#I pity that he never got to live a life free of all that toxicity because ‘but we family’.

[lionblaze03-2]

personally I don’t hate gray wing nearly as much as everyone else because he’s a great example of having rose colored glasses just because ‘well, he’s family’, and not realizing until far too late that that essentially ruined his life and made him amount to almost nothing. Because clear sky is his brother, he wants to assume the best of him. Surely, my brother would never. Surely he didn’t mean it like that. Surely he’ll do better next time. He’s my brother. He COULDN’T be a bad guy. So he keeps giving him chances, over and over and over again, until it’s completely destroyed him. Until he can no longer breathe, his lungs full of toxic smoke that clear sky abandoned him to breathe in, until he is under his claws, nearly killed under the moonlight, until his people are battered again and again, until borders become inevitable. But he never, ever realizes, because- it’s his brother. Surely, his brother will do better next time. Surely, he didn’t mean it. Surely, he will change.

And believing that is the death of him.

[cleoluvrr]

high school sweethearts (rafe cameron x reader) - I

these are the requirements, if you think you can be my one true love

WARNINGS: mature content; dark!rafe, dub!con, choking, domestic violence, substance abuse & addiction, controlling behavior, coercion, manipulative behavior, stalking, toxic relationship, attempted suicide ,kook!reader

masterlist

series masterlist

rafe’s head weighed down your chest, tears soaking through your pajama shirt that left your skin feeling sticky from the salty substance. his large body was racked with sobs and while it may have made someone else feel pity for the boy, all you could feel was the uneasiness creeping up your spine.

he’d shown up randomly in the dead of night, the sound of his knock at your window leaving you filled with so much dread that you almost ignored the desperate tapping. the tall man stumbled in like a fawn, leaking blood from his flushed, teary face that left stains all over his shirt. as he came closer, the red scratch left behind from his father’s family ring was clear on his cheekbone, raised and pink from the irritation.

it was the second time that week he’d come over like this. the bruises from the last time had not even healed before being overlapped by fresh ones.

you weren’t sure why rafe and his father got into it so bad, so often; but it had taken a toll on you both mentally and physically for having to deal with the aftermath all on your own. 

after nursing his injuries and having him change into a spare shirt he’d left in your room, all you could do was allow him to cry into you. it was the only thing you had the energy to do, and there were no words you had to say to him to make him feel any better than he did now. 

so, here you sat with your back against the headboard, legs outstretched and weighed down by your boyfriend’s body as he buried his face into you chest to muffle the cries that he couldn’t stop from escaping. sleep was slowly creeping through your body, but you fought it off to pacify your aching lover’s pain.

“it’s okay,.” your voice was soft, the sweet sound vibrating against his ear drums. “you don’t need to cry, i’m right here.”

you continued to speak soothing words to him for what felt like an eternity before he finally began to calm down, his cries steadily reducing to erratic sniffle every few dozen seconds. your arms cradle his upper body as you gently rock side to side in both an effort to calm him and keep yourself awake.

a pair of puffy eyes stared back up at you as rafe pulled his face from its hiding spot. his face was tired, pink, and tear stained, though most of the salty fluid was thoroughly soaked into the tank top stretched across your chest that he used to cry into. you don’t complain about the less than comfortable way it sticks to your skin out of concern that it would only manage to further upset him.

“i’m sorry…” rafe’s voice was quiet and broken as he spoke, the strength of his sobs evident from the damage it left on his voice. 

“don’t be. you have nothing to be sorry for.” your head shakes at him in refusal. nimble fingers graze over his face gently as you wipe away the stray tears that continued to fall. 

“i didn’t mean to come over so late.” the pink of his tongue pokes out to moisten his chapped lips before it retreats. “i didn’t know what to do. i–i just really needed you, y/n.”

“i know, baby, i promise it's okay.” you look down at him with soft eyes, one that you pray display deep affection for the man and not the irritation you felt inching closer to the front. “you can come to me whenever; i always have time for you.”

it wasn’t a lie, exactly. if rafe wanted to see you then he would do it, whether you were busy or not. you had no free time, practically your entire life outside of school was dedicated to your relationship. going to a college on the mainland was completely out of the question, simply because rafe would never let it happen–he already hated the fact that you lived fifteen minutes away. you couldn’t count how many times he’d begged you to live in tannyhill with him, nor could you count how many times you’d said no. living four hours away in a different city where he couldn’t keep a constant eye on you, where you would be around thousands of guys, would never happen–in this lifetime or the next.

you had to go to a university nearby to take classes, one that was close enough to home that so wouldn’t have to leave. you rarely hung out with your friends alone because it offended your boyfriend if you spent too much time with them. ‘are they more important than i am?’ is what he would ask through gritted teeth whenever you made plans with them more than twice a week. 

that’s how much rafe controlled every aspect of your life.

the last time you tried to free yourself of it, rafe promised to kill you. so you’ve learned to accept it for your own safety. even if your entire life revolved around your boyfriend, you’d rather that than having it be taken from you.

“do you want to talk about what happened?” you remained cautious in your inquiry, trying your best to be inoffensive as to prevent triggering him to anger or another crying fit. “it’s the second time this week you came over like this, baby…i’m worried.”

“my dad doesn’t think i deserve you, that’s what happened.” rafe chuckled dryly, head shaking as if he couldn’t believe his father would ever say something like that.

“what?” you brows knit together in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“my dad really likes you, y/n. more than he likes me, probably.” he releases another humorless snort. “he called me a, and i quote, ‘worthless leech of a son.’ he said that you were too good for me and that you would never stay with someone like me if you were as smart as he thought you were.”

you blinked at him as you processed the recounting of events. ward’s words towards rafe should never be uttered from a parent to their child, but he wasn't wrong.

rafe stole money from his father and misused their funds very regularly. he would spend it on drugs, alcohol, vehicles, and whatever else he felt like impulsive spending on–all the while he contributed nothing. it was something that you consistently scolded him for, especially when he would spend his father’s hard earned money on expensive gifts for you.

you would never call rafe worthless, but it would be a lie to say he’s not mooching off his father. however, every rich kid in kildare did the same thing to their parents, and his father definitely never worked to stop the behavior while he was younger.

as for you being too smart to stay with someone like rafe–you can’t say that you agree too much.

“don’t listen to him, rafe. no good father should ever say that to their child.” is what you settled on telling him instead.

“i know, what a piece of shit.” he shook his head, eyes rolling in annoyance as he retold the events of the night. you observed the faint appearance of a smirk on his face, the ghost of a smile barely visible but you couldn’t miss the slight twitch of his lips before he spoke again. “so i told him he’s just mad that my girl actually loves me, while my mom was smart enough to leave his ass.”

“rafe!”

“yeah, he didn’t like that very much.” the eyes that had lowered while he spoke flicked back up to watch yours. “he hit me with that big ass ring on and told me to leave, so i did.”

you tilted your head to the side, lip caught between the whiteness of your teeth.

what he shared was not out of the ordinary for the duo. what was out of the ordinary was the state in which rafe was in just a few minutes ago. typically he would just come over and let you dress his wounds before letting you play with his hair is silence, or listening to him call his father everything but a child of god in a rage-fueled rant. 

“and why were you crying? you can’t just show up like that, rafe…you scared me.” the boy in your arms sat silently for a moment before answering.

“its just…you’re in college now. i’ve made so many plans for our future but what if….you’re not gonna leave me, right?” rafe had worry set deep into his expression as he watched you process the question, his head shaking at you. “he was wrong, you’d never do that. you’re smart enough to know better.”

you were sure he heard you gulp after speaking the last sentence. you knew what he was implying, and he was right. ward was correct in saying that you were intelligent enough to know that staying with rafe was a terrible idea, but you were also smart enough to know that rafe would do anything and everything under the sun before letting you go.

“i’m not going anywhere, baby. don’t listen to him, he just wants to get under your skin.” it nearly made you sick to say it, but what choice did you really have? “i love you so, so much, and going to school isn’t going to change that. i’ve had a plan for my life way before i met you, but that doesn’t mean i don’t wanna make you a part of it. my future is my future, but i can’t see it without you there too.”

you meant what you said. you love rafe so, very deeply, and you would do almost anything to make him happy–within reason. rafe didn’t understand reason; rationality was not his forte. any reasonable person would understand that the waters would be tested once a high school relationship became an adult relationship, but rafe was not reasonable. any normal person knows that plans change as life goes on, but rafe was not normal.

maybe you would marry him one day. you might have his kids, be his trophy wife, and live in tannyhill, happily ever after. you knew that even if you went to college on the mainland, you wouldn’t leave rafe. that you would come back to kildare every chance you got and spend every spare second with him until you had to leave again.

even when he gave you hell, you still loved him with every bone in your body. 

rafe didn’t understand that, though, and that’s what led to your attempt at breaking it off with him. he degraded your lifelong goal, telling you that your relationship was more important that ‘some stupid degree’ could ever be. you supported him through everything, even when you thought it was the most idiotic thing someone could do, so his total disregard for something that you deeply cared for hurt you. 

the only reason rafe even let you go to school was because he’s terrified of losing you. not only physically, but emotionally. sure, he could threaten your life to make you stay and you’d listen out of fear. what he knew, however, is that he would lose you if he took your dream away from you. his leash was tight, but it was long enough to keep you satisfied.

rafe nodded at you in approval, seemingly satisfied enough with your answer to leave it alone.

he never wanted you to go to college in the first place. it was the only thing that you put your foot down on, but if it were up to him, the two of you would be getting married by spring.

he thought it was stupid–why do you need a degree or a job? why work when rafe was there to provide for you once he took over his dad’s company? he fought you long and hard about it for months, but you wouldn’t budge. you needed a safety net–you couldn’t let him take the most important thing in life taken away from you; knowledge. 

for you, knowledge was power. it was the closest thing you had to freedom. you knew that if you had a degree, it would be a safeguard in case things with rafe ever went south. deep down your boyfriend knew that, which is probably why he was so against it in the first place.

rafe knew his father was right, which is why he was in such a severe state of distress. he would never admit to that, however,

“are you just saying that because you’re scared?” your breath hitched at the sudden question and you were sure that you’d been caught.

“no! i mean it, seriously-”

“you’re smart to be scared, honestly.” he chuckled at you darkly, eyes glinting in the dim light of your bedroom. “i couldn’t live without you in my life, i love you too much. just thinking about you ever trying to leave me makes me so–so…sick. i need you more than anything. i would probably have to kill myself if you were gone, because i don’t want to live a life without you in it.”

you remained stoic. 

“and i couldn’t see you with anyone that isn’t me.” he stared at you for a heavy moment after saying it. the two of you both knew what he was hinting at, a look of understanding shared amongst the silence that overtook the room.

“rafe, my love…i don’t think that’s healthy.” the words left you in a soft, inoffensive tone. setting off the unstable man was the last thing you wanted to do. “you shouldn’t say things like that, its not funny..”

he shrugged at you, pushing your arms away from him and sitting upright. your eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his soft lips against yours, body melting into him instinctively. it only lasted for a few seconds before he pulled away abruptly, the feeling of his soft breath mixing with yours leaving you confused. 

the moment doesn’t stay on your mind any longer when he leans back in, lips meeting yours in a fervor. your skin feels flushed, face warm as the tingling feeling sets in from his skin on yours. rafe brought his hand up from its resting place on your thigh and attempts to wrap it around your neck like he usually does, but you pull it away haphazardly, hardly paying it any attention as you descend deeper into the kiss.

your own fingers reach up to play with his hair, a set of manicured nails gently scraping against the nape of his neck. you use it to pull him closer, the sound of lips smacking together filling the otherwise silent room along with your minorly labored breathing.

a warm, calloused hand slowly crawled up your side and landed on your throat once again, each finger slowly working to wrap around your neck in a firm grip. it was much tighter this time, and its grip strengthening faster than you could adjust. you reach up once more to pull it away, but he doesn’t let up.

“stop,” you pull away from him mid-kiss, your hand covering the pale one tightly wound around your neck. he doesn’t flinch at the sound of your demand, eyes low as he observes your increasingly frantic movements.

“what?” he asked.

rafe’s face was expressionless, the slight scrunch in his nose being the only giveaway of his sudden rise to anger. it was the silent rage that scared you, why you so carefully chose your words when speaking to him–because it would lead to moments like this. you weren’t even sure what you said to trigger him, but your rapidly decreasing airflow wouldn’t allow for you to think about it in depth.

“rafe, stop.” you repeat yourself. another hand reaches up to fight against his, nails scratching at the skin as they try to pull him off. the feeling had long passed being uncomfortable, and was encroaching on unbearable. “what’re you doing?” 

