#a person can tell you facts without malice

[nezuscribe]

gojo never imagined an arrange marriage with you, but now you’re all he can think about.

he thinks about you when he’s training, when he’s seated at his round table, when he’s in his bed, everywhere, every time, you’re all he can think about.

and you’re oblivious to it.

you heard the gossip everywhere you walked, about the girl gojo was pleading with his family to marry. how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, how much more elegant she was compared to you. you knew you were never his first choice, not even his fifth, but it hurt even more when everybody acknowledged it.

you stopped wearing your wedding ring, started acting like you were just another person there. luckily gojo didn’t seem to be in any hurry about making heirs, so pretending like you two were working things out didn’t even matter anymore.

you find yourself alone most of the time. your maids were kind and patient, but they had so many things to do throughout the day that you felt awful pestering them to walk around the estate with you.

eating dinners with gojo became normal, but most of your other meals were in silence, always feeling like a speck of dust in the large dining hall.

one day when you’re walking around aimlessly you stumble across the training grounds, the open space below you filled with men swinging wooden swords back and forth at each other.

it wasn’t difficult to find your husband, his white hair hard to miss in a crowd of others. he didn’t notice you watching from above, and so you stayed hidden, not knowing if the men were picky with who watched them.

he was swift and agile. everything he did was precise and with meaning. no wonder he was named the best warrior of the north.

you found this to be more entertaining than walking around the gardens for the tenth time or watching the cooks assemble the next meal, so you didn’t even notice how gojo looked up to see you, somehow slipping away without you knowing.

you were in a state of watching but not really thinking, almost jumping out of your skin when you heard his voice behind you.

“didn’t know i had an audience,”

you yelp, flinching as you look behind you to see your husband all sweaty, panting slightly as he moves his hair away from his face. you eye the stairs that led him up here, wondering how you could’ve missed that.

you laugh sheepishly, giving him an apologetic smile as you pick are your nails.

“i’m sorry,” you scratch behind your ears, feeling heat rise to your cheeks under his intense gaze. it’s unfair how pretty somebody can look, especially after training for an hour straight, “i was just walking around and i saw this.”

he waved it off, shaking his head as he leaned his sword on the wall.

“not a problem,” his eyes shine, “i just would’ve tried harder if i knew my wife was watching.”

my wife.

the words fall so smoothly from his lips you wonder how many times he’s said it before. with malice, hatred, necessity?

you smile a little bit, eyes crinkling around the edges as you look away briefly, not noticing the way gojo chased after your cheerful face.

“how’d you get up here? where are your ladies?” he asks suddenly, looking around at the fact that it was just you up here.

“my what?” you say, looking up at him through furrowed brows.

“you know,” he waves his arm around as if that would help, “you’re ladies in waiting,”

you scrunch up your nose a little bit, something he noticed you did when you were confused.

“oh, well, my maids are working right now,” you tell him, noting that he still didn’t look any less confused.

“no, not your maids, your ladies,” he tilts his head to the side, “the girls your family sent them up to help you around.”

you stare at him, unblinking.

“the girls that are your friends, the ones that help accustom you…” gojo trials off when he realizes he’s not getting anywhere with you.

you feel even more embarrassed than when he caught you watching him, hating the way you were clueless at yet another thing in this life that no one explained to you.

“the girls you hang around with?” he finally lands on, hoping this jogs your memory.

you shake your head, eyes wide as you fidget with the fabric of your dress. his eyes fall onto your finger, lingering on the fact that you’re not wearing your ring.

“who do you spend your time with throughout the day?” gojo seems even more lost than you. he’s seen you with…? well surely that one time…?

“by,” you swallow, embarrassed, “by myself. i walk around a lot.” you admit sheepishly.

“your family didn’t send…?” he answers his own question with his silence.

this entire time you’ve been alone?

he opens his mouth to speak but somebody beats him to it.

“satoru! get down here! we’re still not done!” his friends shouts from below, and you look over your shoulder to see all the men staring at the two of you.

gojo stares at you, unblinking.

“i,” he swallows but can’t find any words.

you can’t either.

he leaves you there, running down those stairs as he shouts at the other guys to resume what they were doing. that entire day he was off his balance because he kept looking up to see you there, but you weren’t.

maybe you were just walking around, like you said.

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: I am currently obsessed w the premise of a reader who is just totally smitten by the super shy and introverted Reid from early seasons bc he deserved SO MUCH MORE APPRECIATION it upsets me at least thrice a day!

gif creds: @themoontaxi

Heaven Sent

“There’s an old Buddhist saying that, when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making.” Spencer tells you with a thoughtful expression as you perch on his desk, smiling down at him in his office chair, your heart lifting in your chest as he continues. “So always appreciate and be kind to each other - there’s a corollary for friends!” And just like that, your heart falls back into place, but your smile doesn’t falter, there’s no way that it can when you’re still looking at him. “When you meet a true friend, you will be bound together through space and time for 500 years.” Spencer ends his tidbit of trivia with a smile that very nearly sends you flying from his desk and into orbit.

As per usual, you try to keep your cool, offering him a beaming smile. “Bound together through space and time for 500 years, eh? For a Buddhist quote, that does sound a bit Doctor-Who.” You tease lightly, and when Spencer’s eyes crinkle with a laugh that you have brought him, you feel all 500 years spent drifting through space to find him, smack you right in the chest.

“It does, actually, you make a great point!” Your favorite genius chuckles up at you, a look in his eyes that has you reaching the same conclusion to the age-old philosophical question of whether heaven is real, because every time Spencer Reid looks you in the eye, you know you could argue to the ends of the earth with any philosopher that tries to tell you it isn’t. 

“Alright, Doc, I’m gonna go take a scheduled pee break but I expect another fascinating fact from you on my return!” You order playfully as you hop off of his desk, never any malice or sarcasm in your voice when you regard his seemingly endless knowledge. Spencer feels the sincere love you have for his facts, something few people have shown him. 

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise anything!” Spencer calls after you as you stroll towards the bathroom, your phone already in your hands, frantically typing a few texts to your best friend.

You: good god

You: I want him

You: so bad

Spencer’s retort catches you off guard, your thumbs slipping on your phone as you turn to look back at him, walking backwards and continuing to type without looking. 

“Spencer Reid, if there is ever anything that you can promise me, it’s a new fact with a few minutes prep, don’t lie to me!” You joke right back to him, the two of you sharing a laugh across the office as you reach the bathroom and disappear behind the door.

As you lean against the bathroom door, you release the breath you were holding in your lovesick chest and smile so hard your face hurts. In the midst of your recovery from such a wholesome interaction with your favorite person, you hit send on the text you’d typed, your eyes closed as you relive Spencer’s smile again and again.

You: it physically hurts

Then, your phone makes a peculiar sound that causes your heart to sing. Spencer’s text tone, specially selected so that you never get your hopes up at anyone else’s text tone coming through. As if your thoughts summoned him, Spencer has texted you, despite the fact you were speaking to him mere seconds ago. However, as you glance down at your phone to see his message, your blood runs cold. Much to your absolute horror, you have somehow managed to send that last message you typed and sent without looking, not to your best friend like the previous messages, but directly to the subject of the conversation.

Spencer: What physically hurts? Are you okay? Do you need help? 

The panic response in your body is so real it’s scary, every fiber of your being screaming in utter hysteria as you run your hand through your hair with eyes like a deer in headlights. This is the worst possible mistake to have made, but, maybe you can white-lie your way out of this, since that message didn’t mention Spencer by name. Frantically, you type out your response back to him.

You: Spencer I am so sorry omg Im fine that message was not meant for you 

Nodding to yourself, you take some deep breaths. Spencer is never one to invade a person’s privacy outside of it being professionally required to do so and by revealing so little in your reply, you are communicating that the matter is private and was unintentionally, partially revealed to him. 

Spencer: Oh, okay. Still, if you are in any kind of pain, please let me know; if there is anything I can do to help/anything I can get you, I will.

And, of course, Doctor Spencer Reid manages to make you smile like an idiot with such a simple, sweet text.

You: thanks, Spence, that’s really kind of you. Im ok tho, I promise!! :)

Spencer: Hold on, you went to the bathroom and complained of pain - is it your menstrual cycle? I have towels and tampons in my desk.

Your eyes widen at his boldness, but also sweetness, to ask such a thing. How cute, he thinks you’re embarrassed to admit to him that you are on your period and not at all completely humiliated by your massive crush on him, almost being exposed in its entirety because you were, ironically, distracted by him.

You: nono, trust me, Im ok!! 

Frowning in sudden confusion, you are quick to type out another text before Spencer responds to your first one.

You: why do you have those?

Spencer: I am a doctor, I work with people who menstruate and should not have to pay for such things if I have some that I can provide for free. 

And he has you smiling like a lovesick idiot. Again. 

You: wow, that’s really sweet Spence :’)

Spencer: Is It? Thank you! B)

Another confused frown furrows your brow as you stare at your phone screen quizzically.

You: what’s “B)”

Spencer: Sunglasses face. A cool guy. B) 

God bless this man and his total inability to use actual emojis, you are having to stifle your laughter with a hand over your mouth because otherwise you are certain the entire office would hear you.

You: omg of course it is! so cute!!

Spencer: B)

The second you see it on your screen again, you are trying to contain your laughter a second time. His ability to be completely and utterly adorable is unmatched.

Spencer: You have been in the bathroom for some time and have not yet clarified the reason for texting someone that you were in physical pain. Are you absolutely certain that you are alright? 

Panic begins to set in again as you consider your options, none of which including confessing the truth from within the bathroom stall you are hiding in.

You: look, I cant tell you the reason I texted that but I promise you I am absolutely fine!! 

The moment the ‘read’ symbol appears by your last text, there’s a knock at the bathroom door.

“Hey sweetpea, boy-wonder told me you were in some kind of pain, is everything alright in there? Do you need a tamp? A hot water bottle? Some soup? A-” While your dear friend, Penelope Garcia, continues to list things that you could possibly need, through the bathroom door, you are frantically typing to Spencer again.

You: did you send Pen over here

He responds diligently, of course.

Spencer: I am sorry if I have breached your privacy at all, I thought you might feel more comfortable talking to Penelope about whatever is going on, but I hope you know you can always talk to me about anything.

Sighing and closing your eyes in a pained blink, you call out. “I’m fine, Pen, seriously!”

But, ever the carer of the team, Penelope will not let that slide. “Well, I’m not leaving until you come out here and prove it to me.”

Now, you are physically and emotionally cornered. There is absolutely no way that Penelope will let you out of here without an explanation, and there is absolutely no way that you can lie to her, either. Alright, time to bite the bullet.

“Pen…if I come out, you must promise to take me straight to your office and I’ll tell you everything, but you cannot tell a soul, okay?” You ask her through the door, and you can practically hear the gossip-loving cogs in her brain turning on the other side.

“You got it, sweetness! C’mon out!” Penelope calls, and you take a deep breath, shoving your phone in your back pocket before unlocking the door and stepping back into the office.

Immediately, Penelope swings an arm around you and leads you to her office with haste. All the while, you can feel a certain pair of very attractive, swoon-inducing eyes on you, worrying after you.

The second you are alone together in her office, Penelope sits you down and pulls her chair up to sit opposite you, taking ahold of your hands.

“Spill it!”

You sigh, avoiding her eyes. “This is about to be the most humiliating confession of my life.”

Penelope’s eyes widen, her pupils practically dilating at the raised stakes of what this gossip could entail. “No, no, come on, this is a safe space!”

You nod. “I know, I know, but…admitting aloud to any member of the team is something I hoped I’d avoid forever.” You chuckle in disbelief. “Basically, I was texting my friend some very private things and then got distracted by Spencer and accidentally sent him one of the texts- it’s probably just easier if I show you.” You decide, retrieving your phone and showing her the texts you had originally been sending to your best friend, then the one you accidentally sent to Spencer. 

Penelope’s jaw drops. “Oh my goodness! Who are you talking about in those texts?!”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Go on, Pen, take a guess. Who is the one person I wouldn’t want to find out about my crush, except for the crush himself.”

And Penelope Garcia’s jaw has hit the floor, she is in a state of shock. So severely, in fact, you have to wave a hand in front of her face.

“Earth to Penelope?” You ask, amused. 

She blinks rapidly at you, her spirit seemingly returning to her as she starts to squeal. “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh! I knew it, I absolutely knew it!”

Then, your phone dings, a text tone that sends goosebumps rippling up your arm. 

Spencer: Is everything okay? I am sorry if I upset you by telling Penelope, I was just concerned for you. Can I talk to you before we leave for the day, please?

Without hesitation, you show the text to Penelope, seeking her moral support in your time of need. “Now that you know what’s going on, please help me, what the hell am I supposed to do?!”

