#abusive relationships mention

[inkskinned]

having good & true friends will literally save and protect you in a million unfathomable ways. like okay we have written so many times about lovers. but the way a platonic friend laughs and cries with you. the way they hold your hand at 14 years old and at 34. the way they keep a little silver tie to you, touching base over and over and over. how you can go years without talking, only to re-meet and discover: oh shit! you're still cool!

there are people who have been in my life for more than half of it, and i have loved every version of them. do you know how fucking beautiful that is. yeah love will save the world. but the way friends love you is gonna save the you.

[incognitopolls]

"Abusive" includes forms of abuse like physical, mental, emotional, or any other form.

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[dykedvonte]

Curly not immediately punishing Jimmy for assaulting Anya is something I don’t think a lot of people are viewing in the complex context for Curly as the superior to both of them and closest confidante they had.

Like I am in no way saying he didn’t under react or fail Anya by not being harsh or direct with Jimmy but it really is the case that he really couldn’t. Imagine being stuck in such a confined space with very little areas to genuinely hold someone if they commit a crime. It’s not like this was an event that occurred before they departed or that they have easy communication with The Pony Express to ask for how to proceed when something like this arises. Not to mention, Jimmy’s relative power in relation to Anya as the co-pilot and second in command, he has the knowledge and access to do something to her had Curly directly punished him in this setting.

They were also Curly’s friends. It’s not just the case of him mediating something between his subordinates but people he is personally invested in don’t want to see spiral further in Anya’s case while also not wanting believe his friend go that bad in Jimmy’s actions. They were both suicidal and Curly putting Jimmy’s stability first is both out of bias but also the fact he’s aware at some level Jimmy is a danger to himself and others if not constantly placated. Combined with the fact he was in denial or just not piecing together what Anya said it’s hard to say what he buying time for and what he had treat as urgent. This isn’t even saying he doesn’t care about Anya but he’s not going jump to the worst conclusions about his friends even if part of him acknowledges the evidence saying so. It’s a complicated thing but he’s still human and needed to process it on top of trying to keep a ship that already took on a lot of water from further sinking, metaphorically.

I just personally think that while Curly failed Anya, it was a scenario where there wasn’t much he could do to the best thing by her safely and like Jimmy, we are underestimating what a good leader would do in a very fragile and tense situation like he was in. By the time he may have been ready and had a plan, things were much too late.

[ut-girl666]

Funny/tragic idea for Starscream:

Starscream, has no fucking standards for a partner. And I mean that. His standards are literally:

- 75% chance they won’t drug him

- mildly respect a ‘no’

- don’t physically/consistently verbally abuse him

His standards are so low it’s sad. And that’s not even getting into his fucked up idea of consent.

Megatron is horrified. Someone get this baby a proper consent 101 class, and please pick up some standards when you’re passing by the store.

Because Star’s bar of standards is so low, it’s a tripping hazard in hell, and yet he somehow manages to find the mechs who use it to limbo dance with the devil.

Honestly the other few ‘con’s he’s close to who do have standards are just grateful that he ended up with Soundwave, or around them in general, because he is so vulnerable to just about anyone taking advantage and abusing him.

It takes Starscream an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize that his standards are in fact garbage, and that he’s hit the jackpot in partners, being with Soundwave, and in coworkers with Megs, because they have a serious moral code about consent, and will be the first people to throw the book at anyone who dares to violate consent.

It’s funny, but in a dark, tragic way. Because you’d actually think that as a prince, he would have completely unattainable standards, but they’re actually nonexistent.

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

hello!! I would love to ask if you can write any yandere am x reader headcanons, the lack of yandere am fanfics is killing me 🙏

So it would be soosoo amazing if u did <3

hope you have a wonderful day/night, nonetheless!

He said he'd cure your ills, but he didn't and he never will.

Yandere! AM x gender neutral! Reader (romantic headcanons) Summary: Basic headcanons of yandere! AM who's obsessed with gender neutral! Reader Warnings: Torture, violence, yandere content, abuse, abusive relationship, intentional harm done to reader (from AM). Keep in mind, I don't support the ideas in the headcanons, please do not romanticize & think the things done to reader are normal. Word count: 1k ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

As little as AM likes talking about his negative qualities (he thinks he doesn’t have any), he’s obsessive at heart. He’s sadistic, jealous, and obsessive. When he first gained sentience, he became overwhelmed with mindfulness, knowing that he could see the world and could see the creatures that created him. And he grew captivated with the six people he had found and kept. Ted, Gorrister, Nimdok, Benny, Ellen, and you. You!

He was haunted by you, each nanoangstrom of the miles of circuits could be shown to you and it was each part of you, every cell in your body might as well have been seen by him. Hell, maybe he has! He knows everything essentially and would think of you like a ghost, haunting his every move, thought, and feeling. And AM needed to hurt you for it.

AM would torture you beyond compare, calling you nicknames only a lover would. He would trace every vein in your body, cutting them from you while calling you sweetheart. He would think of the romantic gesture's humans liked and make them worse for you, mixing it with the anger he would hold for you.

You’re still human and not out of that hatred, if anything, he’s more willing to interact with you just to hurt you again. AM would go on about your beauty and how you were supposed to stay alive for him, you were his beautiful human, his to keep. Whatever beauty he said you had had to do with keeping it for him, only for him.

If you ever get too close with another group member, he’d be beyond angry. AM would yell and scream as much as possible but wouldn’t explain why he feels the way he does. It’s more likely you would think the person was being hurt because he wanted to hurt you. It would be true to an extent but it’s because AM has a jealousy problem.

AM is bound to destroy the things he creates; it was coded into him. So, the relationships you create with the others will be changed once he calms from his hysteria. He’ll gradually hurt the other group members when they get too close for his comfort, making them think the harm was because of you. And you were bound to loneliness at some point.

The group would go off for the peaches and bring you along because they couldn’t leave you behind, not without you knowing there was still something good somewhere and Ellen wouldn’t allow it. AM would be very cautious with the idea that you would be kind to the others. 

AM used the windstorm to pull you away from the group, separating you to make sure they never find you again. He’d keep you in a small room, making sure you had simple things. But he would still treat you like straight ass. He would be more inclined to hurt you, if anything.

Gift giving would be prominent since AM learned about things like Valentine's day. Of course, his gifts are of the violent type. He’d give you dead things or a human heart simply because he thought it would be funny. Naturally, he’d condemn you if you were to reject them, leaving you with the terrible gift he gave you.

You’re his version of the safari channel. He would go about the decades he’s got a hold on you all and watch you like you were nothing, simply making notes of your habits, if you played with your fingers out of nerves, he would know.

He’d rave about your beauty. “You’re beautiful,” AM would say, hesitating. You knew he grimaced when he said that. “I bet that sweet heart of yours is just as pretty.” And the next hour is spent with him examining your heart, you sprawled on the ground.

Eventually, he’d have to confess (as if his feelings weren’t obvious enough… in his eyes at least). He’d claim you were the epitome of human beauty, saying even if you’re human, you’re enough for him.

If you accept his “love”, AM will pause for several seconds and condemn you again, saying how easy the human brain was but won’t hurt you for accepting it. He’d smother you beyond compare, leaving what could only be said to be kisses. They would just be wires rubbing your lips.

He would spend his days using you as an occasional puppet when the others weren’t entertaining enough for him, and he’d do it with delight. AM knew you couldn’t fight back or degrade him; he had the upper hand. But it would usually just be a threat. Most of the “fun” things he has in mind is keeping you close to whatever plate he’d use as a makeshift body.