“what's wrong, baby…can’t breathe?” your boyfriend’s eyes furrowed with a look of faux concern, but you felt him stop holding back. he allowed the full weight of his strength onto you, biceps flexing as the tips of his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your throat. “huh?”

unable to answer verbally, you hummed quietly as you desperately tugged at him. despite your incessant squirming, that doesn’t deter him from returning his lips to yours. the kiss was sloppy, you were too focused on fighting for what little breath you had to return it fully, but rafe didn’t seem to care.  

he suckled at your bottom lip before nipping it with the sharpness of his teeth. he laved his tongue against yours, all but fucking your mouth the wet muscle. the sound of his soft, dark laughter reached your ears after he heard you whine against him. you were beginning to become lightheaded the longer rafe’s hand compressed your trachea mercilessly. 

he was allowing just enough room for you to not pass out from lack of air, but the finger against your jugular veins was preventing oxygen from reaching your brain.

leaving you with a few sporadic, wet pecks, he pulled away only slightly to observe your less than lively state. his lips were glistening with moisture, and you could feel spit dribbling down your own chin from your inability to swallow the saliva that had been gathering in your mouth. the blond’s face went stoic again and pulled you back to him, lips just barely brushing against yours.

“you see how i just had your life in my hands? how scared you felt knowing that i could’ve just crushed your throat if i wanted to?” the grip over your neck had finally loosened and you did your best to not pant against his face as your breathing steadied itself. 

you remained silent but rafe watched you expectantly, clearly awaiting an actual response and not the stupid, wide-eyed expression you carried. you nodded at him weakly, stray tears sliding down your face as you blinked your eyes clear of them.

“i’m not joking.” he whispered against your parted lips, eyes low and jaw clenching for just a second before speaking again. “i will fuck you up, and i mean that.”

[nightghoul381]

For the writing request, can you perhaps make a reader x William fic? Prompt: hurt and comfort. The reader got reminded of painful memories when she encountered her toxic ex and William noticed it and he comforted her.

Thank you for the request @themiscarnival! William is a very comforting character so I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you enjoy!

Genre: Angst/ Fluff Prompt: Hurt/ Comfort after a run-in with a toxic ex Warnings: Story contains negative self-talk and negative comments toward reader WC: ~1.3k

You know you’re worthless without me right?

I am the only one who thinks you’re worth caring about, do you really want to risk that by making me angry?

Are you trying to humiliate me?

Negative thoughts have been swirling through your head all day, ever since you ran into him. You typically try to avoid going to places that your ex frequents, but you had really wanted to get a special jam to have Ellis try and it was only sold in one shop that you knew of.

He’d seen you before you had noticed him, his approach caught you completely off guard.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” His voice sent shivers down your spine and you felt your stomach drop as he grabbed your chin, turning you to face him the same way he always had.

“Crawling back to me already? I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle life without me. You always were far too stupid for your own good. Let me guess, you’re drowning in debt, living alone in the streets, right? I know I’m right.”

He never let you even get one word in.

“Well too bad for you I have a woman who actually has value. Not much, but certainly more than you ever did. You look awful, what are you trying to chase business away for this poor shop? You do realize that no one actually wants you around right?”

Your jaw was trembling at this point and you were fighting hard to hold back your tears so that he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You swore to yourself you would never let him get to you again, and yet all it took was a few harsh words and your self-esteem plummeted.

After several more disheartening comments, he finally left you alone, but at that point, you were too shaken to finish shopping. You went straight back home, not bothering to respond to Liam or Ellis when they greeted you. If you opened your mouth, you knew nothing but sobs would spill out.

You kept your head down and locked yourself in your room, curling into a ball on your bed and finally letting the tears free.

It had been likely hours since the whole ordeal but you were still just as upset as you had been while it was happening. The sun was beginning to disappear below the horizon and you felt that it was darkly suited to how your own heart felt, all light slipping away, leaving only darkness. It had always been a worry in the back of your mind that no one actually wanted you around; that they were just putting up with you out of pity. But now no matter what you tried to tell yourself, there was no way to convince yourself that you may truly be wanted.

A loud knocking at your door startled you, causing you to bolt upright.

“Could you unlock to door for me, my dear?”  

The sound of your lover’s voice had a lump forming in your throat. You sat there in silence, fresh tears brimming at the thought of having to explain your situation to him.

“If I need to, little robin, I’ll request Victor give me the key.” William warned.

Reluctantly, you rolled to the edge of the bed and weakly made your way to the door, legs trembling and vision blurry, unlocking it before throwing yourself back to the bed.

You had your face buried in a pillow when William entered your room. You heard the sound of the lock clicking on the door behind him. A brief moment passed as you waited for the inevitable question.

“What happened darling?” His voice sounded very close and you could faintly smell the rich, warm scent of leather wreathing around you.

The comfort of that smell urged you to go to him, but your shame commanded that you stay put.

He probably wouldn’t want me to touch him, not really. Your thoughts continue to flow down this turbulent river of despair until you feel William’s hand stroking your hair.

A broken whimper finally escaped you as you tossed aside the pillow and buried your face instead in William’s chest, clinging to him as though he were the only thing keeping you from succumbing to the emotions threatening to pull you under.

You can no longer hold back anything, sobs wracking your body, tears streaming down your face, hands trembling where they clutched at William’s shirt.

He said nothing, tenderly rubbing your back in soothing circles and caressing your hair. The sound of his strong heartbeat and his even breathing soon calmed you enough to lean back, looking up into his crimson eyes.

“My lovely little robin, what happened to make you so upset?” He asks, stroking your cheek with his thumb. His eyebrows are furrowed into a deep frown as you try to string together words to explain why you’re such a mess.

“Um… I was out shopping…” You began, surprising yourself with how raspy your voice was. “I ran into somebody, from before…. We used to date… he said some things that got to me…”

William pressed a light kiss to your forehead as you took a shuddering breath.

“Will you tell me what he said to you?” he whispered, holding your face close to his.

“Umm… just some things he used to say… he was a cruel man.” You managed, lowering your gaze to look at your hands,

“The words of a cruel man hold no value.”

“Just like me,” You whisper miserably, hugging your arms tightly to your chest.

William’s face is soon looking up at you. He had contorted himself to be able to look into your eyes.

“Is that the sort of lie he’s told you? That you have no value?”

Closing your eyes, you gently nod your head, wanting to curl up and disappear.

Soon you feel yourself being lifted into William’s lap, his arms wrapping around you like a cocoon, holding you snugly against his chest.

“I truly hope you can understand just how much value you have through my eyes. Allow me to paint the picture. Your smile is the sun beaming light into my life, your laugh the sweetest melody I’ve ever heard. The way you brush your hair back while you’re reading, the frustrated face you make when you get embarrassed, and the way you greet me with a hug after I return from a mission; all these things are so incredibly precious to me. Each time I get to spend a quiet moment with you in my arms is a priceless treasure. You bring me so much joy and I will be forever grateful that you’ve become a part of my life. Your love is intoxicating, I can’t seem to keep my mind straight without it. You’ve become so integral to my world that there is absolutely nothing I value more than you.”

As he murmurs these words of love in your ear, you can feel the tension slowly unravelling from your body. Once he finishes talking, he continues to hold you tightly, laying his head against your hair and rocking gently. The motion is so soothing, and your body and mind so weary from the day’s events that within minutes, you’ve fallen asleep in his arms.

William smiles to himself, gazing down at you with such affection, he feels as though his heart may burst.

“You truly are the most precious thing to me, my dear robin.” He whispers these last words as he leans back onto the bed to join you in your peaceful slumber, his arms remaining steadfast around your body as he continues to hold you through the night.

[wias-blog]

Some thoughts on houseki no kuni: mainly focused on Welegato/Cairngorm- Enma's toxic relationship and theories on what will happen to Phos

TW!!!: abusive relationship and phos wishing to die

So to start off, I've been checking in on HNKs page here and some of yall really like to argue and threaten others over fiction characters, like please stop and act civil these characters AREN'T REAL. it is not okay to threaten or insult others based on their opinion on fiction.

Okay, now to the story. As someone who has been in an abusive relationship, I see the same resemblance in Welegato's relationship with Enma. Enma acted like a "savior" to Welegato. and to all who say, "He wasn't manipulating Cairn" fail to notice the panels in which he states that he got Cairn away from phos on purpose to make phos a divine being to pray.

It is vague, but it is enough to realize Enma tricked Welegato and all the other gems to stay away from Phos. If you look at other parts of the story, you can see how Enma pushes himself onto Cairn, using their innocence and naivety to his advantage. Cairn/Welegato became a glorified trophy wife. In all honesty, I pity them more than I hate them because they never realized what was going on. They complied to whatever Enma said and wanted because they thought he truly loved them. For example, the scene in which he says Ghost is controlling him through Cairn's eyes. This made Cairn have a full-blown panic attack and shatter. What did Enma do to help them calm down? Nothing, he stood there, putting his plan into action. He did this because when He took out the quartz from Cairns eye, he knew Cairn would see him as someone who saved him from his long gone outer shell. Now to Ghost Quartz, in my opinion, was never abusive towards Cairn. they did the things they saw that were needed to stay in control of their body. Ghost may not have cared about Cairn inside them because they saw them as someone who got in the way of their life. Cairn was very violent, numerous times, we've seen them punch and break Phos out of anger. Even on the moon, they become cruel towards Phos and insult them numerous times. Enma just made Cairn/Welegato more spoiled and violent. That's the main issue. Bad relationships are hard to recognize until you see for yourself what you've become. In this case, Welegato never got to see how bad this was and stayed that way until they turned into nothingness. I'm very sad at this fact because Welegato had so much potential as a character. They have a good back story about identity and becoming something great, but it was washed down to a babied brat who turned their back on someone who needed them most. I think Welegatos' story is a story where the happy ending was never actually happy. They never got to realize who they could actually become, instead becoming controlled by another person.

With all that said and done let's move on to the next topic: Phos

Phos has said in the latest chapter (102, ps. spoilers ahead!!!) that they wish to eradicate their own existence. This can go either of two most likely ways. Phos fails to do this and learns to live with the human inside their inclusions or successes and goes into nothingness. There is a third was this can go, where all the lunarians are brought back or he finds out nothingness is an afterlife where all the others are. (knowing Ichikawa, this will NEVER happen :/). My next question is, how will this happen? Will Adamants brother be able to help Phos or will it not work? Until the next chapter we can only theorize.

that's all. Feel free to comment on what your theories are! - Autie

[visionthefox]

Need to rant a bit more..

So.. Moon will "die", lost his memories, what ever.. Erm who gonna tell him? Lunar is the closer thing to a backup of all his past memories, since the idiot never did one

(I can't get screenshots now, I'm on my phone, but just see some early eps with Lunar, and the fight Lunar had with Sun, he said "I was in his head, I know he feels bad" or something, saying that he nor only know what's on Moon mind, but! but he did say "I have your memories" to Moon too)

I see most ppl feeling sad, but I'm here thinking ".. Motherffffff gets to run away!! He rather reboot his ass than admit he did wrong, stop the pity party, and actually do better!"

Cuz no, his half bake sorry doesn't take away the fact he avoided Sun for many hours, always sush him when Sun wants to talk, that God DAMN "You don't have a Kill Code in you! I have it worse!" comment!!

Also... Why is he letting the kill code the code he wanted to get rid off, the code that caused him trouble FOR YEARS , the code he fighter for all his life.. THE LINE OF Code he really hated.. To live???

Like... Why??? Again, KC only good thing was... Going shopping with Freddy and control himself.. That's it

He killed many ppl, planned to kill Lunar and Sun! Planned to drive Moon insane, break him! And trapped him!

He allowed the twins to murder, when they died he didn't care and use this to make Moon distrust Sun... And.. He gets to stay??

Sorry, did I miss something??

Also.. Why do I feel this is just Moon gets a "free of trouble", so he can have a reboot, or a cheap emotional damage moment, then bring him back..

Sorry if I sound rude, but for me Moon never really learned his lessons, ir else he would have tried harder, I get he's supposed to be "depresso" due to his life going bad to worse but.. He was never alone, ever, he always had support, I know sadness can make it hard to see, but this the dude that one day feels down, and the next bully Sun.. some of his behavior in this year was pretty toxic, but he clearly didn't mean to! He indeed change to be honest, calmer, nicer even! But still a biiit toxic

But again.. Why make him run away and not work on himself?? Why make him forget everything rather than, since he was in his mind, see his whole past, come to terms, he did wrong see why it's wrong, accept it, and then! He gets to change!!

He always tried to run away from his past, rather than accept it, and work with the past knowledge to be his best version!

