#absolute seething hatred

[catchingbigfish]

nico you have unleashed a demon. i switched from mobile to laptop to make this post. that is how violently i oppose this man.

(btw this is also a james patterson hate blog 👀 pls rant as much as you want about him even if just bc i, too, like an excuse to hate james patterson, but also all i know is that his books suck and i'd love to hear more)

but anyway, bukowski. my god. this was sparked because someone posted a quote and i follow a tag they used on it, and i’ve already lost the post so i don’t even remember what quote it was, but. first off, he was a genuinely awful person. like, that was part of his schtick — or maybe just his personality — just being this awful, gross dude who said awful, gross things about women (and probably others, but when i went to search for example quotes for this post, one of the suggested searches was "charles bukowski quotes about women" because that's a genre of quotes by him). that's not news even to people who share his quotes (because he's one of those authors where no one has actually read him, he's just Imminently Quotable for social media), it's something they appreciate about him.

thing is, all that aside, my visceral hatred is because i specifically cannot believe people unironically share his quotes. just. my fucking god. the man is like the hero of every one of my relatives/relatives’ friends who grew up in a bubble of red rural america who one day were like, “you know what? god isn’t real and i’m gonna make my identity into doing psychedelics and liking music my dad liked” but before the 70s came back in style.

like, it’s the late 00s/early 10s and you’re a teenager stranded in some bumfuck nowhere town in the south, and you’re at a house party with some weird summer fling (whose obsession with ayn rand is starting to turn you off but a few years later he’d thank you for turning him into a socialist so you don't feel so bad looking back) who’s gone to the bathroom, so you’re sitting on lawn furniture awkwardly drinking beer and this guy with long hair and a bandana and a tie dye shirt turns to you with dinner plate pupils and asks if you know about led zeppelin, and when you say yes he’s like but Do You Get It and then. AND THEN. he quotes bukowski. weirdly specific memories smushed together because these types of dudes all blend together aside, the quote i hate the most? the one that turns my blood into a sea of violence roiling beneath my skin? THIS ONE:

"People run from rain but sit in bathtubs full of water."

just. what? oh my god, WHAT. oh no ): people don’t like being fully clothed and getting wet ): people are inconvenienced by drops of water when they didn’t set aside a specific time to get naked and get in a bathtub and control the temperature ): just, gtfo.

but somehow it's crack for the people who are like, that person who considers themselves an incredibly intelligent atheist. their fave movie is idiocracy, they think south park is the highest form of satire, they believe rick and morty is the smartest show to be made, and bill burr is their favorite comedian. they're a centrist democrat who smokes weed but thinks feminists take it too far. they may be a time traveler from 2013 reddit. like:

"The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence."

(this isn’t unique to men, my mom unironically uses this quote when lamenting that i’m not having kids, but she also listens to joe rogan so. but i edited the That Guy rant i just went on because, like, she's definitely a woman, and she's exactly like this sometimes)

and listen. i get it, some of his quotes aren’t… the worst? i like the idea, the concept but not the practicality, of Devoting It All to your art. i think it’s neat that this sort of gonzo dude existed at some point in history, but the woe i feel for any woman who ever existed near him eclipses it, but anyway. also i found the quote that made me go rabid and make this post and FUCK:

"Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way."

THIS SAYS NOTHING. IT ADDS NOTHING TO THE WORLD. THIS IS JUST SOMETHING SOMEONE THOUGHT SOME DAY, AND THEN THEY SAID IT, AND BECAUSE THEY HAD NOTORIETY THE WORLD CLAPPED AND SOMEONE ON 2023 POSTED IT TO TUMBLR AND TAGGED IT SO I HAD TO SEE IT. IT WOULD ACTUALLY BE A PERFECTLY FINE QUOTE IF IT WASN'T BUKOWSKI BUT IT'S BUKOWSKI AND THEREFORE I AM RAGING.