The technical analyst spins in her chair, typing away on her keyboard before bringing up a direct feed of one of the security cameras inside the main office. The two of you can see Spencer, sitting at his desk with his bag and coat on, ready to leave for the day, but glancing between his phone and the text he’s sent you that’s now showing as ‘read’ and Penelope’s office door, with a worried expression.

“Honestly, sweetpea, I don’t think you’ve got a choice but to tell him. The two of you are so close, he’ll see right through any white-lie you tell him and worry even more that he’s done something to upset you. The most painless way out of this is to just tell him the truth.” Penelope says, wincing at her own words as she looks at you because she knows how much it would hurt to have someone tell her that, if she were in your situation. 

Looking back up at Spencer on the monitor, seeing his worried expression, your heart aches at the thought of making him overthink about something he’s said or done, never wanting to cause him that kind of distress.

Sighing in defeat, you nod. “You’re right, Pen.”

Fixing your gaze back on your phone screen, you start to type, not missing the way Spencer’s eyes light up on the monitor at the notification of you typing back to him.

You: sorry Spence, I didn't mean to worry you, I'm all good! now coming :)

As silly as it is, the smiley face you send him brings a small smile to Spencer’s actual face, and that gives you the only confidence you need to rise from your seat. 

“Good luck, sweetness!” Penelope squeals, pulling you into a hug before practically shoving you out of her office.

Stepping into Spencer’s line of sight, he immediately starts walking over to you.

“Hey, I’m so sorry that I told Garcia, I know I shouldn’t have-” He begins to ramble, but your smile stops him in his tracks.

“You don’t need to apologize, Spencer, I promise, everything is fine. Are you ready to head out?” You ask him as he follows you over to your own desk, so that you can collect your own jacket and bag. 

“Y-Yeah.” He replies nervously, very obviously still worrying because you haven’t told him the whole truth yet, rendering him unable to settle.

The two of you walk to the elevator in silence, but as the doors close, isolating the two of you, you take a deep breath.

“You’re going to think my explanation is ridiculous, just to pre-warn you.”

Spencer frowns seriously, turning to face you, giving you his full attention. “Nothing you say is ever ridiculous, not to me. What’s going on?” His voice is so soft that it has you weak at the knees, which does not make this any easier. 

“I was texting a friend of mine and then carried on typing when I looked back to answer you, meaning I accidentally sent the next text to you.” The explanation is simple, in essence, but Spencer is nodding along like you are reciting some holy scripture. Biting the bullet completely this time, you pass Spencer your phone with shaking hands, allowing him to read the texts you sent your friend.

“But…you sent these after talking with me? While still talking with me?” He asks quizzically, for a moment blinded by his own obliviousness and a sadness settles in his heart because he truly believes you were thinking of some other guy when just speaking to him, but as the more logical conclusion presents itself to him, Spencer’s eyes widen.

You are unable to look at him, your gaze fixed on the closed elevator doors in front of you as you gently take your phone and conceal it back in your pocket. “Yep.” Is, somehow, the only word you can muster. 

Spencer parts his lips to speak, but the elevator doors open, and you all but make a break for it.

“Sorry. See you tomorrow, Spencer.” You blurt out hurriedly as you speed walk out of the building and into the parking lot, feeling physically sick as tears blur your vision, knowing you have single handedly ruined whatever wonderful friendship Spencer appreciates you for sharing with him, knowing your fate of a tear soaked pillow awaits you the second you arrive home. 

“(Y/N), wait, please!” Spencer calls out after you, his voice alone strong enough to stop you on your march. 

Turning to face him, Spencer’s heart breaks at the sight of the tears escaping your eyes. “Spencer, I am so, so sorry. I know you don’t like physical contact, I know you have never so much as glanced at me in the only way I’ve ever been able to look at you, and I want you to know I tried absolutely everything to stop myself falling for you because I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation like this, but every new thing I learn about you just makes me love you more than I thought possible and every time you smile at me you remind me what the definition of beautiful is, as though I’d ever forget when you exist to be just that in every conceivable way, and I’m so sorry or making you worry and care for me and that now you’ve got no choice but to process all of this and with your eidetic memory you’re not going to be able to forget it which makes things even more awkward for you and-”

Spencer interrupts your breathless, tearful ramble by pulling you into his arms, tucking your head into his chest.

“Breathe, (Y/N), please.” He asks, so softly, with such care and compassion you can only cry into his coat. 

For a few minutes, that is how you stay, crying in his arms as he holds you there, gently shushing you, one hand rubbing your back and the other holding your head to his chest, his fingertips caressing your hair in a way that makes it very difficult for you to focus on anything else. But, when Spencer hears your tears settle into sniffles, your breaths returning to normal, he parts his lips to speak.

“500 years through time and space.” He says, a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

Unfortunately, in your heartbroken state, you don’t quite catch on. “Yeah, friends have always got to be kind and appreciate each other, I remember.” You nod, pulling away from Spencer to wipe your eyes. 

As your vision clears, you see the smile on his face, and Spencer shakes his head at you. “The saying is specifically tailored to soulmates, I only added the friendship clarification because I didn’t want to be too forward.” He holds your gaze, reading your eyes as you return to the wavelength you’ve always shared. “Actually, the next fact I was going to tell you when you came out of the bathroom, the new fact you asked for on your return, was going to be that a study conducted by the University of California found that when someone is in love, their heartbeat synchronizes itself with that of the person they are in love with. And I was, then, going to ask to check your heart-rate, because I am a Doctor, after all.” He chuckles bashfully, pulling the stethoscope from his bag and shyly hiding it in there again once you acknowledge it.

There’s no way you can keep your cool at this point, the bright smile on your face is impossible to conceal. “How long have you had that stethoscope in there in preparation for telling me that fact?”

Spencer does not hesitate with his answer. “4 months, 18 days and 6 hours.”

You nod slowly. “So, you’ve been sure for a while, then?”

Spencer nods back at you, his own smile widening. “For 4 months, 18 days, 6 hours and 3 minutes, to be exact.”

You can’t help giggling at that. “500 years, 4 months, 18 days, 6 hours, and 3 minutes later, here we are. Sorry, I took the long way round.” You joke, taking a nervous step towards him, and Spencer meets you halfway. 

“I think we both did.” His words are quiet, his breath on your lips as he leans down to you, smile to smile and heart to heart for the first time in your lives. 

It’s you that rises to your tiptoes to close the final gap between you, your lips meeting his and immediately sighing against them, truly feeling that you have waited each and every one of those 500 years for this kiss alone. Spencer’s large hands cup your face so gently, and your hands hold his there, stars and butterflies whirling around you in a bliss shared between two souls that took their sweet time in coming back to each other. 

As a thought enters your mind, you break away from the kiss to laugh lightly.

“What is it?” Spencer asks quietly, but he’s already laughing with you.

“Two hearts, beating together?” You say, giggling to yourself as the realization flashes in Spencer’s eyes, too, so much so that he finishes the thought for you.

“You’re absolutely right, that is a bit Doctor-Who!”

[l-in-the-light]

About his "trigger warnings"

I mentioned here on tumblr that I used to have a number one favourite book writer. I guess not anymore. After all the SA allegations and other stories that got leaked by people around him (his collegues, co-workers etc.), I realized he's an abusive asshole and I owe you all to say that openly here. And some of the assaults date back decades now, which means he didn't just wake up one day and changed into an asshole, he most likely was always one.

I read the foreword to his book Trigger Warning again. I feel like I took a peek beyond his fake persona there. He writes about trigger warnings like it's some exotic curious little trend that kids on the internet came up with, finds it a bit peculiar like a daddy trying to understand their kid's hobbies, then proceeds to use them like a funny teasers for his short stories ("can you find the big tentacle hidden among the pages somewhere?"), only to finish it all up with a punch straight to your face: real life doesn't have trigger warnings, so always watch out for yourself. On the surface level? This all sounds like a slightly misguided, maybe even witty intro. Nothing is said with malice, right? And yet, the message underneath it all was always to discredit trigger warnings as a concept. That's why that delivery line is at the very end of that intro. You're supposed to be lulled into agreeing how silly it all is. I dunno if he did it on purpose or did it without thinking much about it, by habit, but that intention is there and it's disguised with concern and attempts to sound kind. A peek beyond the nice guy mask. No wonder I could never finish that anthology of short stories. The cognitive dissonance caused by the foreword sticked with me like a bad aftertaste. My intuition told me this was all wrong, I just couldn't find the words to express it.

And you know why it works so well as a disguise and why we tend to believe he didn't do it on purpose? Because hey, he just said the facts, the truth! Reality indeed doesn't have any trigger warnings, what's wrong with saying that! Yes, that statement is true. Using real statements in carefully woven context to sell a lie, is an example of an excellent manipulation. So allow me to untangle it or, in other words, to reveal the magic trick behind it.

Why do trigger warnings exist? Isn't Gaiman right, aren't they counterproductive, you might think, because by avoiding triggers you will never get better at dealing with them? Indeed, here's the catch, because the answer isn't a simple yes or no here. Yes, often to recover from trauma, you need to expose yourself to it in some way - like for example, through exposure therapy (or even just classic psychotherapy). But also No, because there's no rule that says you will officially recover only after you're fine reading fiction about sexual assault (for example)! Some triggers will dimnish, some will not, and the best you can do for the latter is to avoid them altogether. Triggers are extremely personal, but you can learn to manage them, in ways that respect your own boundaries, but never by giving up your right to selfcare. You see the difference?

Back to therapy bit for a moment. To recover, often you need to go through with it. But here's the thing - you do it in *controlled environment*, accompanied by a specialist that is there to help and calm you down afterwards. And you only start to do that once you feel *ready* to face it. Now compare it to a situation of reading a book (yes, a book, which usually never has any trigger warnings, because that's such a silly fanfiction thing). You come upon your trigger without any warning, preparation or support around you, you're left with the aftermath of possible panic attack or other symptoms completely on your own. It might take you weeks to recover from it, because perhaps you weren't yet in any therapy that could help you manage your triggers more effectively. But then you tell yourself it's fine, minimizing your own emotional reactions, because *it was just a book*. But, you realize, even years later you still remember it and you might finally accept the harsh truth that you're still not fine with it.

Now imagine same situation, but the book did have trigger warnings listed. For example, about sexual abuse. You would see that and leave the bookstore without the book, because you would know you're not *ready* for that. And it's fine not to be ready, be it yet or ever. This is about consent and selfcare, both are essential to process through trauma and recover. The books without trigger warnings rob selfcare, consent and a choice from us. They teach us we should always ignore our triggers and push through. It's sadly a reality that is widely accepted so Gaiman is right, nothing in reality will flash you a warning. But he's also wrong: it doesn't mean we can't make the life a tiny bit easier for those of us who are traumatized, instead of leaving them with all of that on their very own. This part, he doesn't want you to even consider. He doesn't want you to imagine the positive side of living in a world in which real books warn you about triggers, because then it would prove that it *can* become a reality in which real things (like books) warn you of triggers. They can't shield you from everything, but that's also not the point: it's just to make some things feel more safe, for everybody.

(As a side note, being triggered is not the same as stepping outside your comfort zone - those are two different matters! Though yes, stepping outside your comfort zone in an extreme way CAN become traumatic as the result as well).

I guess Neil Gaiman just thinks some people are too sensitive and should just get over themselves. You don't need those warnings, they won't protect you anyway. Have you tried not getting traumatized? How dare you think your selfcare is more important than reading my questionable fantasies? You're missing out if you skip my book (that has no proper trigger warnings) and you have only yourself to blame! I provide you a safe environment to explore your traumatic triggers, you should be grateful! And how is your book providing a safe environment exactly, author? Did you even try to put a safety net there for your reader? Do you even care? Of course you don't. But you will pretend like you do: by providing a very ingenuine effort that is mostly meant to be a pat on your own back for cleverly dismissing the very concept of trigger warnings, while pretending to play along with it and exposing their lack of power in the process. Disguised as a coincidence, lack of understanding or unskillful attempt written by a slightly ignorant daddy-like figure. What an irony that you do it by nearly surgically focusing on the blind spots of the concept, proving at the same time you do know the mechanism behind it pretty well. You knew what you were doing and how you were doing it.

Or at least, this is how I see it: I might be wrong on the details, but I'm sure I caught the gist of the manipulative behaviour there. An abuser always wants you to step out of your comfort zone, get surprised by a trigger, and to make sure you're outside your safety net. Because then you're an easier target, more likely to agree to harmful things (be it real actions or just harmful beliefs delivered to you by the author of a book, like in case of *trigger warnings being pointless*). They want to groom you into thinking that you're just being silly and see things that aren't there.

