder, leaving little love bites along the way. You squirmed, feeling your body heating up under his feverish ministrations. He sighed and grunted softly, his touches growing bolder.

“Say I’m yours,” he mumbled into your neck, desperation laced his deep voice. He nuzzled his cheek against you over and over again, behaving just like a frustrated cat. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin, making you shivered as he husked, “Let me be yours.”

Want me.

“Sy-Sylus, snap out of it! What are you—ah…” Your words died at your lips, a gasp escaped. He had pushed your shirt up, your bra unhooked and tossed to the side without a care. Without hesitation, the Onychinus leader took your sweet little nipple into his warm mouth, his tongue swirling leisurely around the sensitive nub, making you arched up, gasping and crying from the sudden electrifying stimulation.

He grinded languidly against you, and as he suckled greedily, he murmured, “…touch me…my…my ears…”

Your mind was hazy, teetering between rationality and the growing lust that was clouding your judgement. You looked down at the head of silvery-white hair against you and the pair of cat ears twitching restlessly atop Sylus’ head. Nimbly, your fingers stroked the sensitive feline ear, feeling the soft tufts of fur between your fingers. He hummed happily, and he sucked harder.

“Ah—!”

His hands reached down to grab your hips, keeping you grounded against the couch. He brushed against you, and you trembled, feeling his bulge over your skirt.

“Sy-Sylus…”

He looked up, the normally haughty expression that graced the feared and notorious Onychinus leader’s face was gone. Right now, he wore a different expression, one that only you were allowed to see. He looked at you lust-filled and wanting, his lips slightly parted, soft sighs escaping. His eyes softened a little, enough for you to notice.

Need me.

You felt a burning ache inside you, one that he had started, and one that you knew only he could quell. Those soft crimson eyes of his beckoned you closer, silently urging you to let go, to submit to the growing heat between the two of you.

Hesitantly, you leaned up, taking his lips for yourself, long and slow. Sylus stilled, surprised, seemingly taking his time to register the moment. When he realized you were answering his silent pleas, he smiled against your lips. His ears flattened back as he kissed you deeper, his hands fumbled with both your clothes.

Your panties slipped off, his pants unzipped, and his hardened member freed from its confines. He nudged his hip forward, the head of his cock pressed against your slick folds. You gasped and gripped his jacket.

“…Take me…” he mumbled lazily, his mouth finding your nipple again. Your other breast was massaged, caressed and shamelessly groped, your sweet, irresistible moans lured out, answered by his own deep, sultry groans as he suckled hungrily.

You whimpered helplessly, giving up on your attempt to resist him. You were aching so much right now, wanting and needing him in a way you had never felt before. Your fingers found their way into his hair, getting lost in the silky strands. “…Y-yes…”

He moved forward and you arched up, crying out. More and more of him eased in, his deep groans were intoxicating, your own desires igniting as he filled you, your walls stretching wonderfully around the massive intrusion. You buried your face into his neck when he bottomed out, gasping into his shoulder as his arm wrapped around you securely. He guided you away from his shoulder and you lay beneath him nearly sobbing in frustration. He looked down at you, flushed cheeks and vulnerable. Again, his warm breath fanned against your mouth as he asked softly, “…Can I…”

“Yes!” You interrupted, your moans tumbling out as he started to move, slowly at first before he built a faster rhythm. Again, you vaguely wondered if he was still lost, still submissive to his feline instincts, because the way he was moving was much more animalistic than you would have expected. It was hurried, graceless, feral, but it was filling you just the way you wanted, the way you needed right now.

Every delicious stroke of his length had you mumbling deliriously, lost in this moment of heavenly pleasure. “Mm…ah…ah…Sy…Sylus…”

His lips found yours again, taking your moans selfishly. He groaned as you clenched around him. “…fuck…Miss…”

You cried out as he spread you more, pushing your legs back, taking you even deeper. “Oh god, oh god…!”

“Mm…breed you…need to breed you…make you mine…m…yours…yours…” He was moving more erratic, his words so frenzied and incoherent, you weren’t sure if he was even registering what he was saying. He was driven purely by a natural need, an instinct so feral, he seemed more animal than man in this moment.

You felt infected by him, by his words, your own traitorous body craving what he was saying. “Ah…yes…yes…ah…breed me…breed me, Sylus…” You weren’t thinking clearly anymore. There wasn’t a single rational thought left in your little head. The only thing you could focus on was his powerful thrusts, reaching you deep where you needed.

“O-oh, Sylus…”

So close. So close, you could feel yourself peaking. Just a little more, almost, almost—

“Mm…Miss…inside…?”

“Yes!” You cried out, your pitch higher than normal, so desperate and needy. He thrusted forward, pushing in even deeper with a heavy groan. His eyes met yours for a moment before you closed yours, screaming out your climax as he coated your walls with his seeds, filling you fuller than you thought was possible.

Distantly, you could hear Sylus mumbling in between his moans.

Love me.

“…mine…yours…yours…”

You panted softly, hearing his own breathing matching your own. You moaned, whimpering as he pulled out, feeling his seed dripping out of your cunt. Slowly, you opened your eyes, seeing Sylus’ flushed face close to yours. He still appeared to be under his feline influence, looking dazed and lost.

Your eyes traveled all over, taking in his satiated expression, seeing the sweats on his glistened skin.

“Ah…oh, I have my lipstick on you.” You touched his lips, seeing red lipstick smeared across. You rubbed your thumb against his mouth, trying to wipe it clean. He stopped you.

He smiled, almost delirious with joy. “Good,” Sylus husked, “You should cover me all over. Mark me as yours.”

Before you could respond, his face was buried in your chest again, his arms tightening around your waist. He nuzzled against you, behaving much more docile now. You rubbed the back of his head for a bit, the soothing act calming him even more. It didn’t take long before you realized he had fallen asleep on top of you. His breathing had slowed, the rhythm steady. He seemed much more relaxed than he was earlier.

You scratched the feline ear atop his head, smiling softly when it twitched in response to your light touch. Sylus instinctively hummed softly in his sleep, pleased.

When he would wake up later, you wondered would he even have remembered what had happened? Would he remember how he had behaved, the words he had spoken? Would he deny it? Make excuses?

You smiled.

You didn’t particularly care. You saw the real him. He would always lower his guard around you, always be transparent about how he felt about you, and now tonight, you realized it wasn’t just that he desired you, but he wanted you to reciprocate as well. Wanted you to be possessive of him, to want and need him in the same way that he felt for you.

To be equally possessive of one another, a mutual obsession with one another.

You almost laughed aloud. Why, what an exquisite idea, you thought to yourself.

You kissed your fingers before pressing them along Sylus’ cheek. He purred softly.

How cute.

[queerofthedagger]

sometimes. what i like to read or write in fic or just generally play around with.... is different and, dare i say, sometimes even contradicting to what i think the canonical reading is offering. like yeah he would not fucking say that but every once in a while i do like to indulge. sue me

[daphwritesworld]

Chapter 3— Fool.

a/n: welcome back to the Be My Baby series! Sorry y'all, I left with some with friends and it went on waaaaay longer than I thought it would lol. I'm gonna break this chapter up into 2 parts so I can get it posted tonight. So an extra chapter will be added!! Chapter 4 will just be the part 2 of this one, and after that it'll be back on schedule. Oh and don't worry— chapter 4 will be out tomorrow btw!! that's where the big boy angst comes on. so y'all are safe until then. thank you for your support and happy reading < 3

(p.s. sorry I didn't proof read this again, lol. I will later & edit any details that need touching up. Again sorry this is late, but I hope getting part two and the Keira fic tomorrow will make up for it haha.)

content: sick!Reader, caretaker!Leah, straight up no smut (CRAZY I KNOOOOOW), mostly fluff, and some angst.

warnings: talks of not hydrating & eating properly, the flu, A&E/ER, confusion caused by sickness

synopsis: You wake up sick and you call the only person you can think of for help.

word count: 3.0k

Series Masterlist: here.