i can't decide whether to end this with "thank you for coming to my ted talk" or "in this essay i will," because i have devoted an 800 word post to Charles Fucking Bukowski and i could do it again

for some reason seeing charles bukowski's name makes me go feral and froth at the mouth. i want to commit violence against the concept people share his words. i want to fucking fist fight the very idea that people respect his thoughts. i think vile things so loudly his ghost must hear them

[nyxofdemons]

this is such a good video PERFECTLY encapsulating why exactly so much of the hellaverse fandom is outrageously vitriolic. great analysis of the release structure and how that impacts fandom expectations. valid critiques but also an acknowledgement that hazbin/helluva are uniquely torn to SHREDS for things that they did not cause/are not the sole perpetrators of. highly recommend everyone check out this video as we get closer to hazbin's release

[gender-sludge]

I finally put sheets back on my bed!!!! I feel human again!!! Crazy what can happen when a shitty body and an unmotivated brain eventually decide to cooperate.

[moe-broey]

VIVID fucking idea I had last night....

Background info, I think Moe has some really distinct tendencies that Alfonse ends up being able to immediately identify it by (and finds a lot of comfort in doing so). One of which, is it doing a quiet, hesitant, but steady knock. Persistent, but with long pauses in between.

ENTER..... the Vision........ just. This entire sequence. "You'll never hear from me again". Into, the quiet knock only a few hours later. Into bursting in with the MOST enthusiastic, "HOLY FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Moe really is Some Type of Guy LMFAOO

Fave panels.......

[akiragatr]

Heard a commercial on the radio suggesting a laser fat removal before it's Back to School season.

War and hatred on planet earth. 🔪🗡💣

[slyandthefamilybook]

went through Briahna Joy Grey's Twitter to see if she had deleted that tweet yet and wow my head is spinning

[velvetbunniie-archive]

anyway, i discovered that i rate things vv generously. according to my friend.

[glitterdustcyclops]

the act of translating/interpreting something from one language to another is actually a very incredibly complicated, human act, more art than science. it would be lovely if the babel fish could actually exist, but it can't, and machine-assisted translations are a poor substitute. relying on them instead of just paying the humans who do the actual hard work of translation well is exactly as exploitative as any of the other uses of AI we're claiming to be against

also i did some brief googling and from what i can tell, this person is not a part of the D/deaf & HoH community and does not actually know ASL. as several other commenters have pointed out (see here), this is a consistent problem where people who aren't familiar with D/deaf culture try (full disclaimer i am one also not apart of this culture and definitely am not trying to speak over anyone) and release "helpful" technologies to make their language something us normal hearing folks can understand, which is ableist as fuck.

also also, to be pedantically petty for second, this model (which is two years old as you can see in the original LinkedIn post here) doesn't actually translate anything. it's based on a model that can recognize objects, and she "taught" it to recognize a few specific signs by the way she held her hands. i am...dubious about the entire idea of treating sign language as a series of discrete "objects" to be recognized, because from what i understand, that's not actually how the language works?

tldr; stop trying to get machines to interpret things like art or music or language because it's not gonna fuckin work, and attempts to do otherwise hurt real people

A computer science student named Priyanjali Gupta, studying in her third year at Vellore Institute of Technology, has developed an AI-based model that can translate sign language into English.

[joeymiya]

I should really draw the in the know club or the book lovers[immensely debatable] club which consists of people who have like a measured amount of memories regarding the original timeline, complete and incomplete.

These people are Mori Ogai, Nikolai Gogol, and Ango Sakaguchi.

The one most aware but also equally clouded by a large amount of anger and hatred is Nikolai and the least affected is Ango. Mori is sort of the middle spot because of Elise existing as she is in this au compared to her counterpart who was simply an extension of Mori.

[tinkywinkyschauffeur2]

walking into book shops is so fucking depressing it drives me insane

also sorry to the person whose beach photo i stole if you see this no hate to you the lighting is stunning dm for credit or removal or whatever

[jolioiseau]

begging on my astral knees for ppl to understand that the wing is a manifestation of sephiroths hatred, not weird alien genetics

[puckinghischier]

so hi.. i keep thinking about how hot (and probably hopefully rough) sex would’ve been after last night’s game. you do with that information what you’d like.. i just thought i’d share my thoughts y’know completely and utterly innocent like.

