#I never thought any professional writer would care this much

[about-faces]

“… and I’m sorry for leaving you in the dark.”

[garagepaperback]

What are your favorite drarry fics?

oh. ooooooooooooh oh oh.

here are my staples:

draco, the magic dragon - libbydrew a fic i first read on livejournal (showing off the varnish of my casket here) that i thought about regularly for the almost two decades i fell out of fandom. canon to me tbh. libby invented my draco rubric: proud lil showboat even when everything around him has gone to rancid shit, sarcastic and aloof personality as a poor facade to distract from the big ol' gaping well of hurt.

Potter took a great breath, then let it out slowly – a low whistle between his teeth. "Malfoy, I had no idea. I thought—" "Why are you here?" Draco cut him off before the idiot embarrassed them both. Their shared past was water under the bridge – even if Draco had drowned in it.

nightingale - michi_the_killer

another back-in-my-day fav, even though i can only stand to read half of it. actually even thinking about it is making me stare off in a distance for upwards of three minutes. this one i would hand off wrapped in about a million miles of caution tape. + also a huge fan of michi's gory veela fic.

It was better than fighting, Harry thought, although sometimes he still wanted to rip into Malfoy, to hurt him. Other days, he thought, it was better than anything.

rookie moves - peu_a_peu

what can i say that hasn't already been said - peu is a MASTER. if you somehow know who i am but haven't read this, reassess your life choices through professional means but not until after you dive in.

“Feels kinda big,” Malfoy said, smirking. “For a guy your height.” “My height is average,” Harry said, although he was undeniably glaring upward at Malfoy’s face when they stood so close together. “And it is kinda big.”

stately homes of wiltshire - waspabi another one that crept into my heart and made a home. hard to choose between this and waspabi's other drarry fic, but there's something about the decrepit manor that just does it for me. a perfect harry and draco, perfect soft reaching towards each other.

Draco smiled and dragged Potter from the shop before he could charm any more elderly ladies with his unkept, take-care-of-me-I’m-confused-and-have-nice-shoulders aesthetic. Once outside in the drizzle, he realised he still had his hand around Potter’s forearm. He yanked his hand back immediately.

i wake up falling - warmfoothills

warmfoothills :,) just reading this moniker makes me vision go soft around the edges. their writing has made me out loud, quietly say "oh," multiple times. the prose is darling, this story is such a brief, aching glance. it was also really hard to pick just one (flashback, warm nights i also go in for).

“I love you,” he says, unable to stop himself. Draco blinks, a barely-there flinch, like Harry’s taken a swing at him. “I know,” he says, still oblivious to the reference, oblivious to the way his words scoop right into the meat of Harry’s stupid, hopeful heart. “It’s not enough, is it?” Draco shakes his head. Above, the stars watch unfeelingly on.

the pure and simple truth - lettered no one does dialogue with the mastery lettered does. my GOD. my god. i feel like this fic is drarry perfectly distilled.

“What’s he going to be?” Blaise raised a brow. “Pardon?” “You said he says Hermione should be Minister, and all those other things. What does Malfoy think he should be?” There was something much like pity in Blaise’s eyes. “He thinks he should never, ever be forgiven for the things he’s done.” Harry felt ill. “That’s not fair.” “When has Draco ever been fair?” “I meant―” Harry swallowed hard. “That’s not right.” Blaise looked more pitying still. “When has Draco ever been right?”

far from the tree - aideomai

the writer i avoid talking about the most bc once i start i cannot physically restrain myself from going on about their beauty forever. i sat for forty-five solid minutes frowning, trying to choose between this one and in the hand. and dwelling. okay anyway. i keep a doc of quotes from fics that resonate and it's 50% aideomai.

Draco wondered what Potter thought of this day, in the future the twins came from. If he had told Ginny about it. If he had forgotten it. He couldn’t forget it, could he? It felt burned into Draco’s body already, a final point that he had been moving toward for years without knowing.

i could go on but i think seven is a nice solid number tyvm for this ask!

[azrielbrainrot]

I'll Be Here

Pairing: Azriel x Healer!Reader

Description: You feel a little out of place at a celebration in the House of Wind and a certain Shadowsinger comes to the rescue.

Word Count: 3605

Warnings: None

Notes: I had this stuck in my head and decided to just write it down. I'm not really a writer so bear with me please. Hope you enjoy!

Healer!Reader Masterlist

It's hard to keep an eye on how much wine you drink when the glasses get refilled magically. You've heard that this house has a consciousness of its own. Maybe it can sense your growing anxiety and keeps filling your glass in hopes of helping ease your mind a little. The more you drink the more worried you get, the thought that getting too drunk will only put you at a higher risk of embarrassing yourself having infiltrated your brain and pushed all the rational thoughts out. Big gatherings aren't exactly your cup of tea and the fact that this one was personally hosted by your High Lord didn't exactly help ease your nerves.

You've visited the House of Wind before but always as a part of your duties. Though it was because of your duties you were invited to this dinner so maybe you could add this attendance as part of your job. The High Lord and High Lady decided to invite notable people in Velaris for a night of celebrating the thriving city. After losing its High Lord for decades and the war that followed his release, Velaris went through some tough times but with the help of its people - most of them gathered in this space tonight - the city was once again prospering.

As a healer you usually see the High Lord and his Inner Circle in a state of emergency, when your abilities are needed and there's usually no time for formalities or worries. Every time you encounter them outside of those situations you never know what to make of yourself. You wouldn't say you're completely inept at social situations but you're definitely a lot better at handling them when they involve your patients and you have a job to do, something more important to focus on than choosing the right thing to say.

Your relationship with the Inner Circle is professional albeit friendly. It's hard not to feel your heart warming at the cupcakes the General insisted on buying you for helping heal his wings even after explaining that you actually only helped on his recovery process. Every time he drops by the clinic to pick up any herbs or ointments he insists on buying you one - though you suspect it's also an excuse to get one for himself - and when you see him out and about he demonstrates how healthy his wings are, having done it just before dinner when he was in charge of flying you up to the house. The painting the High Lady personally painted for you, as an acknowledgement of your efforts during the war, hangs right behind your desk in your office at the clinic and is one of your most important possessions.

This would be the kind of relationship anyone would kill to have with their employees - friendly acquaintances. But, since you were there for some of their most intimate moments and helped them through them, you never know how to act when you're not doing your job. You can't exactly call them your friends, even putting the fact that is your High Lord and High Lady aside, outside of work you only exchange some pleasantries whenever you bump into them. However there's too much knowledge for you to act completely professional after decades of nursing them and their family back to health. It feels awkward to shake their hands when they have hugged you with tears in their eyes, thanking you for saving their family.

There's also the tiny detail of the crush you've harbored on the resident shadowsinger ever since you first laid eyes on him. On top of trying to walk the line between friends and strangers with everyone else, you also have to be careful with not letting the observant Spymaster find out about the beat your heart skips when you see him. Making things awkward because of a silly crush is the last thing you need.

It's that reminder and the monumental effort you have to make not to let your eyes search for him that has you finally sneaking out of the room, deciding to find a quiet place to sober up. The House had fed you too much wine, and you still had to be flown back down at the end of the night. You'd really hate to throw up on Cassian's fancy suit. He probably wouldn't buy you cupcakes ever again.

You remember some of your surroundings after decades of being called in for emergencies, quickly finding one of the huge balconies overlooking the city. The fresh air grounds you almost immediately. You can still hear the muffled sounds of the ongoing party but the quietness of the mountain lets you get lost in thought. As much as you enjoy the liveliness of the nightlife in Velaris, you infinitely prefer the quietness and freedom only the woods or mountains at night can provide. When it's only you, the moon and the stars, and the world stops.

You don't know how long you sit there for, leaning on the railing and looking into the distance, wondering why your healing abilities work on some forms of poison but not on sobering you up. Your head only comes back to earth when you hear a familiar voice calling out your name behind you. You turn around fast enough to make you a bit dizzy, leaning back against the railing with wide eyes.

“Didn't mean to scare you,” the shadowsinger explained, “I just noticed you were gone from the room.” You spot the way he's bringing his wings closer to his body, making himself smaller, if that were even possible. Azriel made you feel a lot of things but you hadn't felt scared of him in decades, ever since the first time you met him. If you hadn't been already tipsy and distracted thinking about him you wouldn't have reacted so dramatically.

Realizing the spymaster of this court had just found you wandering around his house unattended, you rush to apologize and give him an explanation.

“I'm sorry. I needed some fresh air and remembered there was a balcony around here. I shouldn't have left the party without permission.” You make to move back, showing you were ready to go back to the party but he raises a hand and takes a step closer to you, stopping you before you can.

“You're not a stranger to this house. No need for permission,” he took another tentative step towards you before continuing, “Do you feel better now?” You relax back against the railing, your heart beating fast for a whole different reason now. It's not often you get to see Azriel out of his leathers and you barely had a chance to see him up close tonight, he looks mesmerizing.

“What?” Maybe you didn't sober up as much as you thought. Maybe being this close to Azriel was just an intoxicating experience in itself. Either way your brain was having a hard time catching up to his words and your chest was starting to feel warm.