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

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The sound of your alarm doesn’t jolt you awake this morning. You’re already lying wide awake before it rolls around this time. You’d woken up early and your mind drifted to Leah, your whole situation together, barca, and the inevitable moment when they all come crashing together like a high speed train accident. Is it severely toxic and self destructive? Oh for sure…but who’s gonna stop you?

You stretch out your limbs as you set up in bed, turning off your alarm as you settle back into your own skin. There’s a rolling storm of anxiety filling your gut, and as your feet touch the ground it flies up to your throat. You run to the bathroom and barely make it to the toilet in time, emptying out your stomach contents. Which at the moment is just your bile. The sweating must’ve started when you were in bed; because you quickly notice the dampness of your shirt from the temperature drop in the bathroom. The cold tiles seep through Leah’s sweats and chill your body down. You shiver after a few minutes, staying seated on the floor as you take a moment to catch your breath.

You make quick work of going to grab your phone and sending your boss a quick message. As soon as it's sent you make your way to the shower. It's only when you bend down to take your pants off that you realize how sick you truly are. Your vision goes blurry and your head starts floating in and out of dizziness. You slowly lower your body, your hands making contact with the floor as you set yourself down. It's then that the headache starts— like your brain is pounding against your forehead on repeat. It's sharp and never ending, leaving you to crumble down into tears.

You don't have a car, and even if you did— you are in no state to operate a vehicle right now, and you definitely don't feel confident enough to order a taxi like this. So you are left with one option. One you know you're gonna regret when you're not sick and delusional, but it's the one thing your broken mind can think of…You call Leah. You crawl across the tiled floor and get your phone off the counter, dialing her number as you pray she picks up. And of course she does, because by the third ring her voice is greeting you through the speakers. "I knew you couldn't resist me, darling. I've just been wait—"

"Le…" you cut her off with a sob of her nickname. Your head is painfully throbbing now, and your mouth is so dry your throat is scratchy. She can tell just from the small amount of your voice she hears.

"y/n, hey— what's wrong? I'm on my way, alright? I'll be there soon, just stay on the phone with me," Leah's moving before the first word even leaves her mouth. She's leaving her breakfast on the table as she slips mismatching shoes on her feet. Running out of her flat with nothing but her keys and her phone in her hands.

"Something's wrong, Le. I'm sick and I-I..I'm sorry. I didn't know who else to call," your voice breaks at the end. It's like a knife plunging into Leah's heart as she hears it; the absolute brokenness of your words. She knows there's a deeper meaning behind your them, but she won't push it. Leah knows any of the girls would come to help you in a heartbeat, so what's got you believing otherwise? Or maybe the better question is, who has you believing otherwise? She'll investigate that later.

"Hey, hey, calm down. You're alright, love. Take a deep breath for me, okay? I'll be there before you know it, and we'll get you to the doctor," Leah's voice would normally calm you down, but your brain is still running a million miles per minute…and it's only making you feel worse. It's like you can't focus on a singular thought, and the confusion only fuels your distress. Leah presses down on the gas pedal when she doesn't get a response from you. She can only hear your cries filling up the empty space of her car. She gets to your building in record time, and only then does she realize she didn't bring her wallet.

"God dammit," she chastises herself under her breath, trying to not let you hear her frustration as she searches for a on-street parking spot. She just had to forget you live in a fancy ass building with paid parking, today of all days. "I'm parking now, love. I'll be up in a few minutes." Thankfully she gets one across the street, rummaging through her center console for some change coins. She puts way more than needed in the parking meter, but that's not her main priority right now. "I need you tell me if the door's unlocked, okay? I know you don't feel well, but can you unlock it if it is?"

You close your eyes as you take a deep breath, gathering all your mental strength to answer her. "N-No. There's a key under t-the welcome mat though…I don't think I can walk by myself. I-I'm so sorry, Leah," you can't stop the embarrassment from filling your body. You hate having to ask people for help— especially when you need it the most. It makes you feel weak, helpless, and like a burden. It's a deep seated insecurity you can't seem to shake, but it's not like you've really ever tried to correct it. We all know Leah's stubborn, but you? You can be even worse than her. It's not like you mean to be, but you're just…broken. In more ways than even you would like to admit.

Leah sees right through it though— she always has. She is the one person in your life that sees you for who you are. Not the persona you put up for the rest of the world. You two may of only spent a short time together that year ago, but oh what an impact it made. Spending every waking second with a person for weeks on end does something to a person. You either ending up hating each other, falling in love, or whatever the fuck you two got going on.

"You don't need to be sorry, y/n. You definitely need a better hiding spot for your spare though, that's just bloody awful! You're asking for a break in!" Leah feels herself get a little frustrated as she retrieves your key. Her voice picking up into a scolding tone as she jiggles with your doorknob. You whimper out as you move the phone from your ear, the slight rise in her voice making your head hurt more. "Too loud," you say as she walks into your home. She makes sure to shut the door lightly, before smacking herself in the forehead for raising her voice with you. "I'm sorry, love. I just worry about you. Now which room are you in?"

"My bathroom," your voice sounds so small now. Like a child getting in trouble.

"I'm on my way to you now, okay?" Leah says as she climbs the stairs. Her eyes flit over your walls and she notices the lack of pictures. You have bare hallways and they look so, so lonely. She walks into your bedroom and she sees the void of no decor or really any of your things at all. It makes her sad, but mostly it leaves her wanting to ask more questions. Questions she knows she can't ask right now, but will get the answers to someway.

Nothing could have prepared Leah for what she sees behind the wooden door of your bathroom. You're clad in a mist of sweat, all the color drained from your face, and you're shaking like a leaf. It isn't until she's running up to you and falling to her knees that she sees the extent of your state. Your pants are still sitting halfway down your thighs, and Leah quickly moves to redress you. She makes sure not to look at you inappropriately, only doing what's needed to get you comfortable and less exposed. She knows how vulnerable you are right now, and she's doing everything she can to make sure you're okay. She sheds her Arsenal hoodie off, sliding it over your head as she encourages you to push your arms through.

“Hey love, let’s get you stood up– that’s it.” She helps you get to your feet, letting you lean all your body weight onto her. Leah guides you back towards your bed, sitting you on the edge as she goes to grab a pair of your shoes. It doesn't take her long before she's rejoining you and sliding some slip-ons over your feet. she pats your legs when she's down, looking up to see your disheveled appearance. "You ready to go?"

"Mhm," you nod your head along. Talking is only making your headache worse, so you've opted for noises instead.

With that, Leah is helping you back up. But before you can rest your weight back onto her side, she's picking you up bridal style. Your arms instinctively go to wrap around her neck, burying your face in the warmth of her embrace. You don't have the energy to argue with her, and honestly it's a relief to not have to walk right now. She carries you like you weigh nothing, shutting and locking your door like she isn't holding an entire human being. If you didn't feel like death you'd be obsessing over how hot she is, but right now you're just thankful.

You must've fallen asleep, because the next thing you know you're waking up in a A&E bed. You blink a few times to adjust to the lights above you, small groans slipping out as you try to stretch the cramped feeling out of your limbs. Then you hear her softly speaking on the phone across the room, and you go back to lying still. You close your eyes as you focus on trying to hear her conversation. "I know I should've called first, but you didn't see her. She couldn't even stand on her own, and she fell asleep in my arms before we even made it to her building elevator! She's in bad shape, and I'm not just gonna leave her here all alone in a country she doesn't fucking know. I'm the Captain and it's my responsibility to look after everyone— I don't fucking care that she's not a player! She's on our team, our crew, and she deserves our support. Call me back when you get your head out of your ass," and with that she hangs up.