✶ hope you had the best day alli, baby!! ‹𝟹

oh harls, my beautiful, beautiful quinn lover.

of course quinn would be in the need of some…rage activities once he got home. he’d be seething the entire bus ride back to the hotel, thinking about how cocky those assholes on the kings were all night. i mean, the hit on brock? the multiple intentional penalties? the cheap move from clarke?

it was all he could do to contain himself until his penalty, finally having had enough of the nasty plays. and while he was letting himself seethe and stew in his hatred, all he could think about is the fact you’re going to be waiting in his hotel room for him.

when he walks through the door, you’re laying on the king sized bed, having received his text he sent you from the locker room directly after the game.

naked. on the bed. now. absolutely no touching yourself (trust me, i’ll fucking know). don’t move until i say so.

he made you send him a picture for confirmation, wanting to know you’ll be so worked up in anticipation by the time he walks through that door you’ll be putty in his hands.

and while he’s already worked up and agitated from the game, the sight of your hand snaked between your legs, head thrown back onto his pillow, soft pants falling from your lips, has him seeing red.

he drops his bag loudly, seeing as you were so lost in the feeling of your own fingers you didn’t hear the heavy door open and shut.

the sound finally startles you out of your blissful state, arms flying up to cover yourself in a panic, dropping them to rest on your stomach when you realize it’s just quinn. the look on his face, however, does nothing to calm your racing heart.

“thought i told you specifically not to touch yourself,” he grits out, clenching his jaw so tightly he could barely speak.

you still, having been so ready and needy you completely forgot about the rule. sitting there, bare pussy exposed to the chill of the room, was torturous in the best way. you could feel yourself drip onto the freshly made bed, so the initial contact was simply the swipe of a finger to try and prevent any further mess. but the warm contrast of your finger on the cold slick of your cunt felt too good, spurring you to give your clit just a brief touch. just enough to hold you over.

before you knew it, you heard the thud of quinn’s bag and clearing of his throat, not even remembering how you ended up knuckle deep in your own core.

“i-i’m so sorry. it’s just, it was cold, and i was so wet, so i tried to clean myself up a bit, but my finger was so warm, and then i thought just one touch wouldn’t hurt,” you ramble out one long run-on sentence trying to plead your case.

“oh, i see” he starts walking towards you, quickly stripping himself of his t-shirt. “you were so ready for me, that you couldn’t wait on me, is that it?”

your face heats, realizing how pathetic it all is, really.

“well, when you put it like that…” you can’t even make eye contact with him, looking down at his hands instead.

quinn starts to untie the string on his sweatpants, letting them drop and walking right out of them as he comes to a stop at the end of the large bed.

“yeah…that’s what i thought,” he smacks his teeth at you in disapproval, shaking his head back and forth.

you take in the sight of him before you. toned body, pale skin, and my god, the hair. you’ve always been one to love body hair on a man, but seeing his large, exposed thighs, and the perfect dusting of the thick, dark hairs all over them, has your hand itching to find its way back between your slick folds.

he starts to palm himself over his boxers, earning a whimper from you in return. the noise piques his interest, eyebrow raising as he looks down at you.

“oh…you want this?” he reaches down to free his thick cock, sighing at the relief of the cloth restriction.

you don’t know if you should respond or not, scared of the consequences either way. you decide on an eager nod, mouth nearly watering at the sight.

“yeah, figured you did. always so needy, so ready to be whatever i need you be,” he says dismissively. “and lucky for you, i need this tonight, too. or i’d make you sit here and watch me stroke myself until i couldn’t take anymore, spewing everything i have all over you and this bed before making you go to sleep needy and unsatisfied. your punishment for touching yourself before i could get here.”

he must be able to see the panic in your eyes at the possibility, knowing he’s upset but surely he’s not that upset with you.

