#and i love them all that they did it regardless

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

truth will set you free // bob reynolds

Summary: You are injected with a truth serum during a mission, and when you return to the Watchtower, you must avoid Bob in order not to spill your feelings for him, but this causes Bob to believe he has done something to upset you.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Word count: 2.6K

Warnings: bob's self-doubt, forced love confession (cause reader is under the influence of a serum), misunderstandings, fluff

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. I didn't want to wait any longer to post this, so it hasn't been proofread, I'm sorry folks!

My first time writing for Bob!!! I hope I did him justice, and I apologize if he's a bit OOC. I'm still trying to figure him out.

marvel masterlist | main masterlist

When you had a hunch, you were usually right. 

It was like a faint whisper in your mind, guiding you through the uncertainty and helping you make the right choice just in time. You could say that instinct was your secret weapon—a trusted friend in moments when logic alone couldn't see the whole picture. Even when doubts crept in, deep down, you knew to listen to that subtle nudge that had saved you more than once.

But this time, you shut it down and ignored all the red alarms. 

Partly because you didn’t want to let the team down, and partly because you convinced yourself you were overthinking.

You pushed forward, dismissing the uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of your mind and telling yourself that everything was under control. Yet, deep inside, a small voice still murmured warnings, reminding you that ignoring your intuition could lead to unforeseen trouble.

And that was exactly what happened. 

Regardless of your abilities, certain missions challenged your boundaries, particularly those requiring retrievals from shady labs, which were your least favorite. 

You wouldn’t hesitate to fight aliens, villains from other universes, or even Valentina. But you despised slippery scientists—those who utilized their brains and intelligence to create questionable serums and conduct human trials. 

There was something about their manipulation of life itself, their blatant disregard for morality, that made your stomach churn. You had witnessed the damage firsthand—innocent lives turned into test subjects, minds warped by their greed and arrogance.

You were perceptive and quick-witted, but the tension of the moment when you broke into the lab and the so-called brain people started to fight back caught you off guard. They moved with a calculated experience that belied their appearance, more than someone who spends over 12 hours a day in a white coat, peering at cells through a microscope, would have.

Ava wasn’t fast enough to reach you in time.

And before you could react, a sharp sting shot through your leg—an injection delivered with clinical precision. You barely had time to register what was happening before the world tilted, and everything blurred around the edges. The voices of your teammates were drowned out by the deafening chaos, and then, you were fighting not only to stay conscious but also to try to understand what was being injected into you and what it might do.

Despite the circumstances that led you to the vault on that fateful day, and despite being part of a team of people just like you, as well as all the bad decisions you've made along the way, you had always considered yourself an honest person.

So being injected with a truth serum wasn’t the worst outcome, right?

But that strange sense of detachment wasn’t you. Not at all.

Your instincts, the voice in your head that usually kept you grounded, had fallen silent. They were drowned out by the serum rushing through your veins.

Your mouth moved on autopilot.

No filter.

No control.

Despite your strenuous efforts to keep them contained, words spilled out. Confessions, secrets, and fears poured forth unfiltered and raw.

And there was one confession you simply could not allow to escape.

“It’s probably just temporary,” Yelena said with a reassuring look. “We’ll run some tests when we arrive back at the tower.”

Everything would be fine.

That’s what they promised.

But you weren’t so sure of that.

You had been confined in your room for two weeks, completely isolated. There was no interaction with anyone other than Yelena, who brought you food every day. However, she remained silent, respecting your request. And you battled to keep your words contained, to preserve control over what you might say.

The atmosphere in the tower was tense and divisive, to put it mildly.

Walker thought you were overreacting; he didn’t see the big deal. So what if you couldn’t lie? Did you have something to hide?

Ava and Yelena, on the other hand, seemed sympathetic to your situation. They understood the gravity of what you were going through.

Bucky, who knew what it felt like not to be in control of what you do and say, was also empathetic. He'd even explained the predicament to Sam in hopes he could help him find a solution.

Alexei... Well, he was the same as always.

And then there was Bob.

Adorable, sweet, and awkward Bob.

He had been eagerly anticipating your return from the mission. He missed you when you were gone, even though he lacked the courage to say so out loud.

Bob was confused.

Why hadn’t you come out of your room? Why hadn’t you been around? Had you been hurt during the mission? Had he done something to upset you? Were you mad at him? 

Deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time before you got tired of him.

‘You’re too much.’

‘What did you expect, idiot?’

“It was… a tough mission. She needs to be alone.” That was what Yelena had told him in an effort to soothe him, knowing how close he was to you, how much he cared, and how his feelings lingered beyond friendship.

However, her words did not have the expected effect. 

Tonight, he couldn’t endure it any longer. The nightmares had returned, creeping into his mind with a relentless, smothering power.

The darkness had once faded when he sought comfort in your presence, finding solace in your embrace. You had become his safe sanctuary, where the shadows could not reach him.

But now that refuge was gone. 

He stood outside your door, fumbling with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He hesitated, unsure whether to knock or quietly retreat into the shadows. The wait stretched painfully until finally, he drew in a shaky breath, summoning every ounce of courage he had left to reach out.