“You said you needed some fresh air.” There's a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before. Probably realizing that you weren't actually going to be sick. His shadows peak behind his shoulders, following their master as they usually do.

“Yes. It was just getting a bit stuffy in there.” Aside from the butterflies creating a hurricane in your stomach, talking to Azriel feels right. His calm demeanor lets your thoughts quiet. “I might have drank too much because of the nerves.”

The Shadowsinger moves until he's leaning against the railing next to you. His eyes wander the illuminated city slowly before meeting yours. Stretched wings hang in what you assume is a less straining position after having to be pulled tighter into his body in the crowded room. Shadows start rolling off his shoulders, now lazing around him instead of covering him. The soft wind moves his hair ever so slightly, letting a few strands curl around his forehead and giving him an almost boyish look. It's not often you see the spymaster appear relaxed. You decide it might be your favorite look on him.

“Nerves?” Your eyes search his face once again after hearing the confusion in his voice. Azriel has a permanent seat at the High Lord's table not only as the Night Court's Spymaster but also as someone Rhysand considers family. This night isn't so different from every other dinner he shares with his family, just more crowded.

“I've never been to this house outside of my duties. It's a bit nerve-wracking to be personally invited by the High Lord.” As you finish speaking one of his shadows curls around his ear. You've learned they do this when they're speaking to him. The thought of it being about you has your heart speeding up. Only the Mother knows just how much those shadows can see and hear, if they can hear your thoughts. You check your mental shields just in case. They can be as terrifying as they are beautiful.

“Rhys and Feyre couldn't have thrown a party celebrating the strength and courage the people of Velaris have shown without one of our best healers. You've helped more people than we could ever thank you for.” The warmth you felt in your chest before was now spreading up your neck at an alarming rate. You had just been doing your job but being recognized for it felt incredibly rewarding. The fact that this praise came from the shadowsinger was making you especially giddy. “Rhys invited you because you're very important to this court, to us.”

“I am?” The question comes out before your brain has a chance to catch up. You try not to cringe at the surprise in your tone. It's not that you're not aware of your capabilities, the High Lord and High Lady either call for you or for Madja, one of the most powerful and wise healers you have ever seen. But old insecurities will always show their claws, indifferent to your achievements. To think that you could be important to all these extremely powerful people seemed like the punchline to a joke.

“Of course.” His body turns to you ever so slightly. Fingers uncurl as if he wanted to reach out, comfort you. “None of us would be here in good health if it wasn't for you, maybe not at all. You've helped us more times than I can count.”

“I was just doing my job. And I can't take credit for Madja, I'm usually just assisting her.”

“Even so, you've helped us through a lot.” He sounded very sincere, there was no denying he meant every word, but you still have a hard time believing it.

“I just don't think I really fit in here,” you whispered so low that if it wasn't for his fae hearing he wouldn't have been able to make out the words. The admission felt heavy in the air, it felt good to let it out. You hadn't been this honest with anyone, perhaps even yourself, in decades, you must have drank way more wine than you initially thought.

You weren't born in Velaris, but you've lived here for a century. The problem is you've spent the better part of that century waiting on feeling like you finally belonged. You never felt at home in your own court or in your family so it might have been wishful thinking that it would happen here.

“I think like that sometimes too.” As baffled as you were to hear that coming from him, he looked even more surprised than you. It seems he hadn't meant to say that out loud, but the words couldn't be taken back now.

“That's insane,” you try to level your voice after the outburst, "You're part of this family. Why wouldn't you fit in?” You couldn't let him think like that, there was no doubt in your mind everyone here loved and cherished him like family.

Rhysand's inner circle was known for how close they were, they were seen as the High Lord's family regardless of if they were blood related or not. Azriel has always been calmer and you know he likes to keep to himself but you never thought he looked out of place for a second. It's hard to imagine Rhysand and Cassian without his brother.

His eyes were trained on the city under you. His shadows had come back to him, almost covering him completely. Azriel was quiet for a while, long enough you thought he wouldn't even give you an answer. But then you feel a shield form around you, lest someone wanders in and hears his next words.

“Sometimes things and people change while you stay stuck in the same place,” his eyes meet yours as he talks and you search his expression for the rest of the story you know he won't tell. If there's one thing you hate about the shadowsinger is his ability to mask his emotions. His face was the perfect stoic mask as always.

It's not hard to understand what he meant. In less than a decade the inner circle almost doubled and some of the dynamics had likely changed with it. His brothers have found their mates, something every fae dreams of, and he was the odd one out. Even the Morrigan and Amren had found lovers in recent years.

You had heard some rumors he had taken a liking to the middle Archeron sister after pining for the lovely Morrigan for centuries, but she had also found her mate. Not even his methods of interrogation could make you admit you were avoiding the entire inner circle during that time. The hope you had felt upon realizing he wasn't looking at Morrigan like she hung all the stars in the sky was short lived and it only made you feel pathetic. You didn't understand why it had affected you so much. This was just a silly crush after all, you had never considered actually pursuing a relationship with the shadowsinger.

“I still don't understand how Amren got a lover before you.” You had meant to clear the heavy air between you but why your brain decided to use the millennia old creature to do so was beyond you. “I mean she's just…” you continue, startled by your own words, praying to the Mother that the shield he put up stopped Amren from hearing you, “Well, she's fae now but wasn't before and is still mildly terrifying, even after the transition, and you're so-” Wide eyes meet hazel and nothing could ever prepare you for the look on his face. The amusement shone bright in his eyes and in the teasing grin he wore. Just when you thought the shadowsinger couldn't get any more beautiful.

“I'm so?” He tilts his head a little as he asks the question. His shadows start almost dancing around him, like they can't wait to hear your thoughts on their singer. You clear your throat before continuing, trying to salvage some of your dignity.

“You're the Spymaster, the only known Shadowsinger. That's incredible, anyone would be lucky to have you.” Something flashes in his eyes and your mouth starts back up at the thought that it could be disappointment at the impersonal description. Azriel is much more than his role in this court and you can't let him think that's all you see in him.

“You're also one of the kindest people I've ever met. I've seen you worry over every single person in that room, putting their needs over your own even when you're also injured. You always keep your composure for them and give them your support. I've seen you around Velaris too, you're always respectful to everyone, even when they're a bit scared of you.” Eyes drag themselves back to the shiny stars in the night so you can keep going without wanting to jump off the balcony and making an even bigger fool of yourself. “Even as far as looks go... I would bet my house that if we walked down any of these streets we wouldn't find anyone that doesn't think you're stupidly handsome.”

“Stupidly handsome?” The amusement was dripping down his voice at this point. The smile was unmistakable in his tone and you couldn't hold yourself back from watching him any longer. You feel yourself relax at the grin plastered on his face. It isn't often that the shadowsinger shows any emotion at all, and you can't help the pride in knowing you put that gorgeous smile on his face, especially after the somber turn the conversation had taken earlier. You continue despite the warmth you feel in your ears, you'd compliment him for hours if it meant he wouldn't feel sad ever again.

“I've actually heard someone use those exact words to describe you.” You've thought it to be the most accurate description of the immense beauty the shadowsinger radiates ever since you heard the barista use it. Apparently she hadn't been born in Velaris and had taken up the job only a few days prior to serving the illyrian. She had barely held the compliment down long enough for Azriel to exit the building, shooting up into the sky. A few fae present couldn't contain the laugh at the fervent appreciation of the shadowsinger, but the air of agreement shared by everyone was unmistakable.

“I'll have to let my mom know,” there was laughter in his tone, “I'm sure she will be very proud that her son is receiving such compliments.” You hadn't known his mother was still alive which makes you think it's meant to be kept secret. You almost curse at the way your heart flutters. Stupid crushes.

“I'm sure she is very proud of you regardless.” He doesn't give away any hint of what might be going through his brain and it leaves you in a slight panicked fear of overstepping or having said the wrong thing. You could swear you saw a glint of disbelief but it was gone too fast for you to be sure. The idea that the Spymaster couldn't see his own mother being proud of him was ludicrous to you.

The nod he gives you doesn't give any of his thoughts away, but his shadows keep moving slowly around the balcony, never rushing to cover him.

“Why are you single then?” You know he's changing the subject but you don't have time to consider that when you realize it's your turn to answer the questions.

“Me?” You barely register the slight nod he gives to show you he's expecting an answer. If you had shadows of your own they would have wrapped around you like a blanket until only the top of your hair was peaking out. “How do you know I am? Are you using your spies on me, Spymaster?”

“I have to be well informed of what happens in this city,” he searches your face just like you did to him, “And as the spymaster I'm more than familiar with deflection. You don't have to answer my question. Tell me if I'm overstepping”

“No. It's-” you cringe, trying to find the right words. “I just never found anyone special I guess.” Even talking about this with him has your heart swelling in your chest and you pray to the mother he can't pick up on any changes in your heartbeat. You've been avoiding this conversation with family and friends, but despite all this you know Azriel will understand and won't make fun of your feelings. It feels safe talking to him. “I get really busy sometimes so it's hard to keep up a proper relationship, even with friendships. Sometimes people need more time than what I can give them.” You try not to think of all the times you didn't measure up to other people's expectations, when they didn't see you as enough for the trouble.