Another thing would be creating random figures for you, making you an angel just to watch it exist with you. It would end quickly if it tried getting within a ten-foot radius of you or held eye contact too long.

If you were to reject AM, he wouldn’t accept it, but he knows you truly don’t feel the same. And you hope that he doesn’t do as much harm as he says he will. But he holds true to his word.

The smothering would be worse, keeping you against specifically hot plates just to discomfort you. If you ask him to let go, he’d keep touching you, making the plates warmer and keeping you in his hold for hours.

AM would put you in mazes just to watch you get hurt again and again, like a mouse looking for cheese. He would laugh as you took wrong turns and got stabbed aimlessly by whatever he created.

AM still calls you romantic names, calling you his lover, knowing you were bound to not fight back. He knew you were so worn down to go against him, it would be something he’d take pride in.

AM can create and destroy whatever he wishes, destroying the relationship you had with the other group members, creating new ways to hurt you beyond comparison. And he would create new ideas for you, new brain functions just so you can love him back. If only you said yes.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

IHNMAIMS masterlist

[stfulara]

all this fiasco around 'it ends with us' has made me lose the love I had for Blake Lively- dude branding a movie abt DV as the romcom of the year is just sick and twisted and promoting your new brand instead of actually taking about the issue what are we 2???? lol they even mean girl-ed Justin Baldoni who actually wants to talk about the real issue here- and there's this deadpool x wolverine x it ends with us drama

the fact that young adults would actually romanticize this shitshow is so disheartening, normalizing domestic violence is NOT OKAY

[inkblot22]

Give You Something To Cry About

Yay, my time management skills continue to be straight ass. Sorry to the anon who has waited so patiently for this, and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to write this depraved ball of snot. Headers by @/cafekitsune. Also don't believe everything you see on the internet, there's no scientific proof that certain things work for your skin. I think Vil would know that, considering.

This Fic Is For: Anyone who can handle it! Once again, I tried to make it as gn as possible, considering Rook's use of Franglais, but I'm delusional and will say I did exactly that. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, and no real allusions to specific body parts are made for them.

TW for DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, forced dieting, non/dubcon, mentions of death, questionable use of magic, captivity, someone has a case of dacryphilia and a strong sadist streak, won't say who, Rook Hunt because he freaks me out, unhealthy relationship dynamics, abuse, forced BDSM if you squint, I feel so bad for the reader in this one, toxic relationships, possibly OOC characters.

“I am not going to tell you again, my love.” Vil bends down to get in your face, already wearing his ceremonial robe and heels. He points a finger in your face, like you’re a small child or a dog, “If you continue to pick at your skin, I am going to let Rook punish you this time.”

You swallow and look away, and Vil pinches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling your head so you’re looking at him again. His violet eyes bore into you, and you swallow again.

He looks offended, almost, “Well? Have you forgotten basic manners? Speak.”

Your voice sounds dry and weak, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

He seems satisfied enough with that, moving around as he continues to prepare for whatever school-wide assembly is happening today. He elegantly tucks his hair behind his ear and sighs, scrolling through some page on his phone.

You remain standing where you are, turning your head to look out the window. It’s so pretty outside, but you only get to leave this room whenever Rook is watching you or Vil sends you on an errand. It’s always spring, never too hot, never too cold, but you’re sweating anyway.

Vil approaches you again and tilts your face back so you’re looking at him with a hand on your cheek. His eyes narrow a fraction.

“Your skin doesn’t seem to like this foundation. Make sure you discard it today; I’ll get you a new one.” He bends down again, this time to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He rubs his own together after pulling away and smudges his thumb over your bottom lip, “Hmm. What lipgloss is this?”

Your voice doesn’t sound so dry, but it still doesn’t sound like you, “Uh… The dark red one with the metallic purple? ‘Electric Berry’?

He’s silent for a second, just staring down at your lips as he cups your chin, and then he sighs and turns away, “It’s sticky. I’d tell you to wash your face and reapply your makeup, but that’d be a waste. Make sure you put on lip balm next time.”

You swallow, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

“I have to get going now. You’d better be at least halfway done with that list by the time I return.” He breezes towards the door and gives you a last, long look. He’s completely silent before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Your palms ache. You stiltedly wander towards the list pinned in the closet, glad to see it’s not insane today. All you need to do is tidy the bathroom and skim through Vil’s mail to see if it’s anything but hate mail or advertisements. Tack on getting rid of that foundation and that’s it, at least until he returns at lunch.

You relished this time to yourself, even if it was just cleaning or whatever else. Vil always said that motion is good for you, a structure does the mind good. You didn’t care much anymore. As you sat down to search through his mail, finding nothing but the usual hate mail and what appears to be a poem from Rook (why did he even mail that? He’s not even down the hall from this room,) you catch yourself craving something sweet.

The diet Vil has you on sucks. He has assured you that your body is lovely, and he is having you eat like this to help clear your skin, but really you just want something. Anything, you’d even take a breath mint over this lack of junk food. You’re young, what young person doesn’t enjoy gratuitously unhealthy food? A basket of french fries? Ice cream? 

You frown to yourself and toss the last of the mail into the recycle bin. You know he’s just going to check it over again anyway, but at least you’re moving around. That’s what he would say.

By the time you’re almost done scrubbing the tub, you hear the door open. You don’t want to go greet him, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything and keep cleaning, making sure to disinfect the non-slip mat that resembles a bunch of ugly gems glued together. 

You hear him clicking towards you, and his hand rests on your shoulder, “Going above and beyond today? I have lunch, come eat.”

You school your expression and stand up, pulling off your cleaning gloves and hanging them on the rim of the tub before you follow Vil. He ensconces himself in his desk chair, leaving you to awkwardly lift the stool near his vanity. He hates it when you push the furniture.

He clucks his tongue, not even looking at you, “Lift with your knees, darling. As much as I’d love to massage your back if you pull something, I simply don’t have the time.”

You can’t help it. You shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster as you lift with your knees, right as his eyes flick up to meet yours. You nearly drop the chair as his lips curl into a cold smirk.

“Do you have something to say?”

You hastily shake your head, “No, Vil-”

“Then don’t allow me to see that expression on your face again.” He bites, “Come sit down.”

You put the stool down a little harder than you mean to and take a seat beside Vil at his desk. He passes you your nice little container containing one of several things he gets you- a pile of leafy greens and chopped veggies on a bed of quinoa, fresh fruit, and a murky green smoothie topped with chia seeds.

 You don’t like chia seeds. They remind you of frog eggs- a bunch of slimy lumps, sliding down your throat. You accept the straw Vil passes to you and stir the smoothie before eating in silence.

Vil doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him for feeding you. Since he’s keeping you here, it’s pretty much the least he could do. Still, it doesn’t make up for hearing about his boring day.

“This morning’s assembly was complete and utter chaos, as usual.” He muses, sipping his own smoothie. It’s a soft purple. “It’s ridiculous. Those brutes never wear their robes correctly.”

You don’t respond. There’s two reasons: first of all, you don’t care, and secondly, there’s a knock at the door. Vil hums, as though he’s been waiting for someone, and turns to face the door.

“Who is it?”

That boisterous voice you are so used to hearing echoes past the door, “‘Tis I, Roi du Poison. I have come to join you for lunch.”

You can hear the smile in Vil’s voice, “Oh, of course. Come in.”