Look, if the VA actually did this to leave, I don't blame him, bet the stress got to him, and some fans can be really really annoying..

But for the story.. It makes no sense to me, and doesn't look right.. People can be toxic without realizing it, ppl can change it given the chance.... moon had a great chance to be better, kill KC, who cleans to want to do good now, kill it, and come back as someone ready to heal..

[quillandrapier]

Putting my friends of button house au here so I get a kick in my butt to actually write the fanfics for it. Anything in blue might change:

Friends of Button House exists as a way to examine in a modern au who would these people be if they lived today rather than in the past, exploring through interactions between each other how they improve each others lives

Button House under the previous owner Heather existed as a place where the public can learn and use the house to learn about history, enjoy the beautiful grounds or come to events. There were re-enactments, weddings and more! Which unfortunately came to a stop after Heather's health declined really badly in her final years leading the house to decay.

The players:

Fanny (Last name not decided.) : Fanny is the founder of the Button House Historical Society. She was friends with her Late ex-husband's aunt Heather as Heather took pity on her when she first married George. Now divorced and her ex-husband dead, she reaches out to others to help save the historical home from becoming just another hotel and losing its rich history. Former maths teacher.

Pat Butcher: Local scouts leader and Button House Historical Society's Treasurer. Moved down south about 10 years ago when Daley was first born to get him into the best school area and due to being offered a job there. Heather let him use the grounds during summer for outdoor Scouts events. When he saw Fanny's post on Facebook he managed to drum up lots of support. Is a presenter on local pirate radio

The Captain: Ex-Miltary and the offical archivist. He first came to Button House while still working for the military while he was healing from an injury. He was tasked with documenting its years at war and the lives of the people who lived there. Now having had to leave the army he deiced to join the effort to save Button House. Still thinking of a name for him, probably would be Edward Higgins, Edward Darling or something like that. Sorry Richard truthers. Has never actually gone by his name in his life as he tends to get given a nickname day one and never shakes it. Now a pencil pusher at a local army base after being forced out of active duty.

Kitty: Social media Manger for Button House and looks after the offical blog. Kitty is a forensic student taking a year out to herself after realising how toxic her family is and moving away. First came to Button House as a child and fell in love with it due to it being one of the few places she was free to be herself and after making great friends with a sensitive young child glued to the libary. After the society found Alison and Mike, she was invited to live in the house with them as she got back on her feet during her gap year. Thinking the last name Fletcher thanks to @varietysky

Thomas Thorne: Is officially the Libarian, but this just means he sits around reading the books and reviewing (bashing) them on the blog. First came to Button House and deciding then and there he was going to be a poet one day. Helped in the campaign to save the house. Now having graduated with a masters in English literature and daddy's (stolen) money running dry, he is now trying to have his big break. Is trans and named himself after Thomas Chatterton. Also has started therapy to help get over Alison so he doesn't lose the only friends he has left.

Sir Humphrey Bone: Button House offical curator. Married Sophie at Button House in a grand ceremony. Despite that ending in divorce, Humphery liked the house enough to want to save it too. No one knows what he does for work or how he manged to get a knighthood. No one knows he's Robin's cousin. Trans too. Thomas is oblivious.

Robin Hale: All round caretaker of Button House. He seems to have a weirdly broad set of skills and was the grounds keeper when Heather died. Hangs out with the others because he likes them (aw.) Also fixes a bunch of the electrical stuff, and is a talented coder, that's how he makes his actual money. Both he and Humphery look eerlie like their grandfather Bob. They have an Aunt Edith too.

Mary: Button House Videographer. Orignally from a very a small villiage in Wales. Studied film studies at uni. Now runs the local farm shop and bakery with Annie. Joined after being asked to make a film to help drum up publicity in the area after they decided Pat used too many starwipes and windows movie maker wasn't going to cut it. May one day leave to make her dream film in another country. Maybe last name Jones or Owens

Julian Fawcett: Former MP of the contitsuency who publically donated to the society as a way to help his image before being caught up in an accident during sex. It got leaked to the press along with an abuse of expenses and other really shady stuff. Was forced to take the fall for the party despite becoming a rising star in the last few years. Now hangs around the society as no one else associates with him anymore and they take pity on how sad he's become.

Alison and Mike Cooper: Both now own Button House thanks to the Historical society finding Alison and proving her claim to the house. Now helping them build Button House back to its glory days. Mike is nearly always out the house for some reason so the other society members never see him.

Plaguers: Live on a self-sustaining commune on the edge of the property. Is only allowed to stay because of an agreement where they give Heather stuff like fresh bread and eggs in exchange for not getting the authorities involved. Are like Wizards with the old boiler though.

Want to make a fake historical society page for them and everything.

Story ideas:

Thomas: After ending therapy on bad terms, it's Bonfire night and Thomas is sprialing and spends the night about ready to explode.

Kitty: Tired of being always looked over, always ignored, never being respected, Kitty becomes the lead singer in the Button House band: Circus of Contrition.

Fanny: A look back on how the lonely Fanny started the society and fought for it to exist.

Mary: After helping setting up a small cafe in the house for visitors, Mary is kinda conflicted on leaving behind button house and living out her dream.

Alison: Alison reflects on Button House means to her after being interviewed for the local news.

The others I haven't got any concrete ideas at all but will think of, also happy to hear name suggestions.

[chaoticwh0re]

I Can Fix Him

gojo satoru x fem!reader

warnings: really bad smut, mentions of oral (m. receiving), implied cheating, dacryphilia, sub reader, ig manipulation a little, asshole gojo, degradation, (if I missed anything tell me nicely).

notes: this is for Nyx, finally embracing her inner whore, with possibly one of the biggest manwhores out there. This is not fucking proofread or edited in any way, shape or form.

Imagine, you're 'dating' Gojo, and I'm using the term loosely because would you really call sitting by your phone day and night waiting for a text that barely acknowledges you as a person and more as one of the bodies that warm his bed.

You've learned that playing hard to get with him doesn't work. The last time you answered the text to 'come over' too late, he just sent a "👍". When you got to his apartment, what did you see? Just him bouncing some random fucked out person on his cock in the living room, a smug smile on his face as he made eye contact with you, cumming inside them, almost as if he was waiting for you to give his grand finale.

You'd think after pulling a stunt like that, he'd be kicked to the curb, you don't need that kind of toxicity in your life and you bet you told him that. But, all the sobbing and screaming directed towards him just goes straight to his cock and all he can think about is your pretty swollen lips wrapped around his cock. So what happens when he voices this out loud? Like the obedient slut you are, you drop to your knees and crawl over to him, muffled apologies falling from your lips as he uses your mouth over and over until you're discarded on the floor like a used toy.

All is forgiven now.

You're always preaching that you know he's a good person deep down and that he can change, it just needs some time and your love to do so. It's bullshit, he'll never change but you'll never stop trying to fix him, will you? It's truly pathetic, but it also means you're wrapped around his finger without him trying. So who is he to complain when you deliver yourself to his

Testing your limits of how far you'll go for him and just how low you'd sink before realizing you changed for him is his current game he loves playing.

I mean just look at what he does when you take him to your family dinner. Shoving a vibrator in your pussy before you leave home, only to be smiling so brightly and conversing with your family like he isn't playing with the intensity on his phone. Watching you slowly come undone at the table, all flushed and squirming, barely able to keep up with the conversation, until you're tapping his leg, with a small whine. You can't hold out, in fact, you think just getting up from your seat at this point will make you cum.

You're so delirious and focused only on your release you don't even know how you wound up bent over the bathroom sink, watching your fucked out expression as Gojo pounds into you from behind. Drool running down the sides of your mouth, panties stuffed in it barely muffling your pitiful whines and moaning.

"Look at you, you brought me here to meet your family and all you thought about all night was being fucked like the whore you are," He sneers, roughly grabbing your chin to make you face yourself when your head starts to droop. "Oh Satoru, you just need me and my love, I can fix you," He mocked you as his free hand roams down your body, the light touches making you shudder, as his fingers hover over your clit. "Did you ever think I was the one showing you your true self? Look at you, you'd do anything I ask you to if it meant you could get off. Thinking about nothing but my cock all day. Don't think I never heard you when you're playing with yourself late at night, trying to get off on my thighs because I'm sleeping. Moaning like a bitch in heat, but then again that's all you are aren't you?" He laughs wrapping one arm under your knee and lifting you up in the air as the other attacks your clit, rubbing it circles vigorously as he brings you closer to your climax.

Your juices mixed with his precum drip down your thighs, making a mess everywhere as your vision goes blurry. The only thought in your head as you cried into your gag was begging for release, being edged all night is painful and you just want to do nothing but let go now. Almost like he's reading your thoughts, with one final thrust, Satoru releases his seed deep inside you, as your walls clench around his cock body spasming as you squirt all over yourself, body falling limp against his as you pant heavily.

With a small smirk, he pulls out holding you close against him, his cum dripping out down your legs, quickly fixing your dress as best as he could, which really he didn't give much care. Leaving the mess for the next person that occupies the bathroom, he carries you downstairs, saying quick goodbyes that you're not too well so he's going to take you home. Ignoring the eyes staring at both your dishevelled clothes he'll leave, laying you down on the backseat.

The best part is somewhere along the ride home, waking up a little, the same stupid, naive thoughts run through your mind as always.

'He definitely loves me, I can fix him.'

taglist: @kennyb0y @bxnten @spookygeto

[loplainlointhemorning]

Hello! I saw your post on exposingcourtneylove, along with the tags saying how nothing negative was ever said about Kurt, and the further discussion on how it was a mutually toxic relationship. I have wondering if you could elaborate on that? I'm not denying that men can't be victims to abuse, of course--I had an uncle who was in an emotionally abusive relationship, alot like how that blog described.

yeah man ofc, thank you for being so respectful & asking abt a special interest of mine. I think exposingcourtneylove was/is a complete delusional mess bc it’s run by somebody who legitimately used to believe they were dating his ghost in the spirit world & fucking thru astral projection so I kinda pity that entire scene now. aside from shit that can be proved w video clips (such as Court saying slurs & shit) I wouldn’t believe anything u read there, esp not the shit abt like. Frances being forcibly conceived. bc that’s just a disgusting disgrace to how much Kurt wanted & loved that child, but that’s a side rant.

Kurt was really manipulative in his own ways and very dysfunctional. he never matured properly bc of trauma and untreated mental illness so he just never developed a real sense of emotional responsibility or an understanding of adult life, if that makes sense? like at my age he was still living rent free w Tracy Marander & manipulating her out of asking for help by threatening to sleep in his car. His relationship with Tobi Vail failed bc she wasn’t interested in mothering him or being in a monogamous relationship with him (neither of which they’re guilty of anything for!) so without somebody basically acting as his mother he lived in complete disarray and was miserable. when he and court got together she fulfilled all that shit he couldn’t get from his two previous serious relationships.

firstly, she was maternal and sort of a parentified eldest sibling so she was willing to baby and protect him. she would clean up after him, revive him, do drugs with him, defend him, filter his parental relationships for him, and give him at least a parody of the cohesive family life he was convinced he had to have. that is a LOT to expect your wife to do for you, and ofc he reciprocated in his own ways, but it went like? deeper than that? like according to Heavier Than Heaven and Hole’s BTM, Kurt was so needy and so fucked up that it put a strain on their relationship.

examples of that neediness would be: begging Courtney to let him do drugs/manipulating her into using with him, expecting her to help him through all of his breakdowns/not being able to handle them himself, being so insecure that he would rather OD than like. have an adult discussion with his wife about his insecurities & spare his child the loss of her dad. like he overdosed in Rome because he was convinced she was cheating and it affected her so badly that she had a nervous breakdown and her hair started coming out bc the mfer put himself in a COMA rather than talking about it.

if she laid down any ground rules, esp during the last year of their marriage, he would immediately break them. when she asked him not to do drugs in the house, he would just disappear to random hotels and she’d freak out thinking he’d die while using. if she let him do drugs in the house, she’d have to revive him or potentially have him die in front of her. when they did their final intervention to try and save his life, he told her she didn’t have any room to talk because she was just as fucked up as him- a fact that at the time wasn’t true, and it upset her so much that she had to be helped out of the house & out of the intervention. she was dedicated to improving in ways that Kurt wasn’t and she was never, never as badly addicted to specifically heroin as he was.

I think court is abusive, definitely, but specifically to Frances. I don’t think it can be argued that she abused Kurt because while she did pick fights with him & do things that set off his insecurities, he fought back just as hard and he hurt her very very deeply. I don’t think either of them were good to one another but I think they were as good as they could be, if that makes sense? like I think there was true love & soulmate shit going on there, it was just buried under these horrible issues and unhealed traumas. the real victim of Kurt and Courtney’s relationship is Frances, who is basically the quintessential “fix-it baby”, something she’s described herself as before. like idk why we focus on who abused who in an equally codependent & miserable relationship when the kid they had is the one who endured the most damage.