“They're idiots for letting you go.” You don't know if he's being polite in not mentioning how your heart keeps speeding up or if he thinks you're drunker than you are, but you thank every deity you can think of that he doesn't say anything.

“Some things just aren't meant to be.” You hope he doesn't insist on this conversation. There isn't much else to say and you'd rather not keep talking about how many times you'd gotten dumped. You consider pointing out he never gave you a reason for being single and that he was the one actually deflecting, but you don't want to push what clearly isn't an easy topic for him to discuss either. You suspect Azriel barely opens up with anyone, so you'll just treasure the brief look into his heart he allowed you before.

The rest of your night is spent with the shadowsinger, sitting in that balcony, watching the stars and talking about anything. The next day you'll sit in bed mortified, thinking about how you were doing most of the talking while he listened, but he had seemed content enough so you couldn't have been too annoying. When the party ended you had said your goodbyes to your hosts, without the previous nerves after your conversation with the shadowsinger. Feyre had even asked you if you were alright because she also noticed you leaving in the middle of the party, though something about the glint in her eyes told you she had gotten the wrong idea. Then Azriel had flown you down the steps and winnowed you to your front door - even though you could do it yourself. Maybe you'd have to rethink calling the inner circle your friends.

[bhaalstemple]

i finished the game and veilguard was a disappointment lol

spoilers below

the way they butchered solas' character by just making him be led by the memory of mythal; no self-righteousness, savior complex, it was all done bc he wanted to honor mythal

why are the venatori worshipping elgar'nan and not a single elf. ????

how they made mythal far more important than lavellan to solas to the point for a moment i thought she was solas' ex (thank god it was clarified at the end she was only "solas' oldest friend")

the companions are so... lifeless. cheers to bellara for being the only one that feels like an actual human being and not an agglomeration of bad executed tropes (even if at the beginning she was)

the way mythal didn't end up being a villain, when she actively abused and groomed solas (and also morrigan btw) and it made all the sense in the world because she yearned for a reckoning and bring her revenge, a thing she has yearned for and been planning for a millennia because her anger is that strong... but no she just gave it up

the way morrigan's themes of parental abuse (breaking the cycle of abuse) go to shit after she embraced mythal's memories like.... as someone who has also an abusive mother that i broke contact with this made me want to fucking scream lol

morrigan's character also doesn't sound like her AT ALL, why is this woman smiling and being cocky, she's a scholar, a professional, a woman who carries knowledge that burdens her and trauma at the hands of a mother who should've cared for her. and how protective she was a kieran shows how private she is. what the hell. she would not be THAT friendly with strangers lol

and mythal being the only one who truly could change solas' mind at the end (just thinking abt it makes me want to punch a hole in the wall) + the anticlimactic departure of lavellan to the fade with solas is so fucking bad; because of the message it gives (this world is not worth-living for + a woman should spend the rest of her life and sacrificing herself for a man who put another random woman before her) and its joyless execution

if you get any other ending, the inquisitor doesn't even appear. lmfao. bye.

and lets not talk about the post-ending credits scene bc thats actually the thing that i hated the most. it makes all the themes and writing of bioware completely meaningless lol

the funny thing is that i have known for years where would bioware go with dragon age's story and 95% of my theories were correct, but me, someone who is not a writer, would've made a far more compelling story respecting dragon age's themes and nuance. i even predicted that mythal abused and groomed solas, but they executed it so badly that i can't believe these people get paid to write stories lmfao

i literally feel so betrayed, so hollow, so sad, i don't know what to do. i literally just uninstalled veilguard after finishing it. i spent 10 years imagining how the story would go, but id never imagine it would be THIS BAD.

the books, the content, so well-crafted, and so well-executed, just to make a stupid game that breaks all of its themes and leaves them meaningless. what the hell was happening in bioware when all the side-content has so much complexity and nuance (mostly tevinter nights), what happened lmao

[vaspider]

youve got a lot of really great thoughts on a transphobia and homophobia, tbh more critical thinking than most people on here, and i was wondering how much you knew about the theory of rapid onset gender dysphoria/if youd be comfortable sharing your thoughts on the ridiculous idea

It was explicitly invented by transphobes as a means of delegitimizing trans identity, and that invention was backed up by a "study" in which the person running the study never spoke to any trans people or to any professionals providing care for trans people, only spoke to the parents of trans minors, and those parents were specifically recruited from forums for anti-trans parents.

The paper which supposedly coined ROGD was taken down for a while and corrected. Further studies have found no basis for ROGD.

What's really interesting is in the cache of emails which became public earlier this year from a former detransitioner there's a paper trail which pretty clearly indicates that the term was actually created on a very heinous website called 4th/wave/now (forgive my anti-search slashes, these people are awful) well prior to the study.

Hey, you want to guess where the parents for this study were recruited from? If you guessed "the one where the term was invented," you're right!

But wait, there's more!

It appears from the journalistic work done by Mother Jones, Jude Doyle, and Julia Serano, that this term was created by an anti-trans activist who works extensively with right-wing think tanks and who went to great lengths to hide that she invented the term.

Jude Doyle:

Finding anti-trans narratives that would “sell” to the general public was a constant concern for this crowd, and Shupe says it didn’t much matter if the narratives were based in fact or not. Marchiano, for instance, eagerly watched the spread of the ROGD theory — “[transfeminist writer and researcher Julia] Serano has already written a takedown,” she exulted in one August 2018 email. Shupe suspects Marchiano’s role is larger than the public knows: “Marchiano never explicitly said she is the inventor of ROGD, but the evidence points to her, and she’s listed as a contributor to the [Lisa Littman] study on PLOS One,” she writes to me. “My ‘opinion’ is that Marchiano and the 4thWaveNow folks are behind the ROGD study, and Littman merely fronted it for them to make it appear unbiased.”

Jude Doyle again:

On July 2, Shupe sent Marchiano a link to Jones’ blog post telling her “you’ve upset Zinnia again.” (Shupe had a tendency to send Marchiano news of ROGD, and to attribute the theory to “you” — that is, to Marchiano — whether Marchiano was explicitly named or not. In the communications I’ve reviewed, Marchiano does not reject the attribution.) Marchiano responded by saying that Jones had done something to “make her nervous” — namely, she’d dug up a blog post about ROGD that Marchiano had written under her own name.

Julia Serano:

If all of this is true — that Marchiano ran YCTP and invented ROGD — then it would follow that Marchiano was also likely skepticaltherapist, the supposed parent of a trans child who invented the idea of “transgender social contagion” in the first place.

Julia Serano again:

Also on March 15, 2016, at 6:07am (so very early in the day, likely before the aforementioned YTCP piece is published), skepticaltherapist posts her final comment on 4thwavenow before mysteriously disappearing. In a reply to someone named Starrymessenger, skepticaltherapist says: 'I wanted to mention that this month’s Psychotherapy Networker is focusing on trans youth issues, and the tone of each article is uncritically celebratory — lots of mentions of “courage,” and “bravery.” You may need a subscription or at least an account to comment, but I have so far.'

At the time of this comment, "Lisa" is the *only* person to have posted a comment on this particular Psychotherapy Networker article, as the 2nd comment doesn't appear until later that evening (7:30:15 PM on March 15th; both 4thwavenow & Psychotherapy Networker appear to be based in the U.S., so the should be only a few hours apart, if at all). Therefore, "Lisa" and skepticaltherapist must be the same person.

Did you catch all of that?

This is a fraudulent "diagnosis" explicitly invented by an anti-trans psychologist who at times has used sockpuppets to manipulate online conversations, claimed at times to be the mother of a trans child, or maybe it was her friend who had the trans child, or maybe she just knew somebody who just randomly decided he was a trans boy after going on tumblr. (Boy, does Lisa Marchiano hate Tumblr, lol.)

After inventing this diagnosis and pushing it on a forum for parents who don't like that they have trans kids, Marchiano then approaches a different researcher and uses this other researcher to launder this term, launching it into the verbal stratosphere, while explicitly working with right-wing groups who used this "evidence" to manufacture anti-trans bills. This list of right-wing groups and individuals includes the Alliance Defending Freedom, the "American College of Pediatricians," -- not to be confused with the American Academy of Pediatrics, the legitimate organization, ACPeds is a fringe right-wing group.

They literally made all of this up, this idea that transmasculine people specifically are being "infected" by online sources, and then they laundered it through a shitty study and tried to hide the laundering they did, so that shit like this can happen:

The president of the American Principles Project, a member of the coalition, recently told the New York Times that his group’s goal is to eliminate all transition care, starting with children because that’s “where the consensus is.”

This isn't about protecting children or any bullshit like that, and it's not about this fallacious "disorder" because it doesn't exist -- and they know it doesn't exist. They know it doesn't exist because they were the ones who made it up.

Like... what else is there to say? It's like if I made up Purple Big Toe Disease and claimed that all people taller than 5'10" and born on a Tuesday have Purple Big Toe Disease and should not be able to buy aspirin, because it's G-d's plan that people who have Purple Big Toe Disease should not prevent themselves from feeling the pain that G-d has planned for them, and then I asked someone to write a paper about PBTD and pretend I wasn't the one who made it up so I could point at the paper and be like le gasp, PBTD is the number one problem! We need to stop everyone over 5'10" and born on a Tuesday from being able to buy aspirin! And then some dude in South Dakota starts writing up bills in consultation with a bunch of Evangelical lawyers to deny basic health care to people over 5'10" and born on Tuesdays.

