#and i know its cruel. its hypocritical.

[autismmydearwatson]

My toxic trait is that I have a knee jerk and automatic contempt towards fear

[stormofdefiance]

True knowledge exists in knowing you know nothing || Dr. Ratio & Socrates

Okay, I legitimately laughed out loud writing that title, but listen. LISTEN.

Ratio's inspirations derive from many sources; from referencing Archimedes's brain-blast in the tub, to being doomed to have his head bonked by Newton's apple ad infinitum in his idle animation, to his ultimate line ('esse est percipi' / 'to be is to be perceived') a direct quote from Berkeley on Idealism - it's apparent that his design nods towards scholars across time periods rather than being a direct parallel to a singular academic.

Nevertheless, just for fun, I've been rotating Ratio and ancient greek philosophers around in my head and have had a great time chewing over how parallels Socrates in particular. I am in no way saying that Hoyo even thought about Socrates while they were designing Ratio, but I thought I'd share my thoughts. I think there are some worthwhile parallels to be drawn that touch on all aspects of Ratio's own philosophy regarding ignorance, the value of knowledge, and his deep appreciation of life. So, let's get into it.

Ratio is interested in humanity and curing 'ill minds with knowledge', that 'to turn a blind eye to the folly of others is not an etiquette, but a wicked worldly practice.' Ignorance is a disease - this is a concept that can be viewed through a Socratic lens. Socrates believed that that virtue and knowledge were impossible to separate from one another, and that virtue could be developed through acquiring knowledge and insight. If knowledge is virtue, then ignorance is vice. In Socrates's mind, no one would rationally choose to do something bad. People might choose to do bad things, but this is rooted in their own perception of the world - as in, someone would only choose to do something bad (for the world, or for themselves) because they believed (erroneously) that it was the right or good thing to do. To Socrates, the cure to this was knowledge: 'There are two kinds of disease of the soul, vice and ignorance.' & 'What does most harm in the world is not sinfulness but ignorance'.

To Ratio, 'If ignorance is an ailment, it is the duty of the scholars to weed it out and heal the universe'. He views his own ignorance as 'filth' that must be cleansed through methods such as reading. He also views knowledge as a method for humans to overcome their problems - 'Another day has passed. If your problem still hasn't been solved, is it possible the problem is you?' & 'You look distressed. Is something troubling you? if so, you can figure it out for yourself.' These statements sound harsh, but they also clue us into Ratio's philosophy - that through self-examination and improvement, one can overcome one's ailments.

Socrates was also known for being a trouble-maker, he was abrupt and tactless and did not care for someone's social standing nor decorum. He was also known for using what is now called the Socratic method, asking a series of questions that ultimately seek to show contradictions in the beliefs of those who posed them, and to move systematically towards a hypothesis free from contradiction. Socrates rarely made assertions himself - after all, he had no wisdom of his own. But he could interrogate others in order to expose their own foibles, much to the embarrassment and annoyance of those around him. He was once described as a 'gnat' chewing on the 'lazy horse of Athens', causing it to wake up and spring to life due to his persistent gnawing and prodding. Ratio also employs the Socratic method - 'I'm asking questions' - and also adopts sophist tactics such as playing devil's advocate and taking opposing sides (with both himself as seen a story quest, and with others as we see with his texts urging us to take up a side so he might debate us). Through questioning and interrogation, upsetting what we consider social convention and norms, we can dispel contradictions and thereby come closer to some form of truth.

To add to this - as highlighted in the replies below - Ratio’s skill ‘intellectual midwifery’ is a reference to the Socratic method. The idea being that Socrates helped those around him give birth to the knowledge that was already within them, rather than treating his students minds as empty vessels for him to fill with his own answers. Again this is beautifully echoed in Ratio - he doesn’t want to tell you how to live your life, he wants you to work out for yourself what it is you need, thus empowering oneself through self-examination and questioning.

Socrates did not believe in writing anything down. He believed that face-to-face communication was a far more effective way of communicating knowledge - which means, unfortunately, what we know of Socrates is primarily derived from secondary sources. Much of what we know about him today comes from Plato's dialogues, and Plato was known for liberally exercising artistic license.

Although Ratio is not dead, I find it interesting that his character story is told exclusively through secondary sources. To quote - '…There are no less than eight documentaries detailing his legendary exploits, and over a dozen memoirs about him. However, despite the plethora of commentaries, none of them seems to provide a compelling perspective.' It's as though there are no surviving fragments penned by Ratio's hand and all we have to go on is through the lenses of other people. This challenges us, perhaps, to try to think about our own interpretation of Ratio since secondary sources cannot be taken as a wholly unbiased account - and once again employing the Socratic method and empowering the reader to come to their own interpretation.

While Socrates left no writing behind, he was interested in spreading knowledge. Socrates spent most of his life in Athens, a city that was, during his lifetime (~470-399 BC), a hotpot of scholars, wisemen and philosophers. Athena, the Greek god of wisdom, was named after the city - her symbol the owl that is also appropriately perched on Ratio’s shoulder. Also in Athens at this time where the sophists. The sophists were a class of intellectuals who were known to teach courses in various subjects - but often for a high fee, and generally centred around the idea that persuasion and the use of knowledge as a tool was more important than wisdom or truth itself. There's some debate about whether Socrates could be characterised as a sophist himself, but, crucially, he is characterised as refusing to take payment for his teachings. He was born a plebeian (perhaps you might describe it as a mundane background.) He was known to dress in rags and go barefoot, speaking to and (often antagonising) people from all walks of life, preferring the marketplace as a center of debate than palaces or courtrooms. I can't help but think of the sophists as similar to the genius society (or at least Ratio's depiction of them in contrast to himself), cooped up in ivory towers and gatekeeping knowledge to the most privileged. He doubts if Herta's talent is always helpful to others, he compares Screwllum to a 'monarch'. Then again, the sophists may in fact be a bit of a parallel to the Intelligentsia Guild - from Ratio, 'when someone is willing to listen to knowledge that is being disseminated and circulated, a price is created'.

Socrates (or at least the Platonic depiction of Socrates) was at one time declared the wisest man in Athens by the Oracle of Delphi. Socrates balks at this assertion - how can he possibly be the wisest man in Athens when he in fact knows nothing at all? This was not a claim made of modesty - he truly believed that he had no wisdom, that he was unsure what 'wisdom' itself even was. Ultimately, Socrates concludes that the only way that the Oracle could be correct is that by actually acknowledging that he knows nothing he paradoxically is the wisest man in Athens. All wisdom, therefore, is rooted in wondering, with wondering only possible if one is open to admitting one's own ignorance.

What I love about all of this in relation to Ratio is that Ratio styles himself as a mundanite. The Intelligensia Guild advocates that 'all knowledge must be circulated like currency' and accepts 'all beings… who seek to learn'. Ratio has no time for the satisfied self-styling of intellectualism, he himself states that 'to speak knowledge, we must first make people realise their own folly.' No one is above criticism in this regard, even himself - again, to quote 'Whenever someone agrees with me, I feel like I must be wrong.' Again, I feel as though he would resonate with Socrates here: 'Smart people learn from everything and everyone, average people from their experiences, and stupid people already have all the answers'. With Aventurine, he is quick to mock his appearance as over-the-top and vapid - once again making it clear his distate for vanity and hollow displays of showiness (albeit he may have been acting for Sunday's sake here. Also, no comment about this coming from a man who runs around in a toga, lmao) Equally, with Aventurine, it is clear that Ratio is willing to learn from him - he apologises when he offends, he abhors his methodology and yet he still relies upon it and trusts in Aventurine's plan, he is drawn to him in some ways precisely because he is so different to himself. Aventurine (at least styles himself) as impulsive to Ratio's slow and steady methodology, Aventurine whose learning has been entirely self-made vs Ratio who has spent his life in classrooms, Ratio who scoffs at Aventurine's favourite games of chance yet adds slot machines to his simulated universe. And to Socrates, the experience of aporia – in all of its discomfort and disruption – is the very catalyst of wonder, and that wonder was not just the root of wisdom but also the way to live a good and happy life. There is something beautiful in this to me, and this extends to Ratio. Ratio fundamentally cares about life. For all his brashness, his lashing out against 'idiots', his harsh demeanour - he wants people to live good lives, he wants to contribute to the good of humanity - all people, even those he is annoyed by, he cares so profoundly and absolutely about life. The entire reason why he is obsessed with wisdom and learning is not to exalt or elevate himself, not as some kind of ritualistic expression of piety towards a deity, but it is instead an expression of devotion towards life itself. Ratio has a strict work out routine not so that he can show off his body, but because living healthily is living well and working out is a component of that. Even the way he fusses and worries about Aventurine, someone he is pointedly irritated by, reveals how deeply his care runs. So so much of his character is centered on caring for life, even if it is not immediately obvious.

Finally, I'd like to highlight some ways in which Ratio is not like Socrates. First of all, Socrates was repeatedly described as 'ugly' by fellow philosophers Plato and Xenophon - this is contrast to Ratio being repeatedly described as 'handsome'. This is an interesting subversion to me (albeit likely an indulgent one) as in both cases both men attempt to distance their physical appearance from the weight of their words. Ratio wears the bust for many reasons, but way to view it is that he is attempting to stop his appearance from bearing any influence in the subject of debate.

Socrates was also said to be blessed by a divine touch, and as we know, this is something that agonises Ratio as Nous has not yet turned THEIR gaze towards him.

Lastly, Ratio has - thankfully - not yet been ordered by the state to drink hemlock for all his trouble-making and blustering. Though perhaps he may someday be put on trial by the IPC if the theories that he is working alongside Aventurine to undermine the corporation are true - we will just have to wait and see.

Thanks for reading my little ramble. I'd be super interested in anyone's thoughts if they'd like to share, but regardless, I'll leave off on some of my favourite wee quotes from the Rat man:

'Even a life marked by failure is a life worth living - it is only in moments of solitude and despair, when help is absent, that fools grasp how to pick themselves up.'

'Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.'

[nathaslosthershit]

Passenger Princess Piastri (OP81)

Summary: Oscar hates driving outside of F1, you are sick of driving him everywhere and have tried everything to curb his obsession with being a passenger princess, but you may have stumbled upon a new method of making him get behind the wheel. (Aka Oscar's wife finds a new upside to her pregnancy)

'Oh having a husband who races cars for a living must be so nice, you have a built in personnel driver!'

Unfortunately, you are dating Oscar Piastri, a man who has trained in the art of guilting you into driving.

It was always something new, 'I don't like driving on the streets in anywhere but Australia', 'i have been driving all weekend, can't you just take the reins this one time', 'I know it is summer break, but you look so hot behind the wheel, I just want to appreciate my pretty wife while I have her with me'.

And you gave in, every time. It got to the point where he didn't even ask, just happily hopped into the passenger seat while you'd sigh and get behind the wheel.

But it had to to end. Oscar's reign as passenger princess had turned into a passenger queen, and you were going to force him to abdicate.

It started with little things; not joining him on errands you didn't need to go on, putting so much stuff in the passenger seat he had to sit in the back, not unlocking the car until he moved.

It worked well, but unfortunately he eventually caught on to all of your ways and found loopholes. He'd beg, and beg, and beg for you to go on errands with him, he knew if he could produce a few tears and a line about how much he loves doing these little domestic tasks with you, you'd give in. He would just move your stuff, all of it, or if he thought ahead, stuff so many things into the back you 'couldn't possible expect him to go back there'. He would just wait, and wait, and wait until you unlocked the car, doesn't matter if you had time sensitive plans, he would happily arrive late in the passenger seat, he'd even blame it on you.

This back and forth lasted years, he didn't care, he wasn't going to give up, but neither were you.

When your first thought upon seeing the positive pregnancy test was that you were going to milk this for all its worth and make sure the next 9 months + were passenger seat filled for you, maybe you should have reevaluated the situation, clearly it had gone too far.

You felt better though when you saw the same realization hit Oscar soon after you told him the news.

"Yep! You are not getting a free ride for a very long time, honey." You said, giddy at the look of despair on your husband's face.

"Please, come on, don't you think thats dramatic? You are pregnant, not incapacitated."

"You are so hypocritical to call me dramatic! You drive for a living, Oscar, yet you force your beautiful and amazing wife to drive you around as your personal chauffeur! You did this to me, and now you have got to pay the piper my friend."

"Wouldn't I be the piper in this case?" He was trying to distract you with a dirty joke, and damn it almost worked.

"No, because I am playing you, lovie. Plus, I am holding precious cargo now, don't think I won't call your mom or sisters to yell at you if you try to make me drive."

You felt victorious as you saw all the fight leave his eyes. Maybe it was cruel to use your pregnancy against your husband to force him to do a task he hated doing. Maybe it was evil to feel giddy about how you now had a new method of getting him to drive you places. You weren't saying you'd get pregnant again in the future just to win this ridiculous stand-off you two had, but it was definitely an added bonus.

A/N: I don’t know what this is guys I just sat down and wrote something I had no preconceived plans I just knew my Oscar girlies were hungry and needed to be fed

[hamliet]

Love is Life, and Also Unpredictable

The Decameron is a brilliant, beautiful show that deserves way more praise than the lukewarm reviews. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a love story so beautiful and characters who subverted expectations in the most satisfying ways.