[stopeatingwhales]

particles x damon albarn

the lyrics to this song are genuinely so beautiful, like i honestly cannot describe enough how much i adore this song my goodness

Pairing: present day damon x reader

Warnings: none :D

Word count: 1.881

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

It had been two months since I had last seen him. Two whole months since he had set foot in our home; two whole months since he said goodbye to leave for tour. The home that we shared had began to inhabit a sense of eeriness, some nights the walls began to feel as if they were closing in on me, trapping me from any interaction with the outside world, as if to hold me hostage by my own insanity, although other nights the space felt extremely large, almost too big for one person to be able to waste their nights alone in, encapsulating my mind in a constant conflict of obstructive thoughts, forcing me to overthink every tiny detail that was conveyed on the pale stained walls, the wooden floorboards, the arrangement of the furniture, resulting in many a time of me moving around heavy tables and chairs until the image of the room settled my mind’s anxiety. Allowing distance to get in the lines of mine and Damon’s relationship, it was simply uncanny that I was going to miss him; he was the carcass that kept me sane, the being that granted me peace in myself, ease on my mind to prevent such mania from enrapturing my brain, the person that engulfed me into a stupor of adoration and affection that one could never understand the authentic strength until felt - what some perceive as paramour, true love, something so overstimulating that once separated such thing desperation beguiles you to surround yourself with, only a mere sensation of emptiness is all that is felt inside, as if your limbs are damaged, your insides constantly in a state of sickness that you are convinced you’re in need of some form of professional assistance, but it is simply the alchemy, the poison of the apprehension that captivates you from the estrangement from your significant other. Though that wasn’t to say that wasn’t proud of Damon; I embraced fondness and admiration for everything that he did and was so dedicated in doing, his talent and immense knowledge for the art form that speaks to you demonstrated his ability to move millions of people, uniting as one in concerts, all touched from the same, simple string of melodies, proving his true gift and genius that is inside his brain.

I tried to pry my thoughts away from the excitement that had been seeping into my veins from the fact that he was returning home today, in an attempt to focus my mind on whatever had been showing on the television, but there was no use. To be cradled in his arms was all that I had longed, the thought clouding my brain almost every single night that I had thrown my body onto the linen sheets, trying to wrap my body around the duvet to replicate the specific warmth that had enveloped my body when in his arms, his body completely dominating mine, his hands running through my hair gently, apologising with a kiss on the top of my head when he accidentally pulled too roughly, my face buried in his chest as a blush would suddenly creep onto my cheeks, our embrace fulfilling me with a nest of blooming butterflies in my body, a poignant sensation of nervousness and reverence for the man that had me cooped up in his arms, the same feelings that would embody you whilst walking past your first crush during primary school, accidentally brushing your hands against one another’s, sending your mind into overdrive as if to think that the person was the love of your life. Such emotions never left, and I doubted that they ever would; supposing that is true love, he could make me feel like a little girl squealing over her teenage idol because of how perfect he was, just from being himself.

“I’m home, love,” I heard a voice call out in the hallway, accompanied by the soft slam of the front door, the tone of voice lacing a certain amount of raspiness, perhaps from a cigarette that had just been inhaled. My head instantly turned to the door of the living room, eyes settling upon the sight of Damon, who had a small grin curved on his lips, his gaze captured with joy and desire, perhaps from gratification towards the understanding that the tour had finally ended, as well as the fact that he was able to finally see me once again - my expression equally reciprocating his happiness. Instantly jumping from my seat on the couch, I rushed over to him as I threw my arms around him, resting my ear against his chest, listening to the soft pattern of his heartbeat. As usual, his arms wrapped around my figure, tightly embracing my body, the swarm of butterflies breaking out of their cocoons, my limbs growing weak from the recognisable thrill of affection that I had desired for far too long, and had sadly not received. Feeling his lips grazing against the top of my head made my mind go fuzzy, my cheeks flushing a heat that made me feel as if I was under the beating warmth of the sun during the summer months. This is what he does to me. “How’ve you been darling? I see you’ve rearranged the place, again.” he mumbled into my head of hair, my mind still relishing in the pleasure of being in his arms again.

“I’ve missed you,” I replied, reluctantly pulling my arms away from the embrace, in order to gawk at him. A gentle chuckle rumbled from his throat, though his features accentuated pity, understanding how I must’ve felt being away from him for so long. Lightly taking hold of one of his hands, I dragged his arm, guiding him to the sofa, where both of us sat next to each other. “You were gone for so long!”

“I know love, I’ve missed you so much,” he replied, squeezing my hand in reassurance. “At least I’m not gone for any longer though.” he added, his lips curving slightly as I nodded, a similar grin planted on my lips.

“How was the tour then?” I asked, pulling his arm to wrap it around my shoulders, my body already aching for more attachment to him. “The videos I’ve seen online made it look very good.”

“It was great, honestly. Loved every bit of it.” he replied, the grip on my shoulder tightening as he attempted to haul me closer to him. Humming in agreement, I placed my head on his shoulder, cradling the moment we shared together, the moment that I had imagined and adorned each and every night he was absent, cherishing every single time that he was able to be in my presence. I depended on him greatly, as did he, and though that may be a toxic strand which can only result in turmoil; our appreciation for one another held such poise that it would draw us closer together each and every time we had conjoined together after months of being separated. “I’ve actually got something to show you.” he added, shifting from our hug and slowly stepping to his feet, taking his hand in mine, his soft but coarse palms gripping onto mine ever so slightly, urging me to stand up too. “Come with me.”

Following him closely, we headed towards his studio. I had forgotten the last time that I had set foot in it; usually I would leave Damon to work on his craft alone, since having me prance around messing with all sorts of instruments and controls wasn’t going to provide much assistance. As well as that, sitting in the room, knowing that he was away and would be for many days on, would only make me yearn for his presence more, which is the last of what I would need when not being able to fall asleep. Though whenever he would call me into the room, he would always show me the most beautifully crafted symphony, in which he would perform it so effortlessly, as if it was simply created from the top of his head at that moment. Talent like his was so scarce; it would only prove to me that it’s something you are gifted with at birth, like an extremely high intelligence quotient - he always had ideas running through his mind, melodies that would be formed from a simple tap of the table in front of him. It was a wonder in the fact that he seemingly never got burned out with creating music, it was evidently his passion, and it touched me that he would constantly ask me for my opinion on his music, as it always resonated with him, always held such importance.

When we walked inside the studio, I followed him to the grand piano that was standing by the corner of the room. I kept my body upright, behind him, as he pulled out the black stool underneath, moving it back slightly in order for him to sit on it. “Over the tour, I had some free time, so I wrote this song, it’s called Particles,” he began, his voice quiet, as if it were intertwined with a certain anxiousness about what he was about to perform. “It’s still a work in progress, but I wanted to know what you thought of it.”

As I admired his fingers softly grazing the elegant, pale keys of the piano, the melody that in which played forth me instantaneously sufficed me in a trance, bewilderment encompassing my my mind as I listened to the sounds of the alluring chords echo throughout the room, bounce off the walls, the waves of noise crafting mountainous regions of goosebumps to prickle on the bare skin exposed from my forearms. Sculpted with such elegance and formality, my mouth fell agape as he played with such ease - in that significant moment, I was subdued to his music, hypnotised into his magnificence; I could do nothing, absolutely nothing, except admire the grace that fell from his lips once he started singing. As I allowed my gaze to drift onto his face, I gawked at his demeanour, his eyes almost screwed shut, his face almost frozen in place as his body rocked back and forth to the melody that was omitted from the piano. Every word, every string of lines carried a lugubrious essence to it, a tone laced with such beautification; obvious that there were deeper implications behind said lyrics. Each line that escaped his throat exemplified the nature of what earnest fervour, authentic devotion and expertise can embody. Such melody, paired with his voice embodied with pure ethereality, as if I was being greeted by a herd of the most quaint angels, welcoming my soul into the seven heavens. A beam crawled onto my lips, my heart thumping at a million miles per hour from the amount of love I carried in my body for the man in front of me.

Once the song ended, a moment was held in the atmosphere of mere silence, as if to take in all that was felt, all that had vibrated through the sound waves and blessed my ears. Shifting his body so he could connect eyes with me, a gentle, welcoming smile tugged on his lips. “That’s for you.”

[ofmythsandmadness]

to be called beautiful | d.h.

❛ do you ever miss, having someone around to love you?❜

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

SUMMARY: vigilantes!au. you push the boundaries of your relationship, and ask for a wish you know won't be given back. (or — it's late, and after another night of patrol, loneliness sets in deep.) WARNINGS: slightly nsfw??? mentions to sex, no descriptions. it's not a sexual story, just a part of an inner monologue. WORD COUNT: 2.6k+ NOTES: reposting this in hopes it shows up this time (pls pls pls i'm gonna cry). i've been writing a whole other series that is a totally different writing style, but i've been trying to work out my emotions in small, focused pieces like this one when i can't focus. i might develop this into a small ficlit series of it's own, bc i think it's kinda fun — but we'll see how this goes.

THE BEAST THAT IS YOUR LONELINESS has been your burden for too long to say.

It's hold on you is a familiar ache, one you've felt for years, like a chronic tight tugging on your heart that refuses to give in no matter what you try. But you still refuse to name it for fear of coming to terms with the implications of it all. That you're really alone in this life and you're terrified of what that means and the fact that you can't have what your childhood stories promised would be yours.

Like the fool you are, you cling to the idea that it's just passing notions. You'll get over it one day. The flitting daydreams of a fairytale romance better fit for a vanilla Hallmark flick suck, but one day they won't hurt so bad. You'll numb and find a way to fill the void. And you try, you really do, pushing it down for the quick release of meaningless acts and walks of shames and cold bedsheets.

Sex is a toxic friend. You choose it's pull when your heart aches most and the loneliness begs for your breath to the point where every gasp of air is a privilege, not the bare minimum. It's not what you crave. There's no romance, no love. It's a trade and one that always leaves you feeling robbed of something you're not sure you ever even had.

You rarely remember their names. You know they probably won't remember yours. And why would they? The shudders, the whimpers, the cold moans that amount to nothing but crumbs of a supposedly passionate act only pass an hour, then they're gone. Or you're gone, if you're lonely enough to risk it. A bit of fun, a breath of pink and white and the feeling of someone pulling you closer, begging for your skin against theirs.

And then, it's all grey again. And you're alone at your apartment, washing your body free of the marks some stranger dared to press into your wilting skin, wondering what it would feel like for a lover to kiss you that same way. Running your fingers over every inch that has been caressed by so many faceless guests, trying to hold yourself in the way your foolish heart pounds for. But it's never enough. Your hands don't cup your flesh, don't mould and kiss and promise the carefully knitted lies any lover had dealt you in the past. And you're as cold as ever when they fall back to your sides. Nothing enflames your skin like you wishes it could — like those you wish would.

It's a discontent you live with. Just as you're sure millions of others do. That's what life is; you push yourself through the day, through your mundane day job and your taxing nighttime hobbies (because you sure as hell can't claim what you do as real work if your only pay is in blood and tears). You cling to the good times that happened too long ago to remember clearly, and make the moments that you're alone with your thoughts as small as possible.

But there's no time to consider all that now.

You scrunch your face up as tight as you can, squeezing your eyes shut to the point where you see stars, exploding like confetti in some absurd black void that hides behind your lids. For a moment you hold the pose, watching the stars erupt, until the position hurts too much and you have to release.

Surroundings blur and then clear as your eyes readjust from their disassociation. You stare blearily at the random coffee shop you and your 'associate' chose for the night. It's just as generic as the last five visited, a thousand shades of brown and red and weary smiles the bored baristas wear just for a cheap check that'll barely cover their asses. It's worn and empty; no one's hear except the two of you and the workers who probably hate you for being here so late.

Normally, you would feel like an asshole staying so late. But you can't bring yourself to move, or even suggest to. It's all too heavy. And even if it's in brooding silence, you don't want to leave your partner. Not yet, you beg the universe, just a few more minutes.

And, speaking of—

"What's got you so blue today?"

You blink. Look over to him, only to see him already watching you.

There's really no point lying. He always unravels you too quickly, too easily — it's the detective in him, unravelling anyone and scooping their truths from shivering flesh. Some sort of childhood trauma response he developed into another super power.

You used to hate it. Now...if you concentrate hard enough, his sharp gaze feels like one of a lover's.