“Yelena, is that you?” 

Your voice sounded faint through the door, with a tinge of hesitancy that he picked up on.

“I-I’m Bob.” 

He heard you sigh, and he knew you'd approached the door.

“Bob, it’s not a good time.”

His stomach clenched, but he pressed on, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please, I-I need you.” His words were filled with desperation. “I had a nightmare.”

There was no immediate answer, only a prolonged silence that seemed to last forever. For a minute, he worried if you were ignoring him, if you didn’t care enough to respond. Minutes seemed to crawl by as he remained rooted in place, caught in the stillness of the hallway. Still, he stayed there, vulnerable and trembling, hoping—praying—that somehow, you would hear his silent plea.

You slowly pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges slicing through the dense silence like a fragile whisper. The dim, flickering light from the hallway cast faint shadows across your face, accentuating the concern etched in your features. His eyes, glassy and pleading, met yours as he hesitated for a while longer.

Without fully thinking, you reached out and pulled him into your bedroom, locking the door behind him. He sank onto the edge of your bed, shoulders quivering, voice barely a whisper as he broke the silence.

“Thank you,” he murmured, eyes searching yours for reassurance.

You moved closer instinctively, trying to maintain your composure, fighting the urge to let anything slip. It crushed your heart to see Bob in this condition, knowing you were to blame. You were so set on avoiding him that you hadn't considered how much it would impact him not to have you at his side, especially at night.

“Come here,” you whispered, your voice soothing. Reaching out, you drew him into your embrace, feeling his body relax slightly as he buried his face in your shoulder. 

He clung to you tightly. You stroked his hair, murmuring soothing words and giving him the reassurance he desperately needed.

You stayed there, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he gradually found calm. The tension in his body loosened, and his heartbeat steadied into a peaceful rhythm, no longer pounding with dread. 

“Are you mad at me?” he finally asked, his voice small, almost cracking.

“What? No, of course not.”

“You've been locked in your room for two weeks.”

“I know, but—” You bite your tongue, fighting to keep the truth from spilling.

The last two weeks had been easy in some ways, since you had zero contact with anyone. But now, having Bob here with you, in your arms, looking so vulnerable and so starved of affection, your resolve wavered.

“Yelena said something went wrong during the last mission.”

“It did,” the words were out of your mouth before you realized.

‘Don’t ask what happened, please, don’t ask what happened.’

‘Don’t ask what happened, please, don’t ask what happened.’

‘Don’t ask what happened, please, don’t ask what happened.’

He stretched out gingerly, his hand trembling as he gently stroked your arm. “What happened?”

And, like clockwork, the truth spilled out again. “I was injected with a truth serum.”

Bob's eyes widened in amazement. “You–you what?”

“We were in the lab, and this guy appeared out of nowhere. I didn't see him coming. I couldn't react in time, and before I realized it, he’d injected me with a syringe.”

His expression sank as he tried to digest what you had just disclosed. “That's why you've been locked up here.”

You nodded. “I am not sure how much longer the effect will persist. And my mouth can't seem to control itself right now,” you admitted, your tone tinted with frustration. “I keep feeling like I want to say things I shouldn't—as if my thoughts are spilling out before I can stop them. It's like my brain and mouth are warring, and I can't keep the words locked inside.”

“But the team… They know, right? They wouldn’t judge you if you said too much. And it’s not like you had something to hide.” 

Bob struggled to grasp the situation and your reasoning for isolation. 

Although he had just told you that the team would not judge you, he knew Walker would probably make some snide comment, maybe even take advantage of the situation. He still believed that the guy was an asshole.

“It’s not the team I’m hiding from; it’s you.” 

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you immediately saw the impact. It was written all over Bob’s face. And you hated yourself for hurting him, again.

“You… You are hiding from me?” He stumbled over his words, the crack in his tone reflecting the disheartened expression that washed over him. “Why?”

And then it happened. The two weeks of isolation had been pointless. You knew it the moment Bob had knocked on your door and you let him inside. There was no more running.

“Because I can’t be around you,” you started, voice trembling as the truth slipped out. “You make me nervous, and I can’t control myself around you. All I want to do is tell you how much happiness you bring into my days. And I think you’re so damn cute, like you literally make me feel butterflies, and that’s something I haven’t felt since… Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something like this before.”

Bob’s eyes widened in disbelief, breath catching as your words flowed out, raw and honest, leaving him dumbfounded. He stared at you, processing, overwhelmed by your confession.

You averted your gaze, ashamed of how exposed you felt. “I’m sorry,” you admitted softly. “I don’t know how to handle these feelings, how much I care for you. I–I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything. This is why I stayed away.”

“You–you like me?” He questioned, voice tentative, in astonishment. He was still trying to process what he had just heard. “Me?”

“‘Like’ isn’t even close to describing how I feel. I’m in love with you.”

You cringed as you pushed off from the bed, stepping away from him, overwhelmed by embarrassment.

This wasn’t how you were supposed to confess. You’ve ruined everything.

Fuck the lab. Fuck those scientists. Fuck the fucking truth serum.