If it sounds fucking ridiculous, it's because it is.

[thestrangepoet]

The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 2/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU 

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.) ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

──── •✧• ────

The weekly Monday team meeting had never inspired much in the way of passion in the past, but then, the topic of Champion the cat had never been raised before.  

“If you’re adamant about it living in the archives, Jon, then my requirement is that it be useful!” Elias repeated, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket and discreetly wiping his eyes. He kept a healthy distance from the Head Archivist and the armful of ginger-and-white fluff he held, but the creature’s shedding fur seemed determined to attack him all the same. 

Jon readjusted the cat in his arms, his stubborn scowl set despite his difficult load. “Champion is useful!” he retorted, earning a loud and happy purr from a delighted Champion. “And he will remain useful in the archives, yes. Not in the tunnels!” 

In the what? Martin thought to himself, snapping out of his happy reverie of Jon complimenting him. Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying quite as much attention to the meeting as he ought to have been. It was difficult when he’d been allowed to sit on one of the comfier chairs, and Jon had been scratching behind his ear the whole time. 

“He’ll not be locked in there.” Elias sniffed and narrowed his eyes at Champion, as though he’d like nothing more than to keep the cat underground at all times. “I’m not that cruel. But I have reason to believe there are rats in the tunnels…or at least one…” A smirk played on his thin, pale lips. “It would be a better use of resources to have the cat flush any out.”

“Of course there are rats in the tunnels! This is London! And the tunnels are underground! You can’t expect Champion to rout out every bloody rodent this side of the Thames!” Jon squeezed Champion a little harder than was comfortable, but Champion didn’t protest. 

Tim, however, spoke up from where he was lounging behind them, his chair rocked back onto two legs. “He’s got a point, Elias. Have you seen Champion chase a laser pointer yet? Honestly, it’s pretty tragic. I don’t think he can see all that well, you know.”

“It’s a cat,” Elias drawled, looking down his nose at Tim. “I’m sure its eyesight is fine. Look, this is not up for debate. Either the cat is put to use in the tunnels during the day, or it goes to a cat sanctuary. Tonight.”

Champion wriggled in Jon’s grip, panic surging. If he ended up in a cat rescue centre, then what? He’d have absolutely zero chance of anyone realising something was wrong – a normal family wouldn’t even know things could be paranormally wrong about their cat! If he was going to have any hope of changing back, he had to stay in the archives!

“Shh, shh, it’s all right, Champion, don’t listen to Elias,” Jon said, petting the wiggling giant in his arms. “We’d never put you in a rescue centre. You could live with me! Or Tim!” “Err, actually Boss, my landlord—” 

“Or Sasha! Or even Rosie! No one’s going to abandon you here, don’t you worry.” 

Champion settled somewhat, if only because his heart began to swell at the very notion of not being abandoned. Joy and sorrow in equal measure – Martin had never been so noticed and cared for before. And yet…he wasn’t Martin, was he? They didn’t care about Martin; they cared about Champion the cat. In fact, Martin’s absence had only been brought up in passing at the meeting to ask if anyone had heard from him, and to agree Tim would swing by his flat again that night. 

“The point stands, Jon.” Elias gathered up his files from the meeting and began to head to the door. “If that bloody cat is here when I next visit, it’ll be thrown out the front door. If you’re going to insist on it being here during working hours, it goes in the tunnels.” 

──── •✧• ────

The trapdoor closed behind them, plunging both Jon and Champion into a moment of gloom. Jon rustled around in his bag for a moment, then something clicked; he’d pulled out a flashlight, and its bright beam pierced the dark ahead of them with ease. 

Champion looked up at Jon, bashing his head lightly against the man’s thin leg. 

Please don’t do this! Don’t leave me down here! I can hide under the desk, o-or under the bookcase, or hell, Tim’s car all day, I don’t mind! Just not down here on my own!

Jon, evidently sensing Martin’s distress, crouched down and petted his head lightly. “Don’t you worry. We’ll be fine. If Elias wants you down here, well…we’ll have to do that. But he never said you had to be alone.” 

The head archivist straightened up then, taking a few tentative steps further into the tunnels. “I-I’ll be here with you. And eventually, Elias will realise this is a grand waste of time. Besides…there’ll be horrible echoes in the statement recordings I do down here. He’ll have to give in.” 

He turned to offer a smile to Champion; yet another Martin had gained this week despite months of trying as a human. Still, the reassurance that wouldn’t be alone down there meant Champion trotted after Jon, keeping close to the light and to his companion.

Jon chuckled. “There we are, see? It’s actually not so bad down here, is it? It was worse a few months ago – full of worms. A-and a worm-woman. But she’s not here anymore. Don’t you worry.” 

Jon led them both to one of the many doors leading off from the main tunnel. He paused, pulling out a piece of chalk from his bag and marking an arrow back the way they’d come. Then, he opened the door. 

He peered inside – by his feet, so too did Champion – checking for any sign of danger. Seeing none, Jon pushed the door further open. “Right! This can be our office, then. You don’t need to be wandering the tunnels, Champion – Elias said nothing about that. Only that you had to be in the tunnels.” 

Jon headed inside, setting his bag down on the ground and then sitting himself down. Champion hurried after him curling up as close to Jon’s leg as possible, shivering a little. A comforting hand came down once again to stroke his fur. “Oh, I know…It’s not as nice as the archives, but hopefully, we won’t have to endure this for too long. Just until Elias gets sick of the echo.” 

He pulled out a tape recorder from his bag, giving it a little wiggle to highlight his point. “He’ll have to cave eventually.”

Champion wasn’t so sure. What was to stop Elias simply demanding Jon return to work in the office and then chucking him down in the tunnels and locking the trapdoor? What if Elias got the locks changed? What if he got stuck down there, lost among the twisting corridors – oh God, what if Michael found him again? 

Champion shivered, lying down flat on his front and putting his paws over his eyes. It didn’t last long, however, before a worried Jon scooped him up, tape recorder and statement forgotten on the floor beside him. 

“Oh, Champion, it’s all right! I’m here!” he said, bringing him up for another cuddle that threatened to smother Jon in fluff. “I know, this place is horrid, isn’t it? It won’t be forever, I promise. A-and maybe I can bring some more things down every day to make it comfortable? I wonder if Martin would mind if we borrowed his emergency jumper stash to make you a little bed in here? We can ask Tim to check with him tonight when—” 

Jon’s reassurances were deftly severed by a loud bang from further up the tunnels that made both of them jump. Champion in particular yeowled and scrambled up from Jon’s arms to wrap around his head, knocking his glasses and latching on like the world’s weirdest woolly hat. 

“Gak! Champion, I can’t see if you do that!” 

Still, Champion wouldn’t let go. He stared at the door to their makeshift office in the tunnels, waiting to see what horror had caused that sound even as Jon’s hands tried to unpeel him from his head. 

The hands stopped as the door to their room began to creak open…

──── •✧• ────

[ihopesocomic]

As a professional writer, I think a big reason Tribble didn't take feedback is because of the "get it done" stage. She's thought about this story and refined it (in her own way) for a long time, so now's the part where they go full steam ahead on making it. Fixing large elements like the Hover rain scene would mean changing the plot and that's something she doesn't want to do anymore. It's a trap many writers fall into and I can't honestly blame her for wanting to finish the thing instead of taking even longer and changing it completely. These changes should have been done earlier in the production

You're missing valuable context. Also you're giving her too much credit. No one forced her to apply for the grant program before the script was tightened up. No one forced her to shoehorn in a romance that was not previously there. No one forced her to write a disabled character. No one forced her to try to get free labor out of fans. And no one forced her to not properly use Toon Boom, again not using advice that would've saved her time and effort. We are not the only people commenting this as our opinions are formed by testaments of people who have worked with her. Any of her problems are entirely self imposed. You all, who are ignoring what we're saying and making excuses for her when you're not bothering to listen nor look into the situation yourself, are not exactly winning us over.

You all are defending someone who cares a whole lot less about MP than you do.

And the proposed scene in question was the least invasive change made as it was still on the storyboard phase and required no additional recorded dialogue. Which is understandable to mistake since you never saw it. But you'll have to take my word for it. - Cat

[ilikekidsshows]

Since we're on the topic of toxic Marinette stans, I once got harrassed for saying that Marinette has the biggest support network I’ve seen in fiction. Marinette stans were so offended by the idea that Marinette having loving parents, caring classmates, a supportive friend group, a self-sacrificing super hero partner, a best friend who’d drop everything for her and a therapist sometimes-boyfriend makes her well-supported instead of the abandoned, lonely heroine they’d been envisioning that they kept insisting it was okay to dogpile me and I was “out of line”, even when other Marinette fans told them they were being assholes.