You try and force yourself to just back to sleep and forget everything you've heard, but of course that's not how things work out. Your stomach starts turning again, complicating feelings swirling around with the uneasiness. The tears come falling down your cheeks before your eyes even open, your chest starting to tighten up as the sobs claw at your lungs to get out. It feels like you can't breathe, and honestly maybe you aren't. Not as you see flashbacks of Barca passing through your memory, a wave of dread blanketing over your body.

"What hurts, love? Do I need to get the nurse?" Leah's by your side the second she notices, a hand out grasping your forearm. Her fingers dance little patterns into your skin, and it actually starts to ground you. "Come on, take deep breaths with me again, okay?"

You nod your head, and then she's holding both your hands. You follow her lead as she sucks in a slow breath and holds it, before exhaling just as slow. She repeats the process with you until you're calmed all the way down. It doesn't take too long, but honestly Leah isn't going to leave you anytime soon anyway. "Nothing hurts," you say it so softly she barely hears it. Your eyes stay locked down onto the bed sheets below you, never making any eye contact with her.

"Then why were you crying, y/n?"

"Because I heard you on the phone…and I don't know. I guess I freaked out, and went spiraling into a self hate hole for a second. I'm okay, really."

"oh bloody hell! I'm so sorry you heard that, darling. I should've went into the hall or something—"

"It's okay, Le. I'm just sensitive, and really really delulu from whatever sickness I currently have…plus it was nice to hear you stick up for me, Captain."

"The mystery sickness is indeed just a bad case of the flu…but uhm, the doctor said it was made worse from you being dehydrated and probably not eating enough from the looks of your blood work. I'm not gonna judge you or yell at you. But I am taking you home with me when they discharge you. I'm your official caregiver until you're well enough to take after yourself again," Leah doesn't let go of your hand as she says it. She tries to connect your gazes, but you don't allow it. Actively avoiding her eyes as you feel them burrowing holes into your skull.

You wish you could argue with her and tell her she's wrong…but you can't. You've been skipping out on meals ever since you moved here. It's not been on purpose, you just haven't been able to eat. It's like your body hates the idea of eating, always growing nauseous after every few bites. So you've been drinking some meal replacements…not enough apparently. "Okay."

"…Okay? Really? That was a whole lot easier than I thought it would be," Leah is staring at you with her biggest look of, 'be so for real, bitch' written across her face. But you just shrug as you sink back into the uncomfortable mattress underneath you. You're so mentally and physically wore out right now, there's just no fight left inside you. Right as you're about to re-close your eyes, the doctor finally comes back in. After getting the run down from him, he lets you know that you can be discharged and to pick up your antibiotics before going home. Leah helps you redress again, and this time it has you giggling at the way she makes her eyes go anywhere but at your naked body.

"Hold on…how'd you get the doctor to tell you what was wrong with me before I even woke up? Aren't there some rules against that?"

"…I might have told everyone that you're my fiancé," Leah smiles at you nervously.

"Fuck you, Williamson! Take yourself on that date Thursday!"

"Oh, so you're finally agreeing that it's a date?" Leah smirks at you, only hearing the parts of what she wants to hear.

"Well, I guess we'll never know, now will we?"

She rolls her eyes at you for that, holding her hand out for you to take. And you do, still leaning against her some to walk. She helps you to the car, and once you're both secure she's driving you to your new home for the next few days…or weeks. God you hope only days. It feels weird to be back inside a house with another person, and it's extra fucking weird that it's Leah. You know this stay is when you have to put down some boundaries with her. To stop whatever there is between the two of you. It makes the previous pit in your stomach increase by double, because deep down you know you care about her...you're just lying to yourself about it. You can push every feeling down your throat, but they will all come spilling out at some point. That's what you've learned to be true over the years, but will you accept that as truth? Hell no! At least not anytime soon. Your worst problem is that you always get in your own way.

When she finally gets you inside, Leah starts cooking and letting her mind wonder to think of you. More importantly to the phone call you overheard in the A&E. She'd been talking with her manager, and completely snapped on him. He'd said something about how Leah 'follows you around like a lost puppy' and well…. it hurt her fucking feelings. Of course she isn't doing all of this just because she's one sided sickly in love with you…right? Sure she thinks of you literally every second of the day, and she's been day dreaming of you for the past year, but that's all totally normal...RIGHT?

Leah doesn't get to spiral into her romanic crisis for too long, because before she knows it the timers going off. She drains the gnocchi before putting it in a bowel for you, making her way back to the living room where she left you. She laughs at the sight that greets her— you snuggled up asleep in her Arsenal hoodie she'd given you when she first saw you. Leah just sets the gnocchi aside on the coffee table, opting to cuddle you instead of waking you up. She pulls you onto her body, your face resting on her chest as she tries to adjusts you without waking you up.

She finds herself running her fingers through your hair, and before long they're running softy across the features of your face. Leah lets a deep sigh come out of her chest. She truly feels like a fucking fool. Leah doesn't chase girls— they chase her. So for the first time in this game, she is the one crying. She's clinging onto any crumb of attention you'll give her, and she'll keep doing it for as long as it takes. Leah has you sleeping against her chest once again, and it's nothing like she's day dreamed of. You two aren't confessing your feelings, running around town making memories, or god forbid actually dating…but she'll keep feeling like a fool and waiting on you. She'll keep searching for your love until she finds it, because she knows she's felt flashes of it. She knows that carefree, wild, truly happy girl from Ibiza is still inside of you somewhere. Leah doesn't know what took that extra bright sparkle out of your eyes, but she is determined to see it light up your face back up.

[franki-lew-yo]

Mouthwashing and fandom discourse as a whole.

So I recently explored the tag for Mouthwashing after watching two no-commentary lets plays of the entire game. I'm seeing a lot of posts pointing out how annoying it is that this game has a fandom and that this fandom is doing fandom things and stanning/"uwu-ing" characters from this incredibly nuanced, raw and not-fandom friendly piece of art. To paraphrase someone I just saw "you don't want mouthwashing; you want Among Us ocs but darker". And

for a moment I wanna talk a bit about how I absolutely agree with this statement while also talk for a moment about how and why fandom and catharsis fan fics exist and shouldn't be shamed inherently. Or, I guess, not in theory.

The "come on! Stop trying to make everything shippable/cutsey/memey/have a happy AU and face unpleasant emotions someone's trying to tell you about!" is SUCH a vibe with me. I felt this way in the 9 fandom a lot as a kid and that was just 9. Mouthwashing is like 9 on bathsalts emotions and theme-wise. It's a game where you play as both the flawed but caring captain of a doomed ship who's life becomes a Johnny Got His Gun-nightmare, and also a deplorable, hateful piece of garbage who got himself and his friend in that nightmare situation to begin with. Both characters, moreso Jimmy but Curly too, are the causes of their own misery. They're complex dealing with one of the two committing SA and doing nothing really about it/dodging the responsibility and humanity needed to support the victim whom they've wronged.

I fully admit it's groan-inducing seeing people be shipped up Anya with anyone on the ship considering what happens to her. On a pure pr level I think it would be illegal even since romance between coworkers in a workplace is considered conflict of interest/harassment as it so often is. (NOT that what Jimmy did to Anya is 'romance'. I'm talking about the shipping of Anya with the other three guys. I know there's people out there who do ship Jimmy/Anya; you don't have to tell or show me I believe you and also I already hate it.) It's ALSO groan inducing to see people ship Curly and Jimmy considering all Curly does to him- and just the fact that this incredibly tragic, toxic one-way-gone array friendship is reduced to "toxic yaoi teehee". It's annoying AT BEST.