Every time you think a character is an unforgivable lout, you'll be surprised at how human they'll be. The character you think is a buffoon and whom you wish would die because they're THAT level of annoying ends up making you bawl with their words a single episode later, and it still feels in character.

I dunno, the show has pretty mixed reviews, but if you like dark humor and a study on humanity, this show is for you. Also, if you like love stories of any sort, because this show contains several of the single most unique love stories I could have ever imagined. Yes, including queer and... ace love.

*yes i have read boccaccio's work on which it's based

Spiritual, Agape Love: Neifile and Panfilo

I genuinely think the sexless marriage and partnership of a gay man and a devout, neurotic straight woman is one of the most beautiful love stories I've seen in media, ever. They genuinely want each other to be happy, and they aren't content just being each other's "beard" or financial security. They want to know each other more. They want honesty. They want to be together and to have intimacy, just not romantic or sexual.

The scene where they reconcile in front of Ruggiero is stunningly wholesome and--dare I say it--pure.

The scene where Neifile falls in the well and waits for God to save her is clearly a riff on the classic parable of the guy who is drowning and turns down two boats and a helicopter rescue saying "no thanks, God will save me," only to die and get to heaven and cry, "God, why didn't you save me?" Then God replies, "you dumbass, I sent you two boats and a helicopter!"

Neifile is rescued because her husband Panfilo pays someone to rescue her and to tell her God sent a vision telling them where to find Neifile. When she finds out Panfilo orchestrated it, she's furious about him deceiving her. But the reality, we later realize, is that he didn't exactly. Neifile wanted proof God still cared about her. He sent her a husband who loved her so much he would do anything to save her.

Neifile's faith isn't perfectly written, but it's not mocked. In the end, Neifile and Panfilo live like Christ--which is to say, they save their friends even though they die. Neifile dies afraid, but life comes with no guarantees. It's unpredictable, just like love. And after her death, Panfilo seems to lose the will to live--but when he decides to sacrifice his life to die alongside Neifile, it's not so much out of a desire to die as it is out of a desire to have his friends survive. And it's not a coincidence that the foe they face off with is a self-proclaimed prophet who's really a cruel, hypocritical cult leader. Neifile's dead, plague-ridden body is more holy than the cult leader's sword.

Romantic/Eros Love: Misia and Filomena, Tindaro and Stratilia, (and everyone)

Everyone has romantic love and/or a sexual relationship in the story. Everyone has a "pairing," but it is seldom their most important bond.

Dioneo and Licisca

Filomena and Misia

Pampinea and Sirisco

Tindaro and Stratilia

Neifile and Panfilo/Ruggiero

Panfilo and Neifile/Andreoli

The two that are the most important here are Misia and Filomena, and Tindaro and Stratilia. Yet they are both quite unique portrayals as well, because while Misia and Filomena's love is requited, Tindaro's loev for Stratilia is completely unrequited. Yet, its power still shines through.

Tindaro's love for Stratilia is utterly unrequited and stays that way. However, his love for her is nonetheless real and he proves it over and over, and it isn't dependent on her returning it. His determination to love her, no matter what she does or doesn't give him, is honestly a beautiful exploration of unrequited love. Usually in fiction unrequited love is either someone wasting their time or a tragedy.

Rarely does unrequited love have power to redeem and save, but here it does. It motivates Tindaro to change himself for the better and to become the best version of himself, and it saves Stratilia's life and the life of her son.

Yet, the story avoids any kind of iffy subtext about sex corrupting love. Misia and Filomena get a happily ever after (the only pairing in the series that does), but Tindaro's love for Stratilia, which literally starts as hate sex and stays that way for her, redeems Tindaro. So the show avoids saying that sex is all that love is, and avoids the implication that sex ruins love as well.

Familial Love: Licisca and Filomena, Stratilia and Jacopo

The series addresses sibling love in a variety of ways. Filomena and Licisca are clearly sisters long before we get the official reveal that Licisca is actually Filomena's half-sister in blood. And even when we see them fighting and pushing each other off a bridge (literally), they love each other. They can't bear to see each other die, even as they peck at each other and insult each other constantly.

Filomena: Licisca, you saved me again! Licisca: Yeah, you dumb bitch. Love's got long claws.

Truly, a sister exchange right there.

What gets in the way of their familial relationship is class. The series juxtaposes class issues against familial ones quite a bit. Leonardo, for example, we never meet, but the way he treats Stratilia and Jacopo (his son) is pretty terrible.

And yet, Jacopo has a good life. Stratilia loves him, even though he is the reason she can never leave the villa, marry, or have any sort of life of her own. She knows Leonardo never plans to have Jacopo as an heir or treat him as a son in any way, but she loves him and sticks around for him, and doesn't resent him for it. And he in turn adores his mother and wants to protect her. Love is a burden, as Panfilo says directly, but so is life. Love anchors.

What gets in the way of love for this mother and son, temporarily, is again class. Not for herself, but for her son, Stratilia eventually decides to take the villa since Leonardo is dead and Jacopo is the rightful heir. But clinging to class and material possessions in this series never ends well.

When Stratilia realizes her desire to seize the villa in the name of justice for her son will likely get them all killed, she cries and blames herself for their coming deaths.

As Tindaro says:

Stratilia: I failed my son Tindaro: No. You have given him everything. And love most of all. He is blessed. You understand that Jacopo? You are blessed.

In other words, love doesn't have to be perfect. It can involve major screwups and pain, but that doesn't mean the life they had or the love was any less powerful.

Also of note: the whole reason the peasants turn to mercenaries and cults is because the rich lock themselves away from the poor, when in reality they are all humans. You can't counter acts of God (or, y'know, rats) but where humans do have power, in all the terrible hands life slaps them with, is the ability to love each other and help each other. While this sounds cheesy, the juxtaposition of this idea with a black comedy plague setting actually makes it shine.

The Loveless: Pampinea

At the start of the story, there are two buffoons: Tindaro and Pampinea.

Tindaro is misogynistic and pathetic, and Pampinea is equally insufferable but more sympathetic because her insufferable tendencies are clearly driven by her status as an unmarried woman in a patriarchal, misogynistic society.

Yet Pampinea has all of these kinds of love, and can't accept any of them. Sirisco loves her and thinks she is beautiful. She not only pushes him away, but is cruel in doing so. She has the respect of Neifile and Licisca. She has unrequited loyalty and love from Misia, and uses it to manipulate Misia into killing Ruggiero for her (and the irony is that Misia, who is traumatized from killing Ruggiero, then kills Pampinea).

Pampinea is a well-written villain, imo. You love to hate her, but you also see her humanity. The way she treats Misia, though, is increasingly horrifying, and their relationship foils Tindaro and Dioneo's, Filomena and Licisca's, and Leonardo's and Stratilia's/Sirisco's.

In fact, Filomena even directly acknowledges that she's no better than Pampinea for how she's treated Licisca. Tindaro doesn't get the chance to have that realization about Dioneo while Dioneo is alive, but he does give him a decent burial when he definitely didn't have to. And, there's an aspect of tragedy there too--Dioneo did care about Tindaro, but Tindaro's inability to show any kind of care for Dioneo while he lived means that he doesn't realize that Dioneo did in fact find love in the end, though he acknowledges that this was what Dioneo did primarily want in life.

In contrast, Pampinea has chance after chance after chance to choose differently, to choose a single bond, and she doesn't. She also recognizes that her servant wants love more than anything, just like Tindaro and Dioneo, but instead of using that to honor them, she uses it to degrade and manipulate Misia.

Bad Victims and Toxic Love: Misia and Pampinea

Misia is a bad victim. It takes forever for her to realize she's being abused and even longer to accept it. She does in fact murder someone for her mistress, and she keeps going back to Pampinea even when it means essentially betraying Filomena, whom she romantically loves. When she asks for help, she pushes the people she's asked away.

Eventually, the only way she sees to free herself is to kill Pampinea, because love for Pampinea is a way to cage someone rather than a way to set them free. Pampinea's already introduced the idea of killing for love, so it's not really a surprise when this comes back to bite Pampinea and she is killed.

Yet the story doesn't demonize Misia for this. It shows how damn difficult it is to free oneself from an abuser, and how genuine the love for an abuser can be. In fact, the victim can often not even realize they're being abused and taken advantage of.

Furthermore, Misia's abuse doesn't make her a better person. Most people tend to assume that victims cry and wait for rescue, but that's not realistic. Victims lash out and can sometimes have a massive cognitive dissonance, as demonstrated in the show when Misia begs Sirisco for help and then blames him for Ruggiero's death when he calls her out on Pampinea's abuse of her.

Even Misia killing Pampinea isn't portrayed as a moral positive. It's tragic, but it also doesn't have to destroy Misia's future. Filomena loves her and forgives her, and that love can tether Misia to life despite her having two murders under her belt.

Sirisco also goes down a bad path, similar to Misia. He brings misery and problems to the villa in his outage over Pampinea's treatment of him. Yet he does repent after he sees that his actions have directly led to the deaths of the peasants who treat him well, and he survives.

[the-defendery-189]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS #1

Venus & Neptune square and aspects in general, especially negative ones - lazy, creative, and inspirational, yet so delusional and preferring their fantasies to the relatity in their relationships and often not even realise they're doing that.

Capricorn and Virgo and Aquarius suns are imo the ones to hate astrology the most, like once they learn there are also bad things about their signs, wow!!!, they immediately hate it and GOOOD, astrology is so TERRIBLE and UNREAL and FAKE... 🙄🙄🙄

Scorpio suns are very hypocritical. Once they say some things but when it's suddenly against them, you're just making it up, it never happened! Also gaslight people and are just generally very proud and irrational when hurt a lot. Blame others a lot. Get all defensive and icky when people actually try to accuse them of something they have done.

Geminis can use fake tears to make you pity them and then act like it's all your fault, anyways.

Also sags use their feelings to try to gaslight people and make them feel sad for them and excuse themselves when they just don't care about them anymore, and just make them seem like it's all the other persons fault, when they'll still go like "its not you, it's me" in the end.

Cancer suns are very quirky in a kind of disgusting way, personally I get very annoyed by them and they still think I think they're oh so cute.

Also cancer men are very manipulative and might want to seem like the prince charming and saviour of all the women. Often matriarchal and want women to have all the power. Also submissive to them in sex and generally want women to be the dominant ones in a relationship. Often grew up in a home without a father, who left them as a child, their mother ruling the household. Might be the youngest sibling. Bullied in school and bullying others, hiding behind the "but I'm a soft boy uwu 😩😣💖💖💖🫀🫀🫀❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥💔💔💔👈👈👈" excuse and trauma that have happened to them. Either metalheads or soft boys uwu discord kittens. Often joke about furries and cringe weird communities and their obsessions. Very chronically online and may have grew up as a YouTube creepy pasta or smth else child.

Also Cancer men - Will pretend to listen to a girl because they know this is what they want --- because of that mother relationship they grew up with. But seriously just not give a fuck for real in their heads, they just know how to be smart and manipulate women. Don't feel comfortable around men BCS of their too-much-comfortable being they happen to switch on when are with women. Often put on a mask in front of men and pretend to be someone who they aren't. Men might think they're cool then, which j really don't understand. Like what???

Also cancer men and women - mommy issues, if it wasn't obvious. Can be very backstabbing and distrustful and think of themselves as mega hot and the best. Often boring texters and talkers. Rant a lot and talk about their hyperfixations and how the world is cruel and shit towards them, but really sometimes you can't help but wonder if they don't deserve it.

Saturn in 7th - Abusive relationships, getting married later in life, husband/wife popular and maybe rich, so if they abuse you, nobody might believe you and everybody will be on their side because they might be just more charismstic than you.

My parents both have this placement and it is HELL.

Lilith in 10th, 1th - Women envy you, hate you and sabotage you, men think you're too dark and edgy for them. People thinking you think you're better then them, this hating you. Being too charismatic for your own good.

Leo Venus - again, as it is with the Saturn in 7th. Could be more popular and overall likeable so if they do terrible things to you, nobody will believe you. Might just be nobody believing me cuz of crazy people around me tho.

Neptune in 1st - people might find you very attractive and ethereal, but also project on you A LOT. Meaning connections and relationships with you are just really difficult to even happen BCS people are always so judging and mean towards you.

Chiron in 1st - Body image issues, partners might abuse you and body shame you, people thinking less of you and in childhood parents often telling you you look ugly. I'm sorry people, I have this placement too tho so its not like I'm shaming you too, just I can feel your pain.

Scorpio ascendant - Too assertive and proud of your uniqueness and too opinionated for your own good. You guys are so clear with your speaking and always speak your mind and aren't fearful to express yourself how you feel and how your think and are always so like colorful with the things you say if you know what I mean. People will despise you for that and try to shut you up. And as somebody who did this to my scorp rising friend before subconsciously,,, yep. It happens even from your trusted friends.

If your moon is in the same sign as your friends/anyone's ascendant... You might feel instantly understood by them. Like I have this with my friend and it's an absolutely great and fantastic relationship, I love her. She absolutely understands me and gets me on a spiritual level - maybe caused by the fact that we have this with Scorpio - like no one else. It's a great relationship, savour this.

If you have a moon sign same as somebody's sun sign, you might enjoy their cooking.