Trigger Warning's foreword is exactly that and I feel disgusted, now that I finally recognize my own feelings about it. I probably didn't find words for it before, because I wanted to believe Gaiman had good intentions behind it, they just didn't work out very well. Except that was never the case and that's why it never felt right. That good intention was never there, but it sure *looked* like it was. Also it took me way too long to realize people do things like that on purpose. You know what, Gaiman? Thanks to gaslighting efforts like yours it took me also way too many years to accept that selfcare IS OKAY.

So many people now think nothing was ever genuine about Neil Gaiman because his nice guy mask slipped. A mask he used to hide his autism behind and appear neurotypical/feel accepted thanks to it. Whenever a really advanced mask like that slips, the cognitive dissonance becomes a huge gap between a mask and actual self in perception of other people. Still, your autism is not an excuse for things you do and say, and definitely doesn't excuse assault as simple miscommunication - and yes, he did try to justify lack of consent this way. "I'm autistic, I read the body language wrong and wasn't even aware of it". Hey, you could have, like, asked. There's no shame in getting confirmation in words :P but it's just a poor excuse anyway, the truth is he didn't care if it was wanted or not, as long as he got adoration and powertripping thrill out of that, and that's the best case scenario here.

I believe the allegations. I won't be able to read Gaiman's books anymore, I honestly can't see them the same way I used to anymore. I loved Coraline and The Graveyard Book, and Smoke and Mirrors. I feel disgusted knowing that he openly claimed to be a feminist while at the same time assaulted so many people and used emotional manipulation so they won't #metoo him. He even went as far as to claim "always believe the victims", but once the allegations flew his way, what did he do? Blamed the victims, even called them mentally ill! I also feel now like his books are also just full of deception, meant to hide harmful beliefs under quirky words and imaginative tales. And I might never be able to stop feeling this way and I don't owe him a second chance anyway.

Good Omens stays in my heart though, because sir Terry Pratchett put a lot of work into it and it shows. I feel like I would show him disrespect if I discarded it. Let's say it becomes a Gaiman Who Might Have Been But Never Was, for me.

[larluce]

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie , @error-username-not-available , @dogberryrowan , @jamieweasley13 , @tansyuduri , @tercais , @robynnemrys , @evadne01 , @serasvictoria02 , @hairdryerducks , @hopeaha , @curiously-lazy , @ harriettesthings , @andrealux16 , @wacko-weirdo , @greatdonutenemy , @yougottobekittenme , @anxiousosaurus , @kinkforwings , @someweirdassnamee , @impracticalantlers , @miyriu , @hobipabo

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 , PART 12 , PART 13 , PART 14 , PART 15 , PART 16 , PART 17 , PART 18 , PART 19 , PART 20 , PART 21 , PART 22 , PART 23 , PART 24 , PART 25 , PART 26 (You're here), PART 27

In the throne room.

Gaius: (enters and bows) Sire.

Uther: (At a table, offers him to sit next to him) It have come to my attention your ward is now quite popular above the people.

Gaius: I'm guessing you're referring to The Unicorn Catcher song, Sire?

Uther: (nods and sighs) Did you bring some of your concoction? (rubs his temples)

Gaius: (pulls out a little bottle from his pocket and starts mixing it with the drink Uther has already there) Sire, you don't really believe Merlin crossed pats with a unicorn, right? Because I can assure you-

Uther: Whether it's true or not is not really the problem.

Gaius: ... What?

Uther: If it's a lie, then that boy did a marvelous job to create himself a reputation portraying as a saint. If it's true, then he's been tempting my son with his virginity! I don't know which option is worst to be honest! This seductive demon-! (his eye tics)

Gaius: Drink. (gives him his drink) Just to get this straight, you aren't worry about the unicorn at all then, Sire?

Uther: (drinks it all in one go) Why would I worry about a horse with a horn wandering in the woods when the actual danger is here between the walls of this castle in the body of a peasant boy?! (stands up abruptly and looks at his vase frustrated) This thing isn't strong enough! (throws it away and Gaius flinches when it breaks) I know his kind, he gained my son's favor so when he becomes King he will turn him into his puppet king, or worst, he wants my son to make him regent so he'll have all the power! This boy is going to steal my kingdom!

Gaius: Sire, I promise you, Merlin is not that kind of person.

Uther: Really? Explain to me then why he dared to humiliate my son infront of his Knights? Tell me how that wasn't him showing off how much influence he has over the Prince of Camelot!

Gaius: (sighs, thinking) Of course he learned about that too. (says) Merlin is impertinent, I won't deny that, but he's not ambicious. In fact, if Merlin indeed encountered unicorn, that in itself would be prove of that. These magical creatures don't only feel attracted to the pureness in body, but the pureness in heart too. If Merlin had any malice in his heart it wouldn't have aproached him at all.

Uther: Oh, please! Why else would that boy humiliate himself to accept the affections of a man if not for his lust for power?

Gaius: Didn't it occur to your Majesty that for Merlin that's not an humiliation at all.

Uther: (frowns, confused) What do you mean?

Gaius: Well, Merlin has never showed any interest in girls, Sire. And, his status as prince aside, Arthur is a very handsome and attractive man. He also posseses very good qualities as a person. He's compassionate, brave, just, a very chivalrous man-

Uther: Are you trying to tell me that your ward is actually in love with my son?

Gaius: With all due respect, Sire, is pretty obvious that Arthur's feelings are not one sided. But you've been so absorbed in only thinking the worst of Merlin since he came here that you haven't realise that! I know my ward. He can be too dense and insolent for his own good, yes, but he's not a greedy person, much less a villain whose porpuse is to conquer an entire kingdom. He wouldn't even think of it. Merlin's heart is incapable of any evil.

Guard 1: (enters and bows) Your Majesty, Sir Silfred is here. He says he has important news for you.

Uther: Let him in.

Silfred: (enters and bows) Sire.

Uther: I'm hoping there's been a progress in your investigation.

Silfred: We still couldn't find any traces of Lady Sophia and Lord Aulfric, Sire. Not of them specifically at least. But we did find some dry blood stains deep in the woods.

Uther: They could be of anybody.

Silfred: That's what we thought. But then we found this nearby. (pulls out a purple neckerchief) It has stains of blood too. (gives it to Uther) Does it look familiar to you, Sire?

Gaius: (pales)

Uther: (analysing the fabric, icy calmed) It does... Thank you, Sir Silfred. You're dismissed.

Silfred: (bows and leaves)

Uther: (turns to Gaius) Your boy can be all chaste, Gaius, but he's definitely not pure hearted. He's evil in his very soul! And this is the prove! (throws the neckerchief at Gaius, who catches it in reflex) I knew something was off when Aulfric and Sophia dissapeared so suddenly and now I know why! He murdered them! He knew Sophia would be an obstacle for his plans so he got rid of her!

Gaius: (composes enough and stands up, firmly) I think you're running to conclusions, Sire.

Uther: Don't protect him, Gaius! Or are you going to deny this is his?

Gaius: It looks similar to the ones Merlin uses, yes, but Merlin is not the only person in Camelot that wears neckerchiefs.

Uther: True, but what about a purple one? Only royalty can afford purple fabric and there are only two royals in Camelot. And neither Arthur nor I wear this type of clothing. But we do know who likes to give expensive gifts to a certain servant.

Gaius: Even if it was Merlin's, we can't really be sure the blood is from Sophia and her father. You said it yourself, sire, it could be from anybody.

Uther: You dare to contradict me!

Gaius: All I'm saying is that in a court that wouldn't be enough prove to condem a person.

Uther: (yells) I am the King and therefore the judge and I say this is prove enough!

Gaius: (yells back) And would it be prove enough for Arthur?

Uther: ...

Gaius: (composes himself) I just fear, Sire, that if you condem Merlin based only on this evidence, Arthur won't accept it.

Uther: (sighs) I'm not naive enough to believe that Arthur doesn't know about this.

Gaius: (a bit nervous) What... what do you mean, Sire?

Uther: Sir Silfred is the best at finding traces and yet he could only find this piece of clothing and some blood stains. Even the smartest and strongest men can't hide a body that well in such short amount of time, let alone a skinny peasant boy. There's only one posible explanation.

Gaius: That he didn't do it?

Uther: That he had help! And not from other than my son, nonetheless! If Arthur's already, not only favoring, but covering him, we're doomed! that boy could even murder me and Arthur would let him!

Gaius: (thinking, worried) He's not stupid. It's incredible that he discovered what happened with so little clues, but his level of paranoia is worrying. He's right, but he's SO wrong at the same time. (says in a soothing voice) Merlin is no murderer, Sire. But even if he was, Arthur would never allow something like that, no matter how much he loves Merlin. You're not only his king, you're his father.

Uther: (grunts)

Gaius: But if you are so worried about my ward, Sire, why don't you talk to him?

Uther: (in disbelief) Talk?

Gaius: If you could take the opportunity to properly talk to him, maybe you'd realize he is not the person you believe him to be, Sire. Now you have this bad image of Merlin, but you haven't actually bother to know him.

Uther: Of course I haven't bother. He's a servant.

Gaius: But you fear the influence of said servant, Sire.

Uther: ...

Gaius: It's just a suggestion, Sire.

Uther: (sighs) Fine. (calls out) Guards!

Guards: (enter)

Uther: Bring the Prince's manservant here inmediatly.

Guards: Yes, Sire. (bow and leave)

Gaius: You could have sent me for him.

Uther: So you warn him in advance? No, I want to see his genuine reaction when a question him about this. (takes the neckerchief from Gaius' hands)

Gaius: Wait...you're going to interrogate him, Sire? 😨. That's not what I meant with "talking"!

Uther: I'm giving him a chance to defend himself, so be grateful.

Gaius: Of course I am, Sire. (thinking) Gods help me! Merlin please deny that neckerchief is yours!

Short time skip.

Merlin: (enters, confused but chill) Did you call for me, Sire?

Uther: You're talking to your King.

Merlin: I know.

Uther: Then why aren't you bowing?

Merlin: Oh, sorry. (bows quickly) Did you call for me, Sire?

Gaius: (facepalms internally)

Uther: I did call you. I have a very important matter to discuss with you.

Merlin: (more confused) Me?

Uther: (turns to Gaius) You are dismissed.

Gaius: (pleades) Sire-

Uther: Do as I say.

Gaius: (sighs) Yes, Sire. (bows and leaves)

Merlin: (starts worrying) What's... going on?

Uther: (about to pull out the neckerchief to start the interrogation) You-

Arthur: (enters and smiles politely) Sorry I'm late. What's the matter at hand?

Uther: I didn't call for you.

Arthur: But you call for Merlin and anything that concerns my manservant concerns me.

Merlin: (hisses) Arthur!

Arthur: (ignores him, but walks a few steps forward to be infront of Merlin) So, what is it that you want to discuss with my manservant so urgently, father? (keeps talking and smiling politely, but somehow he also sounds threatening)

Uther: (thinking) This won't work if Arthur is here. The boy will be confident he'll come to his aid. (says) I was just wondering if you knew anything about this song that's beeen circulating around lately.

Merlin: (nervous and blushing) You mean the Unicorn Catcher song, Sire?

Arthur: You called my manservant here just because of a tavern song? You must know that story is nothing but the product of some minstrel's imagination.

Uther: I'm very aware of that, Arthur. But that song is tainting your reputation.

Merlin: (sighs in relief, though still confused) But the song hardly mentions Arthur.

Uther: It mentions him enough. Now it's a song and then, last I thing I know, everyone in Camelot is saying that The Prince only takes young virgin boys to bed.

Merlin: (blushes more furiously, feeling humiliated)

Arthur: (notices and swallows his anger for the hiding insult to Merlin in Uther's words)

Uther: (to Merlin, aproaching) So, if you had anything to do with that song...

Arthur: (puts himself between Merlin and his father) It was Sir Ewan and Sir Innprudence who spreaded the rumor, father. Merlin had nothing to do with that. I already got them arrested for talking nonsense while drunk and causing all this mess, so you don't have to worry.

Uther: I did hear they were arrested. (sighs) That's all I wanted to know. You're dismissed.

Arthur and Merlin: (bow and leave)

Uther: (thinking) I need to find I way to get that boy alone, but how?

Time skip. Merlin, Gaius and Lancelot in Gaius' Tower.

Merlin: He found what?! 😨

Gaius: Your neckerchief, Merlin. And with stains of blood. So it doesn't look good.

Merlin: But that's impossible! Lancelot burned all the clothes!

Lancelot: I thought I did. But it was dark, maybe it fell while I was carrying the pile. (very guilty) I'm so sorry Merlin, I should've been more careful.

Merlin: Don't be. You saved Arthur's life and we didn't have much time.

Gaius: Uther won't arrest you, I convinced him to give you a chance to defend yourself. So when he calls for you again you just have to deny that neckerchief is yours and show him you are not the villain he built in his head.