“but,” he starts, rubbing his thumb over his pink tip, “i think what i have planned is punishment enough. plus, i need you tonight, my sweet girl. need you to be my vice, my cure for all these…feelings i have pent up.”

you feel the physical jolt your core does, causing your body to flinch.

quinn discards his underwear entirely, placing one knee on the plush bed to start making his way to your body. you’re still sprawled out, skin buzzing at the thought of his touching yours.

once he’s hovering above you on all fours, he brings his head down to place a feather light kiss to your lips. when he pulls away, you chase him, pouting at the barely there contact.

“nope. only kiss you’ll get tonight, i’m afraid,” he sits up on his knees, in-between your open legs.

you whine out, always loving the hot, open-mouth kisses you two share while he’s inside of you.

“ehh, no more whining, either. should’ve thought about that before you broke the rules,” he scolds you, bringing his hands down to move your legs up, bending both of your knees so your feet rest flat on the bed.

once your knees are bent, he takes your hands that were resting on your stomach and splay them out on their respective sides.

“now, since you didn’t do like i asked you to so nicely, even though i’m so, so mad tonight, no touching me,” he looks down into your eyes as he says it, making sure you understand his rules.

“so, no kissing, no touching, no whining? what, i’m basically your sex doll tonight?” you sass him, rolling your eyes.

now, you expected a reaction out of him. it was your intent, actually. you expected a small smack to the leg, or a wagging finger with a stern look.

what you didn’t expect was to feel his hand come up and grasp your face, squishing your cheeks together so hard you’re forced to bite them just to allow any sort of give from the pressure.

he jerks your face to look at him, bringing his own so close you can feel his hot, angry breath on your face.

“that’s exactly right. you’re my doll tonight. mine to use as i see fit. however i want. you know why?” he pauses, heaving breaths in and out as he waits, as if you’d actually be able to answer him. “because i’m mad. i’m mad that the stupid kings thought they could beat up on my team tonight and get away with it. i’m mad that brock was taken out during the first period because of a purposeful hit. i’m mad, because the one thing i asked you to do, you couldn’t fucking do it.”

he’s seething at this point, an animalistic kind of anger radiating through his body.

your heart races in both fear and excitement. you hardly ever get to see this side of quinn, and you don’t know exactly what all was said or done on that ice tonight, but you’re sure you’re going to be able to feel the effects of it all for the next few days to come.

he releases your cheeks roughly, standing tall on his knees.

“since you claim you were so wet earlier you just couldn’t resist starting without me, too drunk on your own fingers to know what you were doing, you shouldn’t need any help then, should you?” he asks, reaching down to feel the arousal pooling in your exposed heat.

you want to whine. you want to whine and protest and complain, but before you can even think about breaking another rule of his, your breath is knocked from your lungs.

without any warning whatsoever, quinn slams into you completely, leaving no inch of your canal untouched. on instinct, you start to reach your arms up to grasp onto him, needing to ground yourself to him.

“i wouldn’t, if i was you,” he growls out, pulling out completely before slamming into you again, gripping one of your hips for stability.

dropping them back down to the mattress, you grasp the sheets so tightly you worry you’ll rip them.

your body jolts with each slam of his rigid cock into your hole, completely removing himself each time before snapping his hips so forcefully you swear you can feel it in your throat.

“god, have no clue how fucking angry i’ve been tonight”, he huffs out, not faltering his pace. “all night, watched those smug goons think they could do whatever they wanted, to whoever they wanted. then the refs wouldn’t even let me return the favor when given the chance. it’s bullshit,” he spits with a particularly harsh thrust.

you’re trying your best to lay there, unmoving, occupying your hands with the soft cotton underneath you. a choked sob of pleasure makes its way out when he hits a spot so deep inside of you, you had no clue it existed until this moment.

“but knew i was gonna get to come home to you,” he continues, distracted momentarily by the bounce of your tits with each thrust. “my sweet, sweet girl who always listens to what i say. who’s always so ready to do what i need her to do for me.”

he reaches up to pinch one of your hard nipples. you flinch, but remember to keep your hands down.