If you have a sun sign same as somebody else's rising, you might try to be more like them and adore them for no reason.

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-six — br(ok)en (💋)

You stared at your phone light up for the twelfth time within five minutes with a dull expression.

Admittedly, you felt angrier knowing that Scaramouche still had the audacity to even text you after everything. After tormenting you for years and years, what kind of shame should someone feel after that, you wonder. The relentless pursuit of making your life miserable—to which he failed at, but it did make you wonder.

Did you do something to deserve it? Each notification felt like another jab that he took to the heart, reopening your wounds from each time he said something messed up to you. As you laid there motionless, with no light ruminating in the room except your phone, you began to feel tears well up in your eyes for the thirteenth time today.

Pursing your lips, you swiped up to read the messages and only felt reminded even further of every harsh word he said. Every cruel taunt, every moment of humiliation...and yet...

He was still right, despite being the biggest hypocrite known to man. And it pissed you off.

Why were you even laying here? Ignoring the world, rotting here like you're a vegetable. You knew that you were something to people, you knew that you were valued.

There wasn’t anything that was particularly motivating for you to get up, however. You ignored every need that you could have possibly wanted, subjecting yourself to sparseness. No matter how much you wanted to, the thoughts always came back and you didn’t know how to deal with them.

A small knock echoed from the front door. It was loud enough to hear, and you still shoved your head in the pillow and hoped it went away.

The longer time you went without answering it, the knocks became more frequent. It wasn’t Thoma, that’s who you could observe without getting up.

You finally managed to drag yourself out of bed, lazing about sounded so much nicer now that you were dreading who’s at the door. With a frustrated sigh, and irritation already to its peak of your heart, you opened the door to a familiar-ish face.

Little girl?

“Did you forget that you exist?” She said with a smile. “Welcome back to Earth! I didn’t know how long you’d be cooped up in here so I brought treats.”

You stared a bit longer than you meant to at the Tupperware of Asafiri in her hands, momentarily taken aback. “Heh?”

“Yanfei sent me here. Looks like you’re having a little bit of trouble getting back on your feet. I take it you know her?” She inquired.

“Yeah.” You blinked slowly, before holding the door a little wider. “Uh…come in, I guess. Thanks for the…treats.” You cringed. “Wow, I get why Heizou keeps being called a creep now, this can look so wrong.”

“The difference is that he does it to himself.”

The warm water on your body was oddly refreshing.

Getting out of the shower was harder knowing that you'd come back to the gust of wind in your living room, but knowing you had fresher pajamas on was also a plus. Things didn't look too great on your mental, especially since you were accustomed to showering a lot in your fresher mind.

You put on the Lightning McQueen slippers you quite often wear, and moved to the kitchen after hearing soft chops of a knife. You wondered what Nahida was up to, staring at her cut apples and bananas before putting them into a huge bowl she found in your cupboard.

"This is a very odd fruit salad you're making." You drew attention to yourself before her eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know whether or not to tell you to be careful with knives."

"I'm smarter than you think I am." Nahida cooed. "I'm used to people being condescending."

"Oh...I'm sorry— You're killing me here, kid. Lady? Are you a child or not?" You asked desperately.

Nahida turned to you, her saturated green eyes stared at you with obviously deliberate thoughts roaming her head before she took a sharp breath. She pointed the knife at you. "Do you feel better?"

"Not...really? I mean, it happened. All of this at once." You tried to process it quicker, but your head failed you. It's like how you actually felt in the moment was blocked. "I feel like I'm in limbo, I don't want to see the sun these days."

"Your thoughts are your biggest enemy right now. Easy to overthink. It's a lot to deal with on your own, good thing you aren't, right?" Nahida lowered the knife, her expression softening. "I cut you up some fresh fruit. It's better than the Asafiri for now, you don't need that much sugar after not eating for a while, or you'll crash hard. And get a headache."

Looking at the bowl loaded with bananas and slices of apples, you couldn't help but wonder why you were even granted this much care anyway. You were in mild disbelief, sitting down at the island counter in front of Nahida. "Why are you actually here?" You said in defeat.

Nahida stopped cutting the fruit, gaze shifting from it to you. She couldn't find what she could say to answer you, but she did press her lips together. "Do you want me to be honest?"

"A little." Your voice lowered.

"Yanfei and Heizou," Nahida paused, trying to find her words, "They wanted to see if I could convince you to start streaming again."

You frowned immediately. "Oh. Thanks for being honest."

"You made progress today, but I don't expect you to be up to it. It's a really big step." She asked you, but you couldn't even decipher the intentions behind her eyes. It was impossible to detect what anybody was thinking nowadays. "They just told me to come over so they can hope their investigation moves."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair once you felt the bitterness course your body again. Hearing that made your mood possibly worse than what it would've been if you were in bed. "Not happening. Thanks for checking on me though, you can leave if you want."

"I knew you'd say that. I guess it's fair, people are...going crazy right now figuring out whether you're okay or not." Nahida smiled once you looked back up at her. "Both Scaramouche and your fans are trying to get anything they can on your wellbeing. It's better to wait it out."

Your hopeful face turned into a sullen one, shoulders slumped at the mention of his name. "I don't know if I can even go back at all."

"I'm not sure how hard this is for you, but with what happened, you've obviously been through enough. While it's your choice to go back, Yanfei is under the impression that you can get revenge." The shorter girl explained. "In my eyes, though...I think you're able to decide that for yourself."

You felt the weight of the memories heavily, your head daunting enough for you to let out a shaky breath. "You think so?"

Nahida nodded, humming, "You don't have to stream, but don't give him the satisfaction if you're upset. You shouldn't let him know that you're suffering because of what he did. The worst thing that you can do is prove him right."

Funnily enough, as soon as she said that, you felt tears well up in your eyes again. It struck a cord, and you knew she was right. It was just knowing that anybody would say it verbatim. "That's the same thing he told me too." You blinked back your tears, more resilient than you were a few minutes ago, but also to the brim of misery.

"He?"

You shook your head, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "Thanks," You muttered, choking on your words. You couldn't manage to say anything else, otherwise you'd betray your steely posture. "I'll think about it. Just...stay here a little more with me, please. Maybe I'll...find the resolve or something."

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @melpomenelurks @yumejo89 @liuaneee

@franaby @tiddieshakeshownu (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

[tumblingxelian]

If I may ask with an open enough mind, might I hear out your thoughts on the character of Chloe Bourgeois? I don't expect an answer right out the gate so don't rush on my account. I'm merely trying to collect varying perspectives over what's become a uniquely controversial character.

Oh my that is a doozy of a question, I've debated no less than three separate videos on the topic and multiple essays to boot. Still, she's on my mind and the thing I am working on is obstructing me from modelling or writing but quires breaks to let stuff load so I have time for a longer ask:

So, what are my thoughts on Chloe Bourgeois?

Exactly where to start is rather tricky, so forgive any digressions or rambles.

Chloe is thematically the everyday reality of an Akumatized person.

What I mean by this is that Akuma victims are people in states of emotional distress, tribulation or trouble. Who thanks to the enabling of a power greater than themselves are both encouraged and enabled to lash out at others with borrowed power.

These people are meant to be sympathetic, their emotional tribulation taken advantage of, their situation, methods and thought process untenable. But they do need to be stopped from doing harm, and then healing needs to begin, with some effort made to redress the issue that led to them lashing out in the first place.

Akuma victims are the supernatural theme, Chloe is the reality.

Of course, some might claim she has no reason to have issues but...

Her mother is negligent and largely absent. The time they spent together prior to Queen Wasp, consisted of Chloe praising, giving gifts and trying to please Audrey. Only to be torn down, ignored, rejected or have her efforts disparaged. The woman doesn't even get her name right and the only means by which she earned even a scrap of approval was through being cruel. Something explicitly encouraged by the show's main character which is ???. 

Though it seems Audrey got bored with her fairly quickly regardless.

Audrey is unrelentingly hostile, selfish and cruel and encourages these traits in others and only avoids turning them on a person if they are sufficiently useful, or a match for her in viciousness. You are either her victim, her tool, or a conspirator. This is a hilariously awful parent, the damage she can do limited only by her sheer lack of interest.

Andre is somehow worse.

I am going to ignore the reading undertones of subtext into things but suffice to say that ratchets him up from just a bad parent to kill him with fire parent.

What we see with Andre is a man who explicitly taught Chloe to lie, cheat, intimidate, extort and bribe people to get what she wants. She is fourteen, and has been doing this since before she was in double digits. She's not bad because there's something innately wrong with her, she behaves badly because she's been explicitly taught that was the proper way to conduct herself.

We know full well Andre is capable of reigning Chloe in, be it gently in the Christa episode or with disciplinary action in Kung Food. However he only does this when it suits him, or her actions might cause him problems. For all his alleged affection for her, or her alleged influence on him, Chloe's always on the end of a leash Andre can and will tug back on the moment he feels like it.

This isn't just bad because it's so blatantly hypocritical and self serving. It's bad, because it means he enables Chloe's most self destructive and harmful traits so long as they don't impact 'him'. Given also that he is the one who, to put it charitably, raised her, that means the consequences and fallout of her actions should fall on him.

The fact he is presumably the one who encouraged Chloe to impersonate his wife, given Audrey didn't start rewarding that behavior until Queen Wasp, is also bad parenting. Like even if you ignore the disgust factor, its just fucking awful parenting and like everything else he taught her. It contributed to the fact Chloe is a social pariah hated by most people she has to spend time around.

Because let's get to the next stage, subversions!

In most shows like ML, Chloe as "The mean girl" would be popular, or at least feared, able to pose a threat in a social context, and is usually insulated from the more magical issues.

None of this applies to Chloe.

Even if we don't treat Origins as the shows starting point, she's already only tangentially involved in class stuff. Her fathers hotels own doorman outright says she has no friends, extremely out of pocket of him. & Origins sees one of the first things said to him being that Chloe is a brat and he halfway ditches her before 24 hours are up, and keeps her at nominal arms length for the rest of the series.

We can talk about how there's reasons for this, sure, but the thing that's interesting here is the subversion.

Chloe's mean-ness has not won her friends or influence as it does other mean girls in fiction, such as Heathers or Mean Girls.

Instead, it's made her barely tolerated by her peers and this only grows worse for her as the show goes on leading to her ensuing isolation which only worsens her condition and attitude. This is something Chloe is even varying shades of aware of, as she tearfully confessed to Ladybug when hiding from her Akumatized father. She knows something is wrong, but doing things differently goes against everything her parents taught her or exemplified, so it's not a shock she struggles.

Similarly, compare how Bonnie from Kim Possible could actually out-compete Kim for the role of cheer captain. 

Can Chloe beat Marinette in anything?

No, not really, or least the narrative never lets her do so even when she does have the skills for it, such as 8 years of ballet losing to nice vibes.

This is much less interesting than the previous point because it's basically just the writers using Chloe as a speed bump which gets boring after a while.

Then consider how Totally Spies own Mean Girl, Mandy is rarely tied to the actual adventures save maybe in a way other civilians are; leaving altercations with Clover as civilian affairs.

Does this apply to Chloe?

Fuck no XD

Chloe's frequently targeted by AKuma, even when she either shouldn't be singled out, (Ivan, everyone was scared) or for comparatively minor transgressions (Nathanial, his teacher screamed at, insulted & shook him) or outright targeted by the main villain of the show. (One who has known her since she was an infant!) 

Even before she had a Miraculous, Chloe was a frequent target of violent murder attempts. But this is largely treated as neutral, or even as comeuppance for bad behaviour. The issue is, the sheer scale of what she's being targeted with is so completely disportionate to what she did, assuming she even did things wrong, that it comes off as more unfair than anything else, & liable to give trauma. 

Especially as the show has double standards at times.

I think often-times the writers neglected to actually think through their karmic punishments for Chloe.

Take Pixelator, 

Chloe is the one who recognized Jagged, helped her father, and actually did her fucking job, but is the only student not rewarded with a concert ticket despite having done nothing to piss Jagged off.

Or how when her locker was broken into she's largely dismissed and needs to threaten the principal with her father to get a response. One might say this is abusing her power, but A, it's her dads power and B, we see with Lila later that the principle will basically just bow to whoever can make the bigger fuss. This isn't a Chloe issue it's a Damocles issue and I think being upset people broke into her locker isn't exactly unfair.

Similarly, I noted above how Chloe loses to Marinette even when she shouldn't logically do so. 

A bigger example of the narrative short hand delivered is the fact we see other characters do stuff Chloe does and get free rides.

IE, Kagami can dramatically strut into a fencing hall talking the most boastful shit, actually lose more or less legitimately, Akumatize and still be treated with sympathy and become a hero.

Chloe boastfully auditions to be Ladybug for a music video, but actually is the best audition scene, but loses out to positive vibes, gets angry & through her father lashes out, gets punished & no one gives a shit about her side of the story. 

To be clear, I like Kagami, I find this comparison interesting, I just don't think the show realized that it did this or does stuff like this a lot. 

That whole episode also demonstrates what I said at the start, about Chloe embodying the thematic of Akuma, IE, anger or distress, powerful sponsor, lashing out, ETC. 

So the double standard in how she's framed and treated VS Kagami is framed and treated becomes a weakness of the writing and show. 