"Don't know what you mean," you tell him, foolish and flustered. "I'm just fine."

"Bullshit. You've sighed a dozen times in the last five minutes."

"Tch. No I haven't."

"Did too!"

His teeth glint, white and clashing against the full pink of his lips. You wish you could denounce all the times you wondered what it would feel like to have them graze against your keening skin — but not even all the gods could cleanse of you of those thoughts. Those desperate, pleading, melancholic memories stain; he can't see them, but you do when you look close enough. And you can't escape it, much as you try.

"Seriously, though. What's up with you?"

Your gaze falls down to your hands, eager to escape his allure, though it's not a great distraction. It only makes you more bitter, really, taking in all the flaws that litter your weaponised limbs. They're calloused from a million fights. Your knuckles are scarred, aching from wounds you reopen every other night. A thousand scars from a thousand scrapes, cuts, slashes and grazes linger on once perfect skin. You don't know how many there are, anymore, only that you wish you could wipe them off. Start over, have a clean slate. Erase all your mistakes and be beautiful again.

"I'm just tired," you lie. It's tense and pitiful; you know you've screwed it up the second the words leave your lips. "S'all."

"Ri-i-ight, and I'm the goddamn queen of England."

The absurdity of his retort makes your lips twitch. It's not enough for a smile, your self-inflicted misery makes sure of that, but it's a seed of something. "Wow. Didn't know I was in the presence of royalty."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut it."

"My apologies, your highness."

"Shut up, you little shit," he grumbles, but it's as soft as you get from him. It's practically a cry of love — or your foolish mind paints it as such. You take his teasing insults as promises of adorations and his arguments are poems of lust and infatuation that tug on your heartstrings in ways you know they shouldn't.

You're partners, for crying out loud. Professional coworkers (if you call the bloody mess you two create work). You don't get to miss him, or crave him, or love him like you do.

"Something happen to you?"

You watch his own hands fold and unfold on the table. The long, delicate fingers stand out on a man like him; someone who paints himself in only sharp angles and cutting lines. But you think they match him well. They promise life. Bleed hope, even in the raised scars that lace his skin like your own. You've watched those fingers grip a blade, launch it into flesh, pull and push and dig and rip and take and committed acts of atrocity most people would run from. You know he probably thinks of his hands the same way you do. But you think they're beautiful.

"Nah. It's...it's nothing. Really."

You can't see his face, but you imagine his narrowed eyes and furrowed brows asking for an answer you're just not willing to give. "C'mon, just tell me. Can't be that bad."

Your body laughs. You hear it from some place far away. It's cold and hoarse; you wonder how long it's been since you've heard a genuine laugh from yourself. You wonder if he notices (and wishes he did, foolishly, frivolously...).

It's probably stupid, but you go for it.

"You ever miss having someone?"

Something creaks; his chair, groaning as he shifts his weight. One of his fingers taps against his empty coffee cup; idle music for a restless soul.

"Like, in what way?"

"I..." Your nails dig into your palms. This was a mistake, but one you have to follow through with. He won't accept silence after something like that. "In the cheesy, domestic sorta way? That whole, havin' someone to come home to, someone who you can talk to, someone who..." the words stick like molasses in the back of your throat. Try as you do, they refuse to give themselves to him, so you have to substitute. "Just, someone who likes you, past your body or, or whatever."

"Oh."

"Sorry." It's your turn to shift in your seat, awkwardly searching for something to occupy yourself with as this uncomfortable energy you've created carries on. But your cup's empty, and you don't have the cash to ask for another overpriced latte. "Forget about it. Let's talk about somethin' else, yeah?"

He doesn't answer that. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all for a moment, long enough to make you wonder if you've just crossed the line of no return. You can't bring yourself to look at him, hell your cowardice is painful enough to make you wonder if you should just make a run for it, say au revoir! to the bond you've built with this knife-obsessed robin hood and crush your heart forever.

It's tempting, and you consider it, but then he fills the silence.

"I miss Eudora sometimes."

Finally, your gaze tilts up. Your eyes meet his lips. He's not smiling anymore.

You guys don't talk about exes together. It's a forbidden topic, same as family or childhoods or the number of people that have cut you open and bled you dry for fun. It's too personal, and in this line of work, personal doesn't fly. But you know Eudora Patch, because this line of work requires a couple run ins with people like her, and because your partner in crime has never learned how to stop his emotions from bleeding into his expression.

"Not because I still love her, but y'know..." his fingers wave aimlessly. "It was nice, when it worked. I liked having someone to sleep with. In a non-sexual manner." His lip curls a little. "Guess the sex part was nice too, though."

You nod. "Yeah, I get that. It's...it was nice, having someone who knew you. Who wanted to make you feel good, not just for themselves but 'cause that sort of things matters."

"Mm."

"Y'ever consider pursuing that sort of thing?"

He shakes his head. His adamancy is a truck smashing into your heart — though you know you should have expected no less, it still hurts. "I can't. It never works, with people like us. Y'know?"

"Yeah. Makes sense." You want to say more. You probably should say more — but you doubt he wants to hear your woes about intimacy, and the pathetic ways you crave affection you probably don't deserve. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Hm?"

His brows knot. "Why're you asking? Someone do somethin'?"

"What? No."

"Cause, like, if someone's hurt you, I'll—"

"I'm fine," you promise, and without thinking, you reach across the table to pat his hand. To reassure him like one would a lover. But just before your fingers meet his, the bitter reminder that he's not yours sets in and you draw back. Your hand falls a couple inches from his own. "And I can take care of myself, if I wasn't. Don't worry."

He chuckles mirthlessly. "Y'sure about that? You're still the dumbass that tripped over her own feet twice walking down an empty sidewalk, and—"

"—oh, you are such an asshole, why can't you just—"

"—so if you need someone to cut a bitch, I'm available."

You soften slightly. Try to smile, even if it's a false promise and probably hangs like a broken door on mismatched hinges. "I appreciate that. But I'm okay. Think I'm just tired, and a little lonely."

"What, I'm not good enough for you anymore?"

Bitterness seeps onto your tongue; it speaks before you can shut your lips around it. "You're fine as a partner against crime. But you're not anything otherwise, are you?" It feels like a taunt. You hadn't meant it to be — though, maybe you had.

If he takes your jeer poorly, though, it doesn't show on his face. He's still smiling and watching you, eyes simmering with a joke you wish you were in on.

"It doesn't matter though. Having someone's too complicated, 'specially for fools like us. Sometimes it's just..." you don't have a good answer. Not one he'd want to hear, anyways. "I just miss it sometimes. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to, or eat breakfast with in the mornings."

He nods slowly. "Yeah. Was nice, having another body around."

"Yeah. Ha. I," you stutter out a chuckle. Tug at your lip, nibbling at the cracked skin that comes with your long nights. "No one prepares you for how lonely adulthood is. Like, I'm half tempted to make friends with the takeout guys, just so I have a friend at all."

"We're friends."

"You know what I mean," you mumble, swallowing the bitter 'are we?' that almost makes its way off your tongue. "It was just nice when I had the time, to have a person around. Someone to like, hold hands with, or-or call me beautiful, sometimes. I-I can't remember the last time called me that, any..."

Fuck.

You hadn't meant for that last confession.

He wasn't supposed to hear that. It's too personal, too personal, too fucking personal for someone you don't even know.

Everything trembles; you're shaking like an avalanche, ready to sweep it all away under some snow drift. Never to be seen again. But you can't do that, there's no taking back the way your voice cracked as it reaches it's last word, and how your hand slips into a fist, ready to charge even though there's no punching your way out of this fumble.

You crack. Stumble out of your seat. Before he can talk you're moving, throwing a couple bills (too many for your poor wallet, you'll pay for that later) down and mumbling something about heading home. Your head's spinning and you just want to sit down again, pretend like this never happened and ask about some meaningless moment in a meaningless day that you wish could be yours and his, not just—

"—text me when you're goin' out again," you say, high and nervous. "I'll be around."

You turn.

"You don't have to leave."

"I got work tomorrow. Early."

"Thought you had the day off?"

Fuck, la deuxième acte. "Taking a shift for someone."

"Oh." He doesn't believe you. He would be a fool to. But he agrees anyways. "Okay."

"See ya, Kraken."

He doesn't answer you back. It's probably better that way.

BONUS

Many hours later, you're in bed, finally dozing off. You've rinsed off the filth of the night and resigned yourself to a barely adequate rest alone, too tired to consider what usually makes your mind race. It's been a long day; let future you contemplate all the ways you've screwed up.

Just as you're about to fall asleep, however, there's a small ping! that immediately wakes you up A notification sound reserved for only one person.

You groan but still roll over. Your heart may be a humiliated, burning mess, but it still beats for him, much as you've tried to stifle it.

kraken // 2:36 am. you available at 11p tomorrow?

kraken // 2:37 am. got word somethin going down at east docks, wanna check it out before it gets bad.

Relief is a sweet blessing. You exhale and smile into the darkness. He's still a professional, even if you seem unable to understand what that means.

you // 2:40 am. for sure. meet me at my place whenever and we can prep.

You leave it at that. Whatever he has to say after that, cannot be too important to waste your precious hours of sleep. So you roll over and shut your eyes and let yourself forget about the empty space that fills your place.

It's a decision you regret the next morning, when you wake up and realise what you missed.

kraken // 3:31 am. you ever get lonely for someone, feel free to let me know.

kraken // 3:32 am. might not make a great boyfriend, but i'll eat breakfast with you. so long as you're cooking.

A/N - I had a whole idea for two tired vigilantes (like what Diego does in season one, but partnered up) who both are really lonely and tired of life and all it's shit, and rely on each other more than they'll ever admit, and...I'll probably never write it, but this was a fun bit of that. two lonely emotionally deprived assholes who can't accept that maybe they can be loved and the person who wants to is right in front of them. :)

[papers4me]

Fruits Basket’s Treatment of Abusers:

Fruits Basket is a story that focuses on the abused children more than their abusers. The abusers are only used to explain the trauma & tragic character of those children as a means of writing their growth. It has a message to the viewers of victory against the painful past & living again. While the message of moving on from one’s harsh past is hopeful, it will fall flat if no attention is giving towards the falling status of abusers. You can’t just cleanse yourself of the past without looking at who caused the scars. This post will explore furuba’s treatment of the abusers:

1. Yuki’s mom: (the abuser who was allowed to function in tiny doses~)

Yuki;s mom is a woman of beauty & lust for status & money. She abused her son by neglecting him & turning a blind eye towards his abuse. Without her agreement, yuki wouldn’t have been abused by akito at all. Yuki stood up to her & gently but firmly refused her control over him. Hence, yuki became free. Furuba treated this abuser by giving her a slight room of co-existence in yuki’s life. She was shown shocked at his growth, silent & deciding not to stop him, she was allowed to perform shallow motherly activities. Giving permission on certain things & saying: take care. She isn't completely involved in yuki’s future life but she doesn't need to. She thinks raised a successful boy, even if his success isnt how she pictured, but none the less, his success is part of her as it satisfied her lust for status. Yuki allowed her to co-exist in peace.

2. Akito: ( the abuser with atonement)~

Akito is the abuser that will be allowed to atone & get redemption. Why? cuz akito is not a parent, but a child abused herself. The author uses akito to say, hey~ even if you were a bully, or a bad person, you can still change. Powerful message that does not alienate those who were once in the wrong side of the road. You can stop abusing ppl & ask for forgiveness. ( I have issues with how akito’s change was done but that’s for my eps review, it doesn't contradict that I’m here for the it is not too late to stop wronging ppl & change for the netter message. I love that).

3. Isuzu’s parents: ( the abusers who got away~ )

Physically & emotionally abused their daughter. However, since they weren’t given faces or names, they wont be part of Isuzu’s journey after she’s taken by Kagura’s mom. Isuzu’s next abuse is done by akito. The writer only used them to write isuzu’s initial story & ditched them. Also, since there’re two of them, it cancels writing any confrontation possibility from a writing perspective. They out-number isuzu. Moreover, isuzu’s own role in furuba is a combination of her romantic love with haru & her friendship with tohru. So, Isuzu can have the past behind her if she focused on these two alone. She was shown healing in kazuma’s house with her two fave ppl visiting her: haru & tohru.

4. Akito’s mom: ( the abuser who was mentally unstable~)

Kureno introduced her as a woman who’s mentally unstable, she was easily manipulated by shigure, she held a knife & was allowed to stay in the sohma estate. She abused akito by not loving her & constantly challenging her. She is portrayed as this pathetic mentally & emotionally ill person. A grown woman attached to an empty box is no normal woman. Her demeanor & the way she walks & dressed invites pity just like shigure said. She’s allowed to be as she is, cuz she’s ill in the head. Perhaps punishing her in anyway, might invited unwanted attention of treating mentally ill ppl. So, I dont think anything bad or good will happen to her.