“and imagine my surprise, when i walk in the door to see you already making yourself feel good after i told you to wait on me,” he switches his hand to your other nipple, show it some attention. “made me so fucking angry all over again. was so prepared to come in and take care of you, low and slow all night. a treat for you and for me. but you just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”

at this point, even if you wanted to speak you couldn’t. you’re quite literally being fucked dumb right now. the effort of keeping your body still isn’t even a challenge anymore, limbs so heavy with pleasure you’re basically his to manipulate and use as he wishes.

you don’t even feel your orgasm approaching. one second you’re listening to his frustrations, the next you’re half deaf and seeing stars.

quinn stutters only slightly, abandoning his touch on your tits to move his hand to your throbbing clit.

“god, this was so fucking easy. this turn you on? me mad at you, not letting you do what you want, just like i didn’t get to do what i wanted?” he talks you through your bliss, watching your body shake and shiver while he continues his deep thrusts.

his fast circles on your clit don’t ease up, even after you’ve come down from your high. you try to wiggle your body away, your sensitivity making you squirm.

quinn’s grip on your hip tightens, halting your movement.

“don’t fucking move,” growls at you, basking at how easy it is for him to glide in and out of you, his dick covered in your release. “you’re gonna give me another one, i don’t care how sensitive you are. know you can do it. my own little slut.”

the name surprises you, quinn never really has been one for using stuff like that in the bedroom. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t cause the feelings of another release to start swirling again, though.

his resolve starts to deteriorate, but he’s determined to milk one more from you before he enjoys his own release.

“c’mon. it’s the least you can do f’me, really,” he grunts, somehow rubbing even faster circles on your swollen bundle of nerves. “after no one at the game would let me retaliate, and after i had to sit in the fucking box for two minutes for just returning a little bit of what they dished out all night, giving me all you’ve got isn’t a lot to ask, is it?”

you try to shake your head, but the increased pace of his forceful thrusts causes your head to bob all over the place.

he can feel your walls starting to flutter again already, knowing it won’t take much to send you over the edge.

keeping his hand in between your legs, applying both pressure and friction to your clit now, he bends his body over to attach his mouth to your tit, showing the the area attention once again. he swirls his tongue around your sensitive nub.

the feeling alone is delectable, causing you to writhe in pleasure. but the second you feel his teeth encase the delicate bud, biting down, you explode yet again.

you don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your life. you cry out, so loud and so pornographic quinn worries someone will complain, but loving every second of the sound.

you’re convulsing underneath him, tears leaking from your closed eyes at the intensity of the pleasure radiating throughout your body.

“fuck, that’s it. swear your pussy’s trying to trap me in there, doesn’t want me to leave,” quinn groans, feeling like his dick is literally being suctioned into your body.

after a few more sloppy thrusts, his balls tighten and he coats your walls with his release. he moans out, mixing with your perfect whimpers and whines as the shocks of his own orgasm cause you to twitch.

after he’s sure your body has sucked him dry, quinn pulls out of you, pushing your knees down so he can roll over to the side of you, throwing his own tired body in the mattress.

you both lay beside one another, panting and letting your bodies catch back up to you. he reaches over to grab your hand, every ounce of anger having left his body through his orgasm.

he’s back to being his usual, soft self, as he rolls over to place a kiss to your temple.

you’ve come to a little bit, turning your head to look over at his smiling face.

“maybe…maybe i should start a pact with these teams you play each week to make you mad and rile you up during games more often,” you softly speak, voice slightly hoarse from your orgasmic screaming. “if this is what i get in return, think it’d be worth the price,” you smirk at quinn.

he lets out a quiet chuckle at your words, bringing a hand to brush some hair out of your face, finally placing a real kiss to your lips.

when he pulls back you open your eyes to admire him, but are met with a serious, stern expression.

“don’t push it.”

[altocat]

The ever-popular AU fic trope where Cloud goes back in time to kill Sephiroth while he's still in SOLDIER...

...But instead of your traditional confident dom Sane!Sephiroth like in all the stories, Cloud comes face to face with the saddest, most terminally depressed, most canonically pathetic wet sandwich of a man who is currently two seconds away from bawling because his friends have ditched.