As the weight of your words settled in, you wondered if anything could be salvaged from this moment or if the damage had already been done.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it brushed across your arm, making you spin around to face him. His eyes searched yours, shimmering with awe, tenderness, and…hope?

“Y–You mean that?” He whispered, his voice hoarse as if afraid to believe this was actually happening.

“I cannot lie, Bob. Remember? Only the truth is being spoken here.” 

He hesitated briefly before cautiously reaching out, his hand trembling slightly as he cradled your face in his palm. His thumb brushed softly against your cheek, and without thinking, you leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand, and allowing yourself to fall into the moment.

“I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me.” His voice was tremulous, yet sincere. “When you’re around, everything else just… fades away. You make everything better.” He drew back just enough to stare into your eyes, his mesmerizing blue gaze seeking yours. “I–I love you, too, Y/N.”

“Really?” You were almost afraid to believe it, yet your heart skipped a beat and you could feel your stomach doing somersaults. “You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings, you know.”

“I’m not lying. I promise.”

You reached out, instinctively brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and for a moment, everything felt perfect—as if the world had stopped just for you two.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he hesitated.

You shook your head gently, “You’re not taking advantage of me. I want this. I have never wanted anything more.”

His cheeks flushed a delicate pink, but he nodded and leaned in carefully. The space between you narrowed until your lips finally met in a tentative kiss. His lips were soft against yours, just as you’d imagined. One hand clasped your cheek, his fingertips tracing the delicate curve of your jawline. The other rested on your waist, anchoring him as the kiss deepened. 

His fingers curled slightly, grasping your side with gentle firmness. You laced your fingers through his brunette locks, pulling him closer, while your other hand rested on his chest above his heart, feeling the quick throbbing beneath your palm.

As your lips parted for air, still dazed from the moment, Bob rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, eyes still closed, savoring the moment. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted softly.

Your pulse was thumping hard in your chest, not just from the kiss, but also from the exhilarating realization that this moment was merely the beginning of something new. “Me too,” you whispered.

As you both lingered in the moment, wrapped in each other’s embrace, you let out a light laugh, breaking the silence. “Well, I guess the truth serum was good for something after all,”

“I suppose so.” Bob’s lips twisted into a small, bashful smile, and he giggled softly with you.

“Come on.” You took his hand and tugged him toward your bed. “You look exhausted. Let’s get you into bed so you can finally rest properly.”

Bob snuggled beneath the covers, and you slid in beside him, pulling the blankets over both of you. 

Resting your head on his chest, you felt a sense of calm rush over you. Bob wrapped his arm around you, holding you close. You curled up closer, soaking in the warmth radiating from his body and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. His eyelids fluttered shut as he relaxed, and a contented sigh escaped his lips.

[p-seduonym]

Switched At Birth (Part Nine)

A/N: Annnd I'm back! Hey y'all I just needed a breather for a bit. My brain was indundated me with ideas so I took a break. But I'm here now! Here's a hefty chapter to compensate for my absence. It's a bit more character centered, explaining Melissa's neglect in the Batfam. Also, thank you all so much for your ideas! I promise I'll get into a few of them after this chapter.

Taglist (I'll add you if you ask): @von-jour, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @kenyummy, @bunniotomia, @ch1cky-093, @toxicthotsyndrome68, @cynniee, @icefox8155, @eyeless-kun, @c4xcocoa, @ed15fashionista, @yourtypicalhuman09, @fightmebissh. @tsuniio, @fantasyhopperhea, @type-ink, @dirtydiavolo, @colorfulgardenerduck, @seemeee3, @ironsaladwitch, @yumeravenclaw, @jjsmeowthie, @snowy-violet, @wizzerreblogs, @ratterpatter, @gremlin-dumpster-fire-art, @anonymoustext, @a-heavenly-hell, @holderoflostmemories, @ilovecoffe0, @presleyamos, @lordbugs, @shyenemyperson, @adrakeshoard, @sadeem575, @nebsisdead, @moon0goddess

Yandere!Batfam X Switched! Fem! Reader X Yandere!Wayne!OC

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Tatienne Crow was your birth mother.

From the many glossy fashion spreads and tabloid snippets to the singular, sterile obituary, you'd pieced together a reasonable portrait. She had been young—too young, maybe—vivacious, and sharp in a way that made people both admire and fear her. In every photograph, she looked like she knew a secret no one else did. As if she was in on the joke of the world. A model turned muse, turned fleeting cautionary tale.

She lived fast and loose, long faded magazines said. Hopped continents on invite alone, slipped into parties through back entrances, and tangled herself in the arms of men who had more money than morals. There were plenty of rumors and scandals, of addiction, of various paramours, of a baby born from a particularly messy affair.

That's what she was like.

On paper, at least.

From Mel, you had heard her side– the version not meant for publication.

“She loved hard,” Melissa confessed the day you met, eyes glassy but unblinking. “Like… it was the only way she knew how to prove she was real.”

And that was all she could muster.

So you were left to find the rest yourself.

A light drizzle painted the street under the eerie silver beams of the full moon. It was the kind of Gotham rain that made everything feel blurred at the edges.