I get the hostility towards fandom-tastic stanning and fandom behavior in general...the issue is it's still hostility and I wish some of you guys got that. Like it or not (you don't have to like it) fandom culture is inevitable to some degree. You can and should complain about your hangups but that's all you can do besides avoiding tags and just not engaging with that side of the fandom at some point. Save your call-outs and rage for when you see active deplorable bs being committed that people are excusing for dumb fandom reasons, like lolicon, hatespeech or harassment. I'm sorry but you can not actively go after and try and take down the innocent people involved in your trigger that aren't directly hurting you by liking the thing that triggers you; ie. people who get all shipping and fandom-brained about Mouthwashing's characters which you find offensive to do at all.

This type of convo is the crux of most 'antifandom' v profandom discourse in general; for Antis I think there ought to be a difference between the people that set you off bcuz of fandom nonsense vs sociopathic 'got mine'-creepiness. There's a difference between someone who draws r34 v Shadbase. For profandom types you out to face the fact that yes- maybe NOT EVERYTHING is meant to be shippable/memed. Maybe try practicing that a bit. Yeah it's most harmless and makes you feel happy, but considering how people outside of your hyperfixation-of-a-hyperfixation is a thing. The thing about the "don't like, don't read" argument is it goes both ways. If you're truly a "good fan" like you say you are than you have to realize that people will not like your problematicisms. Learn to interact with characters and stories without the possibility of shipping sometimes- or at least understand that that's the crux of what makes a story like Mouthwashing engaging, even if you also partake in the fandumb and AUs on the side. You can call Curly your babygirl and ship him or make him happy all you want but PLEASE acoknowledge that the game doesn't woobify him or excuse what he did to Anya as well. You can make some kind of AU scenario where Jimmy gets out somehow and becomes/is a slightly better person for all I care...so long as you PLEASE remember that he is canonically a r@pist and awful. Also, even if I'm okay with your fan decisions, note that myself and others are still going to be critical and be upset that you wrote it at all because of what kind of character Jimmy is. 'Critical' =/= declaring something evil.

Fandom behaviors are not souly a destructive parasocial outcome of brainrot; they're also a natural reaction to what happens canonically and the emotions you have to experiencing a story. It's normal and rational to sympathize and love Curly and despise and hate Jimmy. You can love/like/enjoy a problematic-to-DEEPLY DISTURBED-character based on their complexity in canon. They are fiction. They are not real. The reason you are so invested with them is because of that complexity and yes because they are fiction they are your 'toy' and you can doll them up in any kind of speculative AU crap you make. That's fanfiction, baby. Make yourself a fixit fic if you really want

BUT-

remember: it stays as a fixit fic. DO NOT cross the streams, or insist that your active misreading of the text is the same as the text itself. EVER. You should care about your special interest's escapism as a means of self-care. What you shouldn't do is demand that EVERYONE ELSE LOVE your coping mechanism and that any complaints by people on their own terms on their own blogs is #badfaith or an inherent attack against you. It isn't. You'll know when it is an attack against you and that's when you, the profandom-type, need to be prepared and save your call-out posts and blocklist for.

To me that's the fragility to fandom debates and fandom as a whole. You can not/should not police or control an entire group of people and how they perceive or interact with media. That's not fair and it's definitely not sporting or decent of you in a community. You have to share your community -your fandom- with people who hate ur fav and people who love your least fav. Agreeing to disagree means not tagging your nOTP as their shipname or by tagging your shipname loud and clear. It means filtering out posts with those topics but enjoying and/or reblogging the fandom takes you do share with your fellow fandom-mite that obviously posts abt those topics.

When schmit REALLY goes down and some assface reviewer/fan/SOMETHING is being an assface or doing something amoral under the guise of fandom-ing, that's where you out to put your foot down. Callouts and complaints are for people who did an egregious thing and refuse to take responsibility(lol) for it. They're not for "soandso likes the thing that triggers me, kill them"/"so and so is hating on the thing I'm kinning because it triggers them, kill them". Be an adult.

Your DNI lists should consist of "lolicon defenders" not "proshippers", as those ARE NOT one in the same. Same goes the other way around. List off "bigots, purity culture bs", not "antis and critics". These positions ARE NOT interchangeable. If you make them interchangeable than you're making things a lot harder for yourself.

-sincerely, a message from autistic ADHD/OCD woman who likes horror and media analysis as much as she loves popcorn fanfic schlock.

We don't all have to be friends and buddybuds. I just hate us hurting each other over being different kind of fandom-folk rather than for when someone sincerely mucks up and does something bad. Can't we all stick to our guns and just boycott Harry Potter like god intended?

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

"So, this is it? After everything we have been through, you won't even try to keep us together?"

Your voice cracked as you tried to hold it together. Tried to stop your body from shaking. Because you knew that if you didn't, if you had one less iota of control, you would start brawling. And that was not something you are willing to let this man witness. It's enough to make you lose your mind that he was sitting all casual on the sofa with a visage made out of stone.

It has been five years now. Five years of memories being flushed down the drain. Does he even give a single fuck? As this thought wedged itself into your brain, a bitter unnamed feeling lodged in your throat.

You watched with trembling lips as Jihoon finally stood up. Without breaking eye contact, he took small unsure steps towards you. He only stopped when he came close to you. Finally, he asked softly, "What else do you want me to say? I already told you I am sorry. You deserve someone better than me."

Those words were an instant punch to the gut. Bowlegged and stumbling, you put both hands on his shoulders and started shaking him like a maniac. You didn't even notice when tears started pouring from your eyes. You almost screamed out your next words,

" I-, I deserve better? I deserve b e t t e r ?! Then why wasn't I worth getting better for? Why can't you be better for me? Why won't you be better for me?" Feeling lighthearted and almost breathless, you took a step back and continued, "Our anniversary was two days ago, Jihoon. And you only came back today. You didn't even send a text."

With resignation felt in every bone in your body, you dealt the final blow, " Am I not worth a text?"

You heard him release a pained whimper at this. As if it physically hurt him. But you were beyond caring. You cared too much and that was the problem. Using both hands to wipe away your tears (You don't even have a boyfriend now that would do it), you picked up the suitcase and started walking.

It was then when you heard a mangled "I love you" come from Jihoon. Without turning back, you replied, "Do you? I haven't felt that for a long time. Even if I believe you, the problem is, I love me too. I never expected to be your main priority. But it turns out that I wasn't even a priority."

You opened the door and gently whispered your parting words into the wind, "It's not about you forgetting to send a happy anniversary text. It was never about it. I hope you know that. Yet it was my last straw. I love you, Jihoon. I don't know when I will stop loving you. But I just can't do this anymore."

In the sudden silence that followed, only the sound of a door clicking shut was heard. And in the next moment, Jihoon fell to his knees. It was as if someone cut all the strings holding him together. Unbiddenly, a tiny box fell out of his pocket. It was the sole thing keeping him company through the dead of the nights that followed.

a/n: it's woozi's birthday so i wanted to celebrate it in my own way. he is my bias wrecker and therefore i wrecked him in this fic. oops ( i am joking, hehe). but, on a serious note, he is the one who made me fall in love with seventeen's music. he is the one who redefined the meaning of friendship for me. his mindset inspires me everyday and i look up to him so much! so, happy birthday to our hardworking singer, producer, dancer, idol, and artist, mr lee jihoon. i hope you will always be happy and healthy <3

(also, this is the post that inspired this whole mess.)

[voxofthevoid]

We continue to be in goyuuland with Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #10. Sukuna will pop back up in the next chapter, though I'm not sure what the next snippet will be.