Let Cloud deal with the moral ramifications of slaying Mr. "All it takes is a little compassion". Let him seethe and rage at Sephiroth having literally no evil or arrogant thoughts in his head other than thinking that maybe he'll CHEAT on tonight's crossword puzzle. Let him absolutely STEW WITH HATRED as Sephiroth lounges on Lazard's desk while googling pictures of cats and proper apology gifts to mend broken friendships.

Cloud: "YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED YOU BISHI FUCK I'M ON TO YOU."

Sephiroth: "Pumpkin soup renews my will to live so maybe it will cure Genesis' Degradation :)"

[dreamingofmarauders]

You Belong With Me

James Potter x Reader

Summary: In which despite having rejected you, James feels the uttermost jealousy of someone else being near you

Warnings: Jealousy, rejection, angry/a bit possessive James Potter, regret, arguing, cussing, crying (Let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I honestly don’t even know what I was thinking then, but this idea just randomly hit me so here it is lol. Hope you enjoy! ❤️

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

James tightened his hold on his glass of Firewhiskey, his gaze piercing dangerously as he watched you get too close with another guy. He clenched his jaw, downing his drink in one go before he tossed the glass back on the table, rage filling his whole being.

He had no right to feel like this. After all, he was supposed to be in love with Lily, not you. At least, that's what he kept trying to tell himself but as he watched you drape your arms around a Slytherin, both swaying to the music, he felt nothing but pure hatred for the male and absolute jealousy.

You should be in James' arms, not his.

James clenched his jaw, shutting his eyes as he inwardly groaned, as it came back to him once again, the memory so vivid it was as if the young Potter was reliving it once again.

You and James leaned against the railing of the Astronomy Tower, your eyes fixated upon the captivating night sky. You turned your head to look at the hazel eyed beside you, who gazed up at the twinkling stars with a soft smile sitting upon his lips. You and James had been best friends since you were children and your bond only deepened during the many years you spent together at Hogwarts. It was a weekly tradition for the two of you to stargaze together.

Your heart fluttered at the content expression on James' face, nothing but adoration in your eyes for him. Over the years, you didn't realize when but you had fallen for your best friend.

You were in love with James Potter.

However you kept that secret locked away in your heart, knowing James had been chasing after the redhead, Lily Evans, since you all were eleven.

Now as you admired James, the ways his lips curved or the twinkle in his hazel eyes, or his always messy black locks, or the way a dimple appeared whenever he smiled, the words slipped past your lips before you could stop them.

"I love you."

Your eyes widened with horror as James' rounded at that as well, turning to look at you in surprise.

You had mentioned many times how much you loved him but what caught James off guard this time was the way you spoke the words, the emotion behind them indicating a whole other meaning, a confession of you being in love with him.

"What?" He breathed out.

You sighed, knowing it was useless to deny it.

"I am in love with you, James."

"No." James uttered out in horror, taking a step back, causing a crack to form in your heart. "You can't be in love with me. I-I only love Lily."

Despite knowing the truth, your heart still shattered at the words that passed his lips, your eyes brimming up with tears.

Why had you even dared to hope he may reciprocate your feelings?

"I love Lily, Y/n. I could never love you." He said, as the tears slid down your cheeks. "I'm sorry." And with that James spun on his heels and hurried away, leaving you to stare after him, utterly heartbroken.

You had destroyed your own relationship with James, severing off the threads that had bonded the two of you together since forever.

You angrily wiped your face.

Why did every force in the universe always have to work against you?

The two of you haven't spoken since. James seethed as he watched Rosier pull you closer, but what really ticked him off was that your gaze had connected with his, and he knew that you knew what James was really feeling as you observed his very red face, before you inched your face closer to the Slytherin's.

That was the final straw for James Potter.

He immediately took a step in your direction but a hand latched onto his arm, rooting him to the spot.

"Mate, calm down."

James' furious gaze flickered to see who had dared to stop him, his eyes finding the silvery grey irises of his best friend.