We also see this with stuff like her & Marinette sabotaging Kagami, but Marinette largely getting portrayed sympathetically for doing so while Chloe isn't. 

This creates the impression the problem isn't Chloe's bad behavior, it's with her mere existence.

IE, she's the audience and writer's punching bag/designated target, so it feels like the writers just kind of don't bother a lot of the time actually making her wrong or thinking through the implications of their story beats with her, or other characters' behaviour. 

This stuff is present in Season 1, much more overt in season 2 and basically caps off season 3 which is where I stopped watching.

Cos like, the villain who's known her since forever has been actively trying to utilize her through the seasons, who explicitly aimed to puther in a state of severe emotional distress, ambushed her in her own home & had her parents in his grasp.

Right after the show's hero blatantly walked back a previous ruling that kept Chloe from being Queen Bee, (& did so for selfish and if one considered HK targeting known heroes, incredibly callous reasons)

But we're meant to hate the 14 year old for responding badly?

I would also argue stuff like this is a large part of what makes Chloe such an ensemble dark horde to the fandom. Not just because one can read into things about her history and character, but because the author's hand is so heavy it actively hurts and hinders its own narrative in order to harm Chloe and so feels unfair.

Some final notes I couldn't place elsewhere:

Akuma don't usually harm their loved one's. Chloe's mother tried to kill her on sight & then kept looking for excuses to do so & finally did. Andre turned the powerful & willful Audrey into a simpering hanger on and wanted to do the same with Chloe, which again, yikes.

When fused together they declared her incapable of loving anyone but herself. A fact blatantly disproven already but even in the episode itself with her demanding their release in exchange for helping Hawk Moth. & then tried to fucking EAT HER.

Her butler, school friend and teacher seemingly love her more than her own parents.

As an aside, Sabrina's explicitly encouraged to work for Chloe by her father as it makes her "Useful" which has loads of implications. But at least one can't blame Chloe for Sabrina's character.

Madame Bustier, when Akumatized uses having "Taken care" of her father as a lure to try and get Chloe to come to her. So again, yikes if one wants to read into it as it means even as an Akuma who was upset by Chloe, Bustier perceives Andre as the threat/problem to her.

Chloe by all accounts seems to live alone in a hotel suite, not even one of the fancier, super suites but like... The walls are 50% glass with no curtains, that lead to publicly exposed areas (as we see interviews with Jagged being conducted in them) and there's almost nothing to identify it as a space she lives in. Hell, the pictures on the wall are often blank and it seems she's lived here alone since she was a toddler.

That would have calamitous impacts on a Child's psyche & development! 

Despite her portrayal, Chloe was shown to be extremely good at being Queen Bee in many respects.

She almost soloed Mayura.

She is the first person shown able to resist Akuma, got civilians out of an Akuma infested train cart & protected Sabrina during the second red Akuma swarm.

She was able to quickly and easily keep up with Ladybug on the roof tops and using a similar weapon & travel style creates a visual parallel between the two which carries implications of them being counterparts. 

But most especially Chloe proved herself a skilled and heroic combatant during Heroes Day; covering for the other heroes without orders, doing so easily & needing to be targeted by multiple villains all with personal ties to her to be brought down, while protecting other heroes.

But that never really gets acknowledged.

So much like with "Nearly being brutally murdered for being kind of a dick" this sense of narrative imbalance engendered sympathy from those who notice.

I also find it fascinating that Chloe is, despite spending her life surrounded by abusers and enablers both, that she, without any real guidance, managed to soften their behaviors on her own.

Yes she buys Sabrina presents in luew of saying sorry, but she also spends time with her and does fun stuff, Andre just buys her off. She wants Adrien at her side and the like, but she doesn't actually try to stop him from befriending people she hates, Gabriel tries to keep him locked up. She doesn't like losing, but compares her relatively mild huffiness or brief theatrics to Audrey's violent response to merely being snubbed.

She's already doing better than all of them despite explicitly being taught or demonstrated, or victimized with all the wrong lessons and is fourteen.

Chloe also obviously has a deeply unhealthy understanding of relationships as seenin in how she recreates her parents awful dynamic with everyone around her. 

IE,

Andre fawns on Audrey, who is domineering, never satisfied and harsh at best. Chloe acts accordingly with Sabrina, while fawning on her mother and Ladybug who are much the same though  for different reasons. She's internalized this deeply unhealthy dynamic and applies it to herself as much as she does to anyone else.

This is just one element of the fact she honestly seems deeply troubled on a social level. I mentioned earlier that Chloe seems to know "Something" is wrong with everyone hating her & is clearly unhappy about it. But also seems unsure how to fix it, or what the source of the problem is.

The fact she often doesn't seem to get social cues, even from people she's treating like a peer, such as Ala or Adrien, gives off the sense that her problems go deeper than just "Being a brat".

This is further emphasized by the fact that so much of her daily persona seen is her doing an impression of her mother. Or otherwise putting on a show to try and get her dad or Kim, or the principle ETC, to do something.

Because when she's "upset" it's all theatrical prancing and squeals of daddy and then it's over.

But when she's actually upset, like panicking over losing Adrien upset, or breaking down cos Ladybug chose another hero with a known identity over her (Said by Kagami in the episode so we can't pretend it's not true). Chloe usually builds up to a brief explosion followed by a collapse, or just collapses outright into a panicked, curled up state. One that in one instance seemed to be intentionally drawing comparisons to an infant, but again give what we know that says less about her & more about Andre.

Basically, Chloe's life is a performance, we rarely see the real her, because she's always trying to play a role she thinks she's meant to, in order to be liked and successful & is confused, hurt and lonely because it's not working the way her family promises or demonstrated it would.

I also think it's interesting how Marinette & Kagami both firmly instruct her to stop bothering about seating arrangements. Like, we see he react to insults and anger with anger back, but those firm instructions seemed to make her actually inclined to listen, or at least intimidate rather than rile her up.

Also on the insults front, I think it's notable with the pariah angle that Chloe did basically become an open target. No, she doesn't do herself any favors, but her efforts to do video assignments, or participate in art class getting naught but degrading insults. Or her simply not participating in Madame Bustier's birthday causing the class to collectively tear into her says a lot.

Also much like with Damocles, Chloe getting away with mean-ness is not a Chloe thing, the other students get away with it too. At most getting a mild "Well that was kind of mean" which gets shrugged off.

So again we are back into one rule for Chloe another rule for everyone else, which engenders sympathy or frustration in many of the audience. 

Also I find her & Adrien's friendship conceptually fascinating. because like... Adrien outright admits that he totally understands sabotaging a train to try and win a parents love. Meaning he both can likely imagine himself doing the same and also does not grasp how fucked up it is to think one has to go to such insane lengths for someone who treats them like trash.

Am I speaking about Audrey or Gabriel?

Trick question, it's both!

As a sort of final cap off, I quite enjoy the fact that Chloe's so aggressively defiant. Yes she can get scared & panic, but like. She spent 95% of her Stoneheart kidnapping oscillating between bored, pissed off and irritated.

One can say it's a fight based trauma response and I agree, but it's also just a fun dynamic to have for a character who'd normally be relegated solely to screaming damsel.

So yeah, I think she's a fascinating character in concept and at times execution. Who subverts, twists and breaks expected tropes tied to her archetype in fascinating ways but who's handling leaves me wanting, I hope this was useful! 

@princess-of-the-corner @generalluxun @maestro04yayyy you might like this post too!

MAJOR EDIT!

I can't believe I went through Chloe's entire persona section & neglected to mention the fact that her efforts to flirt with guys always come off as so awkward and in-genuine compared to her enthusiastic adoration of Ladybug.

[thehistoriccemetery]

Minthara’s New Dialogue

I’m pissed about Minthara’s new dialogue when Durge chooses to deny Bhaal, and I’m making it everyone problem.

Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.

———————————————————

Minthara stood outside the door to Durge’s new room at the Elfsong Tavern. Up until that night, they’d been sharing the room that now belonged only to Minthara.

It was late, but she’d found herself completely unable to relax. She didn’t sleep, but even her attempts to trance were only filled with regret of what had happened the previous day. Durge, lying dead on an alter of Bhaal before her. The rage that clawed its way up her throat. The way that rage shot out of her when Durge’s body had come back to life.

Her words had been cruel; hypocritical, even. But even that did not explain the regret and remorse that plagued her now. She didn’t know why, but it possessed her entire being. She was able to think of nothing else but that moment, played over and over in her mind.

She had never been one to hand out apologies. Even when she knew she was in the wrong she never sought to “make it right”. Why should she care if someone was pissed with her? Everyone in her life had been disposable. Everyone except Durge.

That is why, she supposed, she had come in the dead of night to darken her former lover’s doorstep.

She lightly tapped the door with two knuckles before cracking it open to checking to see if Durge was still awake.

They were, as she suspected they would be. Sleep was a rarity for them even on the best of days. Minthara stepped into the room without awaiting further invitation.

“What do you want? Have you come to berate me further?” The words came like a spit of acid. “Perhaps you have come to cull the weakest soldier from your ranks. Well I think I’ve had quite enough of your commentary for one day. Leave me.”

Minthara stood, rigid and unmoving. She has expected nothing short of fury from Durge, and yet she was still taken off guard.

“I have come to offer an apology,” she swallowed. “My behavior today was unacceptable, regardless of the circumstances and for that I apologize.”

Durge laughed. “When Scratch gets into the camp supplies and eats all the salami, it is ‘unacceptable behavior.’ What you have done to today is nothing short of monstrous.”

Minthara shifted slightly. She didn’t have a response prepared.

Durge broke the silence. “I thought you, of all people would understand. A deserter of both the spider queen and the absolute who found her power in godlessness. A lost child of House Baenre, the most powerful house in the underdark. And yet you see fit to lecture me about inheritance and power that I failed to collect at the cost of my own freedom. I thought maybe after all the nights you spent with me, sobbing against my urge to spill your blood you might understand why I must be rid of him. But I see now you’d rather have me a powerful slave than as I am.”

The room was silent again. Durge did not look at her, settling instead for continuing to arrange the room that would now belong to them alone.

“You know, perhaps if it had just been an unjustified outburst, I could have forgiven you. I could have looked past the hypocrisy, the accusations that defying my father made weak and unworthy,” they spoke again. “Perhaps if you had only called me stupid and weak, we could be allies once more. But you couldn’t stop there, could you? You couldn’t just insult what you perceived to be a lack of power, you had to make me feel used. As if this entire relationship was purely a tactical ruse.”

Minthara’s mouth worked faster than her mind. Before she could even think it through she blurted, “even now you cannot deny what a powerful force we were together.”

The words made Tav snap their head around to look Minthara in the eyes. “Don’t you dare try and dismiss my feelings with talk of strategy. I will not deny I was that I was drawn to you for the same reason you were drawn to me: because I thought you a powerful ally. But I do not share my bed with people just because they are ‘powerful allies.’ I do not learn about their favorite dishes and go out of my way to gather rare ingredients. I do not black out my own windows just so our home can be an oasis of darkness in this all too bright world. I do not rub their back and whisper sweet words to them as I hold them through nightmares. And I sure as hell don’t risk my own life in 1 on 1 duels with my own sister just for the sliver of hope that they could walk through this world a little less scared!” Durge’s eyes brimmed with tears and their bottom lip quivered. “You were so much more than a ‘powerful ally’ to me, Minthara. I did not love you because you were a matron of house Baenre. I did not love you because you were on the council of the dead three. I did not love you for the power I sought to gain from you. I loved you because you were my Minthara. My love for you may not have been a force that would save the world, but it did not make it less real or important. Power is not the only thing worth having. I would have gladly died by your side if it meant I could do so knowing that you loved me as I have loved you. If death was the only place we could be together, my dedication to you would not have faltered.”

Minthara stood in shock. She couldn’t not bring herself to move for fear that she may collapse onto the floor in a pathetic pile of tears.

“You will go to bed alone tonight, the bed we once shared, and you will sleep by yourself. And when you long for the comforts of home, you will not wake to find arrangements of mushrooms at your bedside. When forgotten moments of the past creep into your mind, and you reach for someone to hold you, you will find nothing but empty air. You will be alone and you will find it is not my ‘power’ that you truly miss.”

[thedeviljudges]

Hi Noel. We used to be mutuales back in the good old days. I hope you are taking care of yourself.

I am having a fucking horrible time. I am devastated. Even though I moved on from fandom so long ago, I always cared about Liam and I always will.

I think one of the least surprising things for me and I guess for you as well is the reaction so many people are having. They act as if their hatred for him is new and based on recent events but we know that shit runs deep and is old. I’m not even surprised by their hypocrisy because they are all about holding people accountable for their mistakes as they weren’t the biggest fucking bullies to him every single day since day one, why aren’t they holding themselves accountable for being fucking horrible people and being part of the problem? Many of us would defend him and point all of this out too and we knew back then how much he was hated on for literally existing within the band. He couldn’t post selfies because they would accuse him wanting attention and he would get bullied. He couldn’t tweet any simple and insignificant thing because they would hate on him. They were constantly body shaming him. They hated when he would show off his talent in concerts. He literally couldn’t have a fucking break because his existence alone was enough to fueled their hatred towards him. The way they had a fucking field day bullying him and body shaming him when they filmed you & I video. It was constant. It doesn’t matter and it didn’t matter what he did because they simply just hated him and would let him know. Not only were they a huge component of the system that messed him up over the years, not only did they bullied him back then, but now too even in the wake of his death. I never understood it back then and I don’t understand it now, how they could do all of that and continue to do so while demanding accountability and who knows what else as if they are deserving of anything from him or his loved ones when they were fucking horrible to people since the very first day of 1D.