“But Marinette does not have a good support network because she has to deal with things alone,” they kept insisting, like Marinette wasn't making the active choice to keep everyone lining up to help her out of the loop. Unlike Adrien, she has no reason to think she won't be heard out and no one has ever told her “you already know you're great” as a way to shut her up. All she ever has to do is wobble her lip and a complete stranger is willing to help her break into a house, never mind her actual friends and family. I thought then and I still think now that any perceived lack of support is just Marinette being particularly high maintenance due to her combination of problems. At some point you just gotta start looking for professional help instead of heaping your emotional problems on your boyfriend.

Frankly, I always got the impression from Marinette that she was pretty coddled by her parents. She has so much difficulty with dealing with stress, almost like someone's always dealing with those things for her so that she doesn't have to worry. She has no idea how to pick herself up from failure without someone there to pat her on the back and tell her she's the best person ever, almost like she's used to constant praise. She acts like her problems are more important than anything else that could be happening, like she's used to people making a big deal out of her problems.

Weredad confirms all of this, when we see how overbearing and overprotective Tom is. Marinette is kind of a coddled only child and that shows in how she interacts with people. The fact of the matter is that I used to think this was an obvious character flaw she would grow out of and she'd learn to be more heroic, considering she's supposed to be the main hero of the show. Except now the writers insist she's right to act like this, because it's not just her fictional dad who coddles her, it's her actual creator/dad as well, and now she isn't just coddled, she's outright spoiled.

[jewishgirlrevolt]

More 8x06 thoughts. Still processing

I've been trying to express my feelings about 8x06 on paper, and there's still so much swirling in my head. So apologies if this is too long and ranty.

The GA isn't happy for a lot of reasons. One was that Tommy did fit with the 118, he was friends with Eddie and Chim. Two: they were happy Buck was in a relationship, and it seemed like (at least in season 7) that he was finally off the hamster wheel. And they like Eddie and Buck's friendship and don't want to see them together. After all the BS takes I've seen from you-know-whos, I can't say I disagree at all.

It's like neither Buck nor the writers have learned anything from past love interests. Tommy is the one with the most potential because of how well he fits, and he clearly has a lot of abandonment issues. Hey, so does Buck. That could have been a great point to explore.

I don't think Buck needs to sleep around to explore himself. But I do think Buck never fully processed anything.

It's wild that Buck and Tommy dated for six months and NEVER had any real conversations about exes? Tommy does strike me as the kind of person who keeps people at arm's length, who maybe doesn't say much about his past unless he has to. He could have also held back because he was letting Buck set the pace. I know Tommy isn't a main character. But they could have done so much more with this and with him. Hopefully its not the end.

The show also did nothing to show Buck's growth in a relationship, aside from the fact that he kissed a boy and liked it.

8x01 showed us that Buck was competent, professional, and mature, and stupidly I was hoping that would extend to his relationship too.

I think Buck has to figure out what he wants out of a relationship, I hope we see more of Buck talking to Josh or Hen and then he and Tommy work on making a relationship that's lasting, honest, and full of love (if we're grudging up Abby, we can continue the red string here and make that nod too)

What also bothers me is they took 3 episodes to build Buck and Tommy and show us that they have chemistry and that Tommy shows up for Buck, they had two more moments where it was clear they were getting to know each other and were solid in season 7.

And then it took them 1 episode to tear it all down without ever showing Buck showing up for Tommy. They were supposed to be getting to know each other. But six months in, it's like they didn't even know each other at all... or actually. It's like Buck didn't know Tommy at all.

I find it frustrating that we got to see so little of them, and most of it was Tommy doing things for Buck, showing up for Buck, complementing Buck, and taking care of Buck. A relationship has to be a two-way street. You show up for me, I show up for you.

And I'm glad Tommy showed up for Buck. Buck deserves love. But so does Tommy. Tommy was clearly looking for love, IDk if he was looking for a family or anything long term. Maybe he was dealing with a bad breakup and Buck was adorable, and he thought, maybe this could be a thing for now, but he ended up falling for him, clearly, and panicked. But I think on some level he was looking for someone to show up for him too, even when things got hard. And maybe this is foreshadowing. I hope it is. But I refuse to get my hopes up about it, or about Buck's love life ever again.

[malkaleh]

Kind of got encouraged by @miabicicletta and @onekisstotakewithme and uh, a girl saves boy TWW fic

Danny does remember being shot. He knows that’s the somehow so opposite of a cliche it circles back to cliche cliche but he remembers. It wasn’t like anything but…well, being shot, however you might describe the experience.

But he does know he scoffed at himself for thinking ‘I’ve been shot’ because hello, writer, couldn’t you come up with a better line there than ‘I’ve been shot and I feel cold and kinda numb’

(And then he wishes he could go back to the numbness)

CJ just wants to yell at him. Or argue. Yell argue, perhaps - yell at his stupidly endearing face and argue about how he could have stayed in the fourth row. He could have not left when she’d yelled at him.

He’d always understood her before, the fear and the professionalism and enjoyment of their dynamic but then he’d left and he hadn’t and now she’s crying over him and she can’t afford to be right now, she has work. And work. And spin to manage.

She can’t afford to be falling to her knees over the thought of never seeing Danny’s stupidly endearing face in her life ever again because he was a nimrod and he left and he’ll have the last word.

(And it will be her fault. He was in a war zone and it is her fault and her voice will be steady and her hands won’t tremble and people will judge her for it but they’d judge her for falling to pieces and she’d rather be a bitch helping Danny than a mess not helping Danny).

-

He means it about going back to the numbness. Though the judgement of the utter cliche he seems to have landed in - one of those old school romance novels his two older sisters loved, the ones that can’t have the heroine having sex of her own accord, but she really wants it, everyone understands that. Except he doesn’t and he doesn’t have the bosoms to heave anyway.

(It’s true, it’s funny what you think at times like these. Tori, as ever was so right. Like the fact that his captor is so concerned about him and also apparently ‘right wing terrorist principles’ don’t extend to not eating the foods of those they consider less than, which he shouldn’t be surprised but it’s so stupid and he refuses to let this ruin Chinese food).

And it’s sick, the way he’s almost grateful because he gets painkillers and medical treatment and a shower and they stop, you know torturing him because Terrorist Leader apparently read the same romance novels Lana did or something.

-

He’d left, because he couldn’t take it any more. Oh not that he didn’t, that he doesn’t understand why they couldn’t - especially when it’s CJ who cares so much she hurts herself, CJ who has to be far far more professional than anyone on the Senior Staff, CJ who would die for her people (and do they understand that, Danny thinks sometimes, do they value how much she would bleed herself dry for you all) - no he understands. He gets it. He just couldn’t take it. Being there, so close and so incredibly far.

So he’d taken himself to a war zone - it’s something he had done before and it’s something he knows. He knows the precautions you take in dangerous places.

The ironic thing is, he’d been grabbed and shot from a safe zone, while he was buying a sandwich - not because he was a journalist but because he was an American. He really wishes he could say that no one in power cares. He really does. Maybe they’d let him go then he let himself think, the kind of stupid ass bullshit you think when you’re tied to a radiator and someone will work out eventually that not only is he a journalist, he is friends with actual powerful people.

[the-sweet-hibiscus]

On the Topic of Christina Strain & SaB

So while browsing the hellscape that is Twitter today, the first thing you see in the Shadow & Bone Fandom, is this exchange between Christina Strain (a producer/writer on the show) and a fan.

And I didn't think this would be necessary to say, but this is EXTREMELY unprofessional on the part of Christina.

But I do want to take the time to look and explain WHY from the perspective of someone who is a professional creative by job description. Christina, openly, speaks about her time as a writer on Shadow and Bone. Which is well within her right, as a creative, many times the appeal of following is for behind the scenes takes, more insight into writing decisions, and generally furthering the interest in a show / property after it has concluded. Especially if the conclusion was incomplete and/or canceled before the full story was told.

So here we have a situation.

The Question:

So the question Merel (the fan) asked was about the obvious sidelining of Alina Starkov, our main character. It's not an opinion that Alina was sidelined, it's been observed numerous times, most recently in this collider article talking about / reviewing the blatant reduction of character for Alina.

Merel's question, originally was about S3. Specifically, where was Alina, was there ever a plan for her? Originally, Christina just said, there was nothing written for Alina, and she had a vague idea of a separate storyline.

To which, Merel responded with the wide-spread rumor that Six of Crows, had been rejected by Netflix three times. For reasons not relevant — that rumor isn't true. But she also expressed frustration, as since the announcement of the show's cancelation, Christina specifically has given an overwhelming amount of attention and care to Six of Crows, while not seeming to have any real passion for the Shadow and Bone property or it's characters. Christina's response starts out professional. She clarifies, Six of Crows was not rejected (aka the rumor wasn't true) and that she didn't have control over that decision, which is true.

Where Christina stops being professional, is the other half of her response.

The Response

Here is where so many people take offense, and find issue. Christina, openly shames the Darklina ship. Which isn't inherently bad, no one is forced to like a ship, however. It had NOTHING to do with the question at hand. Just because a fan likes a certain dynamic, of a ship that at one point was canon, and likes to explore that, doesn't mean that they don't know what they're talking about when they're just asking about the future of a character. Merel didn't ask "Oh, how are you going to make this darklina?" She didn't even mention the ship. The only reason Christina even knew about Merel's shipping preference is because she either went on Merel's page or looked at the "Relevant People" column on Twitter for Desktop.