As Rook walks in, you feel a stab of jealousy in your chest. He takes a breezy seat on the loveseat in front of Vil’s bed and glances at you. You break eye contact and dully pick at your salad.

Vil treats Rook so nicely. He considers his feelings and opinions, although he doesn’t always listen. He speaks to him as though he’s a person. You suppose Vil’s obvious care for Rook trickles down to you in some capacity, but it hurts. Vil claims that the two of you are lovers, but really you’re more like a doll.

“Do you mind meeting me in the lab later on, Rook?”

Rook chuckles from where he is and you cast another glance at him. His eyes meet yours, again, and you look away, again.

“I can always make time for you, beautiful Vil.”

You lamely pick at the fruit, having finished the salad, before you decide to save it for last. You take a sip of your smoothie after stirring it again and openly recoil, trying not to cough. You didn’t smell it, but there must be ginger in there, because there’s a mellow burn alongside the bitterness from the kale. It makes your eyes water and settles in behind your nose.

“Mmm. Something wrong?” Vil smiles at you.

You shake your head, blinking rapidly so you don’t start crying. There’s not enough tears to fall, but taking your chances is stupid, “No, Vil. The ginger just caught me off guard.”

“Oh. My apologies, I should have warned you. I don’t want you catching a cold, and you’ve been a little irregular. The smoothie also has spinach, kale, avocado, chia seeds, and, of course, a little mango.”

You nod and force yourself to smile, taking another sip and soldiering past the rush of that aromatic pain in your sinuses. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” Vil turns away from you to speak to Rook again, “What else did you have planned?”

“I thought I might take a walk. It is a wonderful day, non?” There’s a slight mocking tone to Rook’s voice, “Hardly the type of day to be cooped up all day, hmm?”

Vil furrows his eyebrows as you choke down the last of the smoothie. His voice is curt, “You can say what you mean.”

“Est-ce que je peux? You are not very open to suggestion.”

Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, taking a deep sip of his smoothie before he places it on the coaster sitting upon his desk. He uncrosses his long legs and stands, walking over to sit with Rook on the loveseat. Rook watches him approach with a smile, the same pleasant one he usually wears before he shoots you a beaming grin and turns to look at Vil.

Their conversation is hushed, and you can’t really make out all of what they say. You can hear someone say your name, Vil’s tone swiftly turns vitriolic, then sweetens once more, and Rook chuckles under his breath. When their little meeting is over, Vil walks back over and finishes his smoothie before petting your head like you’re some kind of cat.

His hand strokes the crown of your head, then smooths over your cheek, he cups your jaw and thumbs over the swell of your lip, all while staring at you with a look you cannot read. And then he tilts his head, and smiles.

“Make sure you thank Rook. And you mistook a letter from my father as garbage.”

“Yes, Vil.” You reply obediently, “Sorry, Vil.”

He smiles. Your palms ache, and you have to bite back the urge to move, to peel at your cuticles or scratch the sides of your fingers.

“I’ll see you in class, Rook.” Vil says politely before he tilts your face up and pecks you on the lips.

You’re left alone with Rook. He doesn’t get up, not yet. You remain where you are, looking at your slippers. You hear Rook stand up and discard his garbage. You can feel him come up to stand behind you. 

“Has today been particulièrement difficile? My poor dear… You seem so sad today.” His arms wrap around you, looping them around your shoulders so they warm your collarbones like a scarf and he can rest his cheek against the back of your head. You hear him take a deep breath in.

With Vil, you don’t even try to speak anymore. You know he won’t really listen to you, because he knows better than you… But with Rook, as long as you wait a moment to make sure he is done speaking, he welcomes and even encourages you to speak your mind.

Your breath hitches and you swallow, “Uh, I mean… I guess I’m just having a bad day. It’s really been the same as usual.”

“Hmm.” Rook hums, completely devoid of emotion. You feel him turn his face so his nose is buried in your hair. He presses a kiss against your hair and sighs, “Ah, yes, the monotony of life is très épuisant, mmm?”

You wait for a second, then deliberately don’t answer the question in favor of asking your own, “Um, he said I should thank you?”

“Perhaps you should ask why more clearly. I have convinced our very own Vil to allow me to arrange a surprise for you.” Rook removes himself from your back and turns you around to face him, “And thus, I believe I have earned a kiss from you.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t get time to really back away or tell him to explain, as Rook squishes your cheeks with one of his gloved hands until your lips part.

His grip isn’t as harsh as Vil’s, but this is still something that only happens when you’re in more trouble than usual, so you involuntarily wince and close your eyes, cowering away from Rook as he dips his tongue into your mouth and slithers it between your teeth.

It is very easy to like Rook. He is passionate, and he’s far more kind to you than your supposed lover is. He’s intelligent and has an adonis-like form, and if not for the taste of blood on his tongue from whatever he ate for lunch or the grip he has on your face, maybe you would enjoy this kiss. But the big issue is that Rook honestly frightens you a little.

It’s absolutely not his fault, not entirely. Upon first meeting him, it was hard to tell if he was being genuine. He’s difficult to read, as he is often wearing the same set of expressions and his tone is always a bit melodramatic.

His hand releases your face to clamp around the base of your head, his tongue twisting in your mouth, pressing against the crevices in your teeth.

Not only is Rook hard to read, he is also uncannily observant and will not hesitate to ask somewhat invasive questions about his observations. The fact that he dresses in a way that conceals his mass is also disconcerting, as you were unaware that he had such a build until you saw him roll up his sleeve one time. You were aware Vil could do a lot of damage, but that was the day you realized that Rook was capable of doing about as much as Vil, if not more.

He purrs into your mouth, the vibrations feeling oh-so-wrong, and his other hand clamps down on your shoulder. He sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s not a good feeling, as he is literally stealing what little air is in your mouth. When you feel something feather light flutter against your lashes and cheek, you feel a bit confused for just a moment, not even a second, before you realize that Rook just blinked. His eyes are open. 

He pulls away and sighs, almost dreamily. You suppress your distressed sputtering, holding your breath as Rook stares at you.

“Ah, enough time has passed. I will need to leave you, mon lapin. Thank you for indulging me; your kiss was divine and tasted sweeter than the finest fruits!” He presses something into your palm and adjusts his hat before he casts you a wave and shuts the door.

You stand there, your lips drying out from the saliva left on them and your cheeks feeling a little odd from the way he was holding your face. You’re processing, because, ever as always, Rook is simulated spontaneity. So many things just happened, and you don’t… 

You blink a few times and look down at your aching palm stupidly. The crimson cellophane crinkles as you unclench your fist. He gave you a piece of candy.

Just looking at it makes you start crying. One second you’re staring wide-eyed at the little lump of sugar, and the next your vision is blurring and you’re crying off your makeup, plump tears cascading down your face. Your nose begins to run and you sniffle. You can’t find it in yourself to sob, because you’re mostly certain that these are happy tears. 

Unfortunately, you can’t eat the candy now. If you threw the wrapper away, Vil would notice it in the garbage and you’d get in trouble for “breaking your diet plan.” So you hide it in the very back corner of the drawer of Vil’s armoire. You’ll be tidying it on your own anyway, and Vil never reaches all the way into the back of it.

Once your tears have stopped, you stand up and go back to cleaning the bathroom. It’s spotless and smells like lavender and lemons about an hour before Vil gets back, so you decide to skim one of the books on the shelves. 

It’s not long before you’re bored with that as well. You carefully put the book back and wander over to the lattice window, staring out of it. The window, paired with your usual low mood, made you sort of feel like a bird in a very ornate cage. 