Merlin: I need to tell Arthur. (makes a move to leave)

Gaius: (stops him) No! Uther wants to interrogate you alone, if you tell him he will sneak in again.

Merlin: I'll tell him not to go.

Lancelot: And you think he'll listen?

Merlin: I don't know. But he was involved in this too and I won't lie to him more than I need to. (leaves)

Gaius: Wait, Merlin! There's something else I need to tell you. Merlin! (makes a move to go after him)

Lancelot: (stops him) Tell me and I'll give him the message. I'll get to him faster.

Meanwhile, in Morgana's chambers. Arthur and Morgana having some kind of tea party, while Gwen braids Morgana's hair.

Morgana: (laughing) You men are so inmature.

Arthur: I was not inmature. He hit me first, I just defended myself.

Mogana: And then you fighted over who was Merlin's best friend. Yeah, very mature.

Gwen: I thought I was Merlin's best friend (pouts)

Morgana: You are his best GIRL friend.

Gwen: (mocking) So that means you are not his best girl friend?

Morgana: (plays along) How dare you! I'll fight you! (makes silly fighting movements)

Arthur: (complains) Stop it! (but can't help but laugh)

Merlin: (enters sudenly)

Morgana: Merlin! Knock first! I could be changing my clothes.

Arthur: Now you know what I have to endure everyday (looks at Merlin expression and frowns, worried) Merlin, what is it? (stands up and goes to him) Did something happen?

Merlin: Arthur-

Guard 1: (interrupts) Sire, The King wants you to interrogate a sorcerer in the dungeons.

Morgana: (feels mad and sad for what's probably going to be another unfair execution, but doesn't say anything)

Arthur: (notices) Lets discuss this outside.

Merlin, Arthur and Guards: (Get out of Morgana's chambers)

Arthur: (closes the door behind him) Can't it wait?

Guard 2: I fear not. It's a very dangerous sorcerer, we had to put him in cold iron, so the King wants to execute him as soon as possible. But he also wants to get as much information he can from him. Apparently he was the leader of a group of renegate soreceres.

Arthur: I understand. (to Merlin) We'll talk later. (makes a move to leave)

Merlin: (makes a move to go with him)

Arthur: (stops him) Merlin, no. Stay. I have to do this alone. (thinking) I don't want you to see that, nor do I want to put you in danger.

Merlin: You can't stop me. (thinking) Like I'm going to let you alone with a dangerous sorcerer!

Arthur: (sighs) Merlin-

Lancelot: (arrives running) Merlin! (takes a breath) By the Gods, you run fast. (bows to Arthur) Sire, I'm sorry, but Gaius needs Merlin urgently.

Arthur: (releaved) It's alright, Lancelot. I have urgents matters to attend too. (follows the guards and leaves)

Merlin: (about to leave but Lancelot stops him) Let go of me! 😡 Arthur is about to interrogate a dangerous sorcerer I need to be there! Whatever urgency Gaius has can wait!

Lancelot: There's no dangerous sorcerer.

Merlin: (stops struggling) ...What?

Lancelot: There is no dangerous sorcerer and there is no urgency. That's what Gaius wanted to explain to you. Is part of the plan.

Merlin: The plan? What plan?

In the dungeons. Arthurs goes with the guards to a cell, but finds it empty.

Arthur: Where's the prisoner?

Guards: Here. (push Arthur inside quickly and close the cell)

Arthur: (stands up, furious) What do you think you are doing?! 😡

Guard 1: (very apologetically) Forgive us, Sire. It was King's orders.

Arthur: Why did my father order you to lock me up in the dungeons?! I'm not strange to this punishment, but normally I know WHY I'm being punished.

Guard 1: This is no punishment, Sire. Your Majesty just doesn't want you to interfere in... some matters.

Guard 2: It will be just for a couple of hours, Sire. You don't have to worry.

Arthur: Interfere? Why would I... (pales and shouts) Merlin!

Meanwhile in the throne room.

Uther: Has the prince been brought to the dungeons.

Guard 3: Yes, Sire.

Uther: Perfect. Now bring the boy.

...

Finally we get back to the request list!

Arthur has to protect Merlin from his dad ☑︎

An he will continue to do it for the next parts because this shit is far from over!

What do you think is going to happen?

What was the hiding insult in Uther's words the Arthur catched?

Also, credits to my best friend Rosangela, who helped me with some dialogues and situations, no only in this part, but several ones. Love you so much! ❤️

[softguarnere]

Something He Can't Have

Edmund Pevensie x fem!reader

A/N: Not me falling back into one of my oldest hyperfixations after watching the movies this past week for Christmas 🥴 I honestly don't know what to say for myself, other than that I had fun writing this and it may have single-handedly saved me from my recent writing slump. Anyway, hope y'all like this, byeeee ✨💕 Warnings: none

Lucy lets out a groan that sounds so annoyed that it instantly draws Edmund back into the present moment. “Can I ple-ease say something now?” She asks Susan, who sits to her left at the banquet table.

Susan shushes her, but there’s no malice behind it. In fact, when she does allow a disheartened look to grace her face, she directs it toward Edmund. “No. I suppose we shouldn’t meddle.”

They’ve captured his interest. Which is something that seems nearly impossible, considering that he’s spent so much of this banquet staring at Peter and (Y/N) on the dance floor, watching his older brother enjoy dance after dance with her. And trying hard not to take it too personally when (Y/N) throws back her head to laugh every now and then at something that Peter has said. Usually, she only laughs like that at his jokes, and usually only when they’re alone together.

If Peter is making her come undone, allowing her to feel comfortable outside of the carefully crafted polite and diplomatic persona that (Y/N) has created for herself to use in Cair Paravel’s court, then she’s become relaxed with him. And who knows where that will lead?

“What are you talking about?” For good measure, Edmund tosses one last glance at the dance floor before turning his attention to his sisters.

“That!” Lucy exclaims, gesturing between Edmund and the crowd that swirl on the floor before them. “This!”

Edmund raises an eyebrow. “The ball?”

His younger sister groans, burying her head in her hands. “Oh, I give up!”

“Edmund,” Susan says sternly. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t get involved, but this has gone on long enough.” For a split second, the gentle queen loses her composure, though only ever so slightly. “I mean, for God’s sake! It’s downright painful to watch!”

Still confused, Edmund isn’t sure what to say that will clarify whatever his sisters are talking about without further upsetting them. Instead, he settles for biting his lip, glancing between his sisters and the dancing, trying to work out their meaning himself.

Susan sighs, turning to Lucy. “He’s either a better actor than we give him credit for, or he’s downright daft.”

“Help me out here,” Edmund says.

“(Y/N)!” Lucy hisses, leaning across Susan so that she can scold her brother without causing too much unwanted attention. “You’ve been following her around all lovesick for ages now, but you haven’t done anything. And now you’re all jealous watching her dance with Peter.”

“Am not!”

Lucy swats his arm. “You’ve been staring at them all night. If you like her so much, then you better do something before you lose her forever!”

In other situations, Susan might chide the youngest Pevensie sibling, telling her that she’s being a bit overdramatic before offering Edmund some sort of good-natured advice. Edmund looks to her expectantly, only to find her brown eyes full of disappointment; she agrees with Lucy.

“We can all agree that you wear green better than any other, Ed,” she says. “But jealousy is not a shade that suits you.”

“Me? Jealous?! Of who?”

But his sisters only fix him with knowing looks. It makes Edmund want to wither away from existence on the spot. He spent most of their lives before Narnia being jealous of Peter. It’s been hard, but it’s something that he’s worked on since they were crowned. He really thought that he had overcome it. Now, though, his sisters’ words, coupled with the funny feeling in his stomach . . . He feels like a man, trapped, full of guilt, and caught in the middle of something very private. Which innocent people with nothing to hide do not feel in situations like these.

I fancy (Y/N), he realizes, admitting it to himself for the first time. It feels demeaning, somehow, to put a label on the feelings that he’s been harboring in secret for so long. And I’m jealous because she likes Peter more than me, says the next one, which makes him feel even worse.

A warm hand takes hold of his and squeezes. For all the annoyance that Lucy has felt toward him in these past few minutes, she offers him nothing but a kind look and encouraging smile. “You have to do something, Ed.”

“I – “ The words clog in his throat, causing him to swallow thickly, trying to find some of the air which has suddenly become very scarce. As you spin by on the dance floor, Edmund can see how you’re smiling at Peter like he hung the moon, and how his older brother beams at you like you created all the stars. Who wouldn’t want to bask in the sun’s warmth like that? And what sort of evil would dare separate two people who appear to be so . . . so in love. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Susan reassures him. “Trust me, Ed.”

Edmund, however, can’t take his eyes off of you. “I can’t ruin that.”

“You won’t,” Susan says. And if Edmund had his wits about him, he would recognize that she says it with the tone of someone who is very sure of herself because she has access to information that no one else has. (She, after all, is your best friend. But facts like that tend to fall by the wayside in moments of intense anxiety such as this.) “Ed, it’ll be fine. Trust me.”

To unstick the words in his throat, Edmund reaches for his goblet and takes a swig of the drink from inside. If he’s really going to do this, he’ll need all the courage he can get, no matter where it comes from.

As the song ends, he pushes back his chair and begins to make his way around the table. Lucy squeals with delight from behind him, and both his sisters offer nods of encouragement and thumbs up when he turns back to them, unsure.

The next thing that he knows, he’s on the dance floor, maneuvering his way through the crowd to reach you –

He catches sight of you just as you excuse yourself from the dance floor. You disappear into the crowd before he can call out to you, though he reaches out a hand, like he might be able to catch you from afar.

“Edmund!” A well-meaning slap on the back announces Peter’s presence. His older brother throws an arm around his shoulders. He radiates heat after all that dancing. “I wondered when you might join us on the dance floor.”

“I’m not. I’m just looking for (Y/N).”

Peter’s smile doesn’t falter, despite the fact that the next words out of his mouth are devastating news. “I believe that she’s retiring for the night.”

“Oh?”

“She said that she needed some air, that she might go to bed.”

As one of Narnia’s kings, Edmund is inclined to stay present for the majority of this banquet. You, being a courtier, are free to go as you please, seeing as there are no diplomatic negotiations, no fates of any nations, resting on your shoulders. If things were different, he would find a way to go after you.

And he’s actually looking for an excuse to do so when Peter says something that makes him stop.

“I wish she would have stayed,” the High King sighs. “We were having such a good time.”

Edmund nods, hands involuntarily clenching into fists at his sides. His voice feels hollow when he replies, “It looked like you were having a good time.”

“I was thinking – “ A laugh cuts Peter off as he shakes his head, looking half embarrassed, half giddy. “I was actually just about to ask her to be my – my girlfriend.” On the last word, something most unusual happens – the High King blushes. Actually blushes! Who would have known that such a thing was possible?

To say that it catches Edmund off guard would be an understatement. He’s never seen Peter so vulnerable . . . so happy. It makes Edmund’s mouth go dry. He and Peter have had their differences throughout their lives, but he can’t just ruin his older brother’s chance at happiness.

“Oh.” Is all that Edmund can think to say. He hesitates for a moment before asking, “What do you think she’ll say?”

Peter laughs, breathlessly, happily. “Well, I’m hoping that she’ll say yes, of course. In fact – “ He glances in the direction that you disappeared in. “ – I would go talk to her now, if not for my responsibilities.”

“Go,” Edmund finds himself saying. He can feel Peter’s look of surprise mirrored on his own face. But if Peter is going to do this, if this is all really happening, he’d honestly rather get it over with. “I’ll cover for you here.”

Now it’s Peter who hesitates. After a moment, his face breaks into a wide smile. He claps Edmund on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Ed.”

I wish I were better, the Just King thinks as he watches his older brother chase after the girl that they both love.  

From the banquet table, Lucy and Susan are giving him confused looks. Edmund only shrugs, then quietly rejoins them. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t want to explain what’s just happened. He recedes into himself, letting the party whirl by without him.

If only he were paying attention – then he would see the knowing look on Susan’s face.

. . .

It’s late when the banquet ends, and later still when Edmund slips into the library. He’s exhausted, but his mind is racing and won’t let him sleep. You and Peter had disappeared from the banquet hours ago. That’s plenty of time for his brother to have confessed to you and for you to have accepted. Dread fills him at the thought of the two of you happily announcing your new relationship the next morning at breakfast. He’ll have to face the two of you sometime, to muscle through his own pain and begin navigating a world where he has to accept that you’re in love with his older brother. But tonight, he can be amongst his books, which are a comfort.

He's so distracted that he doesn’t immediately notice you sitting by the fireplace, an open book on your lap, but a distracted look on your face as you watch the flames dance before you.

“Oh,” you both exclaim at the same time when you notice each other. The synchronicity makes you both laugh.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he apologizes.