And now we venture into a much worse territory.

Bullying

Let's take a look at the power dynamic in this exchange.

Christina has 9.58K Followers on Twitter. Merel has 114.

Christina is a producer/writer on the show. Merel is a fan.

Christina has a self-appointed responsibility to promote the petition to bring her show back. Merel is a part of the larger community who supported the show. Christina is 42 years old. Merel is 19.

Instead of, ignoring the second response. Or even just clarifying the rumor and moving on, Christina decides that it'd be best to expose this account to harassment from her much larger base. Who responded in kind.

What was the reason? Truly?

Fans are supposed to only engage with a show if it matches how you specifically view it? They can't have questions, or criticisms, or thoughts? Because what was so mean about Merel's statement? What was insulting that Christina had to bring in shit that had nothing to do with the conversation? The rumor accusation? Is that worth getting attacked over? Is that worth attacking over?

The Correct Response

Move on.

No one would have an issue if the conversation ended a tweet earlier. Christina has over 9K followers, anyone could reasonably assume she was simply inundated with responses and couldn't/wouldn't respond further. Her first statement, was fine. To book fans, it may be frustrating, especially if they believed the rumor, but it was still a calm-ish response.

Merel could've been frustrated and that would've been the end of it. Instead, Christina decided her best course of action was to attack a fan, just because she enjoyed the same ship dynamic as people who were rude to her before. Decided to belittle that fan's interest in her show, bc she didn't like the way that fan interacted with them.

It's childish. It's gross. It's lashing out at someone b/c they want to know why the main character wasn't paid attention to in their show.

Anyway, it's clear Christina has a definitive disdain for the darklina fans of Shadow and Bone. It's clear she doesn't respect the people who support her show — unless they just unconditionally praise it. So that's it then. A disappointing end to Shadow and Bone, and an even more disappointing showing of character from the producers/writers.

[secretthegriffin]

A MOST RESTFUL NIGHT

summary: crosshair often fights his exhaustion, but tonight proved to be a little bit more difficult...

pairing: crosshair / fem! jedi ( can be seen as reader as they're unnamed)

A/N : so this is basically an excerpt from a story I'll never finish. I don't usually post what I write but I felt this is special. I also would like to point out I am in no way shape or form a professional writer so I'm sorry if there's mistakes but anyways this is mostly in cross' pov. and its super fluff. with softie and slightly touched starved cross. so no warnings. :)

He sat alone in the darkness of the shuttle. All of his crewmates have been asleep for some time now so the ship was especially quiet. He held his fire-puncher with his supplies, ready to relax and clean the weapon. Most of the time his rifle hardly needed it. Alas he cleaned the damn thing so much though it turned habitual. Often avoiding sleep entirely he would indulge himself with said habit until complete exhaustion. It is so cleaning his rifle, he found himself entirely lost in the activity. He didn't even notice the hesitant figure approaching him from the shadows of the ship.

"How can you see? Its so dang dark" she sighed.

Almost startled, he looked up from the gun speechless. There the jedi stood as breathtaking as ever, standing before him.

"I don't need the light, I can see in the dark". He replied sarcastically.

Avoiding the jedi's sleepy eyes, he took her in. she wore her regular jedi robes, except she had a tightly fitted tank and shorts on as if she threw the robes over her sleep wear.

"figures" she yawned stretching her hands above her to the ceiling. cross was thankful it was dark, she wouldn't see his hawk like eyes devour every inch of her as she stretched. From her pretty face and soft curves down to her beautiful breasts and long smooth legs. Cross would be lying to himself if he said she wasn't attractive. Maker, she was down right the most stunning jedi cross had ever laid his eyes on. He keenly watched as she carefully made her way through the dark to the opposite side of the sofa he sat on. yawning once more she gestured to the rifle.

"Well, go on" she proclaimed.

"What?" He was taken aback a bit to be honest.

"Don't let me stop you from cleaning the damn thing". Gesturing once more to the rifle, but with a smile.

That damn smile. It made cross's heart flutter a bit. She could never know what she does to him. She made him felt things one never thought could exist. He hated it. Hated she made him felt this way. And yet. He hated how much he loved it. oh so much. With heat rising to his face, he smirked. going back to his business. Basking in the warm feel of her watchful eyes as he silently cleaned the weapon. He didn't quite understand why she watched. But he also didn't really care. He loved the idea of being the very object of her interest in this moment.

"Its soothing". She whispered. as if reading his mind.

"Excuse me?" He whispered back.

"The noise. Watching you...its.. Meditating" she hummed, closing her eyes.

"hmm". He didn't really know what to say, she must be especially tired.

"Can I get a better view?" Her bold question surprised cross a bit, making him stop suddenly to directly look at her.

"What do you mean?"

She huffed. her cheeks going pink as she smiled at him again, turning his insides to mush.

"Like this". She lifted his arm off his lap and gently adjusted herself to lay across his lap so her head rested on his thigh, looking at the rifle and his hands.

"Now I can watch closely and comfortably." she said quietly lifting her hands to snuggle between her head and his thigh.

"If I didn't know any better, sweetheart, I'd think you're looking for a different kind of entertainment tonight". He teased with a chuckle. Though he was not so subtly trying to hide the fact he was entirely flustered by the closeness. He couldn't take his eyes off her beautiful face. The warmth of her body on his thighs sent shivering chills through his body. Maker what he wouldn't give to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer to him, into his lap.

she giggled at his response but playfully smacked his leg.

"shut up. now c'mon, I'm trying to meditate." she insisted.

Looking down onto the gorgeous jedi, Cross gladly went back to his rifle, but not without a stupid smug smile on his face.

She watched intently as his skillful fingers cleaned the rifle. His hands were so carefully delicate as he took the weapon apart. She was surprised the mean marksman could care enough about something to treat it so. Watching as if he was an artist, it relaxed her. Sighing as she slowly fell asleep to the soft clanking of the metal.

As soon as Cross noticed she was soundlessly asleep, he thanked the stars for such a moment. His gun long forgotten, Cross silently studied her features and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She looked so gorgeously peaceful and so serene. and so perfect against his lap.

"Mesh'la". He breathed. Gently brushing loose strands of hair from her face. His hands trembled as he ever so lightly with the tips of his fingers traced her face. they ached to reach out and hold her, but he could never let himself do that. After some time she began softly snoring. So with a tired and heavy sigh Cross tucked his arms under her, lifting her to his chest bridal style. He slowly and carefully made his way to her bunk. Softly laying her against the cot. But as he turned to go to his own cot, her hand reached out to his wrist stopping him.

"Do you wanna lay with me?" she whispered. She sounded so tired, and so beautiful. Cross sighed another heavy sigh, he too was tired. hesitating, he slid next to her, not touching her, but sitting awkwardly just next to her. He eyed her as she lazily curled herself next to his side, falling back to sleep. for a moment he thought about going to his own bed. until she reached out in her sleep, wrapping her arm across his chest to snuggle into his side. cross's heart completely stumped. He completely gave into his feeling he was never going to beat, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as close to him as possible. He curled into her, almost melting. Soaking in the warmth of everything her. He felt so undeniably comfortable, he wished the stars this wasn't a cruel dream. As he held her tighter to his chest he succumbed to the drowsiness he'd been avoiding for so long. Loosing another internal battle. Falling oh so deeply into a blissful slumber.

-----the end---- <3

[yourlocaltreesimp]

I honestly find your content AMAZING I mean any time I see you've updated I immediately look to see what it is that you have blessed us with. Tbh you've inspired me to go back into writing and break through my writers block so I've been thinking about several different scenarios and wanted to share even if it ain't the best.

.•♫•♬• 𝒀𝒂𝒏!𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 •♬•♫•.

Imagine the Yan!Chain with a reader that always and I mean ALWAYS wears a medical mask, but nevertheless is sweet and kind to everyone (the masks kinda like the cloth ones that are pure black with the white mouth/ accesory designs on them). They never take it off even to eat or bathe unless they feel comfortable, safe, and trust the people their around which has yet to happen. The chain oh so desperately want to know what their beloved looks like beneath the mask, thinking of the way their cheeks and expressions look like and the way their lips would feel against them.

Masked!Reader that doesn't usually take off their jacket/hoodie for similar reasons and they seem to have a small figure They must be protected, the chain can't risk loosing such a small precious being... but reader knows personally that they aren't as weak as most people see them. The may be small (about 4'10" - 5'3"), but they've lived a wild and dangerous life back in their world and know how to fight like a professional.

Masked!Reader who proves this when all of them are suddenly ambushed and finally gets the chance to prove they can take care of themselves, only to go completely feral the moment one of the boys get hurt...

.•♫•♬• 𝑶𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 •♬•♫•.

You had been traveling with the Chain for quite some time now and had formed a bond with each and every one of them, treating them with the kindness they had wished and craved for after so long. They saw you as a small, sweet angel, their one and only love that HAD to be protected no matter what.

They became incredibly protective when anything they deemed a threat came into view, it was cute and sweet at first but after a while it kinda got a tad bit irritating. You knew that you weren't as weak as they saw you and you wanted to prove that once and for all when the time came. Which was much sooner than you thought.