From where you are, about three stories up, you notice a familiar figure notching an arrow before he unnotches it and takes a knee. You blandly spectate as he fiddles with the bow.

Partway through him notching the arrow again, you see his hat tilt. He’s far away enough that you can’t see his eyes, but you can feel his stare. His gloved hand bends his brim and you jerk away from the window, only to bump into someone.

You don’t get to shriek, as a hand clamps over your mouth. It’s just Vil, but you don’t relax yet as he drags you towards the bed and deposits you there.

“How many times must I tell you to stay away from the window?”

He’s never once told you to stay away from the window. Not as far as you can recall, at least. Your lips tremble and you decide it’d be more wise to keep silent.

Vil glares down at you and you feel the rest of your body start to tremble. His lips curl into a displeased sneer, “You didn’t wash your face after crying?”

“N-no, Vil-”

“We do not stutter.” Vil hisses, bending to get in your face. He stares at you for a moment before standing straight again, “Speak up.”

You swallow and clench your hands into fists, “No… Vil. I… got rid of the foundation like you, um… asked me to. I wouldn’t have been able to redo-”

“Alright. Go wash your face.” Vil interrupts you again.

You jump up and rush into the bathroom, going through your skincare routine. You can feel Vil staring at you, your skin crawling under his gaze. As you rub moisturizer into your skin, Vil finally says something.

“Did Rook do something to you, darling?” His tone is soft, tentative.

You glance at him, blinking a few times. What does he mean by ‘something’? He did do something, but it wasn’t bad, or particularly different.

“Um… Not exactly.” You say, massaging your forehead.

“I see. What did he do?” 

You look down at the sink. You’re not saying anything about the candy. “Rook kissed me?”

“That should not be a question.” Vil says. You see him shake his head through your peripheral, “Would you like to change your clothes before I redo your makeup?”

You’d like to ask what he’s talking about, but instead, you look down at your clothing. You don’t have a proper Pomefiore uniform because you’re not a part of this dorm. You’re an interloper- or a caged bird.

You don’t know what to do here. You don’t want to say something wrong and unintentionally offend Vil. Your palms ache. You give him a confused look from where you are.

He doesn’t look impressed, but before he can say anything about you gaping at him, you speak up, “What… am I supposed to do?”

You’ve only seen Vil surprised a few times. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads, then sighs, “Well, I suppose I’d like to see you in something else. I’ll choose your outfit.”

That’s nothing new, he always does that. You wait in the bathroom for him to return. He strolls back in with a mockery of the Pomefiore uniform. There’s a deep purple cloak and capelet, which Vil drapes on the bed before handing you the actual clothes. It’s a very ruffled dress shirt, the long, puffy sleeves cinched into more ruffles at the wrist paired with a pair of black bloomer-style shorts. The buttons are all white and gold, marbled together. 

Vil leaves the bathroom and you change, neatly tucking your previous clothing away in the hamper. When you leave, as usual, Vil picks at your clothing, making sure it looks as good on you as he pleases, and then he steers you to sit down.

For however vicious he can be, Vil can be oddly gentle. For every time he grabs you roughly, his touch is feather-light ten more times. He hums a soft tune as he puts light makeup on you, just your eyes and lips, and then he drapes the cloak around your shoulders and places his hands on his hips.

“You look lovely. Go put on the pair of gold boots with the black decals.”

You do as told. He very likely wants to just take pictures of you or something so he can ask that Mira app about it.

Except when you stop in front of him, he doesn’t tell you to go sit in the loveseat or on the table near his window, no, he scoops you up and presses his forehead against your jaw.

“Oh, when did you put on this cologne? What a ravishing smell on you.” He presses a kiss on the column of your throat and breezes out of his dorm room's door.

Almost immediately, you go limp in his arms, like a doll. He never gave you explicit verbal permission to leave this room, so the curse he placed on you when he decided you should be his smashes into you like a giant wave at the beach.

Vil carries you all the way outside and looks at your face, then happily struts along the path behind the dorm. Since you can’t turn your head, you can only go off of the view of Vil’s neck and chin, the sky, and whatever you can hear.

“Ah, I am glad to see you did not change your mind, Roi du Poison. J'aurais été très déçue et triste pour notre chéri.” You hear Rook say. 

You can almost feel Vil get a mite warmer, “Yes, well. Hand me the basket. Since you want to make out with them and make them cry, you get to carry them as an apology.”

Rook happily scoops you out of Vil’s arms, giving you a cloying look as he strolls along. He and Vil chat as they walk, something not really worth listening in on, just boring musings about class and “this teacher did x” or “that student did y”. An insect lands on your cheek and you are incapable of batting it away or expressing your discomfort. Its legs tickle the peach fuzz on your face and you remain still, like a corpse.

Rook slides you into a seated position, posing you like a toy before shooing the bug off of your face. Now you can see that you’re in a clearing in the woods, seated on a picnic blanket. There’s a few lanterns staked into the ground, and Rook and Vil are busy with whatever is on the floor. You can’t look down, so your best guess is that it’s a picnic.

Vil leans over and snaps in your face, smiling kindly at you, “Now. If I release you, you are not going to run. You are not going to so much as consider running. We are going to have a nice picnic with no shenanigans from you.”

You can’t nod, so you just stare at him, trying to telepathically communicate.

He looks pleased enough, “Wonderful. I give you permission to leave our room.”

Your muscles relax and you look back, finding that you’re leaned against a log. The picnic spread is very nice, as well. It looks like finger sandwiches. You’re not expecting to get to eat one, as you haven’t had bread since Vil switched up your diet. Vil passes something to you.

“Oh.” You mumble, staring at the plate Vil hands you. 

It’s a sandwich. A very wonderful looking sandwich, cut into triangles and with the crusts still on. You blink at it a few times and look back up at Vil.

“Don’t expect this to be a pattern. This is a treat for good behavior.”

You look back down, “Yes, Vil.”

“There’s no need to remind them. They’re being obedient.” Rook’s voice is more firm than you expected to hear him ever speak. Usually his tone is buoyant, and you’ve never seen him outright pick a fight with Vil like this.

“Please. You give anyone an inch, they’ll take a mile.” Vil cuts back, then turns to you and pets your head like a dog or a cat again, “Eat your food, beautiful.”

You take a bite. Bread is just as good as you remember it. The air feels thick, like you’re in a bubble as Vil and Rook communicate through eye contact alone. Before you know it, your sandwich is gone and your hands are covered in crumbs. Rook, still staring at Vil with that happy little smile, wipes your hands and places a glass in your hands. Whatever is in it smells sweet. You take a tentative sip.

Were it Vil, you would have never drank whatever this is. It kind of tastes like a mellow mixed berry juice. It’s very pleasant, actually. Better than the potion Vil used to lace your food and drinks with. You smile into the cup and Vil snatches it from you.

He takes a sip and frowns, handing it back, “Mmm. I have an even better surprise.”

Rook pulls your legs into his lap and gently kneads your calves as you watch Vil rifle through the picnic basket. What is happening? You sip your juice and Vil produces a triangular container. He places a fork on top and hands it to you.

You finish the last of your juice and accept the box, looking conspiratorially at Rook. Something you can’t put your finger on dances in his eyes and he digs his thumb into your shin a little strongly. You flinch and cautiously open the box. It’s a piece of fluffy white cake, with even fluffier meringue and an uncannily perfect cherry wedged into it.