The fic is now 90.5k, and I just finished Chapter 13—unlucky or not, it's my favorite chapter so far 😂

It's 9k total and just one big goyuu date, featuring 7 scenes that are basically Gojou flirting like a demon (hah) and Yuuji setting the new world record in obliviousness—until he can't, of course. This week's snippet is the final scene, and it's longer than these posts usually are because I didn't really feel like breaking it up.

Enjoy the extra 300 words?

“Nice house,” Gojou says, looking around the living room with unabashed interest. “You live with your parents?”

“No, my…guardian. He’s not here.”

“And he won’t mind you bringing home strange men?”

“Um.” Nanami will definitely mind, won’t he? Sure, he said Yuuji could bring friends around any time, but Gojou’s not exactly that. He’s not even a classmate. “It’s fine. Probably. I mean, you’re technically not a stranger anymore, and you know Tōji-san, so—yeah, it’ll be fine.”

Gojou chuckles. “If you say so. I promise not to steal his book collection.”

“Yeah, please don’t. Nanami will kill me.”

Gojou strides toward said book collection; he’s taller than the bookshelf. “I’m sure he’s more fond of you than these very dry books.”

“They’re not that bad!”

“Have you read any?”

“None of those, no,” Yuuji admits. “But I’m sure Nanami likes them for a reason.”

“What a cute little ward,” Gojou croons, turning around to look at Yuuji. “Nanami’s so lucky. Megumi wasn’t this nearly this sweet when he was in my custody.”

“…Fushiguro was in your custody?”

“For an entire year,” Gojou confirms. “His daddy earned himself a little time-out. I only obliged.”

“Huh.” Yuuji tries to picture Gojou taking care of Fushiguro—and fails. “Is that why Fushiguro doesn’t like you?

Gojou pouts. “Mean.”

“Uh, sorry, I just meant—”

“I know, I know.” Gojou waves a dismissive hand, before parking it on his hip. “Now, are you going to entertain me as promised, or are we going to stand here talking about other men all night?”

Yuuji gapes at him. “You’re the one who—never mind. Just wait here. I’ll go get the laptop. And change out of these clothes. There’s a bathroom over there too, if you wanna piss or something.”

“Charmer,” Gojou chortles, but he does walk over there.

Yuuji waits for him to vanish into the bathroom before heading upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. He strips the second he’s inside the bedroom, wincing at the grass stains on Nanami’s turtleneck. He rushes into the en suite and drapes it over the hamper so he’ll remember to wash it and return it to its rightful place.

Then he makes his way to the mirror.

The bruises on his throat are almost gone. There are still smears of red and purple, but it’s not the violent mess that was circling his entire throat when he woke up Saturday morning. The distinct imprint of long, wicked fingers is also gone.

Yuuji sighs in pure relief. He really doesn’t want to raid Nanami’s closet again. It’s so invasive.

Next time Sukuna goes for his throat, Yuuji will bite his fucking fingers off. They’ll grow back anyway.

He gives his back a perfunctory check before turning away. It’s all scabbed over, the shallower parts already healed. They pull on his skin a little, but Yuuji’s got plenty of practice ignoring that.

He does his business and risks a quick shower. He even brushes his teeth.

It’s a little ridiculous, It’s not like Gojou will be fresh or anything. He also spent the whole day just like Yuuji, walking under the sun and hiking through the forest. Still, the thought of sitting on the couch downstairs and watching his new favorite movie with Gojou makes him want to be clean. At least he doesn’t want to be all sticky and gross.

He won’t mind if Gojou smells a little though. Yuuji caught a few whiffs of his scent throughout the day. It was…nice. Some cologne, definitely, but just sweat and something else under that—something both sharp and sweet.

In the mirror, his face grows red.

Yuuji slaps his cheeks. “What the hell am I doing?”

He pulls on some of his own clothes and grabs his laptop before making his way back downstairs. He finds Gojou lying on the couch, that long body taking up the entire length of it and then spilling over, both feet and parts of the calves dangling over one side. Gojou’s got an arm folded under his head and the other holding his phone up. His mouth is one flat line.

“Hey,” Yuuji greets. “I’m back.”

“So you are.” The phone vanishes in a flick of the wrist, and Yuuji spends a good few seconds trying to figure out whether Gojou stashed it between his body and the couch or just slipped it up his sleeve like some wannabe magician. Then Gojou folds that arm under his head too, staring expectantly at Yuuji. “Go on. Entertain me.”

Yuuji rolls his eyes. “Yes, my lord.”

“He learns so fast,” Gojou simpers.

Yuuji ignores him, instead busying himself connecting the laptop to the TV.

“Done!” Yuuji declares. “I’ll go get some soda. Any flavor you like?”

“I’m a simple man,” Gojou says, his head tilted in Yuuji’s direction. “Give me some coke and I’ll be happy.”

“Comin’ right up!”

Gojou’s still stretched out supinely on the couch when Yuuji comes back with the drinks.

“Don’t have any popcorn,” Yuuji tells him, setting the cans down on the coffee table. “Got some chips though, if you’re hungry.”

“Mmm, not yet.”

“Yeah, same. I’ll make dinner after the movie then.”

“What a good host,” Gojou says, and unlike the things he said earlier, this doesn’t sound mocking or even teasing. “Do you like feeding people, Yuuji-kun?”

“Eh? Why would you ask that?”

“You cooked for us all yesterday, even though you were a guest in that house. And I had to practically fight you off for cooking rights in the morning, didn’t I?”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Now here you are again,” Gojou continues as if Yuuji didn’t speak, “trying to feed me. You can see why I’m curious.”

Yuuji rocks back on his heels, considering it. “Sure, I guess. It’s not a passion or anything, but I’m good at cooking, and I like it when people enjoy my food. That’s natural, isn’t it?”

“It is and it isn’t,” Gojou says agreeably. “But I do love a man who loves to please.”

Yuuji blinks. “Cool. C’mon then, let’s start.”

“Alright.”

Yuuji waits. Gojou doesn’t move.

“Gojou-san,” he says very patiently, “make room for me.”

Gojou looks down the length of his body, as if he doesn’t know it’s taking up the whole couch and then some. He unfolds his arms from under his head, plucking off his sunglasses—and tossing it at Yuuji.

“Woah!” Yuuji catches it, setting it carefully down on the coffee table. When he straightens up, Gojou’s still on his back, his arms now folded on his stomach; his eyes are heavy-lidded, like he’s about to take a nap. “Gojou-san.”

Gojou holds out an arm.

For a moment, Yuuji just stares incredulously at it. Then he sighs and marches over, grabbing the hand to pull Gojou up.

He’s pulled down.

Yuuji goes down hard, not even remotely prepared. He crashes into Gojou’s chest face-first, one hand still tangled with Gojou’s and the other planted on something firm but yielding. The shape is very…distinct.

He raises his burning face. “What are you—”

His voice withers in his throat at the expression on Gojou’s face. The lazy curve of his mouth, the low sweep of his lashes. And, worse, the eyes—all that blue grown dark and devouring.

Yuuji’s seen a near mirror of this expression on another face, broader and darker and red-eyed.

“Caught you,” Gojou murmurs.

The hand not clutching Yuuji’s coming to rest on the small of his back—on bare skin exposed by the sudden fall. Gojou doesn’t hesitate on finding skin instead of fabric. His hand creeps further up, blazing warmth along Yuuji’s spine.

Yuuji shudders violently, his fingers digging into Gojou’s chest—into the thick swell of a pec, its shape and size branding Yuuji’s fingers despite the sweater covering it.

Gojou doesn’t seem to mind. His smile grows wider, flashing a hint of canine. His eyes are still heavy and hot.

“Gojou-san,” Yuuji rasps, the name scraping his throat. Nothing else comes out.

“Yuuji-kun,” Gojou returns, almost as low and nowhere near as rough. “What should I do, now that I’ve caught you?”