5. Kyo’s biological dad: ( the abuser who MUST be stopped).

Kyo’s bio dad is furuba’s poster picture for abuse. Kyo can be the cat zodiac or have a true form , it wouldn't have destroyed him if his dad didn't actively accuse him of murder. Kyo’s mom is shown as this broken woman who tried & tried to love her son & do her best, but was scared, tried & alone. Ultimately her decision to kill herself in front of her son ruined him, but if the father took another stance than accusing a 4 year old, things would have been different with kyo. I firmly believe that kazuma’s character was created so kyo wont go kill yuki & kill himself as he said he would in his mom’s funeral after his dad’s accusation. Kazuma’s love is powerful but couldn't erase the scars that this dad engraved in his son. Kyo’s dad is the only furuba’s character that is drawn with so much ugliness & hate all the time. Despicable attitude, wide eyes, small pupils, freaky grin, explosive emotions. He is the only parent that is shown with strength & power in all his scenes. Even in front of kazuma, he stood & shouted unafraid of him, uncaring of what he might think, I want “ it” locked till death. Refusing to even humanizing a child. The most despicable man! In kyo’s flashback, kyo’s mom was broken in tears, kyo’s dad wasnt shown fully, but his fists were clenched & he was standing up instead of bending & hugging her. Heck, momiji’s dad loved his son & wife & sought out to preserve both as much as he can. Erase the mom’s memory & exist in his son’s life from time to time, not the best solution but he tried! he really tried! kyo’s dad just wanted DEATH.

I’m an anime only, I duno what will happen next. but I’ve never hated a character as much as this guy. He represents all the disgusting abuser parents! those who drink & hit, those who suck the life out of their kids, those breath hate! I want furuba to win for all those children with such parents & stop this man! you can’t just brush him off. I dont want kyo to hit him, no more blood in kyo’s hands. I want him to be so small/weak & powerless in front of kyo. To watch as kyo becomes free from his toxic grasp on his life! To listen as kyo tell him off! 

All furuba’s lovely messages & powerful stories will crumble down if not a single filthy abuser is stopped & cancelled. The story calls for. No, it demands it. Make kyo’s dad the abuser who is stopped! Show me the face of abuse defeated & helpless. I’ll ask for nothing more.

[alexandriastark76]

How I accidentally Saved The Wizarding World

I stared down at my chemistry book and wondered that just what crime had I committed in my previous life to get such gruesome consequences in the present. I slammed the book shut and went for my phone, because why the hell not, I had earnt it and went through my downloaded fanfic list to scroll for some nice Irondad or Severitus fic. Seems like fates disagreed and the door to my room blasted open, someone yelling, “Bombarda!” behind. I mean, okay dude, that’s cool and all-you being some crazy Potterhead because so am I- but still, why you gotta bring my innocent door in the middle of this? My poor door which was now dead on the floor vanished- seriously!- and two cloaked men appeared. Holy Loki, this was some new level of cosplaying right here. “Excuse me, my door was distinctly innocent in this useless fiasco, messers.” The smoke cleared and then I got a proper look at the cosplayers. Hats off to the makeup artist because they looked exactly like Voldemort and a certain Potions Master.

Now, I can believe that Ralph Fiennes has somehow materialized in my house which sits in one of the busiest states of the Indian Subcontinent, but Alan Rickman could- by no way could be here, because he’s like- uhm- the d-word and I do not like to think about it because he was one of my favourite actors (though Snape could tone down his meanness by a hell of a lot of notches). So yeah, either they were excellent doppelgangers or I had somehow travelled back in time with the non-existent Quantum Passage Travelling Bracelet made by Mr Stark, which, again not possible because I still could not get a hang of the Basics Of Quantum Physics my teacher is teaching me in the class. “As cool as it sounds that Ralph Fiennes and Alan Rickman are standing on the door of my insanely messy room, it somehow doesn’t match the reality in which I live, So, you have five seconds to start explaining whatever the fuck you did or I call my best friend to swear at you in an insanely creative language. Or I’ll probably run.” “Silence!” the not-Voldemort-or-Ralph Fiennes hissed and not-Professor Snape just stared. “You can just use Silencio instead of screaming, right?” not-Voldemort stared again and said, “You should be both scared and honoured for your pitiful life right now.” “I am disappointed in my life that I still am alive with the way I get into accidents, but do go on.” “..you are about to be killed by Lord Voldemort, why are you not covering on your knees and begging to be saved?” “I prefer others on their knees before me, but hey, no kink-shaming here. It’s a free estate. Not sure if that meme works here, but who cares.”

“Keep quiet you insolent insect, or you will suffer the wrath of the Cruciatus Curse.” I looked Voldemort right in his eyes and deadpanned, “I am a Science student who has taken PCMB, in the Indian society. You’ll be surprised with how high my pain tolerance is.”

And then, the noseless prat yelled, pointing his wand- oh right, it actually was a wand- at me, “Crucio!” It felt like someone poking me incessantly and honestly, it was ticklish and also very weird because someone poking you on your arse is never not going to be weird.

When that passed, the noseless prat stared at me as if I was some kind of eighth wonder in the world. Maybe I was, but then, staring is bad. “Woah, is that what you call torture?” I sighed dramatically, “Wait till I tell you about the stigma and the experiences of a desi girl in a stereotypical Indian society. No wonder, you Nazis- er- Death Eaters think that the Cruciatus is the worst kind of torture.” And I launched in a detailed explanation of the Dowry System, Anti-LGBT sentiment and the female infanticide. By the end of the whole ordeal, Severus (we had come on a first-name basis when I was explaining subtle but painful toxic parenting full of manipulation and gaslighting.) had gone to throw up two times and one more since he was in the washroom right now. As for Voldemort, he actually whimpered in the end, handed me his wand in his shaking hands and whispered, “Please stop, even the Cruciatus would be better than this.” “Aye bro told ya. Oh wait, I forgot to tell you about Social Exclusion and Honour Killing in the caste system.” “Stop!” they yelled in sync, Severus albeit louder as he had just emerged from the loo and was in the threat of puking out his entire oesophagus along (again). I giggled and said, “You want me to try the Cruciatus on you?” Tom (I refuse to call him Voldemort, it’s a mouthful and I keep getting the pronunciation wrong.)

But then it hit me that, “...I am a muggle.” Severus shook his head gravely and said, “No, I can feel the magical aura around you.” he paused, eyeing the wand twirling in my hand, whose master was massaging his forehead (who knew that the Darkest Wizard got confused with the acronym ‘LGBT’) and sipping on iced coffee, “Try a spell, a simple levitation charm will do, I suppose, the incantation is-” “WinGARdium LeviOsa, yeah I know.” Instead, I pointed Tom’s wand at him and said, “Finite.” at once, a thin sheen like structure melted and the pale, ghastly, snake-like features bled into the tall, fair and handsome Christian Coulson-version of Lord Voldemort. “Yes!” I crowed, “This is my favourite headcanon! I knew you looked pretty and I knew that this was just a glamour, hah, wait till I post this on Tumblr.” “This was supposed to be my secret,” Tom whispered in a pained voice. I rolled my eyes, “So? Even your Horcrux is supposed to be a secret, but Dumbledore, Regulus Black, even Harry and I know.” It was surprising how flabbergasted an emotionless cretin could look. Well, not an emotionless cretin any longer. It was even more surprising when Tom fucking Riddle knelt down on knee (I mean, don’t get me wrong, I could marry this beautiful faced man in a heartbeat, but then, his megalomaniac dreams and my crazy imagination cannot even travel together in an elevator given how much space each of them would take.) as if he had understood my Domme status and asked, “Would you like to join my ranks of Death Eater, Lady-” “Amelia, but call me Lia, please.” “Lady Lia? As my second-in-command.” “If I get to date (and kick him in the shins for many questionable actions) Draco Malfoy, attend Hogwarts, get a wand, have the freedom to be a nerd and choose any occupation in the world and not go to Azkaban, then yes.” “You have my word, Lady Lia that you will have the full freedom to go to Hogwarts, get a wand, date young Malfoy, choose any occupation and not go to Azkaban. My Death Eaters will provide you full protection and even die trying to save you.” “Done. Professor-” I turned to Severus, “I want my Hogwarts acceptance letter. Better late than never.” He swished his wand and a letter materialised in his hand.

To Ms L Radcliffe,

Second bedroom down the corridor,

Flat B-106,

India, Asia

Dear Ms Radliffe, we are pleased to inform you…

“YAY!” I yelled, temporarily deeming both Sev and Tom bereft of their auditory nerves, “Amelia Miller is going to be sooooo jealous!”

“However,” I turned to the duo with a frown etched on my face and Tom immediately cooed, patting my hair which I batted away, I was no pet animal to pet, “Your Death Eaters are not going to be happy with a mudblood joining their ranks.” The effect was immediate. Severus raised a finger, trying to hypothetically silence me (hah, as if silencing me literally is an option, I’d go down singing along with that unfortunate soul :)) and Tom scowled, “Do not use that word, for you are gem amidst these insects you live with.” I wisely thought to leave out the fact that not even half an hour before, I was one of those insects, but whatever. “Shall we apparate then, my Lord?” Severus asked Tom and I kind of mentally drooled and basked in how smooth that accent sounded. Gotta love and hate the Brits for having that voice, like why? Why not us? “Wait, we are leaving?” I was panicking all of a sudden. If I left, I wouldn't be able to attend my Maths and Chem specialist class and no class meant no knowledge and without the freaking knowledge, I’d get zero in my notes and subject enrichment column, which would lead to poor grades and then I’d fail spectacularly and then, no qualifier exam and then no future, I’d be a peasant oh god- “-Lia?” “Yeah?” “Surely, you did not think that being here would give you enough time to focus on your task to be Lord Voldemort’s most coveted, now, did you?” By Lucifer, they are literally talking of taking me away from his reality and pausing all my pain and torture, well, might as well take this chance to sneak out, because of course, sneaking out is for teenagers and so am I. Who knows, I might even be in the universe where MCU is real. Like, imagine being in the universe where both the Wizarding World and the Marvel Cinematic Universe is living parallelly. I am, not in a million years refusing this course of action. Even then, I asked, you know, like a jerk.

“What am I to gain from that though?”

“Tell me, would you not like to have the power to kill, maim or torture someone painfully to death at your barest command?” Oh well, it did sound appetizing. Perhaps that mean class captain of mine, or I dunno, that rude chemistry teacher in my class, No wait, my 9th grade’s Geography teacher, some Cruciatus would do her good, or maybe a slow Sectumsempra would be nice too but then- “Anyone who dared to harm the Dark Lord’s most coveted, has dared to go against Lord Voldemort himself.” Interesting, but did he really think I was the Dark Lord’s most coveted? “Dark Lord’s most coveted, my, are we going soft Thomas?” And oh sweet Jesus, the Darkest fucking wizard of all time and the audacity to fucking Blush. Am I still conscious or is this some kind of lucid dreaming? “I made you my second-in-command, that automatically marks as you as my most coveted. Your wish is my command.” “Well, okay but hold up-” I went back to my desk, picked up my power bank and charger, my phone, headphone, earphone, a thick diary, my beloved Trimax and threw them in my bunny-themed duffel back (I threw in my Iron Man t-shirt for good measure). Then, I went to my desk, smeared some random answers on the open worksheet, threw in a pencil for the sTuDY feels and kept an eraser nearby. “Yeah, I’m done.” Severus was staring with his eyebrow raised where Tom was just staring fondly at me (I blushed internally).

“What was that?” the head of Slytherin asked. “Oh well, I was procrastinating before you two barged in so when mum comes home, she would at least see that I was studying even though I wasn’t.” “You’d make a good Slytherin,” Tom smirked and ruffled my hair (I am not a cat okay?), “Perhaps we should get her sorted.”

“I do believe we can discuss what would be the best course of action from her on after we apparate, my Lord?” Tom nodded and stretched out his hand, “Shall we?” I cast a last look at my messt\y room and announced to no one in particular, “I’m gonna do a time, space and reality travel without my Dad’s (aka Tony Stark) time travel machine fellas, Stephen Strange better be jealous or imma blow a gasket.” “Here goes nothing,” I say and put my hand on the now not-noseless prat and then I am sucked in-

-and thrown out and so are the contents of my delicate stomach. Pity, the cottage cheese was pretty tasty.