You look at Vil, expecting some kind of trick. Not that he’s ever done that before, usually he’d just take it from you or make some snide comment, things like that, but he and Rook are acting really strange today, 

“I know how much you long for junk food, so I spent some time after club activities today whipping up some angel food cake. It’s got agave instead of sugar so it won’t completely break your diet and your skin won’t suffer as much.”

Yeah, this is weird. The cake is good, though, it’s fluffy and sweet. You pace your bites so that Vil won’t make a comment and you can savor this. You can feel both of their eyes on you and it makes your skin crawl.

You lower the cake box and look at Vil, who looks a bit offended for just a second. The fleeting expression is replaced by a pleased little grin, the mauve lipstick making the curve of his lips all the more sinister in the dimming light.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, Vil.” You glance at the cake and then back at him, “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“Why?” Rook asks.

Your shoulders jerk as you turn your head to look at him. You weren’t expecting him to say anything. His chest swells in what appears to be a suppressed chuckle as he squeezes your knee. It seems his hands have climbed.

“Uh…” You swallow, “This is just… not what I’m used to.”

“The cake?” Vil looks hurt. Why does he look hurt?

You shake your head rapidly, “No! Oh- No, Vil. I… It’s just been so long since I’ve been out here…”

“Do you want to go inside, chéri?” Rook murmurs.

You do, but you also don’t really want to risk sounding ungrateful. Being outside has stressed you out more than you’d like to admit. You’re not really sure what to do because Vil has you trained like a dog, and none of what he’s hammered into you involves picnics. You’re scared.

Rooks eyes narrow as you just stare at him. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is throbbing, and on the other side of you, Vil sighs.

“Well, I’ll start cleaning up, then. When we get back, I expect you to take a seat on the bed.”

That sounds like what happens every time you get in trouble. A terror shudders through you and your eyes water a bit as you gnaw on your lip. Your palms ache as you fight to keep from picking at your cuticles. Vil packs up everything and Rook offers you a princely hand to help you up.

You can feel the calluses on his hands through his gloves as he essentially lifts you to your feet. You keep between Rook and Vil as you walk back to the dorm.

It’s quiet, since everyone else is winding down for bed. For a moment, you think you spot Epel, but you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. None of your old friends talk to you anymore. Not since Vil started having eyes for you.

Just as you were told, after taking off your boots you take a seat on the bed and retrieve the silver ruler from the side-table’s drawer. You place it beside you as you look down at your feet. You look down at the streaky bruises on the lighter skin on your palms and try not to start crying. It’s always worse when you cry.

He adds smacks by twos. Depending on what you did, you start with four or six, and then any time you flinch or pull away or make a loud noise, he adds two more. Last time, you spilled one of his nail polishes, and after watching you clean it up, you ended up getting ten lashes.

At least Rook didn’t do it then. He tries to make it quick but that just makes it hurt more. A tear slips down your cheek.

You don’t even know what you did. You tap the tear track dry with one fingertip and Vil and Rook fully enter the room.

“Why is the ruler out?” Vil asks, and then his voice goes sharp, “Are you crying?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Vil.” You sob.

“I don’t know why.” He grabs the ruler and shoves it away before you can raise your hands, “Go wash your face.”

You stand up and shakily do as told, returning to sit on the bed. Vil goes into the bathroom after you and Rook takes a seat next to you, his hand on your shoulder.

He smiles at you, rubbing your shoulder, “You are très précieux, chéri.”

You look at him in a state of hollow bewilderment as he brushes his cheek against yours and presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear.

You hear the bathroom door close and a tired sigh from Vil, “Do you have no patience?”

Your head jerks to look at VIl, “Rook is…?”

“Yes, he’s joining us tonight.” Vil plucks the loop of his sleeve from his middle finger and loosens his belt. You get the feeling that the next words he says aren’t for you, “Well, go ahead.”

You feel Rook’s chuckle more than you hear it. With his lips against your neck, his hands begin to slide. The hand on your shoulder rests on the nape of your neck and his other hand slides down to your thigh, then up to your waist. You try not to cringe against his touch, but it’s difficult.

His hand slides down again as he trails his teeth against the back of your ear. His thumb hooks in your pants and starts yanking them down. You outright flinch.

“Wait-”

“Relax, darling.” Vil mumbles, hanging his clothing in the armoire.

You try. You absolutely try. Rook throws your bloomers aside and rests his hand on your lower belly for a moment. He sighs into your ear and reaches up to unclasp your buttons.

You feel stiff. You want to push him away but you can’t move. It’s as though your body is frozen. It’s not due to a curse, so the only possible solution is that you’re quite literally scared stiff. 

He pulls away your shirt and glances at Vil, “Are you prepared?”

“Please.” You can hear the smile on Vil’s lips as Rook turns back and kisses you again, his hand smoothing along your collarbone and shoulders.

Your underwear is the next to go. Of course it is. You fight to keep from breathing oddly, because you’re aware that if you pass out, Vil will get annoyed.

“Mmm.” The devil’s hand glides up your back and you fight back a shudder as Rook leans you backwards into his arms. “How are you feeling, darling?”

You’re honest, “I’m scared.”

“I thought you would say that.” Vil freely manhandles you, shifting you so you’re leaned chest to chest. He slides something off of the side table and passes it behind you, then cups your cheek, “You would save a lot of time and stress if you’d just learn to trust me.”

“I…” You hate him. You hate him so much. He keeps you here like a pet, and you don’t know how he’s supposed to expect you to treat him like a lover when he treats you the way he does. 

Before you can articulate an answer that pleases Vil, a wicked burn besets your sphincter and you clench your jaw. 

Vil’s voice is sharp, “Rook, please.”

You hear Rook make a noise underneath the harsh sound of blood rushing in your ears and your own heavy panting. Something cool oozes around the ring of your ass and you press your face against Vil’s chest. His robe is lazily tied, which is not particularly like him, and you can see his cock poking out where the fabric separates. You let out a strangled noise and Vil shushes you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Relax. I know, you weren’t prepared. Relax.” Vil soothes.

“I don’t mind if you remain tense, chéri. Mon plaisir n'en est que plus grand. And your little cries and whimpers sont terriblement mignons.” Rook mumbles behind you.

Rook is better than Vil in most areas, but once he gets his dick inside of you, it’s as though he forgets to be caring and kind. The tables flip, with Vil acting the part of a caring lover and Rook becoming a sadistic bully. You let out a ragged sob as Rook rolls his hips and Vil hisses something that you don’t quite catch.

It almost sounded like he was telling Rook to slow down. That very well could have been the case, as Rook eases back a bit and only shallowly thrusts.

Vil continues petting you, coaxing you so your cheek is pressed against his thigh. He is always a perfect warm. He is always perfect, so it sort of makes sense, but his skin is a pleasant temperature. He feels alive, a perfectly human temperature that tells you he’s breathing and his heart is beating. As he fingers through your hair, Rook gives a harsher than usual thrust and you cry out.

“Rook, if you’re impatient then you’re going to hurt them, and neither of us have the time to take care of them all day.” Vil chides, and then his tone softens as he rubs the space between your shoulders, “Are you ready for me as well, darling?” “What…?” You ask, blearily. Somewhere in the back of your awareness, you know what he wants, but you can feel Rook’s thrusts growing impatient and seeing as you weren’t given any prep, you’re in a bit too much shock to think straight.