Sirius knew exactly what had transpired, all the Marauders did. After all, you had been a fifth of their group, and your absence had impacted them all.

"Prongs, you need to calm down." Sirius instructed again, carefully analyzing James' facial expression.

This only angered the young Potter.

"Stay out of this, Black." He spat out and shrugged off Sirius' hand, ignoring his friend's protests.

James strutted over to you with nothing but fury and jealousy blinding him. When he reached you and Rosier, he shoved the Slytherin back, who shot the Gryffindor a death glare, grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the crowd of bustling and dancing teenagers, ignoring your protests. He finally dropped his hand from you when the two of you were in the silent corridor outside the Gryffndor common room.

You glared at James, who was staring back at you intensely, his jaw clenched.

"What the fuck, Potter?!" You yelled.

"What the fuck were you doing with that Rosier?! You were doing it on purpose!" James retorted back, silencing you for a mere moment before your face hardened.

"I can do whatever the hell I want, Potter, you have absolutely no right over my life!" You screamed at him, throwing your hands up in anger. "You told me you don't love me, you pushed me away, so how in the world do you get to decide what I can do and whom I can be with?! Why does it bother you so much?!" You shrieked at him.

However the next second, your back was pressed against the cold stone wall as James closed the distance between the two of you, caging you in his arms as his lips pressed to yours. You tried to resist, knowing this wouldn't end well, but the feel of him on you ignited a fire that yearned for more and your hands slithered to lock behind his neck, as you both poured out all your emotions into the kiss.

When the need for oxygen became great, the two of you pulled away, James placing his forehead against yours, as the both of you panted.

"This isn't fair to me, James." You breathed out, your eyes brimming once again. "You can't say you want Lily but then not let me live my life either." A tear slid down your cheek as your voice became heavy with emotion.

James lifted his head back, raising his hand to softly brush away your tears, placing a kiss on both of your cheeks before he peered into your y/e/c eyes, his gaze so intense that it seemed he was looking right into your soul.

"I am so sorry, love. I was wrong. I kept telling myself that it's Lily, but," He shook his head rather vigorously, "I've missed you more than ever since that day. My heart keeps calling out to you and I tried to push it down, but seeing you with another made me fully realize that there is no one else I would rather have than you." He confessed, placing his hand on your cheek, relishing in the way you leaned into his touch.

He continued, whilst lovingly caressing your cheek.

"My life is colorless and dull without you, y/n/n. I want you, darling. I... I love you." James uttered out, watching your face flood with astonishment, noticing the way you had stilled in his hold. Knowing he couldn't lose your attention, he went on, "I know I was an absolute jerk to you that day and today, but I promise you my love, if you give me the chance, I will spend the rest of my life, spend each day proving to you how much I really do care for you." James professed, his heart pounding heavily as he awaited your response.

You stared at him in complete shock, eyes round, making James afraid that he had truly lost you for good. However, a rush of relief flooded James' body when your beautiful lips slowly curved up into a tiny smile.

"I'll give you one chance, Jamie, just one."

The biggest smile you had ever seen graced James' face at your answer, and he cupped both your cheeks, "Thank you! Thank you!" He lifted you off the floor, spinning you around before he gracefully set you back on your feet, his arms going to settle around your waist. "I promise you that you will not regret this, darling."

And James Potter lived up to his promise, as each day after that, he made sure to show you how much he truly did love you, and Merlin were you above the clouds to have landed the man of your dreams, disbelief still clawing at you from time to time that James Potter loved you back just as much as you loved him.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

[brazenautomaton]

also the idiot in question on that "implant repossession" post was replying to me to say actually communist countries were way more accepting of LGBT people than capitalism

I laughed this off because it is self-evidently absurd, I just mentioned the absolute seething hatred communists had for homosexuality as "bourgeois degeneracy"

said commie responded with "the revolution will not spare you"

they don't even threaten to kill you they gloat about how they're going to kill you, but it never counts because the rules are different for communists