This building is old, art deco styled—elegant but weary. Previously housing models, designers, socialites, it now mostly holds ghosts and legacy leases. The doorman was long gone, and the security system, not so lucky.

Entering the service stairwell, you quickly climbed the emergency stairs with deliberate steps. Floor after floor, you ascended until you reached the twenty first floor. The door to the hallway was locked, but not for long. You were far from an expert, but you still fetched the tool from your duffle and kneel. It was pretty crude; just a bobby pin snapped in half and fixed to a paper clip. You were still learning, after all. But, still, you were determined, and more than a little curious. That helps.

And your efforts were rewarded with a soft click. 

The carpeted floors muffled your steps as you crept into the dim hallways.The number plate on the door is still there: 2102. The gold is tarnished, a little crooked, like it was trying desperately not to be seen.The door was shut firmly, so you fished out your second tool: a simple screwdriver from the garage’s toolbox. Feeling oddly calm and collected, you began to unscrew the door from its hinges. Removing the last screw, you gently coaxed the door from its groove in the doorway.

It gave way with a heavy and reluctant sigh, like the apartment itself resented being disturbed. 

Regardless, you stepped inside, crossing the threshold of the ornate mausoleum. 

Dust spilled in the slant of the moonlight, as a long abandoned world unfurls before you; silk curtains half-drawn, wine stained carpet, a faint scent of roses and smoke clinging to the air like an old memory.

Everything is still here. Unlived-in, untouched. Like someone meant to come back, but never did.

You moved past the foyer into the living room. The furniture is lush and fading. You spotted a glass ashtray that still held a single, half-burned cigarette. Beneath a wall of vinyls, a record player sat idle. Diana Ross. Nico. Bowie.

You didn’t bother with the lights, whether they still worked or not.

Instead you just walked deeper into the gloom, a quiet silhouette in your mother’s tomb. The city buzzed incessantly outside. And here, in the dark, you feel something almost ancient settle over your shoulders.

Not grief.

Not yet.

Just weight.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out and saw Melissa’s name flashing.

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

Instead, you looked around once more, feeling the silence pulse around you like a second heartbeat. Then, as the phone buzzed again, you brought it to your ear.

“Hey,” you said, tone careful. You didn’t tell her where you were.

“Hey,” Melissa replied, her voice soft, like she already knew. “Is this a bad time?”

You turn towards the window, stretching from the carpeted floor to the ceiling, decorated with a murky, glass chandelier. The Gotham skyline blinked in gold and gray beyond the rain-streaked glass.

“No,” you answered, gently dragging your fingertips along the sofa. You could see a slight discoloration in the path. “Just on a walk. Thinking.”

Melissa, bless her heart, didn’t call out your lie. Rather, she just hummed in acknowledgement. 

“About what?”

The air grew silent around you. You could only hear Melissa breathing as well as some light shuffling in the background. You continued through your trek through the recesses of your mother’s home. Instead of answering, you replied with another question.

“Hey…tell me more about her?”

“Hmm?” Melissa made a questioning noise. “About who?”

“You know.”

There was a pause on the line. You could hear the faint sound of water running in the background—maybe a sink, maybe rain outside her window

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…hard to talk about her”

You reached a room that looked like the master suite. A large plush bed, with a walk-in closet. The air was stale—thick with dust and the faded sweetness of long-dead perfume. Something floral, maybe jasmine, but heavier, more decadent. It clung to the walls, the drapes, the velvet settee in the corner, like memory embalmed in fragrance. Against the far wall, a vanity sat coyly. And as you approached, you saw the remnants of Tatienne.

Your fingers ghosted over an old lipstick tube—Tom Ford, discontinued years ago. Your reflection in the vanity mirror was dim, your face softly fractured by dust.

“You don’t have to, if it’s too much”

“N-No, you deserve this much. She-”

Melissa cut herself off with a sigh. Without seeing it, you knew she was likely fidgeting with her hand. 

“She was a lot,” She said it like a confession. “ Like– too much, in every way. Too young, too messy, too beautiful, too loud–”

You stared into the mirror. If you looked closely enough, you felt like Tatienne was staring back.

You didn’t say anything. She needed room, not encouragement. 

“--Like she was born too big for the world and just kept cracking at the edges trying to fit into it.”

You opened a container of rouge. A jagged crack split the makeup in two halves.

“She used to wear perfume that smelled like grapefruit and cigarettes. Had this way of putting lipstick on while yelling at someone on the phone. And when she laughed?” Melissa gave a weak chuckle. “You’d think the world was ending. It always felt like the last good sound you’d ever hear.”

There was another pause. A quieter one this time.

“But…she loved too much.” Melissa’s voice lowered. “Like she had too much of it, and it hurt her. She never talked about any family. I think something went wrong along the way and they don’t talk anymore. But, she still wanted to be loved, you know? There were a lot of guys. None of them stuck around for long”

Her voice grew dreamy, like she was in trance. 

“To love and be loved…isn’t that what everyone wants?”

Melissa sighed. 