Anyway, to anyone who is hurting and is grieving him, do so, and do so without holding back, do so because no one has the right to police your feelings, and fuck anyone who makes you feel bad for grieving Liam.

hi, babe. i hope you've been well all this time. 🥺

tbh it's hard to add anything because i agree completely. liam was always the one that went through the worst comments (aside from the racism zayn faced) and treatment within the band. people were always so cruel to him for no reason. and no matter what he did, the fandom always found fault with it. it makes me especially sick to see how twitter was relentless with their bullying the week before all of this happened. it was nonstop and then now to see them all pivot and upset... hypocrites.

and all i keep thinking about is how unfair it was because if any of the boys did what he did (and have done), everyone's been so forgiving. but not for liam.

liam loved one direction with his whole heart. he kept the band alive during their activities and long after by mere mention and discussion and knew how special it was for fans and himself. he was the reason i got into one direction, which i think is why it's also hitting me so hard. he's the first video i saw walking the streets of the us in 2012, who stopped for a few fans. he was so kind and loving, and it's incredible how many people in the industry have commented how lovely he truly was.

i feel a lot of things still, so it's really difficult to put it all into words in a single post. but liam was so talented and the fact that fandom never recognized the brilliance of it will forever hang over one direction now.

i truly hope people take this as a lesson to be kind; everyone preaches about it so much - and you're right. they want accountability but can't even recognize that their own actions warrant accountability, too. the callousness that has infected the internet and fandoms will truly be its downfall. there are so many of us who talk about how it's not the same, and it will never be the same again if we don't start having compassion and love even in the face of difficulty and misconduct.

[sloopaysfan]

How does the other members of the mirror! Party feel about mirror!sif ?

Please tell me they at least like him ;w;

see the thing abt that is like. ok. the main problem in mirror isat is that the party really really really do like each other. and want to be friends. but they each consider themselves completely incapable of that in some way.

like. isa. has complicated feelings on sif. they hate siffrin for so effortlessly mingling with others. for trying to make him talk about the stuff he hates about himself. for making him feel like a horrible person just by being so crabbing NICE! and smart in a way he just isnt. isa says he hates siffrin, but i think deep down he kind of hates himself through siffrin.

and odile like... knows shes awful lol. shes a pathological liar, a self proclaimed grave robber, and serial killer. shes cruel and manipulative and frankly doesn't care if the others live or die. but its a fun thing where she does like being around these people. she... surprisingly to herself, wants to keep being with them. but she knows she can't have that. so she's not chasing it.

mira makes me so sad . girl who hates the very religion shes practically a poster child of. shes such a perfect representation of change. she hates the belief. she was blessed by a god she spends her every waking moment trying to disprove the existence of. she likes siffrin, but knows they deserve better than the moody antisocial hypocrite that is Her. it was nice being with them while they were here, though.

AND BONNIE!!! loves frin so much. siffrin who was willing to go against his own friends to save them, a stranger. an adult who wasn't willing to let a child be hurt by the people they cared about. it's... the kind if thing bonbon always wanted. they try to repay the favor. try to get strong enough to help frin. to get revenge against the people who tried to hurt them and imagines different faces when they try.

sorry idk if this answered anything or if its all too rambly they all make me slightly insane

[vanellopes-mun]

Vanellope VS. Turbo: A Mini Analysis!

There are a million reasons why Turbo’s reveal in Disney’s Wreck-it Ralph is such an iconic and memorable scene. A scene that I and many others have replayed ever since 2012 and its impact has never left our minds. It solidified King Candy/Turbo as one of Disney's top villains ever created, surprising and shocking viewers with a plot twist that Disney hasn’t been able to overthrow with their other movies before they abandoned villains until King Magnifico but he sucks so. He WISHES he was as charismatic as King Candy plz-

But this analysis isn’t just about King Candy/Turbo, it’s also about Vanellope Von Schweetz. She’s the most important ingredient to making this scene work and play out the way it does and ultimately why it’s so fucking cathartic. ( More so than Ralph’s fight against Cy-Bug Turbo in my opinion) After watching how it was originally story boarded, the crew behind WiR perfected this scene with a specific detail that they changed. In the early storyboard, Vanellope causes King Candy’s vehicle to crash, causing him to glitch and transform into Turbo in front of the cameras. While I love love love the extended race between Vanellope and King Candy and sort of wished it could have been longer in the actual film, I am content that they didn’t go with the direction. In the movie, King Candy is revealed after trying to beat/kill Vanellope with his horn rod/pole thingy from his kart, she grabs it and glitches due to stress/adrenaline/her emotions, her blue glitch traveling through the cane and making contact with King Candy, finally putting down the facade he had on for 15 years and revealing him as Turbo to the characters in the film and the audience. It’s such a small detail, it only happens in a second, but it’s all it took for the start of his downfall and his eventual demise. 

And this is why it brings me catharsis every time I watch this scene. I could never put it into words before, but it’s beyond satisfying that the end of King Candy’s horrible reign starts with Vanellope and her glitch. The very same glitch that he caused trying to delete her code and remove her place from the game. The glitch that he used as an excuse to turn everyone in Sugar Rush against her. He usurped her throne and tried to ruin her life. Despite this, he still had the audacity to shout “Get off of MY track!” earlier. It brings his Roadblasters incident back up, it was his choice, trying to steal the thunder of another racing game that just got plugged in because he couldn’t stand the idea of anyone taking his place, only for Turbo Time and Roadblasters to be unplugged. All of this circling back and biting him in the ass. Vanellope was the key all along and he knew it, he feared her despite never really having a conversation with her as far as we know (Vanellope asking Turbo “What the-?! Who are you!?” leads me to believe that if they did converse in the past, it was not in his true form and he was most likely already King Candy. Plus it just goes to show how fast he hijacked Sugar Rush), but you can just tell by how desperate he was to keep her from racing, he didn’t want anyone to take his place ever again. 

So the scene continues and his famous line and breakdown goes as this: “I’m Turbo! The greatest racer ever! And I did not reprogram this world to let YOU and that halitosis riddled warthog TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME!” It’s just so ironic, unfair and hypocritical of him it makes my blood boil! And the way he’s raising his voice, jabbing his finger at her and Vanellope’s trying to shrink away from him as he yells at her face before he tries to murder her I just- So cruel, scary, wicked and disturbing! But Vanellope, this brave WARRIOR, is reminded of her glitch after Turbo calls her for what he believes is the last time. “End of the line, Glitch!” She takes a moment, everything slows down around her as she tries to control her glitch to escape Turbo. She glitches away, missing the wall and It ends up saving her life! I just cannot stress enough how beautiful that is! She used her disability, that everyone thought would simply doom her and the game, and embraced it when she needed it most. Her glitch, while it was suddenly given to her by circumstances she couldn’t control or prevent, she took control back. It’s her beautiful superpower and it’s empowering. After this scene, it’s the “end” of Turbo before he gets nom’d by a Cy-Bug. ( I want to note that he later says “I’m the most powerful VIRUS in the arcade”, part of me wants to believe he said that because clearly Vanellope bested him as the greatest racer ever but I doubt that was their intention lol)

They’re the embodiment of Selfishness vs. Selflessness. While Vanellope had everything taken away from her, she didn’t follow the same path as him. Turbo had everything taken from him, but it was his fault and he only ever thought about himself, never about the destruction he left behind. Hell, all she ever wanted was to be one of the racers, no matter how much they bullied her and ostracized her, she never ended up being evil like him even though it would be a perfect recipe to become a villain, this is also what makes her a mirror to Ralph.  (Remember in that one deleted scene where she said she wanted to break the racers’ legs but come on can you blame her!?!?! She was so real for saying that.) VANELLOPE IS MY FAVORITE CHARACTER EVER AAAA. 

Before I ramble any further, I will forever love the choices that the writers made for the climax and it just ends up being an absolutely perfect and brilliant scene and I will continue to rewatch for the millionth time. 

[soviet-supersoldier]

Well, Omega Red got name-dropped in X-men #9, which reveals that he is still locked up in prison here. However, Kurt’s dialogue is very unfortunate:

I shall indeed call you a poor mutant liberationist Kurt. You have seen what this prison is doing to people. Omega Red was an ally on Krakoa and a teammate to Wolverine. You are seriously going to leave him to suffer in this place? Why? Because you still think he's a "bad mutant?" You don't think he changed while on Krakoa? Whatever happened to seeing the good in people Kurt? Second chances? Belief in redemption? You'd think Kurt of all people would be decent enough to show kindness. Especially when cruelty is being shown to another human being, to a fellow mutant.

Like so many times before this, the X-men continue to show that they only care about their own core group, with no regard for mercy towards their less fortunate mutant brothers and sisters. At this point, it wouldn't surprise me if they ended up leaving Blob here too because of his past Brotherhood ties. Recent ties and character growth when former villains are finally given an opportunity to change simply doesn't matter, I guess.

You guys are supposed to be heroes, Kurt. To stand against injustice wherever it occurs no matter who is the one experiencing the injustice. This prison is enancting cruel and unusual punishment on its inmates. Are you going to let such a prison stand? Even if you don't care about Arkady, shouldn't you at least care about what this prison represents? What allowing it to stand will lead to? "First they came for the undesirables, and I did not speak out..."

Knowingly abandoning someone like Omega Red like this is only going to cause the little trust he had started to build with the X-Men on Krakoa to be shattered again. Omega Red values trust and honesty. That's how Sage was able to reach him and help him change. But with the way you're treating him now, Arkady is never going to trust you people again. And with the way X-men like you look down on him and treat him as undeserving of even the smallest kindness, Arkady has more than enough good reason to believe you will never actually care. You've proven time and time again that you don't.

What an incredible shame. You really could have gotten a powerful and loyal ally here if you had just taken the chance on him. He doesn't have to be a villain anymore, but you still insist that he deserves being tortured and left behind to suffer even while you hypocritically say that people in your special friends group don't deserve to be in the same place. So what? You're the judge and jury on who deserves to be saved or not? Are you going to walk through this prison letting certain people free while leaving the others because you don't like them? That's not what a hero does. You should know better. Shame on you, Kurt and Psylocke. Shame on you.

[m00nc4kes]

I love you. (pt 2)

hobie brown x black! reader

words: 4.9k

rating: teen & up

summary: Love was a four letter word and it fucking hurt.

warnings: gender isn't mentioned for reader but they're fem leaning; drinking and vomitting; beginnings of a panic attack; hurt with no comfort (yet); just a lot of longing (reader is going THROUGH IT)

pt. 1 pt. 3

Love was a four letter word. 

If you looked in a dictionary, it would tell you that it was an intense feeling of deep affection. Unfortunately, you couldn’t remember the last time you had opened a dictionary.

Love had its definition skewed throughout your life. The affection you received from your parents was in the name of “tough love”. It told you that you weren’t meant to be sensitive, you weren’t meant to make mistakes— you were meant to know things before ever learning them.

Your definition of the word love always had the word tough attached to it. You didn’t know there could be love without it. A love that didn’t crumble your self-esteem or ground your self-worth into dust didn’t seem possible.

Love was a four letter word. A four letter word that hurt.

Love hurt. 

Yet, at the same time, love could be hypocritical. It was hypocritical when you read the Bible and prayed to a being that was all-knowing and all-loving, yet damned you to a hell for something it knew you couldn't control. You were damned to hell for love by the god of Love, the supposed embodiment of the emotion itself.

It was hypocritical when the very being of love spared none in the name of it. The god of Love demanded love above one’s children, or else. The god of Love demanded love even in the face of complete and utter annihilation, or else. 

Love was a four letter word and it was demanded of you, or else. 

Love was tough.

Love was hypocritical. 

Love hurt. And it hurt. And it hurt. 

Until it didn’t— until someone saw your broken pieces and decided they were more than worthy enough to be put back together.

Love was a four letter word and you had found a new definition in Hobie. You had found it in his voice, whether it was at the top of his lungs when he was performing or gentle words only meant for your ears. You had found it tucked behind his smiles, directed at you or not, and in every blissful touch you’d received from him.

He had blurred your past definitions of love until you had opened a dictionary, skimmed the damn thing for the word love, and found Hobie under it. It was a love you had cherished and did your best to nurture.

You held it close to you, even when it had you curled up on your bedroom floor and silent. Your tears would slide down your cheeks, dry, then rinse and repeat. The thought of eating made you sick to your core while the thought of moving made you curl yourself into a tighter ball. You were sure you would’ve snapped out of your spell eventually, but you didn’t move fast enough for your friends.

Love was a four letter word that made your friends force their way into your apartment and physically remove you from the depression that clung onto you. Your best friend had picked you up off the floor and held your trembling frame as you tried to curb your sobs. She wiped your tears with her thumb and held you tight, whispering that you could come back from this.

Could you?