His hands answer before Yuuji can, the one on his back creeping along his side to splay over his stomach, all fingers spread wide; the muscles there convulse so violently that Yuuji feels it in his spine—and his cock, hyperaware of how close that hand is to it. Gojou’s other hand extricates itself from Yuuji’s death grip to cup his face, the thumb resting on his lower lip.

Yuuji gets a lot of clues all at once, growing dizzy with it.

“You look scared,” Gojou says softly, and the shape of his mouth around those words isn’t mean, but it’s not kind either. “Don’t worry. I’ll be very gentle.”

Gentle—

“I won’t,” Yuuji gasps, frost burning through the fire in his veins. “I can’t—”

He only means to shove himself off Gojou, but his newly freed hand finds air instead of flesh or upholstery, and down he goes, the world flipping in a riot of color and motion.

The floor meets him gently.

Yuuji’s vision resolves into blue, then white, then an expression that’s blank-eyed scrutiny.

Gojou’s hand flexes under Yuuji’s head, still holding it a few centimeters off the floor. His other hand is under Yuuji’s back, keeping his hips lifted. His knees are parked between Yuuji’s awkwardly splayed legs.

He looks a light breeze away from collapsing on Yuuji.

Yuuji reaches up to grip those broad shoulders. Some of Gojou’s weight sinks into his bones.

Gojou blinks, for the first time since Yuuji opened his eyes.

He says, “You could’ve just said no.”

“…What?”

“I wouldn’t have forced you.”

“What—” It strikes Yuuji then, what his frantic attempt to get away must have looked like. “No, that’s not—I wasn’t—”

“It’s alright,” Gojou says mildly. “Let’s get you up.”

“Wait!”

Gojou waits. Maybe Yuuji doesn’t give him much of a choice, gripping his shoulders with all the strength he dares. If it hurts, Gojou doesn’t show it, but he does lay Yuuji’s head down, still cushioning it with a splayed palm.

“You said you’ll be gentle,” Yuuji hears himself say. “I won’t. I don’t know how.”

Gojou’s eyes widen, their blue a violently swirl around depthless pupils.

Yuuji almost wants to take it back. But he can’t. Gojou doesn’t deserve that.

Yuuji’s kissed people before Sukuna. It was clumsy and harmless. Gentle enough. But those memories feel like they belong to someone else. When Yuuji pictures putting his mouth on flesh, he’s always biting.

The rest of it is worse.

“Ah,” Gojou says quietly. “I understand.”

“I—” It comes out like a laugh, but Yuuji’s not laughing, he’s really not. “I don’t think you do.”

“Maybe.” Gojou dips his head, the tips of his hair brushing Yuuji’s forehead. Soft fire, burning and branding. “But I could.”

“Gojou-san…”

“Shall I teach you, Yuuji,” Gojou breathes, every word bursting open on Yuuji’s lips, “how to be gentle?”

[meowie17]

Ok so I have a few suggestions but for the sake of space those will be under the cut

Putting it shortly I’d recommend Scar or Doc possibly Ren.

As a season seven sucker I’d normally recommend Scar due his role as the mayor of the shopping district and head of Hep in that season, plus the whole mycelium resistance thing cast him as the villain when looking from the resistance side.

But sense you’ve already got him as a character you could go for Ren he just had an arch as an evil king last season and he did great. He’s a theatre kid at heart and ended up playing king who slowly gets corrupted by greed and turns evil alarmingly well.

But out of all the suggestions I could give I’d recommend Doc. He’s basically the resident supervillain on the server anyway and he ends up as the “Bad guy” in almost every arch he’s in.

I mean just of the top of my head theirs season six’s arch when he was the evil government scientist fighting the hippies from his Area 51 knock off. Season nine where he fought the buttercups a different hippie group. And you could possibly count season six’s prank war but that’s a complicated mess that really depends on who you have as your main pov’s.

Outside of that he’s know for breaking the game, has but multiple world eaters (complex redstone devices that can essentially delete entire contents), he managed to do some insane nonsense to get the ender dragon as a pet, and he’s so rich he uses diamond ore as redstone scaffolding.

As for references if you want to go with Scar I’d recommend either his or Grians povs for the resistance arch it’s a lot of fun and has great story potential. But if for one reason or another you can’t watch it all then you can use the wiki’s article on it. It’s pretty well written and has all the major information.

For Ren I don’t have much, his arch had so many groups going on with the two separate rebel groups, the kings court, and whatever Grian was doing. Im going to tentatively suggest that you go with Impulse as that gives you a direct look at the soup group who I believe are the ones that actually overthrew him. then I’d say you should probably watch at least a couple of his videos to get a sense of his slow corruption.

If you end up going this route I’d suggest watching Rens third life series as he plays the Red king there which is a much more intimidating version of him as a king, plus a lot a lot of fics in the Hermitcraft sphere have some form of the life series in them due to just how popular and groundbreaking they are.

Now if your going for Doc then then there’s not much I can help on that point as his vids are always very long and there can be a lot of complex redstone stuff I don’t get but both the buttercup and area 77 arch’s are a good start.

Here are some links to help:

Hope this helps good luck! I’m really excited to see what you come up with and I’d love it if you were to let me know when the first chapter gets posted! :D

I'm fairly new to hermitcraft, and I'm attempting to write a fic, but I need a "big bad" so to speak, or at least a figurehead of one. Which hermit would be best to cast as said big bad?

I've already got Etho, Joel, Grian, Mumbo Jumbo, Pearl, ZombieCleo, GeminiTay, and GoodTimesWithScar cast, as well as LDShadowlady and Scott Smajor even though they aren't hermits.

The bad guy is supposed to be a metaphor for capitalism.

Suggestions are appreciated! And please point me to your favorite vids or vods from hermits you suggest! Thank you!

[canarydarity]

(Remember the argument Tango gets into with Bdubs at the end of ‘Against All Odds’ chpt 2? Here’s the aftermath of that, but from Ethos pov)

There wasn’t really enough room in the box to shove the door open with any amount of force, but Etho watched Bdubs try. When the door swung back almost directly to him after rebounding off the wall, Bdubs just laughed and caught it with his hand.

It was the kind of door-slamming typically inspired by anger, usually committed by the angry party themself—but this was Bdubs, and it wasn’t his anger he was feeding off of but someone else’s entirely. The action was not performed as a show of frustration, but as a response to being the recipient of it—some way of letting out pent-up energy, the high of knowing someone was mad at you and getting a kick out of it.

Etho followed him inside the box but not all of the way. The second push of the door had been softer, but it still managed to rebound, and it thunked lightly into Etho’s shoulder where he’d halted, half in and half out.

Bdubs was facing away from him, clearly still energized, the mic’s all turned off and the stadium clearing out but no less intensity in his being. He rummaged around the box, moving things around, straightening up in a way that was too aggressive to actually make things neater.

He picked up the small plastic tray full of pencil nubs and tiny eraser bits and old scorecards and just as soon dropped it back onto the desk in a heap, turning his head towards his shoulder but not quite looking over it as he said, “What? I can feel you standin’ there so just what, spit it out.”

Etho shrugged, not that Bdubs was looking to see. “You didn’t have to harp on it.”

“Oh, pshaw—not you, too,” Bdubs scoffed, turned around and leaned up against the desk, his arms once again crossed over his chest; it was so like the picture he’d painted in the clubhouse, the scene they just left, that Etho raised an eyebrow. He didn’t expect to be playing offense. “I was just doing my damn job. Upholding journalistic integrity, or whatever-the-fuck.”

It amused him to say this; he smiled, lazily, all his teeth on display. Etho studied him, his posture, the dangerous look in his eyes.

“I know, Bdubs.” And he did.