“I didn’t mean to take your hiding spot,” you say in turn. You shut your book, but Edmund holds out a hand to stop you.

“You don’t have to leave on my account.��

You squint, studying him for a second, before nodding and settling back into the cushions behind you. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Carefully, Edmund takes a seat opposite you, gazing into the fire to gather his nerve. He didn’t expect to find you here. Didn’t expect to find you looking so . . . distracted and lonely as you stare into the fire, your book forgotten. He really shouldn’t pry. But you’re his friend, first and foremost, and he doesn’t want that to change. “Is everything alright?”

Delicate fingers pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh, collecting yourself before looking up at him through the firelight.

“Peter asked me to be his girlfriend,” you confess. Though the library is quiet, your voice is dull, hard to hear. You do not look as joyful as he imagined you would when delivering this news.

“Oh,” Edmund offers. He fumbles for words. You look upset, so he can’t congratulate you. But then again, he’s not sure if he should console you.

You stare at him for a moment, studying him just as intently as he’s studying you. “I said no,” you finally explain.

“Oh,” Edmund says again, for lack of anything better to say. “I’m . . . sorry?” Except that he’s really not. He feels quite relieved, if he’s being honest with himself.

Your brows furrow. He’s said the wrong thing, but he’s not sure where he went wrong.

“I said no,” you repeat. “Because I have feelings for someone else.”

Edmund’s heart, only on the mend for a split second, plummets. “Oh. I see.”

“No you don’t,” you scoff. “Edmund, you’re the one I have feelings for! Have you really not noticed by now?”

The words echo through the still library. They hang between you for a moment. A glorious, albeit confusing, moment where Edmund can do nothing but stare at you, unsure if he’s heard you correctly. Narnia is a magical place, but there’s no way that you could have said the very thing that he would do anything to hear.

“You do?” His voice comes so quietly that when you don’t immediately reply, he worries that maybe he hasn’t spoken at all.

“Yes. And for quite some time, I might add.”

“But – “ Images of the night swirl in his mind. You had danced with Peter for ages, looking so happy. Everyone likes Peter. They always have. And much, much more than they like Edmund. To say that you have feelings for him . . . “Why?”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . Everyone likes Peter. He always gets what he wants.”

Even in the dim glow of the firelight, he can see your gaze soften.

“Oh, Edmund.” You leave your seat, coming closer to him. He rises, meeting you halfway, so that the two of you are standing together in front of the fire. Gently, you take his hand, intwining your fingers. Your hand is warm in his. You squeeze, and on instinct, he squeezes back. “That’s not true.”

“What’s not?”

“People like you, too. I like you.” Your grip tightens on his hand. “And Peter doesn’t always get what he wants. I know something he can’t have.”

“What’s that?”

A smile tugs at your lips when you gaze up at him and say, “He can’t have this.”

[kedsandtubesocks]

cw: children, light gendered language, angst (I’m sorry)

“Mama, look.” A little tug at your coat sleeve has you turning to the direction of your daughter.

“Papa!” She announces bright and warm, her little finger firmly pointing at something.

Following her line of sight where she’s directed you, a bundle of hydrangeas sit among the flower shop’s blooms.

“That isn’t your papa, silly goose.” You playfully poke her nose, a very Gojo trait you’ve unfortunately picked up. Stubbornly she waves your arm away.

“I know that.” Your little girl huffs rolling her eyes with all the personality of a five year old who feels like she’s wise beyond her age, so much like her father.

“But white and blue, those are papa’s colors!” Her voice sings happily, and her words pierce through you.

The soft petals, blooming with the edges of a baby blue and soft cream white, are in fact a perfected blend of him. You’re grateful they’re still blooming even now.

“Good eye, little lady. I’m sure papa will love these.” You beam at your daughter. Her eyes, those gemstone blue eyes, just like her fathers, glimmer excited like a warm summer sky.

She carries the way too large bundle in her small arms, stubbornly refusing to let you take them from her, another stubborn Gojo trait. Once the flowers are secured, of course you stop by Satoru’s favorite ice cream spot. Even in the cold you know this is what he wants.

“Papa! We’re home!” Your daughter announces grand and loud bursting into the apartment. She’s completely forgotten about the flowers, instead happily scurrying off to find Satoru.

The closer you approach you catch her voice rattling off, rambling about the pretty bird she saw today, about the cute new coat she wore today because it’s his birthday.

“And we got you ice cream too, your favorite! I promise I won’t let mama eat it all.” She giggles.

“Don’t forget the flowers.” You remind her of stepping into the room. Compared to the rest of your home, Satoru’s old office room today is unusually warm, twinkling with a light from the window.

“Oh yeah! The flowers!” Your little girl says bright, clutching onto the framed photo of Satoru, the one she without hesitation grabs off the altar here so often.

The Gojo clan would scream in horror at how little disregard she had for any ceremony and tradition. But Satoru, your Satoru, you know is snickering, proud and jubilant, that she doesn’t care…just wants to be as close to him as possible. You both do.

Maybe next year you’ll finally take her to the gravesite…

You place the hydrangeas among the other flowers that have been sent to you in honor of today.

A thick emotion swells in your throat. Tears prickle in your eyes. Suddenly, your daughter effortlessly crawls onto your lap as she eats some of the mochi snacks she had left for Satoru earlier this week.

“Mama, do you miss papa?” She asks curious, no hint of malice. You draw her into your arms closer.

Everyday - you want to tell her you miss him everyday. So much sometimes you think you’re missing a piece of your heart and it hurts to breathe.

“I do, but then I see you and remember papa wouldn't want me to be sad. Especially for you.” You tell her.

“And besides, you might not fully understand yet, but papa is always with us. Just like in the flowers you noticed.” You nudge towards the blossoms.

“Yeah!” Your daughter eagerly turns to you while she still tries clumsily holding onto his photo. “Like sometimes I think I see him! Like when you cook or when I play with ‘Gumi!”

You nod fighting back the tear and instead smile down at her. You can cry later. Right now it’s a birthday party.

“There’s no crying at my birthday, baby!” You can almost hear him saying in that annoying sing song voice of his.

Happy Birthday Satoru, we love you…your heart whispers.

You swear the faintest warmth comes around you, as if arms have wrapped you in their embrace.

[withleeknow]

for the requests — i'll send two songs that i've liked for quite a while and you can choose the member that you see who fits the vibe?

sand by dove cameron

and

make you mine by madison beer

conversations with strangers.

pairing: seungmin x gn!reader genre/warnings: exes to ??, non-idol au (i wrote this with seungmin in mind as a celebrity/singer or musician of some sort so it's pretty vague and it's not explicitly mentioned what he actually does, so if you wanna imagine him as an idol it still fits the narrative. i can't tell you what to do lol), Angst™️! (i think. i liked this at first but then i was looking at it so much that i became desensitized to it and idk if it's that sad anymore lol); the ending is a little ambiguous maybe?, mentions of drinking, mentions of sex, could've been more edited word count: 2.9k note: this might be one of my favorite things that i've written lately but i am also in my fish freshly dropped on land era so i am fully prepared for this to flop like ass lol bye

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi

I saw the end when we began You couldn't love the way I can I tried to bargain with the stars For more than half of your heart But you have more pieces of me than the desert has sand And I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand

Sand - Dove Cameron

"Why did you call me?"

"Why did you come?"

There isn't a good answer to his question, so you choose to ignore it in favor of keeping your eyes on the road, your fingers holding tightly onto the steering wheel. You don't know what to tell him. You yourself aren't even sure why you came to that bar, why Seungmin is sitting in your passenger seat right now just because he was drunk and he wouldn't let anyone take him home but you.

"I asked you first," you say. It takes an effort to keep your voice even, an effort not to look over at him.

"Don't know," he sounds like he couldn't care less, but that's always been Seungmin for you. "Old habits die hard, I guess. You were the only one I used to call."

You round a corner without even having to look at the GPS. The route to his place is still ingrained in your brain even after all this time. On some nights when you feel too stuffy indoors, you would go on a walk by yourself. Directionless for an hour or two, you just want to feel the wind wrap around your body and solid ground beneath your feet.

On these same nights, you would find yourself at Seungmin's door.

It's always unintentional, the way your feet would carry you to his home without your permission.

"Used to," you reiterate. "Past tense. You don't get to call me anymore. I'm not your chauffeur."

You feel his eyes on the side of your face. Then his voice, ever so calm and collected, "You came anyway, didn't you?"

His words irritate you for some reason, even though he means nothing bad. No malice in his voice; he's just simply stating a fact. You did come when he called, and perhaps the person that you're really annoyed with is only yourself, because why did you come?

He should be a stranger to you by now, and yet, you're here.

Maybe you know the answer. Maybe it's not a hard question at all.

You let the both of you wallow in silence for the rest of the drive. When you pull up to Seungmin's building about ten minutes later, you finally turn to cast your gaze upon him with your eyebrow slightly raised, a polite Get out if there ever was one.

Instead of taking the hint like a normal person and going on his merry way, he just stares at you with his big eyes and his hair still styled to perfection even after a night of celebrating and drinking. Seungmin loves to be difficult, this you can't ever forget.

"Well?" you press. "You're home."

He blinks, then swallows thickly. He looks around your car for a few seconds, unsure of himself. If he wasn't intoxicated, you would think he's trying to stall.

"I... I can't go up by myself," he says.

"Are you serious?"

He just nods, something expectant in his gaze.

"You're a grown man."

"Help me up." He doesn't sound all too drunk, but maybe he's just got a way of masking it because Seungmin would never outright ask for help. He's stubborn, and he thinks it makes him look weak. Incapable.

In the end, you give in to his request. You let him lean on you in the elevator on the way up to his floor, the scent of his cologne still overpowering the bourbon he had all night and it makes you just a little nostalgic.

At his door, you hold onto his waist and look away when he punches in the passcode. The door unlocks and this should be it for the two of you, your unexpected reunion should be ending the moment Seungmin crosses over to the other side of the threshold, but he just turns around and looks at you, his body against the frame of the door this time.

"There, you're home safely," you say. "I've done my part. Goodnight."

"Come in."

"Why?"

"I'm tired. Come in." And with that, Seungmin retreats into the apartment, leaving the door open for you to follow without any further explanation at all. For a moment, you stand there by yourself, not really sure of what to do. You hear him shuffling inside, before the sound of his body plopping onto the couch carries over to your ears.

What business do you have here? What business did you have with Seungmin in the first place today?

And yet, you find yourself trailing inside, closing the door behind you until the lock clicks into place. Maybe you're curious to see what the place looks like since the last time that you were here. The two of you never lived together - you weren't foolish enough to agree even though he did ask - but you were over often enough to consider this your second home.

Not much has changed. It's still the same minimalist four walls that you were used to. Same light gray paint, same black couch. Same framed signature of his favorite baseball player and same tiny crack in the decorative bowl on the coffee table. There's a photo on the credenza lying face down seemingly on purpose, but you don't say anything about it.

"What am I doing here?" you ask.

"Why did you come?" he shoots you the question for the second time tonight.

You blink at him. He only stares back.

"Why did you call me?" you repeat. "Why did you really call me?"

Questions thrown out but no answers received, like you're both running in circles, with neither of you knowing why you're even running in the first place.

Seungmin purses his lips before he stands up, the suddenness of the movement leaves him unsteady on his feet, makes him hold onto the couch's armrest for support. "Do you want some water?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Okay."

"Give me a second. Have a seat."

You watch as he pads into the kitchen a little wobbly, then returns a few minutes later with two glasses of water. He sits back down on the couch next to you, some distance dividing the two of you. He takes a sip, you do the same.

"Called you because I missed you," he says, casually admitting it like he was merely discussing the weather. The place hasn't changed, but maybe he has.

The last time you spoke to Seungmin was about six months ago, when he dropped off your things two weeks after you broke up. You haven't had any contact since, and that's exactly the way it should be for you and him now. You went your separate ways and that was it. A mutual agreement that hurts, but it was mutual nonetheless. For the past half a year, all he's been to you is a stranger. You know why it had to happen. You agreed to it.

But, just because you haven't talked, doesn't mean that you haven't thought of him. You wish he only crossed your mind in passing, wish your brain only conjured up the image of him whenever you saw something that he would like, or whenever you caught a glimpse of him on the TV or radio. In reality, it's been much more pathetic. You think of him almost every day, despite your best efforts to cleanse yourself of everything that's remotely related to the name Kim Seungmin. His absence carries itself with you all the time, a hollowness that seeps into every crevice of your life.

You know he means it. Seungmin doesn't lie, least of all to you. His honesty twists inside of you like a knife. Salt, meet wound.

You have no words to offer him, no response you can think of that would make sense to say out loud so you don't say anything. The only sound that falls from your lips is his name, like a warning, a plea, a consolation all at once.