Your trust had been shattered— you had allowed yourself to be vulnerable, thinking there was no way you could be stabbed in the back. In some cruel twist of fate, you’d been correct. Hobie had looked you in your eye and lodged a blade into your chest. 

You were fooled by the fickle thing called love— a fool for seeing what love was capable of being and still trying to prove otherwise. You saw it, believed it finally. You were done trying to find a new definition for it. 

Love was hypocritical.

Love was demanding.

Love was Hobie.

But love still hurt. 

And it hurt. And it hurt.

In the beginning, you were incapable of going places that you knew Hobie would be. The pub? No. The old community center? Absolutely the fuck not. Just the thought of seeing his face again made your heart crumble in your already blood-covered hands. Picking up the pieces was hard enough— connecting one fragile piece to another required a determination you no longer had. So you gave that up and focused on repairing your walls.

Because love hurt and you’d be damned if you let it hurt you again.

By the second month, you were able to maneuver through life without falling apart at the reminder of Hobie. Your walls had a shaky foundation, so you barred yourself from drinking, knowing how messy you would become. The liquor would burn your throat then remind you of cool nights where confessions left your tongue and you received gentle kisses in return.

You couldn’t handle that.

By the fourth month, your foundation was solid enough to recall your breakup without ruining your entire day. Instead, it would sit uncomfortably with you for a few hours until you finally pulled yourself free from the darkness that stuck to you. Then, with a deep breath, you could return to your life.

Love still hurt, but you could find a way to live with it again.

By the sixth month, your walls offered you a shield that you desperately needed, surrounding you on all sides and standing tall. You were able to visit places that you knew had a tiny possibility of Hobie appearing. It didn’t mean that your carefully trained eyes wouldn’t be apprehensively scrutinizing every person who entered your vicinity. You were well within your rights to do so.

Six months and thirteen days had passed since your breakup. The cloud that followed your every move had dissipated and you could see things clearly again. You allowed yourself to breathe for once, inviting the fresh air to enter your healed lungs. You allowed yourself to have fun.

Love still hurt, but at some point, you had to let your walls do their job and protect you.

Your best friend mentioned a house party that a friend of a friend would be having for their 21st birthday, which meant there would be more alcohol than you could ever dream of and maybe a chance to find someone new. The last part had made your lips curl in disgust, making your friend laugh out loud. 

It didn’t take much to convince you to go, it would be the perfect opportunity to lift that bar you had placed on drinking and just let loose.

You had dressed nice and in something that fit your curves just right and always made people look your way, then waited for your designated driver.

When they arrived, you greeted your best friend’s friend then searched the packed car for said best friend. You slid into the backseat, sitting beside a girl you’d never seen before and tapped the driver.

“Hey, where’s…” you trailed off as the driver formed an ‘o’ with her mouth. 

“That’s riiight, she wanted me to apologize for her since something came up last minute.”

You blinked owlishly. “What—”

“She flaked, friend, but don’t worry we’ll have fun without her. Ain’t that right!” She shouted and a chorus of cheers and whoops filled your ears. 

You sunk into your seat and tried to convince yourself that it’d be fine. You’d be having fun. You were going to have fun.

That was the mantra you repeated to yourself until the car pulled up to the building that held the party. Before you stepped out, the driver made sure to let you guys know to keep your purses and bags in the car and under the seat. 

“If ya’ll are gon’ get fucked up tonight, you’re better off leavin’ your shit in here. I don’t have time to be searchin’ that damn condo for your bags.” She had pointed her finger at each of you to emphasize her point.

You were incredibly reluctant to leave your bag, but she had a valid point. You did as you were told and before you knew it, you were taking shots with the birthday boy. You two would throw the liquor back and restrain yourselves from making faces. 

The music was deafening and you were sure the amount of people in the condo was a fire hazard, either way, you were having fun. You danced with some of the people you carpooled with, you made new friends, and most importantly, you had fun. 

But that was at the beginning. 

Your first sign to go was when the birthday boy passed out on the sofa while more people entered the front door. That told you that the party would keep going with or without him, and you didn’t know how you felt about that. 

Your biggest sign to go was when the very people who showed up late wanted to keep the party going. They poured alcohol into your cup when it was running low, they dared you to take more shots, and you kept accepting. 

You kept accepting until you couldn’t stand up straight and things were passing in blurs. Then, the regret set in.

You shouldn’t have come here. 

There were too many people and you were sure your driver fucking left you. You didn’t recognize the faces that surrounded you— hell, the birthday boy was nowhere to be found. You could feel your anxiety threaten to show itself, but you refused it.

Instead, you drank more. You threw back shot glass after shot glass hoping to drown your unpleasant emotions, but caused the opposite effect. The liquor only sank and allowed your burrowed feelings to float to the fucking top. 

Shit.

You didn’t want to deal with the emotions that bobbed in your face— the anxiety that laughed in your face for trying to drown it. And standing on trembling legs in the middle of this fucking party only added to your sudden helplessness. You had blown past your limit a long time ago and it felt like you were beginning to tear at the seams from just too much— too much. Why were you so irresponsible?

Bodies knocked into you, throwing you into a daze and making your stomach churn and gurgle. 

You weren’t having fun anymore. You weren’t having fun. 

You only managed to stay upright from sheer determination alone, because you knew if you toppled over in front of all these people, you would be inconsolable. 

God, usually you were much better at handling your alcohol intake, but you’d fucked up. Why had your driver left you? Why had your best friend left you alone? Why had Hobie— 

Oh.

Oh no no no. 

You tried your best to screw that jar shut, but it cracked and shattered in your hands. That mess of emotions spilled all of its unwanted contents everywhere. Your heart rattled behind your ribs and screamed at you. Your thoughts were incoherent as a dangerous flush went to your face. Your ears burned, your cheeks burned, and your vision began to blur.

You wanted to go home.

Someone pushed past you, making you stumble, but all you could think about was how you kept getting abandoned. You let yourself be vulnerable, even just a little, and got abandoned. Your hands shook violently as you tried to silence your spiraling mind. Your stomach begged you to stop moving as it worked overtime to deal with the alcohol and the sudden rise in anxiety.

You wanted to go home.

You wanted Hobie— but he left you.  

Someone else brushed against you, muttering apologies. Your breathing was rugged and your lungs suddenly couldn’t get enough air. Your world was tilting and your eyes were wide with unshed tears. 

You could feel that double-edged sword lodged in your heart and you knew it was bleeding again. You feared that it wouldn’t stop this time. You feared that you wouldn’t come back from this. 

You just wanted to go home.

Someone knocked into you and you let out a cry as you fell into another person. You grabbed onto their arms as they caught you. You were sick of the touching, you were sick of the anxiety and liquor that made your stomach upset, you were—

“Duck?”

For once, your thoughts went silent. For fucking once, everything just seemed to stop. Your wide, glassy eyes slowly trailed up this oh so familiar torso until they stopped at a pair of eyes you wished you could unsee. You…

You were going to be sick.

“Oi, duck, are you—”

All at once, your insides rebelled against you. You couldn’t stop the alcohol from leaving your stomach and landing on Hobie. He couldn’t do anything but stare at you in complete and utter shock as your rejected alcohol trailed down his pant leg. 

Humiliation flooded your entire body and you burst at the seams. Tears rained from your eyes and you began to sob. You tried to speak but it was all too much. Through strained vision, you could see concern wash over Hobie’s face and before you knew it, you were being led to the nearest bathroom. 

Hobie barely flicked the light on before you were rushing to the toilet and puking again. Your face was drenched in a continuous flow of tears and you were sure you looked fucking pathetic. The thought only made you cry harder until your body shuddered and you dry heaved again. 

You heard the door shut and when you looked up, Hobie was staring at you with those damn eyes of his. His eyebrows were furrowed and he appeared as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Your gaze landed on the wet stain on his pant leg.

“‘M sorry,” you said with a shaky breath. Hobie was quick to reassure you. 

“‘Low it, duck. S’fine, I swear it.” 

Fuck, you hated hearing his voice again. You hated it. You hated how each word knocked down your walls— shattered your protection. You hated how it made you so weak in the knees that you had to kneel in front of the toilet.

You hated throwing up.

Your body heaved again and there was a comforting hand on your shoulder. Before you could even think about reveling in the touch, you pushed it away. 

“Don’t,” you spat. You couldn’t handle it. 

Hobie raised his hands to show that he would stay hands off. You felt the sword dig deeper into your chest.

“Ya here alone?” he asked you, moving to be level with you. He leaned himself against the sink cabinet as he sat down. You hated him for it.

“‘M not s’pposed to be,” you muttered. “Got left.” Like he had left you. You could feel the tears pooling in your eyes, threatening to spill. “I wanna go home but I left my keys in her car— why’d she leave me?” Why’d he leave you, too?

“She left ya by yourself?” he said slowly. He sounded incredulous which, almost several months ago, would’ve warmed your heart but you could only hum in response. 

You released a heavy sigh and reached forward to flush the toilet. The sound of flushing filled the bathroom as you attempted to rack your inebriated mind for a solution to your problem.

You weren’t too keen on being sick and stuck at this never-ending party. You slowly tilted your head to look at Hobie, who seemed to be contemplating something while he stared at where the floor connected to the wall. His legs were bunched up due to the small size of the bathroom and he absentmindedly picked at his nail polish.

You couldn’t begin to know where his mind was at, but you missed him. You should’ve hated him for it, but you missed him.

His presence alone made you dodge the full brunt of your panic attack, even though he left you. You missed him so badly that it hurt.

Your eyes snapped back to Hobie’s face when he suddenly took in a deep breath. He turned to face you, then paused. You don’t know what he saw in your expression, but it brought out a grief in his eyes you hadn’t expected. It made him look away to collect himself before he said, “Look, ion really like the idea of leavin’ ya here alone so,” he trailed off then made himself meet your gaze. “My boat’s a few blocks down the way. You can get ya bearin’s there, sleep, or whateva ya wanna do. Whateva you’re comfortable wit’.”

You should’ve told him no. You should’ve laughed in his face and been spiteful. You should’ve, but—

Love was a four letter word and, unfortunately, Hobie was still one of your definitions. 

The universe had a funny way of testing you, of being cruel to you. In some inexplicable domino effect, you agreeing to a house party after six and a half months of grieving a relationship led you here, following Hobie to his boat. 

The two of you walked out of sync with each other, mostly because of your pettiness. You did your best to linger a bit behind him, not daring to enter that space beside him even if his pace was slow enough for you to catch up. That space no longer belonged to you, no matter how much you wanted it to.

On the other hand, you couldn’t exactly walk straight and you’d be damned if you were to somehow bump into Hobie.

You could tell he wanted to offer his help, but he had been told to keep his hands off and that’s exactly what he was doing. 

One unstable foot after another, you made it work, even if drowsiness fought against you. It ebbed at the edges of your vision and weighed your legs down. Hobie peeked at you over his shoulder. “Y’sure ya don’ need any help?”

You leveled a glare at him. “‘M fine,” you snapped. But because karma was an asshole, you tripped and would’ve busted your ass if it weren’t for Hobie’s reflexes. You held onto his arms as he stabled you. At the same time, you tried to make the world stop spinning through pure will alone.

You brought your hand up to your head, silently hoping you wouldn’t need to throw up again. “Fuck— okay, um.” You were completely out of breath as you waited for your words to unscramble themselves. You squeezed Hobie’s arm. “Jus’ gonna… hang on here.”

You were glad that he didn’t laugh at your sudden change of heart, instead he nodded his head and waited for the okay to keep moving.

You should’ve hated how patient he was with you. You shouldn’t have agreed to this— but was there really any other option?

You gave the okay and the two of you walked together. If it weren’t for the way your exhausted mind slowly gave into drowsiness, you would’ve at least attempted to stay away from the space beside Hobie. You couldn’t help it.

You missed him.

You didn’t know how long it took for you to reach the dock, but you were sure it took a whole hell of a lot longer because your legs were untrustworthy. By the time you got inside of the boat, you were beelining for the bathroom again.

You were so tired, man. And you wished your stomach would catch a fucking hint. You had nothing left to give. 

Hobie had disappeared somewhere you didn’t know, you couldn’t exactly hear anything over your dry heaving. Though, it didn’t take long for him to pop up in the doorway with a shirt and a pair of shorts in his hands. 

You spat into the toilet and flushed it, hoping that this would be the last of your fit.

“Ya still have some clothes here— I’ll leave ‘em here.” He placed them on the counter while you stared at him.

“Figured you would’ve tossed ‘em by now, Hobie.”

“Thought you woulda come for ‘em.”

You didn’t mean to laugh out loud, the sharp sound cutting through the bathroom, but imagining yourself going out of your way to see him again— there was no chance. “I couldn’t handle the thought of seeing your face again.” You paused, dragging a hand down your face. “Still can’t.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Fair.”

You hated how he looked at you with a muted shame. He had brought this upon himself— upon you both. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“... you haven’t come for your things either.” You knew that by heart, especially knowing exactly where that box of his belongings sat in your closet. Waiting.

“You haven’t put ‘em in the rubbish yet?”

You didn’t say anything. There had been a reason for your madness— the main thing stopping you from doing so. You didn’t like acknowledging it and your best friend hated hearing it. It made you feel pathetic.