All of you were traveling through one of the many woods that scattered the land, you being in the center of the group and calmly chatting with the others until a group of monsters attacked out of nowhere. Everyone immediately pulled out their weapons, including you, as they all began to defend from the attacks of the beasts. Some of the boys stayed close to you, defending you from the monsters, which is when you finally saw the opportunity and decided to prove yourself.

You managed to quickly rush past them towards one of the monsters, despite the contradicting shouts from the oothers as you charged into battle. With one swift slice, your short sword sliced through the one of the beast and ended it with ease. All of them watched on in awe before some of them went back to fighting, a few of them stuck in a trance as they watched your elegant and powerful fighting stance.

Unfortunately, due to being a bit distracted by your grace, one of the boys ended up taking a hit from an enemy. You saw the hit and the way the monster seemed to mock the fallen Link and all you could see in that moment was red. A burning rage inside of you suddenly boiled up and spilled over as you let out an almost animalistic growl that could even cause the greatest of heroes to tremble in fear, the look in your eyes like one of an apex predator.

You subconsciously dropped your weapon and charged at the monster as it looked up at you...

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I might continue this if you'd like, but I really love your writings and hope to see more! Make sure to stay hydrated, rested, and eat at least three meals a day! Hope you have a great day/night!

- 𐂂 anon (if that's okay with you)

I- 𐂂 anon this is amazing! Thank you so much and welcome to the crew. I love your writing style sm- ahehejejenwns snsnsnskkakdkwkw

I’m glad i was able to spark some inspiration, and i’ll refill my glass of water just for you <3

[thedemoninme141]

Love Me Leave Me.

This is not my writing id, I don't even write. This story was 3/4th written by my late best friend Celine, this is her id, she wrote all the stories here. She took her own life on August 20th, Her life was complicated and I do not feel comfortable sharing it with you guys, What I can share is what she wanted me to share, Her last wish in her last letter was to finish all her unfinished stories and give you guys all the love, I tried my best giving it the ending she instructed me to do, I am not a professional writer but I tried my best to finish her starting. I hope I did justice to her works.  I had a few errors autosaving this work on tumblr. I don't know much about tumblr so the better version of this story is in her AO3 account , I would recommend reading it there. Here is the link https://archiveofourown.org/works/50014339 Celine's Works are here.

2 months, It has been 2 months since you came out as a lesbian and Wednesday, who tolerated you all year already hates you for it. You never thought someone's sexuality would affect Wednesday so badly that she had unleashed a torrent of hatred you never thought possible from someone who had tolerated your presence all year.

As the truth spilt from your lips to your so-called "trusted" group of friends, the fallout had been swift and merciless. Enid, who had been your last tether to friendship, now wore a pained look in her eyes, brimming with pity and sorrow.

Your friends, once close allies, had turned their backs on you. The very bullies you thought you had escaped, the ones Wednesday had once saved you from, now saw an opportunity. They hurled cruel words at you, shoved you into the girls' restroom, and locked you in there, leaving you to fend for yourself. The sight of creepy-crawly creatures, the same ones that had filled you with dread, now invaded your room. Someone had left behind intentional proof as footprints of a disembodied hand and a pair of boots.  All these horrors could have been reported to Principal Weems, but you refrained. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, and the pain that once cut deep had numbed over time because you found another pain that cut even deeper. You found a solution, to cope with this pain, you found a greater one. A blade was all you needed, you had a collection of them already in these 2 months. Each cut, each red line, became a lifeline to relief from the relentless suffering that now consumed your existence. No one knew, not even "Detective all knowing" Wednesday, of course, you hid them in the bathroom.

The relentless bullying persisted day after day. Katherine and her siren friends, fueled by cruelty, would taunt you mercilessly in the school hallways, their taunts occasionally escalating to physical violence, leaving you sprawled on the unforgiving ground. Strange as it may sound, those physical bruises didn't hurt. What did hurt was when you entered the classroom an unknown disembodied hand dropped a bucket of real human blood on you. The classroom erupted in a chorus of cruel laughter, and even Wednesday had a smug smile on her face. She never smiled, did she? unless she was truly at peace. So yeah, you getting hurt gave her joy. The cuts were deeper that day but you were careful not to cut any vein, You had a collection of jackets now, without them you couldn't go to the classes now. You would love to cut yourself to shreds in front of Wednesday if it gave her joy, cause you loved her, she was the reason you were finally brave enough to come out.

Wednesday despised you, you made her do something she would never do, you made her hurt you. She hated how you were braver than herself to admit your feelings. Falling for someone was never part of her plan, yet you had made it happen. She resented you deeply for that, a resentment that drove her to darker actions. You hated spiders, you used to tell her how creepy they looked. You hated blood, it sent chills down your spine. You hated cuts, your pain tolerance was lower than 0. You hated bees, So she set about crafting a sinister contraption in your bathroom bathtub, a jar brimming with bees, poised to unleash their torment upon you the moment you unwittingly opened it. Her twisted plan was a desperate bid to make you feel the same way she did. That's when her eyes went to a small box, and as always curiosity filled her mind, She took the box carefully and opened it, only to find razor blades, a lot of them, and a small knife. Some of the blades had stains of dry blood on them, the blood on the knife looked recent. Always wearing jackets... Wednesday ran, she ran and ran, she had to find you, wherever you were. I love coffee, just not as bitter as you. Your voice ranged through her head. I really wish I could see you smile Your smile ran through her head. I love planting flowers, the blooming flowers make me happy. Now you wouldn't bloom yourself anymore. No no no, Wednesday didn't mean it, she couldn't know, she never thought you would turn to this way to cope with this pain, she had to find you, She had to find you, no matter where you were. She sprinted through the courtyard, desperately searching for any sign of you. Wednesday spotted Enid engaged in conversation with Ajax. She hurried over to the pair, her desperation evident in her voice.  "Enid, have you seen Y/n anywhere?" Enid's anger flared at the mere mention of your name on her lips. "Why? So that you can hurt her more?" Enid had held her grudge against Wednesday ever since the bullying had begun. "No, I..." Before Wednesday could explain herself, her gaze shifted, catching sight of you entering the school gates, a shopping bag in your hand. Without thinking, she sprinted towards you, her heart pounding. But you backed away as soon as you noticed her approach, and Wednesday couldn't help but notice the profound sadness etched in your eyes – the same eyes she had avoided for the past two painful months. "I need to speak with you," Wednesday implored, her voice trembling with sincerity. "No," you replied firmly, attempting to walk away and put distance between you two. "Please, this is important," Wednesday persisted, her desperation driving her to reach out and grab your arm in a plea for your attention. You walked as fast as you could to your dorm, You can't feel like this anymore, you have to get to your room and cope. Wednesday followed you, determined to talk to you, she can't let you cut any more.  "Y/n please!" She begged. You didn't even look back, She ran in front of you making you finally stop. "What do you want from me?" You asked, tears in your eyes, your voice broken with sorrow. The bag held close to your chest made Wednesday doubt. She looked at the empty hallway to make sure that it was only you and her and then snatched the bag away from you and emptied the contents on the floor, painkillers, sleeping pills and a new sharp knife. All the things that she liked, yet she felt so much dread in her heart. "I am sorry." She whispered, her voice shaking, You hurriedly picked all of them up before anyone could show up. "Show me." She said as you stood up. "Show me what I've done." She said as she tried to grab your hand, "Please don't." You said. "SHOW ME WHAT I'VE DONE." She said gritting her teeth in anger, but not on you, never on you, it was on her own self. She slowly grabbed your hand and took it up to herself, She removed the jacket sleeves slowly to see your arm filled with dozens of cuts, some deeper than they should've been. "Please." You cried now. She let go of your hands as she was frozen in her spot and you ran into your room.

Tears weren't stopping. Maybe another Tears weren't stopping. Maybe another Tears weren't stopping. Maybe another Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. Tears weren't stopping. Maybe a little bit deeper. The tears finally stopped.

Outside your door, Wednesday's voice trembled, the weight of the past 12 hours pressing down upon her. She cleared her throat softly before speaking. "Y/n," she said, the sound echoing through the stillness of the corridor. "I know you're in there." A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she continued, her words tinged with vulnerability.  "I am sorry, for everything." Admitting her own emotions had never been her strong suit, but she realized that acknowledging her mistakes was the first step toward repairing the damage she'd done.  "I understand that some things can't be fixed, but maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to mend what's broken and hold it together." Wednesday's voice wavered as she opened up further, her admission of feelings a rare glimpse into her inner world.  "Y/n, you made me feel things – things I've spent my entire life running from, things I've been terrified of. I never wanted to become like my parents, but now it seems like embracing those emotions might be worth it, especially if it means being with you. I was too blind to see it, too wrapped up in my hatred for love, but I know you feel the same for me. Please, just let me in... Please..." Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her, but she refused to give in to her own weakness. Wednesday's heart ached as she contemplated walking away, but then, a sudden, painful sting in her chest stopped her in her tracks. "Y/n, at least answer me, and I won't bother you anymore," she implored softly. "Y/N," she continued, desperation lacing her words, "Tell me to go away, and I will leave, nevermore, if you ask." But the only response was silence, hanging in the air like an unbreakable barrier. With trembling hands, Wednesday retrieved her lockpick, a skill she had mastered long ago. However, this time was different, her hands shook as she struggled to unlock your door. After a few tense moments, she finally succeeded. What she discovered inside, though, was more than she had braced herself for. There you lay, eyes closed, seemingly at peace on the bed, although only peace was in your expression. The room was stained red, with your blood marking the bed, the floor, and the glinting knife nearby. Even your hands bore the evidence of your anguish, but what struck Wednesday the most was your serene smile. Approaching cautiously to your lying figure, She didn't need to check for a pulse to recognize a lifeless body, but she did it anyway. She wanted to hope and she needed you. But she found none. "I am sorry," she whispered, her voice broken with regret. Her gaze shifted to the heavy sleeping pills on the floor, all still intact. It became clear that you hadn't chosen this method. You chose the painful one, leaving the easy one for her, Good. Enid and the others looked for you and Wednesday, when they found you two, you two were finally each other's, holding each other, your arm on Wednesday's waist, her arm on yours, Wednesday laying on your chest, peacefully, cause she finally found her final home.