But he doesn't seem to mind. Not his sudden vulnerability, not your reluctance to entertain that split second of honesty.

"I answered your question. Now you have to answer mine," he says. "Why did you come?"

"What do you want me to tell you?"

He doesn't respond right away. Instead, he takes a moment like he's mulling it over in his head. "Thought maybe you missed me too," he says eventually, ending the sentence with a bitter chuckle. "Just a little bit."

You tongue your cheek, stall with another sip of water before you place the glass on the table. On a coaster of course, Seungmin hates cup rings on his fancy table.

You lean back to rest on the couch, staring up at his boring ceiling. There are memories of you on this very couch, ones of you lying with your head on his lap as he plays with your hair, the two of you winding down after a long day. Or ones that are far too inappropriate to bring up ever again, of nights where you were both too desperate and impatient to take it to the bedroom. Those gentle reminders are still here somewhere, tucked between the cushions perhaps.

"Sure." You hum, nodding along. "Let's go with that."

Another chuckle, humorless. Though, you think he's pleased enough with that non-answer but you're not sure. He mirrors your position, falling into the couch with a sigh. From your peripheral vision, you think he's scooched closer to you, just by a few centimeters, in the process of settling into the sofa.

"My turn," you say. "Why do you want me here?"

"What is this, 21 questions?"

You shrug simply. "You asked me to come in. I'm just curious."

When Seungmin stays silent for a beat too long, you turn your head to watch him, thinking maybe he's knocked out because of the alcohol in his system. But you find him wide awake, his eyes staring ahead, looking like he's already sober.

His face is unreadable when he says, "Wanted to see something."

"See what?"

"See if something is still there."

It's your turn to remain quiet as you process his words, and it's Seungmin who has to turn to gauge your reaction.

"And? Is anything still there?" you ask.

"I don't know, you tell me. You're the one that stayed."

"Does it matter? If I say there is?"

"Of course it does."

"What would you do about it?"

He goes still once more. You know he doesn't have an answer to your question. What would he do? What could he even do? Patch things up only for them to fall apart again in a couple months? Once upon a time, you were naive enough to think that you could find a way to make it work. You had enough blind faith to think that it would all work out in the end; that if you wanted it enough, maybe the universe would let you have this one thing.

You return your gaze to the ceiling. He's shown you his cards, maybe it's only fair that you show him some of yours too.

An uncertain inhale, then the realization that this is the only time you would be able to have an honest conversation with him about this.

"Wanna hear something funny?" you ask.

"I have a feeling you're gonna tell me anyway."

It's anything but funny, and Seungmin is certain that you're not building up to a punchline. Sure, it's a little tragic that nothing matters, but there's some freedom, some comfort in that too. You can tell him everything that's plagued your mind for the past couple hundred days or so without having to worry about the repercussions. Even though not all is said, everything is already done.

"You know, you were mine before you were anyone else's," you say. You feel his eyes on the side of your face. The silence persists, and you aren't sure if you can take it as a sign to continue, but you do so anyway because at least he's not pumping the brakes on it, right? "I used to be jealous of your life. Toward the end, I mean."

"Jealous of what?"

"I don't know. Just your life, your dream. All of it."

Seungmin blinks. "You were jealous that I got to live my dream?"

"I said I was jealous of your life, not you," you correct him. "Because you always seemed to want everything else more than you wanted me."

"You make it sound like I was the bad guy." He turns a little defensive all of a sudden, an edge in his voice when he says, "That's not true."

You still remember him well enough to know that it is.

And it's not such a terrible thing; it's simply the truth. You can't fault him for having a dream and for having enough courage to see it through, even if it means unintentionally leaving you behind in the process. You could foresee the end even from the beginning. If you wanted to blame someone, you would have to blame yourself too.

You swerve around his metaphorical walls, his make-believe suit of armor. If you'd been nervous around Seungmin tonight, then that anxiety is now chipping away brick by brick the more you internalize the fact that nothing matters anymore.

"Remember your last show before we broke up? You were so happy, I was so proud of you. You belong on stage and I never wanted to take that away from you. But then I noticed the crowd, the thousands of people out there cheering your name and I realized that I would never compare to them. Their praise meant more to you than mine, and it was only a matter of time before you outgrew me to look for bigger and better spotlights.

"I'm not saying you were wrong for any of it. I don't blame you. You were always going to outgrow me. It's sad, but it's okay. I always knew that you'd have to leave me behind at some point. It's on me too; I just fell too hard too fast for someone who could never stay. It's your dream, you can't help it. But that night... that was the nail in the coffin for me, knowing that one day, to you, I would be just one of the faces in a crowd that you can't even tell apart."

It doesn't hurt as much as you thought it would. In fact, it's even a little cathartic to pour out the words that have been sitting heavy on your chest. Although it's not until a single tear spills over that you realize your eyes have welled up somewhere along the way. You quickly wipe it away with your thumb, then you feel his hand reach for yours after a few beats.

Seungmin calls your name, and you can hear the regret in his voice. When you look at him, his eyes have softened, no longer on the defense now that you've beat him to the offense. "I'm not drunk enough to forget about this in the morning, you know," he says.

"Does it matter? What are you going to do about it in the morning?" you ask. "We're already broken up. It's not like we can go anywhere from here. But at least now you know what it was like for me."

It seems to be a common theme tonight - stretches of silence in between admissions of truth so that one of you can gauge the other's reaction, trying to assess what path would be worth it to take at this crossroad you find yourselves unable to move on from.

Then he's tugging on your hand, pulling you to him until you're in each other's orbit again. Close enough for him to wrap his arm around you. Close enough that you're weak, not that you were ever that strong to begin with. It doesn't really come as a surprise that you let him.

"I..." Seungmin starts, full of uncertainty as he tries to string together a sentence. "We could go back."

This isn't a surprise either, that you're considering his words.

"What happens when it ends again?"

You can practically taste the residual bourbon on his breath when he leans into you, his lips brushing your cheek just slightly. "Then it ends again," he says, a little pained, all too selfish. "But it'll be worth it. It's worth it to me."

"What if it's not what I want? What if it's not worth it to me?"

He pulls back, putting some distance between your faces so he could see you better, the deep brown of his eyes searching for something that you're both aware of.

"You came tonight," he murmurs, as if that in and of itself is a sufficient enough explanation. "You stayed."

Not all is said, but everything is already done.

You had chance after chance after chance to leave, to shut this down - whatever this is - but you didn't, not even once. You're still a willing participant even though you've lived through this ending before. You know he loved you, know he loves you even if the way he goes about it is selfish.

Because you do know the answer to his questions. It's clear as day; anyone can see it from a mile away.

When your world eventually comes crashing down again some time from now, you won't blame Seungmin. You won't blame yourself either, despite having option to walk away from all of this right now.

Because maybe some pains are worth enduring twice, aren't they?

Why did you come? Why did you stay?

Is anything still there?

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.06.2024]

[janesurlife]

Normally I'd see tweets like this and move on but Today I have my day off so I'm gonna deep dive into this "carlando has ruined f1" narrative and the particular part of fandom that's behind it. Spoilers alert it's charles fan aka lestappies

This bitch has the audacity to say this about carlando while posting this shit..ok sure ma'am, carlando is the one ruining the sport and not a fictional ship which has made it to top-65 of ao3 tags...sure it's carlando yeah

I mean I could be generous and say "enjoy your ship but don't be annoying" but I am not in a generous mood so I'm gonna spit facts. Carlando although is a ship that people like, it's actually a real friendship between two people who have been teammates with each other, know each other's family very well, went to family weddings together and have celebrated each other's wins without any malice (unlike sour puss). Meanwhile lestappen exists only and only in certain people's imagination and on ao3.

So tell me, dear viewers which one of these two is ACTUALLY the k-popification of f1 and ruining the sport? I think we all know the answer and it's not carlando.

saying "carlando was a mistake" as if that's something fans have "created" and not an actual friendship between two grown ass men (lestappies can dream).

The reality of the hate behind carlando is the fact that Charles fans LOVE to blame carlos and Lando for everything and anything that goes wrong in the sport. They hate those two drivers and go to stupid lengths to justify that hate. Bitch grow some balls and own it!

They have this delusion that "everyone loves charles cause he earned it" and I'm gonna tell you a very harsh but true fact and it's that most of you like Charles cause he's a decent looking white man who drives for a prestigious f1 team. If he wasn't in ferrari his fanbase would be half of what it is now or maybe even less. Although it's not a crime to like someone for their appearance but trying to say that it's not what it actually is, that's the problem. So please go ahead and write lestappen fics on ao3 and leave Carlos and Lando out of your delusion.

I would also like to address something here that's been bugging me for a while. These people in their attempts to make carlando the big bad evil of f1 take the conversation away from the real evil of f1 that's fia and liberty media. Fia being inconsistent in their penalties and trying to control very personal aspects of drivers like what they wear and what they speak, is doing more damage to f1 than two men being nice to each other. The rich countries throwing money at fia to get a grand prix without caring about the fact how dangerous it could get for drivers like Qatar was. And fia continuously allowing more and more GPs to be held in US even after the absolute cluster fuck that miami and las vegas was last year. The increasing number of street circuits even after knowing how unsafe they are IS THE REAL EVIL not carlando you fucking dufus.

[witchofthesouls]

Listen after reading that Tarn with a cat post, I need someone taking him to the shelter and the fluff that ensues afterwards, that sounds down right adorable

Listen. Imagine if it was a reward from Megatron, and you're the poor minion stuck with the process.

You've done all you can. There's no more time to worry. There's no time to run. Klicks past by excruciatingly slow. Your chronometer shifts like a patient guard awaiting your slot to the execution chamber.

The bell dings, and your HUD blares out that the morning appointment arrived on time and is currently outside the double sealed doors.

You've managed to survive and thrive caring for finished and rejected lab experiments with metal-eating tendencies or known mechanical-hunters. The facility had successfully placed a few animals among a few members of High Command. Quietly and without fanfare.

Whatever pride in your skills and experience in this subject swelled with the Director's glowing recommendation and Lord Megatron's regard...

And promptly shriveled when the Decepticon Warlord personally communicated this new request, and you lost sleep over countless cycles on whether or not if this was a test and if you'll pass with success or die from failure.

You take a single vent to fortify yourself and let the mech inside.

The Commander of the Justice steps past the security and stands before the cleared front station, datapads in order, ominously looming over with a heavy field as you input everything into the systems. That soft-spoken melodious pur of his voice does little to the increasing anxiety ballooning across your circuitry as the rumors speak of his killer ability to talk mechs to death. You're just glad that he can't see your legs quivering behind the stand.

You're a little surprised that your voice didn't fritzed to static as you explain the visiting procedures, and your plating isn't clamping shut as he steps into your space to follow in the depths of the Pound. The halls devoid of anyone else. Officially, it's due to incoming stock from the Science Division. Unofficially, you're the sacrifice.

It's a well-entrenched habit, so the easy flow of information pours out of your mouth as each exhibit is inspected and passed over.

Canines. Reptiles. Avians. Felines.

It's not the intelligent malice within Maul's optics nor the elegant, powerful form of Nightcrawler that catches the mech's attention.

It's poor, little Visco.

There's not a lick of self-preservation in the experimented photovoltaikitten's head, and you absolutely know that because the animal squeezes out of its container to scuttle across the floor and flops over Commander Tarn's pede upon seeing the mech.

Visco makes the most pitiful meow you've heard in your relatively short life, and by the grace of Lord Megatron's patience, Visco isn't a purple smear on the floor.

Instead, you're treated to the bizarre sight of the terrifying leader of the D.J.D. making a round of the available stock in the aquatic section with a gooey companion clinging to his leg, mewling sadly every now and then.

In fact, the kitten is attempting to destabilize its body to its gooey sludge matter to mark the Commander, and you need to take action before the little idiot losses half its mass in a random vent or hidden data port.

"Sir, may I-" you fall silent as a large servo waves you off. The Commander simply plucks Visco up with two digits, and it dangles in the air. Those large green optics remain unblinking, limbs curled up by instinct as he grabbed the ruff.

Visco has yet to blink, staring back with pretty green optics. You remain steadfast that there's not a single thought in the kitten's head. The size of the luminous optics had taken most, if not all, of its processing power.

"And what is this one called?"

You can not tell him that you named the thing because of its deep love affair, scratch that, absolute addiction, over Visco -a wildly popular flavored engex beverage. The kitten has literally squeezed its entire body into a bottle to lick at the remaining drops. It doesn't need a full clamp down. Just the remains of your snack and the cap.

You bullscrap it with a half-truth.

"It's short for Viscosity, sir." You quietly inform him as Visco decided that Tarn is the greatest thing since the inception of the Empire.

You get a second surprise to feel the mech's own surprise when Visco decided to destabilize and land in a wet clump on the floor to dart away. You die a little inside when Visco drags back a homemade string toy and drops it right there, optics bright and begging for play with pitiful, low mewls.