It wasn’t fun admitting that you were holding out hope for his return, like you were some sad puppy that was abandoned at a park.

In your silence, Hobie answered your initial question quietly. “Honestly, I didn’ think you’d wanna see my face.” And he’d been correct.

You didn’t think you could handle the rest of this conversation without bursting into tears. “I’m gonna get changed now.”

He perked up, suddenly remembering his point of coming to the bathroom in the first place. “Righ’, righ’. I’ll be out here.”

When he closed the door, it felt like you could finally breathe again. You put on the pajamas and did your best not to topple over in the process. Then, you reached under his sink and rinsed out your mouth with his mouthwash. 

Inevitably, there was one last problem.

“You’re not gonna fit on the fucking couch, Hobie.”

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You barely withheld your eye roll, because knowing you, the moment your eyes disappeared behind your eyelids, they wouldn’t return. “I can sleep on the couch—”

“No.”

This fucking— “Well you’re not sleeping on the couch or the fucking floor.” 

“Neither are you.”

Your mind was not happy with either you or Hobie. You wanted to sleep. You needed to sleep. And your back and forth was preventing that. “Then we’re sharing the goddamn bed.” You shouldn’t have even suggested it, but if it meant that you could pass the hell out, then by all means.

That was a problem for a future you.

The suggestion didn’t win without a fight because, unfortunately, that’s just who you two were. You wanted to sleep, Hobie didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, you didn’t want him on the couch or the floor— back and forth until you two finally met in the middle. 

You would share a bed but have two separate blankets. And that’s how that went as you two had your backs facing each other. You didn’t allow yourself to think or to revel in how much you missed sharing a space with Hobie.

You let your mind drift until you fell asleep. 

At some point, you let go of sleep and cracked open an eye. The sun was not yet up and the room was still dark. It reminded you of nights that held whispered I love you’s until they disappeared into the quiet atmosphere. In that moment, Hobie’s resting face came into focus.

You didn’t realize just how close you and Hobie had shifted toward each other in your sleep. It was like a muscle memory that shouldn’t have belonged to you anymore, but it still prevailed. 

Your faces were inches from each other, sharing the same air, and you could feel his breath ghost over your face. You should’ve had a larger reaction to it than you did, but your drunken mind and exhausted body let the familiar comfort lull you back to sleep.

Love was a four letter word and it was unyielding. Even after refusing to learn any more definitions for it, it refused to give up. 

Love was unreasonable.

Love was inexplicable.

Love was unyielding.

But it still hurt. 

You were reminded of that whenever the blade in your heart sank deeper. You were reminded of that when you woke up the next morning to an empty bed.

It took you a moment to register exactly where the hell you were, yet it was overshadowed by the fact that your head was threatening to split open. You hissed and shut your eyes.

Fuck fuck fuck— what did you drink last night? 

You flipped on your back to think, though you wished the boat would stop rocking for a moment— oh what the fuck.

No. 

There was no way. 

You opened your eyes in a panic and as much as your body hated you for it, you sat up. Your eyes roamed around the familiar room as memories of last night flooded your mind. Disbelief clawed at your chest as you racked the memories for a reason why you would agree to come back here. 

You tossed the blanket aside and your eyes landed on the nightstand. There, a bottle of water and two pills waited for you. 

Oh god. 

You slapped a hand over your mouth as tears threatened to burn at your eyes. It didn’t help that you realized that all of the curtains were purposely shut to keep the room dim. Your hands moved over your eyes, knowing that if you cried now, your headache would be worse. 

Regardless, you took the pills and chugged the water. The quicker you were out of here, the better it would be. 

You found your clothes from the night before and slid them back on. Your body ached and your head pounded, but you needed to go. 

You searched the floor for your shoes but you knew for a fact that they were by the front. Immediately, you reached for the door but stopped short. You knew Hobie was out there, if the soft strums of his guitar were anything to go off of. 

You dragged a hand down your face and mentally prepared yourself. Hobie had already wrecked the protection you had surrounding your heart and you knew you were completely and utterly weak when it came to him.

You put your hand on the handle and twisted it. The subtle light change made you hiss which made the guitar notes stop. 

Making eye contact with Hobie was as difficult as you knew it would be. You turned away and searched the ground for your shoes. 

“How ya feelin’?” 

God, he needed to stop talking. You were weak. You couldn’t do this. 

“Like shit. Have you seen my shoes?” You weren’t prepared to have him stand up and walk over to you with the shoes in hand. Without looking at him, you muttered your thanks and took them from him. You put them on with shaky hands. 

“Duck—”

“Please, don’t call me that right now.”

“Sorry, (Y/N).” Somehow that was even worse. “You headed to ya friend’s?”

“Yeah. Gonna tear her a new one for flaking and for recommending her stupid friend.” With your shoes on, you stood to your full height and tried to reason with your racing heart. You felt like a frantic mess and with Hobie standing so close to you, you couldn’t even begin to repair your broken walls. “Thanks for letting me stay and for the painkillers. I’m gonna go.” 

You thought you could keep it curt and maybe get out of this with just a little bit of dignity, but you went and looked Hobie in his eyes.

Those honey-colored eyes of his had a way of keeping you stuck. You hated that he didn’t stop you from stepping around him, how he silently agreed to your departure. Yet, it was his fault that your hand stopped on the doorknob. It was his fault that you stopped and turned around to face him again.

You two stood there, staring into each other’s souls, the very souls that bled for each other. You hated that as frantic as he made you, you still wanted to be near him, to be with him. You turned away and turned the knob.

Then, there was a hand grabbing yours and your resolve crumbled. You turned back around with watery eyes and you hated seeing the regret written all over Hobie’s face. You couldn’t stand looking at it, so you moved your attention to his hold on your hand.

You had half a mind to pull away.

“‘M sorry for leavin’ ya like I did. I truly am.”

You were quiet for a moment. “But you’re not sorry for leavin’, are you?” you whispered. You wished you could’ve had some bite behind your words, but you didn’t. Hobie’s brows only furrowed further and you slid your hand out of his grasp, bringing it close to your heart. You inhaled deeply. “You’re not selfish enough, Hobie.” 

Love was a four letter word and it was many things.

Love was demanding.

Love was hypocritical.

Love was unreasonable— unyielding. 

Love was unpredictable.

But you needed it to be selfish for once. 

You needed Hobie to be selfish for once, because it was tearing you apart. He wouldn’t ask you to stay, even if you loved each other from the bottom of your hearts to the depths of your souls. You wanted him to beg you to stay, but you knew he wouldn't.

“You already know how I feel about you, but you still—” You choked up on the word. “... is keeping me safe worth keeping us miserable?” 

You didn’t wait for an answer, instead you opened the door and left. With each step, you repaired your walls one brick at a time, because even with all the things love could do and had the potential to be…

… love still hurt.

divider by cafekitsune :3

had to cut this bad boy in half so the comfort isn't here JUST yet. thanks for all of your comments/reblogs you guys are hilarious <333

taglist: @hoe-bie @hao-ming-8 @anonoussy @amianelf-main @muffinlovesfiction

[alpydk]

Gone with the Weave

Took a few days off to think. Seriously considered deleting everything, Tumblr, all of it. Realised I'd become a little lost in my writing, getting jealous over other people, insecure about my own abilities, forgot who I was writing for and why. So today I sat down and actually wrote for me again and you know what? It's helped. And because I'm hypocritical I'm going to share it with all of you.

So, here we have post-Epilogue short. Hurt/Little comfort. Gale/Tav - Tav & Astarion - Word count : 2398 -

CW - PPD / Grief / Death / Dad!Gale / Scenes of child death (Hallucinations)

It was like tar. It pulled her down and filled her lungs, thick and black. Tav tried to fight against it, tried to find the light that she knew shone above it, but her limbs were weighted down by fatigue and longing. A part of her wanted to be dragged down by it, to be lost to the depths of her depression, to disappear and no longer have the responsibility that had been thrusted upon her. To sleep and never wake; to be with him.

To everyone around her, she was a natural mother, tending to her baby’s needs, a confident smile at the life she had brought into the world. Tav was proud, strong, had been through the hells and back, figuratively and literally, and survived unscathed. But as with most, her pride was becoming her downfall. She didn’t need help, didn’t want it because weakness was not the sign of a good mother. As the days passed, as sleep turned to hallucination, still she clung onto the mask of what they all wanted to see, the last remnant of a life before life.

The child cried, but she did not react instantly, a quiet hope that someone else would come and tend to its needs whilst she pretended to sleep. But she didn’t sleep. For so long, the gods of dream and nightmare alike had ignored her pleas, and she had lain there awake, watching as the infant took all from her, leaving her with nothing but guilt and misery.

She wished he was there to help her, that his weave touched fingers that brought calm to her soul could calm the one that lay in the crib. He should have been there for this, she told herself, his strong forearms cradling the baby, a soft poem uttered under starlight bringing it to soothe. If only she had known before the final decision was made; if only things had ended differently and he had stayed, then maybe there would be fewer tears shed.

Still it cried, and no one came, the silence broken by the shrieks she had come to despise. It would be so easy to just leave, to walk out and never return, but then they would all know what she was truly like. The tar that had filled her lungs and surrounded her heart, leaving her bitter and tainted, would be exposed and they would know the truth. They would hate her as she hated the innocent child in front of her. But what if…? The thought was fleeting, cruel and unspeakable, a horror even in her own twisted mind. As night turned to the day, as cries turned to coos, she watched the baby, always watching and waiting for something to change.

---

Evening had set in and though the stars shone brightly as he had promised her, the night brought Tav little comfort knowing the long, drawn-out hours that were to come. She carried the baby to the small tub, her body weary and mind wandering, and she placed it in the water, watching as the bubbles rose quickly from its soft lips, as the arms tensed and held out towards her, as the deep brown eyes she had once loved lost their light again.

A knock at the door brought her around to her senses as she sat in front of the empty tub, the baby cooing peacefully from its bassinet. This had not been the first time she had seen such sights in the weeks since the birth. At first, it had been minor things, a shadow in the room that she had mistaken for a friend, the child crying whilst it actually slept. Soon the images became darker, the newborn lifeless in her arms when she awoke suddenly during the night, a slight misstep causing her to drop it to the floor, its body like that of a rag doll as it hit the wooden floorboards. Nothing scared her more though than herself, her lack of reaction, the quiet pleasure she saw in the freedom being granted to her. Would murder or suicide be the more publicly acceptable option? Would they forgive her? Could he forgive her, should she make that choice?

Tav rose from the floor, the image shaken away, and the mask put back in place. A deep breath was released before the door was answered with a smile and the face of Astarion greeted her. She was thankful it was him and not one of the more caring of the group; it would mean fewer questions asked, less concern over her wellbeing, and a chance that the walls would remain intact for another night.

He entered without invitation, many nights like this in the last six months that had thankfully grown less frequent since the birth. “You look like shit, darling.”

She smirked at his words, fully aware that the lack of sunlight was making her as pale as him, that the deep bags hung under her eyes. “Well, we can’t all match up to you, can we?”

Astarion made himself at home. Wine was grabbed from the cupboard and his feet put up on the coffee table. He noticed the baby but chose to ignore it, instead watching as Tav quickly sorted her hair in an attempt to look less haggard. “Resident do-gooder Wyll has asked me to come and check in on you.”

“And since when do you take orders from others?” She sat near him on the sofa, the faint stirring of the child drawing her attention. All she wanted was a moment like the old times, of two friends chatting about something that wasn’t related to birth or parenting, of wine and shameless flirting that meant nothing.

He watched her, her eyes allowing him to see the cracks that lay so visibly. “Since, 1 – it’s my turn, and 2 – it’s been a year.”

Tav scoffed. “Taking turns? Is that what you all do?” She ignored his second remark, a year since the Netherbrain, since that day when everything was supposed to change for the better.

“Quite frankly, yes. It’s one thing to be holed up alone with seven thousand spawn, it’s another to be holed up alone with that…” Astarion gestured his hand dismissively to the infant.

She knew he was right, life would be better without it, she wouldn’t be alone here, needing to be checked up on as if she there were something wrong with her. “You know you don’t have to. We’re fine.” The lie slipped out as easily as it ever did, the painted-on smile meeting her dead eyes. The small cry made her bristle, made the lie falter, and she hoped it was nothing but that one whimper.

He sipped his wine, the quickening of her heart rate deceptive as it cut through the heavy silence. “Still, we should at least share in a drink, shouldn’t we? A remembrance of sorts.”

“No, that’s not needed.” Tav was quick to cut off this suggestion. It was one thing for the wall to crumble in front of him that she was tired of sleepless nights, another for the actual truth to be pushed upon her and the dam to break.

The cry could be heard again, now with little pause between breaths. She wanted to ignore it, wanted it to die down, wanted anyone else to deal with it. But no one else would come. He would not come. She could see Astarion tensing with the building noise, and she had to react to save face. She stood, approaching the bassinet, a brief flash of annoyance in her eyes as she glanced down and picked up the baby. It was as if it knew, was manipulating her and drawing her towards ruin, as if the gods were not satisfied enough with the sacrifices she had already made.