[algumaideia]

The ableism in the Acotar series

I was thinking about all the problematic aspects of the Acotar books, and I realized that they are pretty ableist. I don’t know if someone have already talked about it, but just in case I’ll do it. But before I start, I need to say some things:

1. I haven’t read the series for a while, and I don’t remember some stuff. So, I might write something that is wrong.

2. I’m not disabled myself. This post is based on my research about disabilities and how disabled people are represented in the media. I have a lot of interest in the subject, and I also researched about it because I’m writing a story with several disabled characters. I also did a school project about assistive technologies.

3. English is not my mother language and I’m still learning it. There are gonna be spelling and grammar mistakes. I’m sorry about it, but it is life.

4. I haven’t read the acosf book, so maybe SJM changed the story or some character in this book and therefore my post will be incorrect.

5. Besides the fact that I consider Emerie to be disabled, I won’t talk about her in the post. Because as I said I didn’t read acosf and I think that her appearance in the acofas has the same purpose that the other female Illyrians (since Idk how to write Illyrians this will be write wrong in the entire post, I’m sorry).

6. I forget the name of some characters and I don’t want to search it, so I’ll just give them new names.

Now let’s begin.

I’ll analyze the following characters in this post: Papa Acheron, Lucien, Cassian and Ianthe, the woman from the library and the female Illyrians, the female creature from the forest, the Illyrian soldiers that came back from the war and the girl who couldn’t fly. I think I forgot someone, but patience. In the end of the post I’ll talk about disabilities, ableism and worldbuilding.

I also would like to say that almost all her characters got their disability as a punishment, and the problem with this is that it always links disability with something bad.

Papa Acheron:

As I said Papa Acheron got his disability as a punishment, since he didn’t pay his debts, some people went in this house and broke his leg. I might be wrong, but I think that it didn’t healed well and because of that he has chronic pain. So, to better analyze him I’ll compare him to two other characters with chronic pain, Kaz Brekker and Melissa, one of my main characters.

Papa Acheron became useless after he became disabled. He thought he was useless and by extension Feyre thought it too. I’m not saying that internalized ableism doesn’t exist, but the narrative never calls it out. Feyre accepts this excuse, it is kind of implied that if he weren’t disabled, he would be able to help his family and get money. Now let’s look to Kaz (I haven’t read the second book of the duology, please no spoilers). He accepts his disability, not only that but he uses his cane as one of his symbols. He goes against the idea that a disabled person is stuck with a cane or a wheelchair or whatever. He feels free with his cane. Now, this doesn’t mean that every disabled character needs to feel okay with his disability. My character, Melissa, feels a lot of anger because of her chronic pain. It hurts her, it disrupts her plans, it makes her suffer. However, it didn’t stop her to live her life and she also is not seeking anyone’s pity, which is very different from the Papa Acheron situation. Mel has friends, a social life, she studies, she will have a job, she will date, get married and have children. She doesn’t feel mad because she is disabled, she is also autistic, and she loves that part of herself. What bothers her is that her disability makes her feels a lot of pain. Papa Acheron is just someone to you feel bad and angry about. He doesn’t do anything because he is disabled and believes that this makes his useless and the narrative kind of agrees with him.

Lucien:

Lucien doesn’t have one eye, and that’s what makes him disabled. He became disabled as a punishment for falling in love with a lesser fae and not only that, but he is only without his mechanic/magic eye when he is on his worse. He was without his eye when his family was torturing and banishing him. And then when he was UTM. Again, disability being connected with bad things. Now about his mechanic eye. The first time that Feyre describes his eye she says it is creepy. Which is bad. But also, why it had to be magic and give him the ability to see spells or something like that (this was never brought back btw)? Why can’t he have a normal mechanical eye? Why he needs a mechanical eye? Why does his mechanical eye need to compensate the fact he is disabled? He is as much complete with and without his eye.

Cassin and Ianthe:

I put this two together for one reason, their disabilities were cured. I’ll talk about Cassian first. When they invaded Hybrein (I also don’t know how to write the name of the country) they hurt his wings badly. And considering that to Illyrians the wings are as much a limb as an arm or a leg, he was disabled for a while. (I’m aware that to something be considered a disability it needs to be long lasting. But I think that the fact that it was cured is ableist, if I’m not wrong the text said it was a miracle he was healed.)Then we had Cassian in the floor with his wings all damaged, suffering a lot, what a horrible scene. But don’t worry! The next time he’ll appear completely cured, because being disabled is such a horrible thing and SJM never used deus ex machina to save her characters. So, this injured made him disabled for a while, and it could be interesting. The wings are the Illyrian symbol, the symbol of their toxic masculinity and their sexism. Cassian being disabled because of his wings would make him revalue his culture and his own idea of masculinity and it would be so amazing. But he was cured. I think that this makes Cassian falls in the disabled for one day trope. Just like Ianthe. First the way she became disabled was disgusting. Feyre invading her mind was such a horrible thing to do. I’m not denying that Ianthe is a terrible person/fae but that doesn’t change the fact that it was a horrible scene. I really dislike characters with telepathic powers, because for me their powers are crossing a line. They invade and control someone’s mind. They take off the person free will. They basically turn the person in a robot. If I remember correctly when Feyre made Ianthe broke her hand it was with the purpose to make it useless. And when she appeared again in all her glory she was, surprise, surprise, cured.

The woman from the library and the female Illyrians:

I put they together because their disabilities are used for the same two purposes. The first is that they became disabled as a punishment for being female, and the second it to show how FEMINIST Rhysand is. He isn’t feminist, so all these women suffered for nothing. Again, disability being linked with bad things. The symbol of the female Illyrians suffering is they becoming disabled. NOT GOOD AT ALL. About the woman from the library, she was there to also show how good Feyre is. She is there so we can feel pity of her. She didn’t deserve it.

The female creature who couldn’t see:

My problem with her is that it is implied/said that she has better senses because she is blind. And that’s not how it works?? People just pay more attention in what they hear, touch or smell when they are blind/visually impaired.

The girl who couldn’t fly:

I'm gonna call her Anna. First Anna is like the only character who just have a disability. No trauma, no war, no punishment. She just has. Then she is a great disabled character, right? Wrong. She has inspirational porn written all over her story. She is there to make Feyre feel better about herself and make other abled people/fae feel inspired. She is there so we can say: ohhh poor thing, but at least she overcame her disability and now can fly. So ableist. Anna is also only valued after proving herself useful. That is wrong. Disabled people should be valued because they are people. They don’t need to be amazing in anything to be treated with respect.

The Illyrian soldiers:

My problem with them is how their disability is used to reinforce sexism and make Cassian and Rhysand feel bad. But what about the Illyrian soldiers? How are they feeling? It seems this is not important. They also bother me because of worldbuilding questions.

Disabilities, ableism and worldbuilding:

First, why humans and fae feel the same about disabled people? Feyre has the same opinion the IC have. And the humans and fae were separated for 500 years. This doesn’t make sense. Every court think the same thing about disabled fae? Does something change if the disabled fae is a lesser or a higher fae? It should make a difference. A real world example of how social class affects the way disabled people are treated: the first school for deaf people created only taught children of the nobles.

And why the way people look to disabled fae didn’t change after the war? What about the assistive technology? You know what, it is unrealistic the fact that we don’t have any assistive technology in this world. But this happen in the antient times, how could there be any assistive technology? First, assistive technology is everything that helps a disabled person, a cane, a screen reader, a scooter. Everything can be an assistive technology. Second, assistive technologies exist since the antiente times. One of the oldest prothesis were found in a mummy. There is a painting of Hephaestus using a wheelchair. And considering that this series happens in what was supposed to be the Middle ages, it was supposed to have assistive technologies. Wheelchairs during this time were heavy and the user couldn’t use it by himself, but they existed. There are records of a king using a wheelchair during the middle ages. And I mean with the war something was supposed to change. The first place to blind people in the France was created because 300 soldiers came back from the crusades without their eyes. It was in the century 20 that disabled people started to be more included in the society. And one of the reasons were the soldiers that came back from WW1 and WW2 disabled. Not only that but in war times the technology improves, so a lot of new assistive technologies and materials were created during this time. The first record of guide dogs comes from 1819 in school in Vienna, but it didn’t work. Only after WW1 that guide dogs appeared again. And you know with what purpose? Help veterans that were blind due to the war. Braille was a system used for the French army during battles. Louis Braille only made it simpler. The war should change something.

Why is the world ableist?  The excuse that this is an antient society doesn’t work my friend. The Egypt was a very including country. Blind people could be part of any social class. Dwarfs were part of the society since they had a dwarf god. In antient Japan blind people were expected to be independent. They could work with music, religion, telling stories etc. And the work of telling stories was very important since it made the Japanese tradition to continue. The excuse that this is an antient society is just this, an excuse. Now she could have used to say something. Leigh Bardugo used the ableism of her world to criticize the ableism of our world. I’m doing the same thing with my story. SJM made an ableist world just because.

That was my analysis. I’m sorry this was very long. I know this was a little confusing, but it was very difficult to put all the stuff that was in my mind in text. In my mind everythig made sense, but when I was writing it I realized I wasn’t following a logical argument. If that makes sense. Anyway, thank you for reading it.

If you read the books and realized I wrote something wrong, please tell me. If you are disabled and think I said something offensive, I’d love to hear you. If you are non-disabled and want to comment and give your opinion, feel free. And if you don’t want to comment, don’t do it. You can do whatever you want.

Best regards,

Me.

Ps. This is my first post in Tumblr, so I don’t know if I tagged it right, if you want to help, I would be really grateful.

[theloneliestshipper]

For your prompts, what about a Tarzan/Jane situation? Or a Beauty and the Beast? Bonus if it's flipped!

AO3 Link

“What are you doing?”

“Reading.” Boba Fett kept his eyes on the page, trying to ignore the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood up when she circled him. It was hard to ignore a living shadow, a spectre in black with a red blade in her hand.

She was human, he supposed, or she was once.

Now she was just the Lady. A name that was never spoken without a tinge of fear. She stalked back and forth across the room, swinging her lightsaber restlessly. “Why do you read so much?”

“Because you have more books in this one room than I’ve seen in my entire life.” He was stretched out on a settee, a very comfortable position until she arrived. “And it’s not like I have anything else to do while I’m your prisoner.”

“You chose your fate.”

“You were holding a lightsaber to my father’s throat. That’s not really a choice.”

“He should not have come here! It is forbidden!”

“No one tries to go to Mustafar.” He was still angry about it. Jango made an emergency landing to make repairs and had the unfortunate luck to land in Sith territory. He could have been beheaded for trespassing and he would still be a prisoner if Boba hadn’t tracked him here. The Lady agreed to release him, but only if Boba took his place.

“Could you at least turn off the lightsaber while you’re in here?”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m worried about the books.” He jerked his head towards the floor, littered with scattered papers and wiring from holobooks. “What did they ever do to you?”

“They’re stupid,” she hissed. “Foolish scribblings.”

“Then don’t look at them.” He stubbornly fixed his attention on the pages in front of him, but the words might as well have been backwards and upside down. “I don’t understand why you would keep a fully stocked library and then destroy the books.”

Or for that matter why she would keep a bounty hunter prisoner and then follow him around while he did nothing.

For the first few weeks he was on edge, waiting for some trap to spring. When she insisted that he eat meals with her (“eat with me or not at all”), he expected at the very least to be poisoned or forced to eat live lava slugs. But the food wasn’t bad for droid-made fare. It wasn’t as good as his dad’s cooking but it wasn’t toxic.

The hardest part was watching the Lady eat as if she was raised by a feral nexu. Her long, tangled hair frequently dragged through her food, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. She ignored her utensils and chugged wine straight from the bottle. The golden protocol droid who served their meals made a distressed noise from time to time but seemed to have given up trying to impart manners.

Other than meals, Boba was given free reign of the castle and grounds. He had his own room and bed, and his captor made few demands. Maybe it should have been enough, but boredom made him bold. He let the book fall open on his chest and turned his head towards the pacing Sith. “Why did you agree to let me take my father’s place?”

She adjusted her route, drifting towards the arm of the settee where his boots were resting. Boba tensed a little, but her lightsaber blade extinguished and the hilt vanished into her dark robes. She climbed up on the arm, perched like a carrion bird ready to swoop down on its prey. “I wanted to know what would make someone stay here.” Slender fingers touched the toe of his left boot. “No one ever stays.”

What he felt wasn’t exactly pity, but it was something . “So why not leave?”

“Leave?” There was a weird tension in the air when she spoke, but everything about this dark castle was weird. “I can’t.”

“Who would stop you? The droids?”

“No. It’s not safe. Father said so. Here we are powerful. Here we are safe. When the time is right, I will take my place at his side.”

“And where is he now?”