Since the Commander didn't move, you bit the bullet and crouched down to pick up the toy and flick the string around so Visco could chase the carved bird around.

The moment drags on, dread sinking deep in your abdomen, and the mech doesn't give you any sign of discontent nor impatience.

Eventually, he kneels and politely asks, "May I?"

You numbly pass the toy to watch the Commander of the Justice Division play with a deemed failure of a reconnaissance project. Hands that crushed many sparks gently stroke along a purring ball of happy kitten.

Sweet Visco, the little gooey photovoltaikitten that was hoisted from neath death from the incinerator, loves to stuff inside your cubes, and can't jump to a nearby ledge to save its life, will be taken to a roving execution squad.

You stare blankly as Commander Tarn walks away with Visco in an actual containment unit that is specifically keyed to ensure the critter doesn't escape transport.

Even if your spark panged at gathering Visco's few items and quietly shelving away a small dream, you make sure the security measures are armed, the doors sealed, and immediately curled beneath the desk to stress-sob in relief.

[patibato]

[Ushio SSR] Hell's Tormenting Amanojaku - Night Owl Student and Night Worker Teacher

Part 1

Ushio: Seven seconds to midnight… six…

Here it is… the latest news from Web Dive's midnight update is…

… ……

A… A PATIBATO COLLAB CAFEEE!?!?

(Shit, I yelled on impulse, is Muuchan—)

Muneuji: Zzz… zzz…

Ushio: (—No, I didn't wake him. Thank god he's a deep sleeper…)

Sigh… so? When is it? Where? What new merch will there be? Why is that info always released later? No, maybe just a little bit at a time is better for my heart…?

… Well, all I can do now is spam my priv.

(Though, if I had any fellow otaku to talk about it with…)

(No, most people aren't as into it as I am. And it'd be a pain for our relationship to sour from different interpretations.)

Phew… my throat's all dry from excitement. I'll go grab a drink.

Ushio: (…? The lights are still on. Is someone here?)

*fwip*

Sakujiro: Do this here, a little bit there, thread through like this, nfufufufu…

Ushio: (K-Karigane-san…? It looks like he's making costumes again, but his hands are moving so fast that the afterimages make him look like an Ashura*… that's so uncanny, I'll just slide on by…)

Sakujiro: Hm… I fear this fabric may be rather chilly when worn.

What do you think, Kurama-kun?

Ushio: Nyah!? You noticed so quickly… also, the fact you knew it was me without even looking gives me the creeps…

Sakujiro: It may not be exam season, but staying up without reason is poison for your body.

Ushio: …I was doing something important to me. Also, midnight doesn't count as "late".

Sakujiro: Excuse me then. Do forgive my needless concern.

Ushio: Well, I don't expect you to get it, so I'll just drop by the kitchen and head back to my room.

Sakujiro: Is that so? How about taking a breather here for a late-night change of pace? I was just thinking of having a small break myself.

Ushio: Sigh…

(I can't tell what this guy's intentions are, so I'd rather keep my distance… but, the costume he's making right now is…)

Um, is this… a character from that super famous TCG? "Malice of the Guardians**"… I think it was.

Sakujiro: Oh my, are you familiar with it?

Ushio: The popular rare cards go for so much that collectors started keeping them in safes… …or something like that, I think I might've seen it on SpiNet.

Sakujiro: Indeed. This is a cosplay of the "Crying Red Demon" that appears in MotG… a red demon with striking tears of blood.

Ushio: Huh… the resemblance is so good that even someone who doesn't know it that well like me could recognise it.

Sakujiro: Thank you. However, I fear I may have chosen fabric that's too thin.

Though I suppose it can't be helped, as I split the budget to accomodate the weapon.

Ushio: Wha… you made this weapon yourself too? It's a metal club, but this… isn't real metal, is it…?

Sakujiro: Oh! You can tell? Replicating the texture was my biggest fixation this time. Those who aren't familiar with cosplay tend to look only at the costume, but you—

Ushio: No… it just happened to catch my eye…

(Shit, I'll out myself as an otaku if I say too much…! I've gotta change the subject…)

Anyway, why are you making a costume like this? Has the subject come up with Hama Tours or something…?

Sakujiro: Not at all. This is something I'm creating for personal use.

Ushio: !

(Making a cosplay of a TCG character for personal use…? No way…)

Um… Karigane-san—

Sakujiro: Yes?

Ushio: Are you… an otaku…?

*Ashura are demons with multiple faces and arms

**"Malice of the Guardians" is the card game Yukikaze likes

Part 2

Ushio: Are you… an otaku…?

Sakujiro: Yes. I am indeed.

Ushio: Wh…!

(He's coming out with it so openly…!?)

(No, wait, calm down. It's possible he's a casual who's just acting like an otaku for fashion*…)

Sakujiro: I am… yes, I suppose you could say I'm an otaku for fashion.

Ushio: Huh.

Sakujiro: As you know, Kurama-kun, I make the stage costumes for the Hospitality Lives, but I also sew more practical items… the Young Master's suits, for example.

Anime and game cosplays, such as what I'm making now, are primarily requests from acquaintances. I'm an all-accepting all-rounder clothing otaku.

Ushio: Aah… so it's like that. You don't stan any particular work, you just like the act of making and wearing costumes itself… is what you're saying?

Sakujiro: Precisely.

Ushio: (An otaku's an otaku, but he's a different type to me… his enthusiasm's the real deal, though. You can tell just by looking at what he's making.)

(I only really saw him as a bizarre teacher who acts strange sometimes, but it's been fun hearing about a different kind of interest… I feel a little closer to him, maybe.)

…

Sakujiro: Do you not have much interest in this yourself, Kurama-kun?

Ushio: I mean, I wouldn't… say I don't…

Sakujiro: Hoho! Wouldn't you, now!!

Yes, in light of your reactions thus far, it is clear that you have great potential sleeping within you!

Ushio: Huh? What do you…

Sakujiro: Would you like to try making one? Wearing one, perhaps? Ah, since it's you, I found some costumes that would suit you perfectly when I was organising my cabinet the other day, but if there are any designs in particular you desire, then by all means, tell me every little detail and—

Ushio: H-hold on. Why is this the direction the conversation's going?

Sakujiro: No need to hold back. It's just right for a young person to be shameless.

Ushio: No, this is just what you want to do! I didn't get it until now, but you're the one behind those weird clothes Fuefuki-san sometimes wears, aren't you? Could you not treat me the same way?

Sakujiro: Oh my, I see… Well then, it's getting late, so on some other day…

Ushio: No, what exactly did that "I see" mean!? Maybe sew your eardrums up before sewing more clothes?

Agh~~~ damnit… You weren't kidding when you said staying up late is bad for you. Thanks for proving it, I'm going to bed now!!

*running*

Sakujiro: …Hm. He's missing out, leaving without even giving it a go.

Ushio: Haa, haa… what was with that strong pressure. Like I thought, there's something wrong with that guy… Though, the quality of his costumes is legit…

He was essentially asking what design I'd like, but I don't have any costumes I'd want to… ……

(…If I stayed, could I have gotten a costume of my oshi?)

He said he took requests from acquaintances… so then, a replication of my oshi—

—No, there isn't anyone to wear it in the first place. And I wouldn't be able to display it without revealing that I'm an otaku.

……

I don't think I've… missed out on anything at all…

*"ファッションオタク" (fashion otaku) refers to either "fake" otaku who only "act the part", or otaku who are into fashion

[pikahlua]

Thoughts on the official translation of 405?

Yeah, thoughts abound.

1. Is the official translation of the final line in chapter 405 accurate? No.

2. Regardless, some people think it's inaccurate in really blatant ways that it actually is not. For example, some people think the official translation is changing some explicitly used pronouns around. If there's EVER anything about Japanese that isn't completely clear, it's what the pronouns should be--because the vast majority of them are implied.

3. Re: the "yeah yeah" line, I can conceive of a delivery of the line that does not sound disrespectful. That doesn't mean that's how the translator meant it, and this translator does have a habit of translating Katsuki's rude language with a certain *VIBE* that I don't always agree with--but that doesn't change the fact that Katsuki does speak very rudely and the translator clearly tries to capture that in the way they seem to think is best.

4. It's quite a leap to claim that this official translation is inaccurate due to deliberate malice, which I see a lot of people doing. From what I can tell, the translator just didn't realize the final line is a callback to chapter 322. Without that context, yeah, I can see how it'd be difficult to fully understand what's being said there, because enough of the words are vague or implied that it'd be confusing what Katsuki's talking about without that realization. Katsuki doesn't say "I (ore)" in the line, he says "kocchi (this/here)," which depending on the context can mean "I, we, us over here on this side (of the line, of the argument)." He also doesn't say "Izuku/Deku/that nerd" specifically, he says "aitsu (that guy over there)" with the kanji reading as "One For All." Without the context of chapter 322, it could easily read like "we'll wipe the floor with you where those One For All guys couldn't."

5. Building off #4, we need to be a little more self-aware as fans. When you are a big fan of something, you're gonna be more likely to remember specific lines and notice callbacks and be keyed into the little details. First of all, not everyone is capable of that, especially with respect to a long 405-chapter-and-counting manga. This line is referencing something that the translator hasn't necessarily seen in over two years. Should the translator have to comb back through the entire manga every week just to be safe? Is that really feasible? Of course I'd love for the official translation to be as accurate as possible, but when you're translating something on a weekly basis that isn't even finished yet, it's just a fact that there will be times you miss things. You don't always have the luxury of time to go back and check for things you've missed that need to be tied together. I've messed up lines in my translations before too. Please keep in mind this is the translator's JOB, not necessarily their PASSION. They're likely translating multiple projects at the same time for a meager paycheck. They've got a lot of stuff to remember from various projects at the same time, and they're gonna miss stuff on occasion. Did the translator "not care" in this case? I think it's far more likely the translator cares enough, but if they're not in the fandom they're not gonna care more than the fans nor should we expect them to.

The proper response is NOT TO ATTACK THE TRANSLATOR'S LIVELIHOOD like I see MANY people doing, holy crap.

Translating is often a thankless job. No one writes Viz telling them how good of a job the translator is doing when they get 99% of the translations right. The most obsessive fans often jump on mistakes as if those mistakes are personal attacks. But we're complaining about 1 or 2 lines out of the whole chapter. The rest was pretty good. That's the case for most chapters. It's hard to justify claiming malice when the translator far more often than not gets it right. But goodness, attacking the translator is not going to endear you to anyone who matters. If the translation is something you truly care about and you want to foster nontoxic fandom spaces and have good relationships between the fandom and the producers, a more proper response would be something like:

"Hey Viz, I think the translator missed this key bit of context which could have helped him with this line's translation. I love Horikoshi's work and want the best for it, and I think the translator cares about doing a good job. Would you please let the translator know about this and have him look into it for the official print tankoban release in English?"

The more you alienate and dogpile the translator, the less they're gonna care about doing a good job.

[rikaspotting]

Rika Headcanons Master List:

Rika goes by pretty much any pronoun doesn't mind if you call them a he/she/or they.

Rika has a green thumb and loves gardening.

Their favorite genre of music is ska or alternative but they don't mind listening to a little bit of everything.

Their first Pokemon was a Paldean Wooper which is now a Clodsire and her ace.

Very prone to displaying public displays of affectionate, either romantic or platonic.

Went to a tough school in a bad area growing up .

They put on a facade of being tough and smug to survive.

Rika dislikes makeup and prefers to show off their natural looks.

Their full name is Paprika, but much prefers to go by just Rika.

Rika is a massive foodie despite their lanky frame.

Enjoys making people laugh or relax.

Even the most shy people eventually feel comfortable talking with Rika.

Has a very earthy and motherly vibe to them. Despite her farcical nature, Rika is a lot more wise than she lets on.

Loves kids. She will happily babysit for anyone.

Rika loves ground types because they remind her to stay grounded and firm with their beliefs.

Her childhood was chaotic so the symbolism of ground types reminds her to take one day at a time.

Rika loves to tease and to push buttons, but never out of malice.

Rika is somewhat short, being about 5'6.

She knows it's horrible for her health, but she smokes.

Their voice is somewhat crass and loud with a slight southern twang.

A lot stronger than she looks. She can easily drag around Clodsire by his tail.

Rika is very clumsy and often trips over herself or bumps into things.

Her hands are usually always in her pockets.

Rika taps their feet when they are stressed or impatient.

She is really fond of her league-issued black gloves and is rarely seen without them, even when not working.

She's a sucker for puns and loves telling dad jokes.

They are highly protective of people they love or care for.

Rika is really bad at cooking. She tends to burn her food.

She can drive a motorcycle and thinks she's very badass when she does.