“Aww, you just want to see uncle Astarion, don’t you?” This was what people wanted, fawning over the infant, exaggerated displays of affection that she loathed to give. She carried the baby over, its cries stopping, and she gritted her teeth, knowing the moment she put it down, the noise would commence again.

“Oh, no, darling. It’s quite alright.” He pulled his legs off the table, a clear discomfort, and with it knocked over the bottle of wine.

The scarlet liquid spread across the wood, dripping quickly onto the floor, a lazy flow as it crept between the floorboards. Tav couldn’t take her eyes from it, the baby lying amongst it, the rag doll limbs amongst its own blood, lifeless brown eyes that stared back at her. Her heart didn’t beat, she stood not in panic, only a numbness lay in her mind at the sight.

Astarion grabbed a cloth and began to clear the wine, Tav seemingly frozen with the child in her arms, her mind a million realms away, a feeling he knew too well himself. “You know, they say white wine can clear out red…”

Her heart took a beat, a recollection of where she was, of the company present, and she hoped the vision she had seen had been instantaneous so as not to draw attention. The baby was thankfully silent, and she cursed herself for not feeling upset at the sights she was seeing. Murder or suicide…It would be so easy.

She sat with the baby in her arms, Astarion cupping the glass of wine as he leaned away from her on the sofa. She could see how uncomfortable he was becoming, as if looking for a conversation that was casual enough to fulfil his objective for checking in on her.

“So, Gale-“

“Is gone.” She interrupted him off before he could even start. This was not the topic she needed. He should be there with her, holding her through sleepless nights, soothing their child as it cried through the darkened hours. He should be sharing in her tears, her smiles, consoling her as she struggled with her doubts. The baby began to stir again, as if picking up on her emotions.

“Tav, it’s been a year and you’ve not spoken with anyone about what happened.”

She ignored him, his voice and the quiet cries already beginning to overwhelm her senses. There was nothing to talk about; there was only this lonely guilt filled existence. Days and nights of tar, of emptiness, of decisions she couldn’t bring herself to make. Hoping her mask wouldn’t slip, she rocked the baby in an attempt to calm it. She was a proud, strong mother. She was a good mother.

He sighed, not knowing if he should bother to help or not, but after all Tav had done for him in the past, he knew he had to do something. “Pass it here.”

She lifted her head, a defensive hold on the baby in her arms. Was it maternal love or the pride that prevented her from handing it over so freely? “No, I can handle this.”

Astarion reached over tentatively. The baby smelt odd, like spices he could not pinpoint, and his stomach turned slightly, but he would not accept what she was saying. He gently took it into his arms, Tav’s resistance minimal, as if her body was mutinying against her mind. The child grew quiet again, a small coo as its hand reached for his shirt and small pink fingers hooked around the cotton.  

Tears built up instantly in Tav’s eyes, a guilt that she hadn’t been good enough to do this one simple thing, that she had failed in being a mother. She wanted to hide it all, wanted to run away, but she also wanted to fall apart so that people knew how deep she had fallen into the darkness and could come and save her, save her just as he had done so long ago. She wiped at her eyes, but it made little difference, the sight of her friend holding her baby, a light in his own eyes she had never seen before, a moment of innocence on the face of a seasoned killer. Why could she not feel that way? What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she love…?

Her words were quiet. Astarion wouldn't care, and she knew it wouldn’t faze him. He wouldn’t coddle her like the others would. He was what she needed now that all was lost. “I can’t handle this…”

---

The night passed in a blur. He listened as she spoke of all that had happened in the last few months, of the things she had seen, things she believed she wanted, of pride and guilt that filled her heart to bursting. She spoke of the loneliness that consumed her and the child she could not connect to, of how it reminded her of the past she wished to forget, a past she longed for desperately. One life had ended, and another had begun and all she had been left with was shadows.

The baby slept through for the first time in months, Astarion having settled it in its crib as she had managed an hour of sleep. She’d waited ages in silence, listening for the sudden interruption that never came. It was as if it knew of her confession, and she hated and loved it for what it had done.

In the early hours her friend left, the rising sun announcing his need to depart, and with it she saw the light between the grey clouds, a new day ready to start again. The child stirred, and she stepped towards the crib with hesitation. She saw the purple robes that had been draped lightly at the base where it slept, the subtle scent of the library lying amongst spices bringing calm to the bedroom, and she heard the sound of the waves on docks, brushed up with the morning gale. Picking up her baby gathered with the robes, she held them both closely, the tears building, the relief, the love for her child breaking through the walls she had built.

The guilt flowed, but it was not met with a resignation; it was met with the promise to do better, to be the mother she should’ve been, to be the woman he had once loved. The child gazed at her, bright eyed, and she saw Gale once again; for a brief moment he was with her. She was not alone. She would never be alone.

[mothiir]

little rabbit, the bad ending

Inspired by reading about the big e’s mind control powers on @moodymisty’s asks and yeah this happened. It’s pretty bleak and answers the question- what happens when the emperor keeps hold of what he wants?

It is by no means the first time she has dreamed of the Emperor; he invades her dreams as he invades her body, appearing sometimes as a towering pillar of golden flame, sometimes as a slavering wolf with blood on its breath, sometimes as a a conquering barbarian, standing taller than any man she has ever known, hewn from copper and red stone, with eyes of fire. This time, he relaxes on a golden throne, his toga clean white linen, draped loosely over his muscular shoulders. She knows she is dreaming, because she can look at him without the well-accustomed headache — and because she can see out of both eyes, rather than having her right eye covered in a milky red film. 

“How dare you?” she says, giving voice to the words she swallows down during the day — oh how she hates how he forces her to choke down so much; her emotions, her thoughts, his damn cock. “How dare you sit there, and pretend to be humanity’s saviour? You’re not a damn saviour. You’re a tyrant.”

He watches her impassively, and says nothing. Emboldened, she draws closer. In the manner of dreams, their surroundings are hazy and undefined; it is like she walks through early morning fog. 

“You say you will save us all, but what from? You won’t say. You won’t tell anyone anything. You destroy what does not bend. You treat your sons as tools. They are human! We are all human! And you tell them that they have to purge what makes them human, all the love and the joy and —“

Her voice catches. 

“Roboute loves me! And I him! And you took me! You took me, and you won’t give me back, and you — you r-r-rape me, and you toy with me, and if I am truly nothing to you, as you claim — I hear you claim! — then why don’t you just let me go?”

She dashes tears from her eyes. It’s a dream. She can cry from both eyes, here. 

“What happens if you get your way? If humanity becomes like you? Cold and cruel and uncaring? If we lose our ability to love? To care? To sing and dance and — and create? If every civilisation we meet is destroyed? If everything is made in Your image? Then what? We’d be a shell! Humanity would not be human anymore! We would be a shadow. You’d sit there and rule over a universe of grey automatons, manifestations of Your will. Is that what You want?”

She stops before the throne. He’s not towering over here, here, when her mind can reduce him to the proportions of a man, not a divine being that denies its divinity. He is a tall man, but still a man. She can look him in the face.

”You claim not to be a god, but you act like one. You want to be a god but answer no prayers. You want to be obeyed as a father but not love like one. You’re a hypocrite. A coward. Dodging responsibility. Dodging everything.”

Breathless with rage, she stops, waiting for the dream-Emperor to respond. When he does, a thrill of fear races down her spine. 

“How interesting.“

Her mind can replicate much, but not that — not the reverberating echo of the Emperor’s true voice. This is not a dream. Against all probability, this is him. 

(Of course it is.  He’s a psyker, the strongest psyker that ever lived, and to him the minds of humans are just another plane to wander.)

”I have seen the future. I have seen the horrors that await our kind. I have torn myself apart and built myself anew to avoid them. And yet…maybe. Maybe some amendments are required.”

”I don’t understand — “

He catches her by the waist, and pulls her into his lap, smiling down at her. His eyes are the heart of a sun. His mouth is the throat of a forest fire. Be thou afraid —

“You do not have to. But you are correct — Roboute does love you, and it pains him to see you so. I will fix this. I will fix everything.”

The light blinds her. And she wakes. And she doesn’t. 

—

Roboute Gulliman, Primarch of the Thirteenth, walks beside his Lord Father, discussing their latest campaign against a nasty strain of orks in the distant reaches of the eastern Imperium, and how best to deal with them. It is an honour to be so close to the Emperor, and he feels his approval like a golden balm as he presents strategies, and the Emperor congratulates him on having such a sharp mind. It would be so easy for one so powerful to be a distant, unreachable god-like figure, but the Emperor is not — he may not have raised Roboute, but he is wholly his father. Roboute barely recalls his foster-father’s name these days. 

A slight disturbance draws his attention; a human woman, clad in an ornate gold gown, ducks out of one of the side rooms. The Emperor beams at her. 

“Excuse me, Roboute. I think my consort needs my attention. She is a needy little thing — and quite insatiable.”

Roboute’s cheeks colour a little — he’s no Leman or Horus, happy to trade bawdy jokes with the Emperor — and he politely averts his eyes as the Emperor scoops the woman up and plants a kiss on her, his tongue sliding between her parted lips. 

“How’s my girl? Restless? Be at ease; I’m almost done here, and Roboute will be on his way — and you’ll have me all to yourself.”

He settles her on one of his hips, and nips at her throat. She’s looking directly at Roboute, her expression quite unreadable. Roboute realises he’s being unfanthomly rude, and offers a little courtly bow. 

“My lady. It is a delight to make your acquaintance. I have heard tales of your beauty, and I can see that they were all correct.”

”Thank you, my Lord Primarch,” she says, her voice tiny. 

“She’s more than a beauty,” says the Emperor, fondly. “She keeps me human, don’t you my love? She shows me how to not lose sight of the small things, when the grand design occupies so much of my attention. Without her, I fear I’d forgot how to relate to humans at all!”

Roboute chuckles politely, but there’s something about the woman’s gaze — something so sad. Maybe —

A flash of gold out of the corner of his eye — probably the sun reflecting on the walls. The thought vanishes. He will head out soon, out to war for the sake of his father, and for humanity. His great purpose. His birthright. 

And all he ever wants, and all he ever wanted.

[saintsenara]

❤, 💛, and 💜 please!

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

which character do you think is the most egregiously mischaracterized by the fandom?

having seen the state of my inbox, this isn't the only time this one will come up...

so let's start strong by going for... albus dumbledore.

i find dumbledore bashing incredibly boring - not because dumbledore is a character i think of as morally spotless, but because the way he's criticised in certain areas of this fandom becomes dull by virtue of never actually engaging with interesting critiques of his character and decisions.

dumbledore is not some machiavellian evil genius - the entire point of deathly hallows is that the omniscient vibe that he projects in the first six books isn't actually omniscience at all, and it always irks me to see authors miss this, and ascribe to malice what is clearly human fallibility. nor is dumbledore intentionally or egregiously manipulative or cruel. and nor is there something "wrong" with him.

[the closest i've come recently to throwing my laptop at the wall was seeing a nonsensical post proposing that one of the reasons why it's fine to think of him as a villain is that he has anti-social personality disorder. not because i think it's inappropriate to assign diagnoses to fictional characters, but because i think if you do wish to do that you should attempt to know what you're talking about... and (evidently quite poorly) reading the wikipedia summary of an extremely complex disorder is not that.]

dumbledore is a wartime paramilitary leader - and wartime leaders have to make extraordinarily complex decisions, often ones which result in harm befalling their soldiers. the series is generally fairly weak on the realities of war - since its genre conventions require it to end with all being well - but what it shows of dumbledore's tactics is one area in which it shines.

and it also gives us plenty of meat if we want to emphasise the ways in which he's inadmirable.

dumbledore is a creature of stasis - he holds radical views, but he does nothing to actually advance them in society [this is a man who is at the heart of the establishment for half a century, who does nothing with that power to dismantle the oppressive social structures which drive wizarding politics and prop up blood-supremacy], and he also has a tendency to adopt a "wait and see" approach in situations where intervention would be obviously more appropriate. dumbledore is a hypocrite - he’s happy to be depended on by fudge, he is appalled that fudge might depend on lucius malfoy. dumbledore lives in an ivory tower, and clearly has little interest in the ways poverty, violence, and isolation affect people. dumbledore projects his shame and self-loathing onto others in a way which is detrimental to their own happiness. and so on.

all of these flaws have a tangible impact on the arc of the series - and dumbledore's failure to take meaningful action to prevent either voldemort or snape's radicalisation is something i think he can be genuinely criticised for - but they can't be taken in isolation. dumbledore fucks up because he's just one man - and the character flaws which cause him to fuck up also contribute to many of his most admirable traits: his mercy; his courage; his steadfastness; and his faith.

and it's so much more interesting than reducing him to a one-note caricature of evil!

what is a popular ship you just can't get behind, and why?

dramione, because i have a very low tolerance for both fanon!hermione and fanon!draco.

i think it could be done interestingly... i've just never seen it.

which character is way hotter than everyone else seems to think?

which got two more shoutouts:

arthur and molly weasley.

they both clearly fuck - and the lack of respect they receive for this in the fandom is because of the tiresome association of sex with youth and [one, very narrow, view of] beauty [hence why characters like snape often become mysteriously hot when they're being written in romantic pairings...], meaning that both of them being middle-aged, arthur balding, and molly being fat means that the fact that they're clearly obsessed with each other never gets the attention it deserves.