It wasn’t really about Bdubs reporting on what had happened—in a way, he was right, he was only doing his job. He had a responsibility to relay the game play by play and word for word, that didn’t change just because sometimes things stopped going well.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Etho looked over Bdubs shoulder, out the windows they’d long since closed and locked, down towards the field, half the stadium lights already turned off and nighttime falling like a heavy blanket of snow. It was dark enough that the seats all blended together, obscuring one another and where the walls ended and sky began. All he could see was the diamond, the grass a beacon of bright green.

“You don’t know what it’s like.” It wasn’t accusatory, not said with the bitter quality of someone scorned. To Etho, it was just a fact, and so he said it as such. He didn’t put much faith in Bdubs accepting it, nothing riding on it as it wasn’t a bet he felt he could win. There’d be an ‘oh come on’ pending, Etho would concede Bdubs had only done his job, start thinking of other ways he could get him to do it a little differently.

“Yeah, and you do?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Eye contact with Bdubs always felt like a staring contest, the petty kind—the one where you accidentally locked gazes with another kid standing across from you on the playground or while on the street, bikes forming a semi-circle, and looked away without thinking anything of it, only for them to claim you lost a contest you weren’t aware you’d joined. Etho was a fan of games, indiscriminate of the type and method of playing—but one thing stayed the same across all fronts: he didn’t much like to lose.

Bdubs stood up from his lean, uncrossed his legs, his arms, and turned back towards the desk, replacing the pencil nubs that had flown from their container when he’d dropped it from a foot above the desk.

“I’ll be nicer. But not because I wanna be or because you asked or anything—and certainly not ‘cause Tango’s got his panties in a twist.”

It wasn’t the conclusion Etho had been expecting.

Bdubs pulled out his chair roughly and collapsed into the seat, head angled just slightly back toward Etho but no attempt at eye contact made.

“But because you’re right. Enjoy that now—I won’t ever say it again.”

Bdubs stared straight ahead, his fingers knotted together on top of his chest, his legs stretched out until the toe of his sneaker was up against the too-close wall. Etho turned to scoot behind his chair and get on Bdubs other side to reach his own, and he pulled it out to sit down just the same.

Their job was done for the day, the stadium mostly empty, only the very last of the janitorial staff still remaining, perhaps Impulse going over some things in his office somewhere dozens of feet below, the lights and camera flashes slowly being replaced by the spotted glow of lightning bugs. The longer they waited, the worse the commute back home would be on the subway for each of them, middle-of-the-day ballgame over and Saturday night-life in the city beginning, but for a few moments longer still, they sat.

(Read the whole story of how etho became bdubs partner in announcing here)

[myokk]

my first attempt at digital art (never again🥲) for mctober💘

Eloise Babbit✨

slytherin

5th year

favorite subjects: arithmancy & ancient runes

least favorite subject: beasts (animals make her nervous🥲)

hobbies: reading & thinking (IT’S A HOBBY OKAY??)

[akai-anna]

shinichi: *takes a deep breath* shinichi: i lo- anyone who has spent five seconds around shinichi ever: yes, you love ran, we know, you love mōri ran so much, she's the light of your life, you love her so much, you just love ran, we KNOW , you love ran you fucking love ran ok we know, we get it, YOU LOVE MŌRI RAN. WE GET IT.

[leandra-kinard]

I can see your point that there's a clash of intention/topic here from your perspective. However, for me it was an opportunity to make a connected/related "counter" point (also not solely aimed at your original post but the added screenshot as well), because I also feel posts like yours could - under certain circumstances and through certain readings - be adding to a general harsher rift between the two factions than necessary. I'm definitely not saying that was your attention, but personally it's something that, let's say, slightly miffed me about this whole conversation a couple of times now, in a variety of posts.

I do understand why you think I should have made my own post on it, rather than adding to yours. But then again, I do enjoy a conversation and polite debate rather than just "ranting to the void". I believe it can be very beneficial to those engaging in such a debate in good faith and the ones reading it. But that's my POV. So I guess this is where we both clash in our preferences on how to add/debate or not debate/add to such posts, and that is fine.

Regarding the main points you made, you know how you meant it and what context you brought it up from - so in that regard it's fully valid - but some people may take it as "Ah look, this person, too, says the Buddies are homophobic (in general/often)". Tumblr reading comprehension and all, you know?

I am also definitely not saying you are erasing anyone's experience. I'm just saying, in general, this tendency to point to homophobia sometimes does that - albeit unintentionally, I assume. It is a bit of a slippery slope, imho, because sometimes the people expressing their wishes for a specific type of queer story (like what they imagine Buddie could have been like) are queer people who have made those very experiences or similar ones themselves - lesbians who fell on love with their best friend and finally gave up on comphet behavior, or people who believed themselves to be straight and realized they were bi after all (not dissimilar to Buck). I know you're not saying these people all come from a place of homophobia, but I personally see a risk of it being read that way. Of people falling into that mentioned trap of dismissing ANY pro-Buddie sentiment as homophobic /otherwise problematic.

So, regarding the last statement you quoted, this was meant more generally to the Bucktommy fandom and not per se you or your post. We are not having a private conversation here, we are doing it in front of an audience who will approach both what you and I are saying with highly individual biases and viewpoints.

There is no issue with the things you said per se, but imho the risk of certain takeaways that I have already seen expressed callously by other people, e.g. "Most of the Buddies are straight women who are deeply homophobic" or similar.

The whole Silken debacle is cringe AF, and embarrassing for the whole 911 fandom. And we really do not have to talk about some of the much more vile and toxic things that were said and done. I am in absolute and full agreement to call those instances out and, like you, am disappointed to not see enough of such calling out from the Buddie fans. That is highly regrettable and cowardly.

I also understand (through posts like yours even more deeply than I already did before, as a 44 year old queer woman who lived with a gay guy for many years and has known many gay men), that many especially young shippers have a sort of watered-down image of the "ideal gay relationship" that isn't reflective of reality. There's nothing wrong with having certain preferences when it comes to reading and writing fic, but there IS something wrong with painting things outside of that comfort zone as icky or bad (like all that shitty discourse on Tommy being predatory and similar stupid takes).

In years of shipping and engaging in fandom I've seen takes that were bordering on or veering into (unintentional) homophobia, or rather bigotry towards gay men in particular, because so much of it is based on a sexually/romantically inexperienced and predominantly female perspective. There's a difference between how lesbians and gay men live out their sexuality and love life - at least in tendency - and it's important to acknowledge that and, as you said, read up on gay culture if one isn't too familiar with some things. Or to simply acknowledge that many preferences and approaches are valid and good, and, as you said, here's not a limit to what kinds of queer representation should be present in popular media.

Anyway, I also appreciate that you replied calmly and in good faith. Just to make it clear again, I do not disagree with the things you said or with pointing out these particular examples. I just personally think it is important to also remember (and remind others - the "audience" of these debates) not to generalize as a takeaway from these very valid observations.

the more and more time i spend on tumblr and come across insane Buddie takes and behavior, the more and more i am convinced that the small, vocal, toxic subsection of shippers who don't know how to behave are, how shall i say it?

homophobic

they don't seem to actually like gay men. the situation with richard siken is an example of that. what they appear to like is their made-up version of what gay men are like and what they do. there's no concept of nuance or an actual understanding of queerness that informs their ship.

and i don't think you do need to understand it. sometimes you can just enjoy something without looking into it differently. but if you're going to be out on main talking about Buddie this and Buddie that, then you absolutely need to do the bare minimum and inform yourself on gay culture and gay issues so you don't, you know, go after a gay poet because you didn't like his tone.

sorry, there's a reason gay men of his demographic don't take shit. it's because they took so much shit that a large percentage of them died. the ones that survived don't owe you a tone when you act like an idiot.

the internet is free. wikipedia is free.

use a search engine and educate yourself, just a tiny little bit, and stop fetishizing while holding onto homophobic attitudes

[cafulur]

Modern / College AU Labru Snippets:

- Laios and Kabru meet as classmates who get paired together for a project, and although they initially clash at first, through the assignment they find themselves clicking in the most unexpected ways.