“I think she loved Bruce. You probably know how that turned out. He…wasn’t around when I was little, I think that hurt her too. She didn’t say it though”

“‘Drug-addict,’ ‘Whore’... I didn't really know what those meant when I was little,” Melissa murmured. “...but I knew they were bad.”

“She loved me. I know she did. Things…just got too bad for her.”

As Melissa spoke, you moved deeper into the closet.

It was larger than you expected. Almost theatrical in size—more like a showroom than a personal space. And yet, it felt strangely hollow. The kind of emptiness that wasn’t born from disuse, but from careful, deliberate curation. A life stripped for display.

The good pieces were gone. That much was clear. No archival Dior, no high-fashion heels or designer handbags. In their place: moth-eaten furs, loud sequined gowns with dated cuts, satin robes dulled from wear. The clothes that remained were ostentatious but not luxurious—cheap, performative, and loud in a way that felt desperate.

Like they were trying to be seen.

A few empty hangers swung gently from the metal rack, clicking together like wind chimes. On a low shelf, a pair of strappy stilettos sat abandoned, one heel broken. A single run-down hatbox was tucked in the corner, partially open, revealing feathers and crushed netting—stagewear, maybe. Costume jewelry glittered under a faint layer of dust.

“I-I really didn’t want to go with Bruce, but I didn’t have anyone else. I thought he’d have problems, like she did, but would still care. Would still love me, cause I was his daughter, right?”

You crouched in the closet, one hand resting on the floor for balance. The air in here was heavier somehow, thicker. You ran your fingers along a sequined dress that caught the dim light like a broken disco ball.

“I thought that meant something,” Melissa continued, her voice thinner now. “But it didn’t. Not really. He barely looked at me. The others... they didn’t either.”

You let the silence stretch, watching dust particles drift lazily in the air like ash.

“Dick, he was nice, you know? It took a bit to see him after I got there, but he always smiled. Always said ‘Hi’ and ‘How are you?’. It was a bit much at first, but it felt nice.”

She gave a small, humorless huff.

“But, I kinda knew I wasn't important to him. Not really. He always had something else to do or someone else to be with. I-It’s not like I needed him around all the time, I just never had a brother before and hoped we could spend time together. He was everyone’s ‘big brother’, right?”

You found an old pair of stilettos knocked sideways in a pile. One heel was broken. You gently set them upright, for no real reason.

“I kind of realized he was just being that. ‘Nice’, I mean, cause that’s what you do with strangers.”

Your fingers drifted along a rack of disheveled dresses. One of them still bore a faint perfume—jasmine warped into something more acrid with age. You noted the odd arrangement: heavier pieces in the front, lighter ones stuffed toward the back. Like someone had stopped caring how things were organized.

“Jason was … complicated. Came from Crime Alley and his mom had problems too. I tried to understand, even if I didn’t completely get it. I guess I was too much–” She chuckled, without any mirth. “He…didn’t like me. I walked behind him one time and he just…snapped. I-I guess I was too quick or too quiet or something? He grabbed me. Pinned me to the wall. I thought he was going to break my arm, he twisted it so hard.”

You knelt to examine a box tucked underneath a sagging shelf. It contained several Polaroids—some curled from moisture, others scrawled on in red pen. Men’s names. Phone numbers. A few love notes, probably never sent. Each one another thread of the life Tatienne had tried to weave, only for it to unravel again and again.

“Left bruises for a while. He said it was a reflex, but what kind of reflex does that? Dick said I should be more careful next time…I didn’t talk to him after that.”

The residual droplets of rain had long passed dried on your hoodie, but a chill still raked itself down your body. Even then, you didn’t shiver.

“Tim was a miracle child. A prodigy to be proud of. It was hard being his age, cause he just accomplished so much already. I thought we could relate, even a little. But he always had this look like he was talking to a child. We came to the manor at the same time, but I always felt out of place. Not like him”

You closed the box.

Not everything here was worth keeping. But it was worth knowing.

This wasn’t just a closet.

It was the final echo of a woman who had tried to live larger than her circumstances—who had loved hard, fallen harder, and still left something behind.

“Damian was always someone I couldn’t figure out. He never acted like a kid. Never talked like one, either. But the first day I met him, he looked at me with…disgust. I didn’t know why, but It felt weird to be completely dressed down by a kid, but– ” Her voice sounded suspiciously watery. 

“Steph was sweet. For like, a week. She gave me a tour of the manor. Giggled about how weird it all was. Acted like we were gonna be friends. Then she just… stopped. Like I didn’t pass some invisible test. One day she was inviting me to sit with her in the garden, the next she barely looked up when I said hi. Cass never spoke to me. It was almost a relief, really, after all that..”

You halted, stopping your search in its place. Pressing the phone closer to your ear, your heard her take a shaky breath.

“I tried,” she said. “I really did. I was polite. Quiet. I didn’t ask for anything. I just… I just wanted to belong somewhere. I thought if I didn’t cause trouble, they’d make room for me. But I was always just... extra. Like a guest that didn’t know when to leave”

“I thought maybe if I could be more like them—more polished, more useful, more whatever—I’d matter. But they already had each other. And I was just some charity case nobody knew what to do with. Not a sister. Not a daughter.”