Alternate Less Sad Ending Author's note: For Celine, the most heart-warming and accepting person I knew, I would try to write and alternative good ending to this story if you guys want. For her recent readers, Did I do it right to her style? 

[chronicbeans]

Hey, I love your hazbin rewrite and I was wondering, in your rewrite was Baxter at all aware of Nifftys feelings for him when they were alive and just ignored it or was he oblivious?

Sorry this took so long! I've been hyperfixating on other things so hard I haven't been able to write for my rewrite because of writer's block.

In short, yes, he was aware, but thought it best not to engage with the topic! For a long answer involving his thoughts on her, read under the cut! (I promise the TWs may seem wildly unrelated, but I swear they are-)

TW: Mentions of Obsessive and Compulsive Behaviors, Mentions of Anxiety, Mentions of Period Typical Lobotomies (not in depth descriptions of any subjects on the list)

Baxter was well aware of her feelings for him while alive, and while he was never sure whether or not he returned them, it didn't really matter. He was already married, had a child, and was also afraid that him returning her affections would worsen her behavior.

Niffty would often ask Baxter to visit her for dinner at her house and such, and try as she might to hide it, Baxter was well aware of the fact she'd go through the entire house, her appearance, and everything in between to seem perfect for him. While Baxter did think it was sweet, he was also concerned. He may not care for many people in his life, he did and still does care for Niffty due to how she's been a confidant for him during tough times back in their school days. She's actually the only friend from school who kept in touch with him.

It's in part because he could smell the bleach she used to wipe down her home and see how she's organized things in ways he sees as nonsensical, as well as that she'd offhandedly mention things she must've assumed everybody does. After all, he doesn't know why anybody would admit to their odd habits unless they thought everybody else did them. Like redoing her entire face of makeup three times because of small mistakes she made with her eyeliner, or checking the fridge multiple times in case she forgot something in there, or mentioning how she had to check the stove a couple of times to be sure it was off. Sometimes, when she'd stand up to grab him tea or something else, she'd walk across her kitchen tiles in a slightly odd manner, like she was avoiding stepping on certain colored tiles.

As much as Baxter thinks these things are slightly endearing, he isn't dumb enough to not notice that it's distressing for Niffty. He doesn't know if she'd be open to going to a professional, but considering how she'd often talk about her friends getting lobotomies to treat odd behaviors, and how Baxter didn't agree with them at all, he didn't recommend going to a doctor. He didn't want to risk her getting recommended one as treatment, because he knows she'd just agree if she thought it'd make Baxter like her more. He didn't recommend NOT going to a doctor, but instead never brought up the idea of it, and Niffty never brought it up either. She was too focused on Baxter and thought her behaviors were normal, maybe even good, so the idea that it was wrong or harmful for her didn't come up to her.

All this is to say, he did know very well that Niffty loved him. He just pretended he didn't know, because he was afraid Niffty's obsessive and compulsive behaviors would worsen. She's already under so much stress to impress him when he's merely visiting. He cannot imagine how stressed she'd be if he lived with her and felt the need to impress him on the regular. Unfortunately, Baxter never knew that everything she did for the dinners she'd invite him to was also her day to day life regardless of any visitors coming over. He thought that she only acted in such a way because she needed to impress him, or that her behaviors were at least less severe. Because Niffty never went to a therapist, psychologist, or psychiatrist, she was never diagnosed with anything. So, she never properly understood her behaviors while he wasn't there, and the way she described them implied to Baxter that they weren't as bad as they really were. Hence his assumptions that they were toned down.

[answer2jeff]

the fatherhood theory:

my take on lip gallagher finding purpose in parenthood.

First things first, I quickly want to congratulate the writers for beautifully articulating the accuracy of Lip's initial reaction to Freddy's birth.

Tami had an extremely complicated birth that resulted in her requiring surgery. Lip, both as a new father and as a boyfriend, was legitimately terrified. He couldn't decide if he should stay with Tami or their son. His thought process probably included the possibility of the mother of his child suffering, further trailing to the fear of fatherly absence. Naturally, considering Lip's lack of a genuine father figure, contributing anything remotely resembling neglect or failure to accommodate to his son feels like the worst and most unforgivable thing he could ever do.

Secondly, I want to say that although Tami is quite different compared to Lip's other love interests, I think she was relatively realistic at the time. She has drive and compassion, and Lip loves a good sarcastic girl who affectionately ridicules the guy she loves. She's abrasive in a way that is more meant to establish her intelligence rather than actually put others around her down. Tami is also terrible at accepting criticism, but doesn't respond in the explosive anger that Lip does. She's more passive aggressive than, well...aggressive aggressive. Even though it's not quite the healthiest, it's much more flexible than rage.

In short, Lip sees a lot of himself in Tami. But, she's a more put together, determined version of him. She's the star that Lip never really turned out to be, even if she's not absolutely perfect. Their relationship is accurate for the conditions of the show (and Lip's life.) Tami doesn't give Lip a lot of opportunities to self sabotage because she's pretty much dubbed herself the lead of their relationship.

(not ignoring the fact that she said he'd be a shitty father by the way. that crushed my soul and i'll never forgive her but that's besides the point.)

Having to decide to let professionals (doctors and nurses, who he notoriously does not trust (rooted by capitalistic healthcare environments and the need for independence due to his childhood trauma), try their best to help Tami when she was literally blue and unresponsive, was difficult and extremely scary.

However, once Freddy has been properly cleaned and prepared to be held by his father, Lip suddenly finds the answer to so many of his interpersonal questions.

"I seem to have ruined everything I was once good at. Is there anything I won't automatically ruin just because I don't think I deserve it?"

Fatherhood.

"Would I be any better at this than my parents were?"

Yes, with practice.

"Would I be able to break the cycle?"

Yes, with love.

"Is it necessary for me to feel so deeply about the world?

Yes. Even if it's painful.

"And was it ever worth hiding that with anger?"

To some extent, yes. You wanted to protect yourself.

"Am I, deep down, past my inevitable quickness to rage, a good person?"

Yes. You always have been.

In hindsight, his excitement for becoming a dad seems kind of obvious considering his overjoyed and emotional reaction. But I think we can dig deeper beyond this surface level impression. Even if it's genuine and ultimately very good at showing Lip's love for his son. Something that I think really prepared Lip for the complications of parenthood was the time period during his time as a college student taking care of Liam.

He'd been surrounded by family members for his entire life that he did not trust. When Fiona, his beacon of support throughout his whole childhoo despite their complicated sibling relationship, made such a grave mistake that reflected neglect, Lip felt unsafe. Both Frank and Monica were typical offenders of drug and alcohol abuse. And they regularly dabbled in allowing these substance issues to affect their children.

Now there was really nobody in his family he could trust. Lip would have to re-learn how to fend for himself and his family. He's had plenty of experience, but he had a support system. Even if it contained his own siblings who lived the same abusive life as he did. But now that he didn't trust anyone around Liam, he literally had to become his primary caregiver.

"You're the closest thing to a dad we've ever had," said Ian Gallagher.

Becoming Freddy's father was the love that Lip needed in his life. Girlfriends are replaceable. Lip has proven this. But he always believed that once you become a father, you do not have the right to back out. And he'd always hold himself to that standard.

This is your life now. Do it right, or go to hell.

People like Lip need to have people in their lives who unconditionally rely on them. His siblings have chosen many times (and rightfully of course) to handle personal matters without Lip's advice. He hasn't gotten to feel as needed or as important as he deserved to be. Having a child, though unexpected, was the missing piece to the endless puzzle that was his life's purpose.

Lip's desire to be a good father not only stemmed from the failure of his own parents, but the fact that guiding his siblings through life was the one thing that everyone around him that everyone was convinced he couldn't do better than anyone else. (Personally, I think Fiona did a great job as an older sister. I'm more speaking from the perspectives and opinions of his siblings.)

Lip will feel love for himself through Teddy. Once he can finally succeed for the long term, he will find peace.

Not to say that he's automatically perfect, because he's not (and no one else is), but he's ready to take on the challange.

Freddy is the love of Lip's life.

And he always will be.