“I don’t know. It’s been…” Her voice trailed off and her shoulders hunched. “He will return. When the time is right.”

“Hm.” Boba dropped his feet to the floor, making space on the settee. “Sit and I’ll read to you.”

Sharp eyes fixed on him, but she didn’t respond.

He gestured at the cushions. “Sit on the part that’s made for sitting.”

She slid down with a sulky look but she was listening to him. That meant he had something she wanted. It was a start, anyway. Boba picked up the book again and cleared his throat.

“I can read ,” she said abruptly. “I have been educated according to my status. The words don’t always make sense to me. The places. The things.”

She was curled up in the corner of the settee, her knees under his chin. Boba had never been this close to her before. She was human. Probably in her mid-twenties. Black paint circled her eyes and streaked down her cheeks.

Boba had done the same thing once with a child’s paint set when he was four or five. He had painted a vizor on his face to look like his father’s helmet.

He wondered who the Lady was trying to mimic.

“I’ll explain them to you,” he said. “The words and the things. ‘In the courtyard there was a blanket of snow-’”

“Have you seen a blanket of snow before?”

“Yes. Snow is cold and white. It covers the ground like a blanket. It’s not a real blanket.”

“I know that,” she snarled unconvincingly.

“‘She scattered bread crumbs for the birds who-’”

“I’ve seen you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Feed the lizard-crows. With the bread you steal at dinner. Why do you do that?”

He heaved a sigh. “Because I’m a prisoner and I don’t know when you might decide to stop feeding me.”

“No. I mean, why feed them?”

“I like doing it.” It was hard to keep the annoyance out of his tone. “Why did you watch me?”

“They like you.” She turned her head away. “I tried to feed them once. They flew away every time I got close.”

“Do you want me to teach you?”

That got him a quick, suspicious look. “What can a bounty hunter teach a Sith?”

“A little subtlety, maybe. It’s always easier if you can make your target come to you.” He stood, placing the book safely on a shelf. “Come on. Do you really want to keep following me around and watching me, or do you want to do some things together?” He held out his hand, pushing into the back of his mind the thought of her red saber.

She took his hand instead and allowed herself to be pulled up from the settee and then guided out to the terrace.

Boba had mostly stopped hoarding bread for himself. He kept a few dry crusts in his pocket for the lizard-crows and he took one out now and crushed it in his fist. “You have to stand very still,” he told the Lady, turning her hand palm up. He filled the center with crumbs and scattered the rest on the obsidian tiles.

It was a dinner bell. The crows fluttered in on black wings and surrounded them, their long tongues snapping out in the blink of an eye to collect a crumb. The Lady took a step towards one, her hand outstretched, and the crow fluttered back with a hiss.

“No.” Boba put himself behind her, with his hand under hers. “Let them come to you.”

“They won’t!”

“Yes they will. You have food.” There was a smaller crow watching them, it’s tongue teasing the air. “Just be still. Breathe.”

She shivered a little bit. They were standing so close he could feel it. He focused on his own breathing, on keeping his hand steady beneath hers. She relaxed a little.

The small crow fluttered closer.

“Shhhh.” Boba cautioned her when she tensed. “Wait.”

It landed on Boba’s thumb, judging it to be the best perch. The tongue darted out, licking the crumbs from the Lady’s palm and she stifled what sounded like a giggle. The crow fluttered a bit but went in for more, and the once sound the Lady made this time was a soft gasp, barely above a whisper.

She turned her head to look up at Boba, and the movement chased off the crow but he hardly noticed. Her lips were parted and she was smiling at him. “You were right,” she said, without pride or defense. “It works.”

“I think you’ve got it.” Boba dropped his hand and took a step back. His pulse was quick and he was in danger of forgetting who this woman was. She was pretty and warm and she wanted a vermin bird to like her.

And she was a prisoner here too, even if she couldn’t see it. Maybe that was the key to his escape.

[padawanlost]

Hi, I dont read alot (of books) but I was just wondering, did Anakin/vader ever see people he helped/freed (during his time as a jedi) being oppressed by the empire. Did he feel pity or sorrow for them? Or had he totally unplugged from those emotions at that point ?

No. Anakin was to broken to feel sorry for anyone but himself. People have this idea of Vader being a sadistic monster who thrived on the suffering he caused but the truth is he was too lethargic to care. He didn’t stay with Palpatine out enjoyment or even loyalty. He stayed because he had nowhere else go, no one else to be with.

You killed her because, finally, when you could have saved her, when you could have gone away with her, when you could have been thinking about her, you were thinking about yourself … It is in this blazing moment that you finally understand the trap of the dark side, the final cruelty of the Sith— Because now your self is all you will ever have. And you rage and scream and reach through the Force to crush the *shadow* who has destroyed you, but you are so far less now than what you were, you are more than half machine, you are like a painter gone blind, a composer gone deaf, you can remember where the power was but the power you can touch is only a memory, and so with all your world-destroying fury it is only droids around you that implode, and equipment, and the table on which you were strapped shatters, and in the end, you cannot touch the shadow. In the end, you do not even want to. In the end, the shadow is all you have left. Because the shadow understands you, the shadow forgives you, the shadow gathers you unto itself— And within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame. This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker. Forever … [Matthew Stover. Revenge of the Sith]

What Vader appeared to be  - no fucks given BAMF – were very different from what he truly was: Palpatine’s slave. Vader, once you get to know him, is not a scary monster. He’s a quite pathetic and hopeless man.

He wasn’t a sadistic control freak like Palpatine and he didn’t *enjoy* hurting people he didn’t feel deserve to be hurt but he was too damaged and broken to do anything about it. he kind of just went with it.

In one of the comics, he has to face the truth that the Empire is enslaving people and he is upset about it. but he does nothing because there's nothing left in him. for him to pity them, he’d have to empathize with them and that’s something he couldn’t afford to do. He was too trapped in his own private little hell to feel bad for people.

Again the smile or snarl from his Master. “You were a traitor, were you not, Lord Vader?” Vader’s breathing caught on the hook of sudden anger. “What did you say?”

 “To the Jedi. To Padmé. To Obi-Wan. To all those you loved.” His Master turned to look at him, his eyes reflecting the flames. 

Vader didn’t know the answer his Master wanted to hear, so he simply answered with the truth. “Yes.” [Paul S. Kemp. Lords of the Sith]

If he couldn’t even care enough to defend himself from his master abusive behavior, I doubt he’d ever care enough to pity a stranger.

When it comes to Vader’s apathetic, one of the best examples I can think of is his ‘relationship’ with Drua. In one of the books, Vader and Palpatine are stranded. They run into a girl and Vader saves her life:

“Come here, girl,” the Emperor said, putting the power of the Force into his command. Unable to resist, the girl walked out of the tree line until she stood, small and vulnerable, before him. With preternatural speed the Emperor drew, ignited, and slashed at the girl with his lightsaber, but Vader had sensed his Master’s intent and moved with greater speed, igniting his own blade and intercepting his Master’s blow before it could land. The girl, under the sway of the Emperor’s power, seemed scarcely to notice the danger. She simply stood there, staring vacantly, her face aglow in the red light of the crossed blades. The Emperor’s mouth twisted in a snarl, and Vader felt his power gathering. Behind Vader, Deez raised his rifle and aimed it at Vader’s back, but Vader stretched his free hand back and unleashed a blast of power that lifted the guardsman from his feet and flung him into the trees. Branches cracked audibly under the impact of Deez’s body. Vader and his Master stared at each other across the sizzling glow of their crossed blades. “Has it come to this?” his Master said. He sounded calm, almost resigned, but not at all surprised. The tone surprised Vader. “Forgive me, Master,” he said, and deactivated his blade. “I think the girl can be of use to us.” [Paul S. Kemp. Lords of the Sith]

The girl, Drua, takes them to very home and does everything she can to help them. After everything was said and done, Palpatine orders Vader to kill her and everyone in her village. And Vader does it. Not because he wants it. but because he’s too apathetic to care. Too trapped in his toxic relationship with Palpatine to see things for what they really were.

“There’s work for that yet, my friend,” the Emperor said, nodding at the hilt of Vader’s blade.

 “Master?”

 “The villagers, Lord Vader. Drua and her people. We can’t allow so many witnesses to live. I’ll wait for you here.” 

Vader looked from his Master to the dark mouth of the mine inside of which Drua and the rest of the villagers had fled. He felt the Emperor’s eyes on him, the intensity of the gaze, the weight of his expectations, and Vader knew that the day’s events had been only half about depleting a rebel movement before it could grow. They had also, as Vader had suspected, been about testing him, forcing him to face the ghosts of his past and exorcise them forever and fully. He saw that more clearly now; saw, too, that his Master was right to administer the test. It also explained why his Master had shown so little of his true power throughout the day. Perhaps he’d wanted Vader to rely on himself to overcome the challenges they’d faced. Or perhaps he’d wanted to seem weaker than he was, to draw out any treacherous ambitions Vader may have held. “I hear and I obey, Master,” Vader said. He ignited his lightsaber and strode toward the cave, his mind drifting back to another day, a day when he strode into the Jedi Temple filled with nothing but younglings. He’d slaughtered them then, and he would slaughter the Twi’leks now. His Master’s laughter followed him into the cave, and it lingered in his mind, louder even than the screams of the Twi’leks as they began to die by his blade. When it was done, he returned to his Master’s side. “Well done, old friend,” Darth Sidious said. He wiped his hands, as if to clean them of dirt. “And now let’s move on to more important things.” [Paul S. Kemp. Lords of the Sith]

The only time Vader cared enough to influence his behavior was with Luke. All the other times, there were a glimpse of something – of the old Anakin – like when he saw C3PO or even Ahsoka. But not enough for him empathize with people.

Qui-Gon had a interesting theory about this. He believed Anakin – to survive – had to bury that side of him so Vader could exist. An Anakin who cares cannot be Vader. He buried all the good things about Anakin.

“Master, is Darth Vader Anakin?”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon’s voice replied. “Although the Anakin you and I knew is imprisoned by the dark side. […]The core of Anakin that resides in Vader grasps that Tatooine is the source of nearly everything that causes him pain. Vader will never set foot on Tatooine, if only out of fear of reawakening Anakin.” [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

As terrible as life as Vader is, facing Anakin Skywalker’s decisions and living with them would be much, much harder. That’s why only when Luke demonstrated his unconditional love that Anakin allowed himself to reemerge.

Vader saw his son crying, and knew it must have been at the horror of the face the boy beheld. It intensified, momentarily, Vader’s own sense of anguish—to his crimes, now, he added guilt at the imagined repugnance of his appearance. But then this brought him to mind of the way he used to look—striking, and grand, with a wry tilt to his brow that hinted of invincibility and took in all of life with a wink. Yes, that was how he’d looked once. And this memory brought a wave of other memories with it. Memories of brotherhood, and home. His dear wife. The freedom of deep space. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, his friend … and how that friendship had turned. Turned, he knew not how—but got injected, nonetheless, with some uncaring virulence that festered, until … hold. These were memories he wanted none of, not now. Memories of molten lava, crawling up his back … no. This boy had pulled him from that pit—here, now, with this act. This boy was good. The boy was good, and the boy had come from him—so there must have been good in him, too. He smiled up again at his son, and for the first time, loved him. And for the first time in many long years, loved himself again, as well.  [James Kahn. Return of the Jedi]

Vader didn’t hate the world. He hated himself.

And because of that he bury everything that was remotely good and positive about himself as deep as he could. So his behavior, his lack of empathy wasn’t about him being sadistic. He was simply too broken and trapped in a deeply abusive relationship to care for the world around him.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey Steph!🌟Do u have any fics with smut that is feelingy, ie more focused on the emotional aspect & how they're feeling while doing it than the phy sensations & descriptions? Hope u get wt I'm saying. Thx in Advance!💖

OOOOO Nonny! 

I’ve got just the list for you! and it will give me an excuse to do a part two to another list of mine!! <3 

I do have a Sensuality list in the works, so look out for that in a while, but I think for now this list and the “see also” is perfect for you! 

Feel free, friends, to add your own!

EMOTIONAL LOVE MAKING Pt. 2

See also: Emotional Love Making Pt 1 || [MOBILE POST]

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., Ch. 1 || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

The Haunting of 221B Baker Street by earlgreytea68 (M, 10,388 w., 2 Ch. || Post TRF, Halloween / Ghosts, Pining Sherlock, Ghost Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Angry Sex, Ghost Sex, Love Confessions, Open / Ambiguous Ending) – In which Sherlock Holmes is a ghost.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John's...

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Rape/Sexual Assault, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock First Person POV, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Love Making, Possessiveness, Depression, PTSD, Kidnapping, Virgin Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.