Rika would be the first person to stand up for someone who is getting harassed.

Despite their goofy nature, they have a strong sense of justice and will not hesitate to get physical to defend people they love.

Has a strong weakness for anything small and cute (Exhibit A: Poppy).

Rika loves simulation or farm raising video games.

Highly competitive when battling. Rika will become very pouty if she loses.

It's nearly impossible to lie to them due to their strong BS detector.

They are bisexual, but have a slight preference for women.

Kinda a hypocrite due to the fact they love to tease, but if someone teases them back, they become flustered.

She keeps emergency Clodsire plushies for kids who need some positive reinforcement during interviews.

Often uses Clodsire as somewhat of an emotional support pokemon for people who have anxiety due to his relaxed and dopey nature.

Rika can be a little bit too cocky sometimes, especially when battling

Butchers common sayings on purpose.

Used to explore caves when they were younger.

She is into body modification due to her piercings.

Prefers to dress masculine because it's more comfy to her.

If anyone she cares about is sick, she would rush over to check on time multiple times bringing soup and blankets. No questions asked.

Has a bad habit of swearing often.

They smell like the earth and the ground after it rains.

When in a relationship, they can be possessive and "claim" their lover by leaving marks from bites.

Rika prefers to be the dominant one in the bedroom, but doesn't mind switching occasionally.

Is an adult-child and has a horde of Wooper and Clodsire plushies at home.

Got into many fights as a teenager.

If anyone is crying, she would run up to them and offer them a hug without hesitation.

They find it hilarious that people think they're a guy at first glance.

They are proud of their androgynous appearance and aren't ashamed to break some already established norms.

Rika has a hard time thinking abstractly. She is definitely more of a practical thinker.

Loves to attend parties and entertain others.

Often walks barefoot to feel the ground beneath them.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

i somehow doubt that the noldor didn't tell the sindar about the first kinslaying out of malice. they weren't rubbing their hands with glee, cackling and mwa-ha-ha-ing, they weren't trying to sneak into the sindar's good graces to betray them all or whatever the fuck. i think it was more -

it can't have been deliberate. they were the children of a world without death, part of a culture that holds slaying another elf as the worst crime a person can commit, only one of them had ever raised a weapon at someone else in anger before. i think here, before their doom proper even began, the idea wouldn't have even occured to them; if it did, it would have been dismissed out of hand as obviously insane. i suspect what happened is that fëanor came up with some ridiculous cockamamie plan to steal the ships - literally to steal them, like they were going to sneak into the harbour, climb aboard the ships, and sail away without anyone noticing somehow - and of course they were discovered almost immediately, and then -

the sky was dark for the first time in almost all of their lives. as far as anyone knew, the entire world was ending, and a ton of people - on both sides - had grabbed sharp things in case of giant spider. everyone was on the edge of panic, negotiations had conclusively broken down and yet nobody was backing down, the valar were conspicuously absent, nobody could see worth a damn without the trees, nobody really knew what was happening -

that, to me, doesn't sound like the army of professional soldiers the noldor aren't yet massacring innocent fisherfolk. that sounds like the kind of situation where, if they had guns, someone would have fired a shot, and no one would ever find out who

it's chaos. the noldor somehow get out of there with the swan-ships, but not a single one of them could tell you how it happened. they don't even really start processing what they've done until they're already fleeing up the coast in a disorganised mob, and then...

children of a world without death. born to a culture that holds kinslaying as its highest taboo. there is no possible way the realisation they had just barrelled over every ethical law they had didn't hit them as hard as the trees going out

so no, i'm not surprised they didn't volunteer this information to the sindar. i mean can you imagine opening relations with thingol with this partially it's the guilt, partially it's the shame, partially it's the fact that the first thing they did on their heroic quest to reclaim their stolen masterworks was somehow actual kinslaying, that's gotta do a number on your self-image, partially... i think they were still having trouble processing it, especially early on. how do you come to terms as a culture with having done something like this, when nothing like this has ever happened before?

(and maybe - they're never going back, right? mandos was pretty clear they'd never be welcomed in valinor again, and the teleri probably aren't gonna come chasing after them seeking vengeance. whatever... that was (because they don't have a name for it, not really, everyone who knows about it was either there or learned about it while the blood (don'tthinkabouttheblood) was still drying, how do you even give a name to such a crime?) all its consequences are on the other side of the sundering sea, and chances are they'll stay there)

(so maybe. maybe if they don't mention it. maybe it can stay back in valinor, with the valar and tirion and everything else they'll never see again)

(maybe, it'll be like it never happened at all)

[chemicahs]

TF2 is unplayable and most people don’t know

Graphs showing the absolute Mariana Trench of idle bots farming for items - inflating the player numbers of TF2 on Steam’s counter (white line) vs an independent data count of actual players active in a server (bottom yellow line)

70-80% of “players” counted on steam are bots. There’s over twice as many players now as in 2012 when the game was popular? How is that possible when the game hasn’t been touched by a major update in years?

Only 3% of the bots shown here are of the cheating kind, infesting the waters of casual servers making it impossible to enjoy a match of tf2 without being instantly killed stepping out of spawn.

These sniper bots not only spread hate in the chat and just genuinely ruin the beloved game out of malice, but their hosts are actually doing illegal things such as using a youtuber’s voice to train an ai in order to make it speak vulgar threats, leading to this person getting police sent to his house.

Valve, The multi billion dollar company, says it’s “too hard” to beat a couple guys with computers in their basement, and don’t care about their reputation for their most well known game. How embarrassing, people think this game is still flourishing with “increased” player numbers and many many fans, while in reality Valve is just letting illegal shit happen in their game because it makes them a couple cents. Tf2 is such a good game that the community tries to brush off the fact the bots even exist, which is why you probably haven’t heard about it.

This game that everyone loves and thinks is doing fine isn’t in danger of losing numbers, it’s actively a cesspool of malicious bots run by real people making the game unable to be enjoyed. TF2 is NOT thriving and will continue to go downhill unless we tell more people what is going on.

An entire game has been ruined by a handful of assholes party pooping everyone else’s fun (and creating real life danger) for YEARS.

The #SaveTF2 movement of 2022 brought attention and started trending, but most people used it to say how much they love the game, and many fans still had no idea what was happening INSIDE the game. This time we are informing people about the bots and nothing else.

What can we even do? What can Valve do? There’s only one way to find out.

Screenshot credits:

[yoonyeon0]

hello! I was wondering if you could do more with Hayami? Either, HCs of when he has a crush on someone (maybe someone popular since you said he gets jealous)? Or him going to a Laufey concert?! Whatever you want. Anything you pick would be appreciated!!

hayami..the man that you ARE 😍😍 this request is my FAV so far. I incorporated both of your suggestions into this one but this is more centered around crush hcs 🤭 hope you enjoy!

Hayami Masaki Crush Hcs

let’s go!!

Hayami is a very slow person when it comes to love; he just prefers it that way. So when he realizes that his lingering touch on your hands and the way his heart warmed up when you smiled wasn’t just him being a good friend, he’s shocked.

.・。.・゜✭

He’s honestly a bit embarrassed that he started feeling this way about you and he thinks that you probably won’t reciprocate his love for you (he don’t know anything..)

.・。.・゜✭

The thing that makes this situation worse is that you’re fairly popular at the university you two go to, which makes it so much harder to even reach you.

.・。.・゜✭

The moment Hayami sees you with another guy friend; the jealousy starts to bubble. If you try and include him, he’ll decline somewhat passive aggressively and go on with whatever he was doing.

.・。.・゜✭

Definitely overthinks about you and the guy. Will not let the situation go until you verbally say that the guy is just a friend but even though he’s not really sure.

.・。.・゜✭

Hayami definitely doesn’t confess quickly. He’ll take months, maybe even years if you guys are childhood friends. He won’t even hint to him liking you because he already wants the date and confession to be perfect.

.・。.・゜✭

Hayami doesn’t like jokes about you loving him. Even if you’re just trying to say thank you, he’ll turn into a red mess and will be unable to control his stutter. Please, don’t terrorize him even more than you are already 😭

.・。.・゜✭

I can see Hayami definitely getting into the interests that his crush is into; even if it’s boring to him. He just wants to be closer to them.

.・。.・゜✭

Hayami will walk with you any and everywhere. This is a slight hint but he hopes you just brush it off as him being a good guy 🤗.

.・。.・゜✭

Hayami hides the fact that he fought in an underground tournament from you at all costs. Even if you somehow meet Koga or something, he won’t even open his lips to elaborate on what Koga was talking about (because sometimes Koga do be slow and he just talk abt whatever..)

.・。.・゜✭

“Underground Tournament? What are you talking about silly?”

“Narushima mentioned it! I swear, I hope you aren’t doing shady shit without telling me.”

“🙂…”

.・。.・゜✭

You’ll have to be his partner of 6+ years to get even a word out of him about that.

.・。.・゜✭

‘Accidentally’ talks about what you want in a person or relationship. If you tell him “someone that has a metal type style”, don’t be surprised if he comes up tomorrow looking like he’s a member of Malice Mizer 😕

.・。.・゜✭

Will spend more money on you than all of his other friends and if his other friends ask why, he just looks dumbfounded. Not his fault he fell head over heels with you.

.・。.・゜✭

Hayami takes you to a Laufey concert and screams internally when you wear a cute outfit with little bows in your hair. It makes his day. He probably sings Lovesick while staring you dead in the eye hoping you get the point. (You do but never tells him 🤭)

.・。.・゜✭

That’s all! Let me know if I should post a part two of this with him confessing!

sometimes I write something and ask myself if it was really me who wrote it 😣

𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙤𝙣! 𝘿𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙘𝙤𝙥𝙮 𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠.

[renegadeer]

ill explain specifically why bots conversation with cabby + the way its portrayed is harmful. evil twitter thread to tumblr blog conversion time first off, AE potrays bot messing with cabby by lying to her for laughs. i understand iii is a childrens media and it would be fine under most context, but since cabby has memory disabilities and connects her self worth to the accuracy of her files, playing it as a joke feels cruel. bot isnt doing it to be cruel! bot doesnt know about cabby’s memory disability, but the tone of the show plays it off as though but isnt doing anything wrong when they are. plus, cabby’s intent when asking bot info about themselves is to precent herself from saying more things that could upset them in the future (her insensitive comment abt bot being a replica). she isnt writing the files or asking for info out of malice, she’s trying to use her memory aids to prevent herself from hurting other’s feelings in the future.

bot lying to her just feels cruel and unnecessary, since cabby isn’t trying to use the information in a way that would hurt them. bot’s reasoning for distrusting cabby’s is pointless. cabby needs accurate info and facts because otherwise she physically cant remember anything. cabby doesnt share files willy nilly either, she has only ever shared contestant files with test tube for the sake of the competition, but that would be the same thing as someone who didn’t have a memory disability sharing what they can remember abt a contestant verbally

but bot doesn’t let cabby use her memory aid, which cabby agrees to. it would have made more sense if bot just told cabby to keep the file private, which im sure cabby would have! the reason she elimed fan was bc he took a file without asking first, invading her privacy!

and this is the most dangerous message to send to someone with a memory disability. becuase oftentimes manipulators will prevent them from recording things that are said to them to more easily gaslight them later. im not saying bot is trying to do this, they arent, but its still a bad message to tell people with memory issues to not keep personal record of “private conversations”. keeping these records is how mentally disabled and physically disabled people keep themselves safe! not everyone in the world is a good, genuine person!

i don’t understand why the message AE seems to be sending is that cabby’s disability aid is a bad thing! its not a bad thing to keep records! its a good thing, actually, for disabled people to protect themselves! and cabby isn’t in danger in ii, but its still an unsafe message to send to say she shouldn’t keep records to keep her facts straight. ae tries to justify this by implying that the people around cabby are there to support her; but she shouldnt be told to stop protecting herself because she should trust she’s safe

This scene is framed as a heartwarming moment when its the most unsafe thing someone could say to a disabled person. If someone prevents you from using an aid and tells to rely on them instead, thats a RED FLAG. this is a common way for abusers to increase your dependance on them

IM NOT SAYING BOT IS AN ABUSER. BUT FRAMING THIS POSITIVELY IS UNSAFE. say im reading too much into a childrens media but for SOME CHILDREN THIS MIGHT BE THEIR FIRST EXPOSURE TO ANOTHER CHARACTER W MEMORY ISSUES!

at the end of the episode cabby leaves her file behind. HER DISABILITY AID BEHIND. why Is That the Moral You Want. Disability aids are so disabled people can be more independant. why are you using your disabled character have the “be more open and vulnerable” arc?? disabled people are already one of the most vulnerable minorities! do not push this idea to stop them from protecting themselves!

okay sorry guys end of my evil ramble. um. smile emoji. for the tumblrinas