- After the project is finished, they still keep texting each other. Laios sends Kabru a photo of an opossum that was lurking right outside his bedroom window late one night. Kabru later texts him a picture of a fluffy stray cat that won’t leave him alone every time he walks up his apartment. He initially acts as if he doesn’t like the cat and that it’s bothering him by always following him home, but Laios constantly enthuses over text about how he would love this meet this cat someday. Suddenly Kabru is sneaking this cat little pets and treats in hopes it’ll stick around for when Laios may eventually (hopefully) come over. Before he knows it, Kabru has formed a soft spot for the stray.

- Both of their friend groups mesh and the two find themselves wondering each day when they’ll get to see each other next. They instantly attach in group settings without a second thought, and everyone notices the spark they have going on but them. Laios is excited in a ‘wow this is the coolest, nicest, most interesting friend I’ve ever had!’ type of way, while Kabru recognizes & reconciles with the fact that he’s crushing pretty early on.

- Toward the end of the semester, Marcille hosts a house party, and there’s actually a moment where Kabru sits with Chilchuck on the rooftop ?? It’s an extremely rare occasion and odd for them to ever be alone together, but Kabru had wondered out onto the second floor balcony for some fresh air + a moment to think, and spotted Chilchuck smoking a joint by himself atop the roof shackles to the right of him, just beyond the balcony.

- They watch Laios and a few others down below do something stupid and party related, like chug a drink or eat something fast in one go. It’s mostly quiet between the two up top, save for the few awkward hellos in acknowledgment when Kabru first shows up. Until Chilchuck, of all people, decides to finally break the silence between them. 

“I’d just be straight up with him at this point, if I were you.”

Kabru jumps a little at the unexpected suggestion, glancing toward him with wary eyes. He does his absolute best in every interaction to present himself in a very particular way. Had he been that easy to read all this time?

“Straight with who?” Kabru questions as innocently as he could pretend with a smile, brushing a curl behind his ear.

Chilchuck takes a drag and blows smoke up toward the sky, slightly annoyed but not trying to bite this time around. “Laios. It looks like you want something so bad, but you’re holding back or something. He’s not going to pick up on anything unless you spell it out for him, y’know.”

Kabru covers one of his ears as he feels them burn, looking down into the plastic cup barely filled with beer in his hands. “It’s not— I don’t…” he starts, but feels dumb finishing any semblance of denial. Surprising himself, he caves in, swirling the drink. “It’s just… I don’t want to lose this. His friendship has become pretty important to me.”

“Does Laios come across as someone who would make things awkward?” Chilchuck asks, snuffing out the nub of his joint into the roof and turning to Kabru. Kabru furrows his brow at him.

“Not typically, but I somehow can never figure him out when it comes to things I’ve never tried with him before. Risks with him are truly unpredictable.”

He hums in disagreement, watching the last of the smoke escape the joint before it completely fizzles out. “Eh, I don’t know. Think about it like this. If he doesn’t reciprocate the feelings, do you think he’d have trouble still being friends with you? Laios, being the way that he is, I mean.”

Kabru thinks about it for a minute. Laios really was different from other friends he’d made throughout his life. He didn’t waste time putting up fronts just to save face, and he can’t really pick up on things being awkward for either party. If Kabru confessed and got denied, it would hurt himself mostly, but it wouldn’t rapidly change the air between them. Laios probably wouldn’t want to stop being friends or need time apart just out of awkwardness, which is what one would normally expect after rejection. “I think I get what you mean. I suppose not.”

Chilchuck put the burnt out nub into his pocket to save for a final short smoke later. “I don’t know exactly what all goes on in that guy’s head, but being an observer, I’d think you’d notice by now when he’s actually looking back. I guess it’s easier as a third party.”

Kabru takes a sip of his beer as he carefully considers Chilchuck’s words and watches Laios down below. In that moment, Laios happens to look up and catch Kabru’s gaze, immediately smiling and giving him a friendly wave. It feels like it’s just between them, save for the audience member right next to Kabru witnessing the whole thing. Chilchuck sighs and stands up, dusting his pants off.

“You guys do you. I barely understand my own feelings and how to go about them these days, but if you already know yours so confidently, then there shouldn’t be much stopping you from sharing them. Bottling up seems a lot more painful. It’s hard to watch, anyway.” He stretches before crawling down from the roof shackles onto the balcony. He offers a small wave as he passes by to head inside. Kabru turns to watch him go, saying a soft “Thanks Chilchuck,” as he disappears into a hallway, presumably toward the stairs.

When Kabru turns back around and glances down, Laios is in fact still looking up at him. His face heats up a bit, unsure what to say or do in response, and then Laios is grinning brightly and motioning for him to come and join them. Kabru nods, downs the last of his drink, and then hurries inside, heart pounding in his chest.

[tokruta]

I can’t explain why, but this is my favorite hilson edit ever and I can/will watch it on loop for an uncountable amount of times

[thesummerstorms]

The other thing that I think I would want in an Annabeth Wayne AU that I don't think I've seen so far is Bruce being absolutely pissed at Athena.

It was bad enough with Talia and Damian, but Athena is a literal god of wisdom who should know better AND he doesn't even have the "culpability" of having slept with her.

She one hundred percent saw Batman, tactician of the Justice League, was drawn in by her aspect of the Goddess of Strategy, and proceeded to create a child without his consent, a daughter who she didn't even raise before the child became a weapon.

And like whatever else, however fucked up Damian was by his own training to become a child-weapon, at least Talia loved Damian.

Whereas Athena loves Annabeth in the way a Goddess loves, not the way a Person loves, and I don't think Bruce, whose entire identity is so fixated on his relationship with his own parents, would recognize that as love at all.

And, like, Talia put Damian through a lot of shit. I think Bruce would be angry there too. But when push came to shove, she at least at some point brought him to Bruce because she thought it was in her son's best interests.

Athena actively lead Annabeth away from Bruce and into the streets at the age of seven, which Bruce would never see as in her best interest, whatever Athena's godly perspective is, however badly he reacted after Jason's death, even though he couldn't see (and dismissed the idea of) the spiders and the monsters. She was seven. In the streets of Gotham.

Athena let Annabeth fight a major role in two wars back to back without being there to train her or protect her or love her or even advise her. Athena advocated for the cold blooded murder of the other children who had actually tried to keep his daughter safe. Athena sent Annabeth against Arachne when Athena's children have universally died on that quest for a thousand years.

Athena let Bruce think he had gotten Annabeth killed because of his own inability to handle his grief. Let him think his daughter was dead or worse for years. Would have let him keep thinking that if the Fates didn't have other plans.

And just, in true fashion for all of my ideas on a PJO x DC crossover, everyone really comes out more traumatized than before. This includes Bruce.

Because now he wasn't just used unknowingly for a child just once, but twice. And in both cases he's going to have to live forever with the guilt of not having been able to protect his kids from what their other parent wanted to make of them

(On top of all the ways he has directly failed them and made any complexes worse, of course )

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Having one of those days where I wanna delete everything I've ever written and crawl into a hole to hide for forever.

Don't worry, I'm not actually gonna. My brain is just being stupid.

[a-whole-lot-of-things]

i love dead boy detectives to death, and hope with all my being that we can Somehow pull off getting it back (through netflix or otherwise)

but honestly if we cant? if we get stuck at where we are now forever? i honestly think ill miss the potential s2 soundtrack the most