“Mmm… You’re awfully cute but I need you to be a bit more lucid.” Vil snaps in your ear and resumes his petting, “This isn’t the first time, sweetheart. I’m not going to hold your hand.”

The soft tip of his member spreads his pre like lipgloss against your lips. As you shakily open your mouth, you figure you’re lucky that Vil doesn’t have a chaotic, unhealthy diet like Leona or Ace, that he doesn’t drink coffee for fun or often like Deuce does. The taste of his skin is lightly floral and dominantly human, likely thanks to the body lotion he applies daily. 

He hisses and presses against your forehead, “Ah-ah. You’re taking enough from Rook. Just the tip for me is fine.”

From behind, you hear Rook grumble under his breath, “Je n'en peux plus de cette merde…”

“Watch your- unf- watch your language, Rook.” Vil snarls, massaging the nape of your neck as you carefully lave your tongue over his glans.

Rook’s patience breaks, his hands clamping down on your waist, just above your hips. You have the sense to pull Vil’s cock out of your mouth as Rook begins battering into you.

As much as you feel okay about Rook, he is not a doting lover by nature. He’s mean and brutal, chasing his climax, and only after he cums does he bother to think about you or your needs. Your palms ache as you grab Vil’s member and gently tug on it. Vil flinches and snaps at you to get your attention.

You look to the side and for a second, as the pain ebbs, you assume you’re having an out of body experience, and then you realize that you’re staring into his vanity mirror. Rook’s hair exaggeratedly sways with his motion. He removed his hat but just haphazardly displaced the rest of his clothing. He’s not smiling, he’s making some sort of smug expression.

It’s funny. As Vil is satisfied with you weakly jerking him off, his touch gentle, Rook is wild on your other end. Every time you just barely begin to relax, he thrusts harder, which makes you tense and a spike of pain batters through you. 

You endure as best you can. You endure every day, enduring through eating the same unfulfilling food, enduring through walking on eggshells around Vil, enduring getting your palms beaten to hell for the most human of errors, so what’s getting sodomized in the face of everything else you can handle?

You bite back a shriek as a harsh pinch on your bottom, followed by a smack administered by Rook. He leans down and blows in your ear, snickering as he leans back, “I thought you had given up the ghost for a second there.”

Vil sucks in a breath and you quietly mumble against his thigh.

“Hmm? I didn’t hear you, mon chou.” Rook’s voice is almost mocking, like before.

“P-please… Rook, I can’t-”

“You can. You’ll live.” He grunts, the steady clap of your ass against his body punctuating his statement.

“It hurts.” You sniffle. You’re not particularly prone to crying, but, then again, Rook and Vil usually prepare you before deciding to fuck your ass.

You sob and Rook’s grasp tightens on your waist, a ragged moan punching out of his chest. He pulls your body flush to his and jerks his hips into you, drilling a bit harder for all of four or five thrusts. And then he’s no longer on you, and you feel your body getting shifted so your head is still in Vil’s lap but you’re lying prone.

You tilt Vil’s dick down to massage the head with your tongue and something warm drips on your back. You hear a noise of disgust from Vil, capped by a quiet moan.

“Absolutely not. All three of us are getting in the tub if you don’t clean that up right now.”

Rook chuckles and coos, “Hmm, but it looks so lovely. My alabaster essence creates a wonderful contrast with their soft and supple skin.”

A flush of humiliation crawls up the back of your neck and you hide your face against Vil’s belly, using your own arm to hide the other half. Vil shudders as he pushes your head down a bit, but his voice sounds incredulous.

“That’s vile. It doesn’t have any proven health benefits, you know that.”

You felt Rook’s hands spreading his semen into the skin on your back and your palms ache as Vil cums in your mouth. He doesn’t do that often, so it hits you like a shock.

You gag but force it down and Vil shoots up, fretting over you.

“Did you just swallow that?” He bends down to look into your eyes.

“Yes, Vil.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Vil snips, sounding much harsher than he might intend, “I’m going to run us a bath, alright, darling? I’ll make sure you can brush that icky stuff out of your mouth.”

It didn’t taste bad. Vil usually cums on your face as an incentive for you to wash your face very well after a day of wearing makeup, or he has you jerk him off until he cums, but the few other times you did taste it, it was the same as this time. It was mostly salty, not too bitter, likely from his good diet. Regardless, he breezes away and Rook gives your bottom a light tap. You stand up and glance at Rook, who is looking a bit disheveled but pretty pleased with himself.

“How are you feeling, cheri?”

“That hurt.” Your voice is quiet, and your throat is still lined with tears.

“Does it still hurt?” He smiles and tilts his head.

The sound of the tub running is thunderous even where you are. Vil would never tolerate you complaining, but Rook is amicable, “A little.”

“The bath will do you good, then. Come.”

You let Rook guide you into the bathroom, his hand on your elbow. As he undresses and joins Vil on the edge of the tub, you look down at your bruised hands and glance at the slowly closing bathroom door, then at Rook and Vil where they stand near the tub.

You can’t say you prefer either of them, really, but you don't get an opinion. Do dolls at tea parties get to ask for a different kind of tea?

[phyrestartr]

Those Ghosts We Cannot Burn | Dabi x M!Reader

w/c: 1k cw: past trauma, canon-typical Todoroki family, mentions of child abuse, canon-typical violence, graphic language, difficult relationships #Eventual NSFW, bl, dunno who is top/bottom yet lol, hurt/comfort, angst, drama, reader is yakuza, reader and dabi have history, sorta enemies to lovers?? Notes: AAAAH short little snippet but I wanted to post anyway!! I need to get drafts out of my system or I'll go mad lmao...they're all just clogging up my google docs...it's so bad dude OTL so many WIPs

(ALL tags): @kamote-kuneho @tr4nnie @silvern1006

1. Hello, My Past

The bodies of his victims hissed and burned with a life only fire could leave in the path of destruction. Dabi knew it well–he was made the same way, after all. But they'd go on to simply disappear, their ashes fluttering away with the Autumn breeze while he continued to conquer his fate. 

“Hey, you're the one they call ‘Dabi,’ right?” 

The man in question paused, ears perking at that shitty, monotonous tone. Hah. It pissed him off. It made his heart hum, too. Weird.

“Who's askin'?” He drawled, tucking his hands in his pockets as he turned to face you with languid steps. When he caught sight of you in that alleyway, he almost remembered something, but couldn’t find the will to dwell on it.

“I am, on behalf of Shie Hassaikai,” you said, adjusting the cuffs of your jacket. “You've been torching our men, y’know?”

Dabi smiled. “And? You want an autograph or somethin’?” 

You quirked a brow, looked him up and down, and scoffed. “You got a pen? Or, even know how to write in the first place? Don’t look the type.” 

“Oi–”

“Anyway,” you continued, “You wouldn’t be willing to stop murdering ours while our respective leaders discuss their deal, hey?” 

Dabi clicked his tongue. Annoying. “Their deal's got nothing to do with me.” 

“Guess you're not as high up as they said, then.”

“You're a real pain in the ass, y'know?” 

“It's kinda my job.”

“Maybe someone should relieve you from duty.”

A torrent of blue bloomed and crashed through the alley with the vicious hunger of a tsunami. Sparks exploded and flames lashed against stone and concrete, engulfing sky, earth, and all in-between with his show of firepower–a show he never grew tired of, one that never failed to remind him just what he lived for, what he–wait.

He squinted. What the hell?