You stood now, slowly, carefully. Your gaze drifted back to the mirror. Your reflection was still dim, still fractured. But not just yours. Hers too. Hers especially.

“They didn’t see me,” Melissa whispered. “Not really.”

And still, she hadn’t raised her voice. Not once.

You realized, maybe she never had.

Not to them.

Not to anyone.

Not even when she should have.

You looked at your reflection again—dusty, dim, and still. But something inside you had shifted. A thread pulled taut, then snapped. You’d always known Melissa was lonely. But not like this. Not this hollow.

You brought the phone back to your ear, voice low but certain.

“They’ll see you now.”

Melissa didn’t answer right away. You imagined her curling tighter into herself, unsure whether she’d heard you right.

“I mean it,” you said, firmer this time. “Whatever it takes. I’ll make them look. I’ll make them see you.”

A long silence passed on the line, soft as breath.

Then, faintly:

“…Thank you.”

Right before you hit "End Call", Mel whispered to you, almost a confession.

"--she would have loved you, y'know?"

You ended the call a moment later but didn’t move. Just stood there, surrounded by remains of a woman who burned too brightly, promising yourself—

You would do it better.

You would wear the name, the smile, the war paint of wealth.

You’d step into the light like it belonged to you.

And when they turned to look at you, it would be her they’d see.

It would always be her.

A/N: Sorry for all the names! I know this is suppose to be a reader-insert but it always felt awkward to me to just put stuff life (Y/L/N) or (M/N), you feel me? If you'd don't like it, I'll try to avoid name in the future. Btw, did you notice the subtle similarities between reader and Bruce? I'm asking cause I might have made it too subtle, almost nonexistent.

[monstersflashlight]

Hey, I love you content. Really totally love it. Is it weird to say that it makes me relax ?

Anyhow I read a tumblr post today about some really nice gentle giant movers and packers and I wanted to ask you if you could write a human×minotaur drabble/post about the human hiring a company of movers and packers with incredible reviews and these massive human guys show up who are all so nice and sweet and then this more massive minotaur shows up and you think that he would be lifting heavy furniture but he begins to carefully wrap all the delicate items and then he helps in lifting the heavy furniture which makes all the humans huff and gruff but he's making a specific grunt sound once in a while which travels straight down to your core.

You were too stressed that day to focus on him but that doesn't mean that you didn't touch yourself to the thought of him late at night once they all left. Without your knowledge he tucked away a few of your things and he kept coming back to return them to you. You were still unpacking so you didn't actually know how much was missing and were very grateful and always offered him something in return i.e. drinks or snacks or just hanging out for a bit which turns into him helping you out to sort stuff.

One day he shows up just as you have gotten out of the shower and were in the middle of a mastμrbating session and he can smell it on you. It makes him go feral and then after everything's done he gets all cuddly and purrs a little bit (I read somewhere that cows and some bulls purr when they're happy just like cats do)

I'm sorry if this was too long. I love your writing because it tickles very niche and specific interests and I wanted to throw the whole idea out there. Thank you so much if you choose to write this and thank you so much regardless.

A/N: Hi there! It makes me happy that you like my content, thank you so much for being here and reading my stuff. <3 Hope you like this!

Moving company

Minotaur x fem!reader || sex toys, oral sex

When you decided to move, someone at work recommended you a monster moving company, claiming they would do the job in half the time. Which they did. But still was a surprise when a team of four minotaurs showed at your door and started moving boxes as if they weighted nothing. You had never enjoyed watching someone as much as you did that day. Their rippling muscles flexing and bulging, sweat running down their torsos and foreheads as they moved your stuff around. By the time they left, you were wet and ready to get beyond fucked.

But wasn’t until a couple days later that one of the movers, the one with the long hair and pretty hazel eyes, appeared on your doorstep with a box of books, excusing himself and his crew because they forgot to bring that one in. You thanked him, offering him some of the tea you were preparing. He agreed, and you started talking, enjoying his company a bit more than necessary. He left that evening with a smile and your phone number.

And he appeared again and again, always with the excuse of something he forgot to bring you, until you brought it up and he shyly admitted he liked you and wanted to know you better. You (obviously) kissed him that day, and you made out like teenagers. It was fantastic and you craved more and more.

But he was a perfect gentleman, always appearing with a flower or some sweets, glad to be spending time with you without sexual expectations. Or at least that’s what you thought. But you weren’t like that, you were a horny human with a monster kink who was dating a minotaur… and you wanted to get destroyed.

But since he’s not doing anything to make that happen, you get out the big guns, aka: your biggest dildo. You are bouncing on it, on the edge of what feels like a great orgasm when the doorbell rings. You let out a short cry, startled, and consider not answering, but you know who it is. There’s no other who would show up at your house uninvited.

So you put up some pants, and a shirt and walk to the door. As expected, your minotaur boyfriend is there, with a cupcake in one hand and a rose in the other and looking incredibly handsome. You almost moan at the sight, your pussy still tingling.