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Rhaenyra's baby running playfully through the halls. She runs to the training grounds, Ser Criston sees her, for a moment it looks like she's running happily towards him. Only for her to run right past him and hug the legs of Ser Harwin, looking at him as if he hung the moon in her name. We all saw what happened at Rhaenyra's and Laenor's wedding. Criston is jealous and possessive. He hates seeing his baby cling to a man who is not her father. It's only a matter of time before glares across rooms become fights in the training yard. Tension so thick even the court can feel the heat of their hatred. Ser Harwin being smug because he has both Rhaenyra and her baby at his side. He's secure in his place beside the princesses. Imagine baby reader getting scared at night, lost in the halls searching for her mother. Her cries echoing out among the halls. Ser Criston running to her aid. The first time he gets to hold his daughter and she cries out for her mother and Ser Harwin. Rhaenyra would be unbelievably angry to see her baby in Cristons arms.

God I love hotd yan!parents.

I love this so much. Criston is absolutely seething anytime he has to bear witness to the Reader’s overflowing unconditional love for both Rhaenyra and Harwin. He hates it. He hates it. HE FUCKING HATES IT! As much as this man has an overwhelming amount of love for his child, at the end of the day she is a possession. She is his. His child. His baby. His sanity. He probably views his child as the good parts of him that Rhaenyra stripped him of and for that he wants to protect her and take her away from her mother all the more. It absolutely fills him with blood boiling rage whenever he sees the way his child looks at Harwin, the way she latches on to and clings to him. That should be Criston she clutches to not Ser Harwin Breakbones. Criston is extremely petty and unforgiving, there’s no doubt this beef between the two will end bloody, one way or another.

When Criston finds the Reader wandering the halls scared and wanting nothing more than to be held and comforted the most euphoric feeling fills his entire being. This, this is the chance he’s been dreaming for, to be able to hold his daughter and be the one she holds on to for dear life. The one she seeks comfort and sanctuary in from the fear consuming her. And for once, Criston can honestly say he’s happy. How could he not be when he has his precious world in his very arms, clinging to him like a life line. He’s so far gone in this moment that he drowns out the helpless cries of the Reader wanting for her mother and Ser Harwin in particular. As far as Criston is concerned his baby sought him out specifically, she wanted him to comfort and protect her. No one else.

I can imagine Criston taking off with the Reader to a more secluded nook in the many halls of the castle just so he can keep this moment going for however long he can. Eventually the princess falls asleep in his arms and he still holds her as is. He can’t bring himself to part with his child, not now, not after ever having been able to hold her before. But inevitably his time with the princess is cut short when Rhaenyra understably panics and the whole castle is thrown into an all out search party for the beloved princess.

I do like the idea of Alicent happening upon the interaction, or maybe Criston even bringing the sleeping Reader to Alicent to show her proof of the Reader’s ‘love’ for him. Delusional much? And this is what kind of throws Alicent into yandere territory but more in regards to ensuring that Criston gets to have his daughter with him. Like, she’s already mentally going through each of her sons and comparing their pros and cons to see who would be the most likely to get Rhaenyra to willing allow a betrothal. Or to at the very least to convince Viserys into betrothing the Reader to one of them.

Rhaenyra would absolutely be panicked when she finds her precious baby girl in the arms of Criston. She would be angry, upset and anxious all in one. She can see it in his eyes that this has only just opened a door she had desperately tried to keep locked and barricaded. And there’s nothing but conflict and blood waiting on the other side. Let alone if she saw both Criston and Alicent with her child….

Harwin would need to restrain himself from trying to rip the Reader right out of Criston’s embrace and bashing his head into the stonewall to get the shit eating smirk off his face. Harwin would demand that Criston give him the Reader to return her to her chambers, safe and sound. But Criston isn’t going to give her up that easily. Instead he opts to take the Reader back to bed himself, as to not disturb her slumber of course. The stare down that takes place right after the words leave Criston’s mouth is one for the ages. Especially if Rhaenyra and Alicent are there too. The absolute seething resentment and hatred for each other filling the space is nothing but suffocating. And that suffocating feeling only continues with the eerily silent walk back to the princess’ chambers.