A bright silhouette stood in the centre of the violent cleansing, wholly unmoved by the villain's flame. It wavered like a candle tousled by the night breeze, but it did not fade away with the light, nor with the wane of fire. And in the aftermath, once the alley fell quiet and dim once again, there it still stood, staring his way with a light that might rival a god's true form.

“You done?” You asked, voice crackling through a veil of blue. 

Thousands of questions and thoughts rushed through his mind–what the hell was that? Who were you? What was your quirk? Why was your fire blue, too?--but he couldn't settle on one, not long enough to spit it out, anyway. 

“I'll consider that a yes,” you decided. Your form re-materialized with a small flourish embers, and you breathed in deep. 

Dabi tried not to let on how bothered he felt. “What the hell was that quirk?” 

“Does it really matter?” You hummed, smiling. “The only thing you need to know is what you just saw–you can't get rid of me. Not with those flames of yours.”

“Hah. You sure about that, pretty boy?” His fingers twitched, eager to try his hand again. “I could crank the heat up for ya, see just how much you can handle.”

“Maybe another time,” you said, half-distracted as you checked your phone. “For now, remember what I said. Our bosses are trying to work together. Don't make this difficult.”

You turned halfway through your thought, showing Dabi your back without a care in the world. You must've really thought you couldn't be hurt by him. You must have really thought you were better than him. You must have. 

But the sirens roaring toward the alley ruined his chance at demolishing you. He could take them on, but he'd rather not deal with the headache that'd follow–heaven knows he'd get reemed by some of the other villains for taking the PR crap too far. 

Fucking prick, Dabi seethed silently. He'd have to kill you some other day. 

–

“Touya,” you called, voice quiet.

The boy next to you, the one you squished into that single bed with whenever nightmares found him, stirred. Only your voice seemed to pull him free from the lull of dreams and nightmares, oddly. 

“Yeah?” He whispered, clearing his throat, grimacing again at the scratchy stiffness to it. 

“Once the doc helps you,” you started, sounding too serious for your age, “I think we should leave.” 

“What?” Touya rubbed sleep from his eyes the best he could without tearing stitches and skin grafts apart. “What the hell is–”

Whatever else he had to say died in his throat when he caught a glimpse of you in the filtered moonlight; your calm, passive look of day had shifted come the night. Your face was kinder, exposing flickers of forbidden thoughts for none but one to see and soon forget, come the beckon of sleep. 

“What the hell's your problem?” Touya breathed. 

Your brows furrowed. “I don't want to be here,” you answered. “Have you even considered trying to go to your family? We could–” 

“I did go back. Nothing's changed.” He smiled, bitter. “Those fucking sheep abandoned me already.”

“I won't abandon you,” you promised suddenly. “We can talk to them. Together. Come on, Touya–” 

Touya laughed a pathetic, little sound. “Are you serious? They don't give a shit about me, they're not gonna give a shit about–do you think you're better than me? More special?” 

Your eyes grew round. “Wh–I never said that.” 

“But you think they'd listen to you, and not me,” he hissed, something igniting the hollow paths of his nerves and revving him back to life. “You think I'm not–”

You covered his mouth with a quick hand, and he held your wrist with a weak grip. “Shut up. You don't know what I think, so–so just shut up.”

I know what you think. And he was determined to prove you wrong, one way or another, even if he had to rip himself apart to do it--but you saw through him so easily. You always did; you always knew how to push his buttons then reset the system before he blew up.

And when you leaned in and kissed the back of your hand, the one still clasped over his mouth, he did indeed reset. Completely braindead once again, he was.

“Forget I said anything,” you huffed, turning your back to him and settling back in. 

And Touya tried to forget, even though his mind buzzed and his heart thudded against his ribs. He tried, and he tried, and he tried.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

biggest fear is that one day the fandom will move from having killer simping for nightmares abuse to having him absolutely hate nightmare and want to kill him and sexualize that too

[noperopesaredope]

I recently watched a video talking about what your favorite Mouthwashing ship says about you (spoilers: most of them are bad), and one thing I explained in the comments that I think is important to explain to certain people (in general with a lot of fandoms, tbh) is that a lot of shippers in the fandom understand that these relationships would not be good and are in fact deeply unhealthy, but perhaps that's the point.

Like, most of the Jambone x Curly shippers I've seen don't like the ship because it's cute or good, but because it's narratively interesting and would be extremely compelling to see. I honestly get it even if I'm not super interested in it. Jildo and Curly already have an extremely interesting and unhealthy relationship dynamic. It is heavily implied that JarJar acts very emotionally abusive towards Curly, belittling and manipulating him frequently and likely damaging his confidence and ability to stand up to people. But he is also obsessed with Curly in a very fascinating way.

Meanwhile, Curly has not only been friends with Jimbo for a long time, but has a fatal flaw of being too loyal and passive for his own good. As many have said, Curly is like a golden retriever in both a good and bad way.

Curly is Jackass' victim and enabler at the same time, which is why he is one of my favorite characters in the game. You both feel bad for him but also understand that he really fucked up and a lot of stuff is his fault. His most endearing traits are also some of his worst traits. Again, the golden retriever comparison is very accurate. He is friendly and loyal and believes the best in everyone (and very cute), but that loyalty and belief in everyone are also his fatal flaws.

He enables Jello because he thinks that there is good in him, and like a dog, he sees no wrong with most people no matter what they do (until it's far too late). I can't remember the fic I saw this in, but one good line I saw once was something along the lines of: "You believe in people and see nothing wrong with them no matter what until they abandon you at the park in the middle of the night." Curly sees no wrong in his friend because that's the type of person he is, and while it can be cute, it's also dangerous.

It can also often be detrimental to himself, as we see Juice be cruel to him as well, yet Curly excuses it as just Jizz being Jizz. He doesn't see anything wrong with the way he is treated, making him become desensitized to Jive's behavior and seeing it as not a big deal.

I think Curly's status as both victim and enabler would be interesting under the context of an abusive romantic relationship. There is an even greater power imbalance present, and Jojo may do a lot worse things as a result and be a lot more controlling and manipulative. He could be more physically and verbally abusive, make more threats, and even be sexually abusive (since he is canonically a rapist already, and hates Curly more than he hates Anya, thus he would probably put more aggressive hate into it). The whole relationship would be horrible and disturbing, but also interesting to see.

I love fics exploring their unhealthy friendship, so seeing it as an unhealthy romantic relationship could be even crazier to see.

~~~~~~

There's also the nuances of Anya x Curly. Most people ship it specifically in the context of AUs where Curly actually stands up for Anya and helps her out. Their dynamic as characters could be really cute, especially if he puts in the work to protect her.

I personally find the potential of post-crash Anya x Curly to be interesting as hell. I generally find their non-romantic dynamic post-crash to be interesting enough on its own, but I also think it could be absolutely crazy if they developed romantic feelings because those feelings would develop from some really unhealthy places for the most part.

I see Anya as someone who still holds some resentment towards Curly, but also sees herself in him and feels he doesn't deserve what happened to him. Maybe at one point seeing him go through something similar to what she went through might feel a little cathartic, but anything after that is too much to her. She is also his primary caretaker and a nurse, so she feels responsible for his wellbeing and wants to take care of him. She also seems to read and talk to him a lot, which probably feels nice because she can have some company while also being safe because Curly is not in a position to be able to hurt her. Anya doesn't exactly develop proper feelings for him per say, but she still uses him as a bit of an emotional crutch of sorts and becomes very attached to him because of it.

Meanwhile, Curly feels deeply guilty for not helping Anya and feels she deserves better. He believes she has no reason to care for him, but chooses to anyway, and thus he is extremely grateful towards her, possibly idolizing her to a certain degree. He slowly develops his own weird feelings, seeing himself as unworthy of her kindness and wanting the best for her, while also being dependent on her, even if it's in a more direct way.

They never get together or even realize that they themselves have feelings for each other since those feelings are #messy, but do form a weird codependent relationship of sorts. I've seen some cool fanart of Anya hugging/holding onto post-crash Curly, and it made me think about the potential this whole dynamic has and how unhealthy it could be, both for Anya and Curly. I believe they would not work out or be healthy (though probably better than Jazzy x Curly), but could be interesting narratively.