You see the exact second his nostrils flare and he smells the juices still sticking to your pussy, still wet from your activities. You watch his eyes darken and his body tensing. He drops the flower and the muffin and lets out a tiny groan.

Then he launches.

You let out a screech when his big body collides with your middle and he pulls you up over his shoulder, grunting about mattresses and flat surfaces. You half-heatedly point to your right, to your bedroom, and he kicks the door open with his hoof.

You let out an amused huff, slapping his ass and getting a slap in return, which only makes you groan. That snaps him out of his trance, throwing you to the mattress and kneeling on the floor, pulling your legs to him until your covered pussy is in in front of his face and he’s looking at you for permission.

“Yes,” you moan.

He rips your yoga pants in the middle, his big rough tongue over your pussy in a second as he devours you and groans at the taste. “Were you playing with this pretty cunt?” You nod, rolling your hips against his exploring fingers, trying to get him to push them inside. “So naughty, fucking what’s mine…” His possessive tone makes your legs tremble at the same time he pushes two fingers inside of you and sucks on your clit while you cry out. “Give me the toy, darling. I want to see how pretty your pussy looks around it,” he grunts. You do as told.

He takes no time pushing the toy inside of you, cooing as you groan. He fucks it into your already welcoming heat, your pussy stretching to the brim as he grunts with each thrust as if it’s his own dick being feed into your hungry cunt. You can’t get enough of it, begging for more over and over.

And when his tongue joins, licking your clit at the same time he twists his wrist to get the toy to the perfect angle… You come messily, screaming his name as loud as possible as you lose control of your movements and roll your hips down against the toy and his warm tongue.

You open your eyes a few seconds later to find him lowering his pants and keeling between your open legs. “Now you take me,” he says with a growl, his dick in his hand, way bigger than the dildo…

Fuck yeah.

[hazeytae]

riwoo riwoo riwoo stuck in my head today while at work🫠

Riwoo who's soooo down bad for you that all his friends start to notice & tease him for it. while you have picked up on his crush on you a couple of weeks ago, so you start teasing him little by little until he has to do something abt it🙊

-🧊 anon

btw i loved what you wrote abt my other asks i died.

im glad u liked it!! riwoo lovers uniteee he needs more love 🥹🥹💕 i love him sm :3 making this quite long bc i took so long to get to this and also i had a lot to say <3 luv u hopefully u see this after its been so long 😭 hmo... brat tamer riwoo..? not doing tags bc my ass is lazy and im getting car sick 🙁

teasing riwoo is too easy,, its so easy to fluster him and hes so fucking obvious !! he tries so hard to act unfazed , but all his friends notice the way his ears get slightly red. theyll tease him with comments like "whyre you smiling? youre texting your girlfriend arent youu?", "your such a sucker for her, get a grip" or "calm down, all she did was look at you!" or even blatently calling him a loser! you literally have him wrapped around your pretty little finger <3

so here you are, crowded on the floor with riwoo and his members, playing mario kart. riwoos cheeks are already flushed from how close youre sitting, your thighs brushing his, shoulders touching every time tou lean to his side and laugh. so when he wins the round, you throw your arms around him, pressing your chest close up against his

“aww, ri~ i didnt know you were that good! go easy on us next time” you tease, chest brushing his as his arms hover awkwardly around your waist- not knowing what to do with them. slowly you trail your hand up to his chest teasingly, your glossy lips pouting and big doe eyes looking at him “mm… your hearts beating so fast. you okay?” but today riwoo isnt having it- even after weeks of relentless teasing from you and the fact that he still gets flustered by it, today hes not taking it. so when you pulled that trick- or tried to- instead of laughing off how embarrassed he was, this time his grip on your waist tightened.

riwoo leans in to whisper in your ear "not today, i need you. you keep teasing me and its not fair." he'll tell the boys you were going to grab them snacks, that they should continue playing their game- to which they dont really respond because they were too busy arguing over snacks to notice. riwoo pulls you into the kitchen pinning you between him and the kitchen counter. "do you know what youre doing to me? whyre you doing this?" he asked lowly and you calmy shrug playing innocent and batting your pretty eyes at him "doing what, ri?"

"you know what. youre doing this on purpose.." he was so hard it started to hurt and you were right infront of him! he feels so lucky, regardless of how much you teased him. "you know what happens to brats like you?" you shook your head, slowly he ran his hands down your sides squeezing gently "turn around- dont ask questions" he spoke so lowly all of a sudden and it made your pretty cunt so wet and needy so obviously youll do as he says !!

ridding you of your skimpy shorts (which he knew you put on just to tease him) he grinded his hard-on against your ass. he wasnt huge, but he was long and his groans against your ear sounded so nice :( his long fingers rubbed against your pussy through your lacey panties "wet already? youve soaked through your panties. did you wear these just for me? theyre cute." he cant help the chuckle that slips through his lips because now its his turn to tease you <3 he slips your panties to the side and lets out a pleased sigh looking at your cunt "there she is. shes pretty" he moaned at the sight, rubbing his index finger over your slip making you shiver.