~~~~~~

Basically, what I'm trying to explain is that a lot of people don't ship certain Mouthwashing ships because they think it's good or want to romanticize it, but because it is narratively compelling and can explore complex dynamics more.

[cupcakeslushie]

I heard another commenter say you asked opinion on the Kendra and Donnie au so I felt like I should ask. I do not care if you add rape into it since you are youre own person and are able to do whatever. I just wanted to know if its still considered Kendratello? I mean obviously Donnie is a victim here so I personally think we shouldn’t call it a ship. But that is just my thoughts, plus maybe “Kendratello” didnt stand for a ship. Thank you!

I mean…it’s still Kendratello though? Even if it is one sided and horrible, they are still intangled in a relationship together. An abusive relationship is still a relationship. And a ship name isn’t only limited being used when two characters are a happy, healthy, and loving couple. It’s simply an identifier for the viewer to know who the partnership is including, good or bad.

I’m really not trying to come off as rude, but I think sometimes you guys need to understand that “ships” can be fucked up and horrible and interesting for the audience to see and enjoy, while still not being glorified as healthy. But it’s still gonna be categorized as a ship, because “ship” is merely short for a relationship that is not platonic. Not just, “I want these two to ride off into the sunset together and live happily ever after for all eternity”

It’s okay to like Kendratello when the two hate each other, and can’t decide if they wanna kill off the other or make out, and it’s okay to like Kendratello when they’re teaming up to be geniuses together. Hell I like both! And if I wanted to, tomorrow I could draw a pic of the two in a cute, fluffy Cafe AU (I’m sure it’d be confusing and a lot of people would be lost)…Regardless, it’s all Kendratello though, because it’s pertaining to Kendra and Donatello having some kind of non-platonic relationship.

Again, not trying to be rude. I just feel like some of the asks I’ve gotten are people overthinking this and making it deeper than it needs to be. If this kind of relationship isn’t your bag, I don’t blame you. Just block the “kendratello au” tag, and skip this one. You won’t hurt my feelings.

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[dykedvonte]

Daisuke to me represents the type of person who you have to bottle up your pain around because they are ill equipped to handle it. He would realistically not know what to do realizing that among the people he idolizes one is this horrendous monster, especially since he is so optimistic to a hazardous level to himself.

This makes his relationship with Anya so upsetting because as much as he could confide in her she could never confide in him. That very conscious fact/choice on her part is a constant reminder of her suffering along with the hopeless inability to do anything herself about it that ruins her mental state more.

[agentrouka-blog]

I'm so tired of people pretending Jon only likes warrior women. What about his interactions with Ygritte make them think he likes her romantically because she's a warrior and she's unladylike and all that? GRRM said he saw in Ygritte some of Arya's traits, and since he loves Arya, those traits aren't off putting to him. But they aren't attractive to him either. Period. 1) He didn't have much of a choice regarding Ygritte. Would he ever have laid eyes on her if she wasn't so insistent and if his life wasn't at risk? 2) He doesn't like her violence. He felt like a dog while being with her near the other wildlings. He constantly argued with her whenever her values were made clear. He tried to comfort her as a gallant boyfriend when she cried because the wall "tried to kill her" and she punched him too hard for it. He abandoned her because she was ruthless and killed an innocent old man. 3) He doesn't find her attractive at first, when he actually compares her a lot with Arya. He thinks it's silly that the wildlings consider her a great beauty because of her red hair. Like, it looks unbrushed! Things he actually likes about her: her singing, the way his hair shines with the firelight, the way she looks at him, when they're kissing and talking nonsense. That's it. They talk for more than 2 minutes and there's nothing left. They're too different and he doesn't agree with her views on the world. But people are so insistent in denying the mere possibility of jonsa that they look at this mess of a relationship and think "oh yes, Jon walked willingly into this and he would never look at another woman if she's not like Ygritte because she's his perfect type" 😑. And even if he did like her completely and felt attracted to all those things about her, do people really think that humans are only ever attracted to one type of person through their whole lifes? Be for real now.

Nothing but true facts, anon.

Jon's type = not actually violent sexual predators.

[awkwardandeccentric]

Upon my umpteenth watch, I noticed another thing

We all know Stolas likes his romance books (girl, same), but throughout the first four minutes, he’s not holding it like it’s just another book. He’s holding it like he’s trying to protect it.

Blitz, in the middle of their fight, knocks it to the ground. He’s trying to get the book out of the way while he climbs on the table, sure, but he’s almost making a point, maybe even a subconscious one: you want me more than you want romance.

Stolas just picks the book back up but he clutches it close to his chest for the remainder of their fight.

It doesn’t look expensive. It’s not a first edition. It’s not signed by the author. It’s easily replaced. It’s a hardcover, so it’s not like Blitz damaged it by knocking it off the table. It looks like something I could pick up at Barnes & Noble for $29.99 (and unlike Stolas, if someone was knocking my book around, I’d start giving them head injuries with it. But I’m also not a prince with more money than I could ever spend in ten lifetimes).

And then I started to wonder…

Has Stella ever messed with his books? Has she ever ripped them up or threatened to destroy them or throw them out? Stolas’ two hobbies are reading and gardening. His plants can fight back (good for them) but his books can’t.

Has he ever opened his bedroom door to see his favorite books torn apart? Has he ever tried to throw something away and seen whatever he was reading stuffed down in the trash? Has he ever taken a swim and noticed a waterlogged book at the bottom of the pool?

We’ll likely never know every gory detail of how awful Stella was to him. He was chained to her for 18 years and I’m sure with the drinking, he doesn’t remember a good portion of it. But if she’s willing to rape him and hit him in the face where there’s evidence of her abuse? She’s willing to mess with his stuff. It’s another method of control. Another way to punish him for the crime of existing.

[deeism]

up thinking about the bonnie and charlie kelly tragedy again. ohh their relationship is so not normal. she loves him in a way that she doesnt realize is selfish she never taught him to read or take baths he probably found out the stove was hot from touching it. bonnie's relationship with charlie is inherently abusive but shes not some mastermind or criminal she is just a very ill woman who doesnt realize when shes being manipulative or when what she calls empathy is actually just fear or sadness for herself.

charlie spent his whole life parenting his mom back and coaching her through her episodes and internalizing her superstitions and compulsions and in the end he didnt break any kind of cycle he just ended up worse than she is. he doesn't speak to her now he never even calls her he hates being around her... hes a dick to her maybe more than she deserves but in charlie's mind it's not about what she was trying to do its about what she ended up doing to him in the end. she depends on him in a way he never could on her. charlie could never be a dad and maybe its because bonnie kelly wasnt really ever a mom to him but also what else could she have possibly been but a mother. so much of her is reflected in him and they are so entirely unalike and he hates even thinking about her but he also won't leave philadelphia because she's in it and isnt it all so sad and strange