"riwoo please. too slow.. put it inside me already." you whine lowly moving your hips to get more friction, but he holds yous waist stopping you before very easily slipping his fingers in and rubbing your slick around with his thumb. "youve teased me too much, now its my turn you know?" he says it like its a question but you know its really a statement. he moves his fingers in and out painfully slow, but the sound of your wetness still clicks in the room. he still moves like hes grateful to touch you, savoring the feeling of your walls around his fingers. after a minute of moving agonizingly slow, he suddenly speeds up, palm slapping against your pussy as your moans and sounds of slick fill up the room. regardless of how bratty you were, hes in love with you- he cant deny you your release just yet. hes so desperate to have you cumming on his fingers that once he finds your gspot hes constantly pushing against it.

he'll still smile at you sweetly, pulling your hair back to look at him as his fingers plunge in and out of you as he tells you how good your doing- but also that your such a brat and you had it coming, couldve just asked to be fucked like a slut instead of teasing him for so long. once hes got you cumming on his fingers, hes making you gag on his fingers and lick your cum clean off them, making you dewy-eyed and drooly.

suddenly the tip of riwoos cock is rubbing against your clit and hes slamming his cock into you, hes so long that he immediately hits all your good spots making you cry out. he doesnt start off soft, because according to him thats not what brats deserve anyway. he'll wipe your tears when they fall and kiss your face in complete contrast to how his cock is bruising your pretty pussy and how your juices are dripping down your legs and spreading against his pelvis. you try to say something but it comes out as pathetic babbles instead

he laughs, "its funny, you had so much to say earlier. now you cant get words out your pretty mouth" his pace speeds up and his balls slap against you meanly making you cry. you were nearing your climax as you arched your back, reaching back to slap his arm lightly "close- m close, please ri i wont tease you again!" you cry out starting to shake. riwoo pulls your hair thrusting deeper into you "you better keep your promise baby. go ahead" he'll whisper against your ear and instead of cumming you squirt around his cock, dripping onto the floor and down your thighs. its so messy, drool, cum, arousal, spit- everything everywhere. his eyes widen due to the fact that he just made you fucking squirt? his hands will fly down to your clit to spread everything around groaning as he thrusted a final time before pulling out and spilling a huge load into your back :(

now, you cant promsie you wont tease him again if this is what youll be getting <3

[obsidianpen]

I'm laughing at this past chapter being the breaking point for some people. I fully understood why he would want to tie her to him, he's entirely selfish in his love, self-sacrifice who? So these chapters have only humanized him for me in a way. But that may be because the bar is on the FLOOR. I am not over the sexual slavery - for some reason that is my line and he crossed it, no soliliquies about how much better the world is for it will change that for me, miss me with those fallacies. He made the CHOICE to enslave and sexually subjugate a group of people, the same group as the woman he claims to love.

Yes, yes, I am not ignorant of Hermione's faults and betrayals, nor of the turmoil and emotional devastation he faced the last 50 years. But we are judged not only by our actions but our intentions. And Tom DESIGNED AND IMPLEMENTED a network of systemic rape, of which the victims are nearly entirely comprised of children ripped from their homes and tossed to purebloods as breeding mules.

It is a testiment to your writing that I bought Hermione "choosing" him in that moment, because only a Hermione Granger desperately in love would be blinded enough to momentarily overlook this failing - this is the same girl who knitted hats to free the house elves. I blame too much time in the cabin...but once the fog lifts and reality sets in, I can only see her growing to hate both Voldemort and herself...

All that to say, you've put your entire readership in quite a moral conundrum. I don't think I'll personally be able to stomach a happy-ish handing for them, but I am excited to read and agonize and moralize with everyone regardless. Thank you for writing ♥️

all true! Though it’s interesting to point out that a big motivating factor for enslaving muggle-borns was that he thought, surely THIS will enrage her, draw her out, cause her to show herself and oppose me?

Voldemort literally spent years doing things with the intention of pissing hermione off, because he thought she was out there somewhere, hiding from him. He grew more and more unhinged as time went on, doing more and more drastic things. Because remember - to him, Hermione was the sort who would stalk him at work because she was mad he sent Abraxas to her with a lil sly message, then attack him in Knockturn alley. So he thought it would be easy. He would announce some new legislation or something, then host ungodly lavish publicized events where he would purposefully leave a loophole in the security because he was certain that hermione would not be able to stand for his terror and would come to oppose him (this both backfired and worked in his favor multiple times, because while hermione never showed up other people who were against his rule did, and he was always so bummed out when he had to deal with some obnoxious revels instead, but at least he was able to get rid of them). Her continued absence drove him to be more conniving, ruthless, and deranged than he ever was in canon, in many ways.

[evanbuckleyofficial]

I’m going to be really honest and say that for me one of the reasons that it was becoming unbearable to watch 911 was because of all the pandering to that specific side of the fandom and it was genuinely upsetting that it seemed like no one on the show was willing to call them out for their horrible behavior all these years, and as much as I love Tommy’s character and of course bucktommy, it became this like incessant need in me for them to be endgame, because it was this feeling of not wanting the bullies to win

But with everything that was said in interviews these past few days and the bvddie of it all actually being shut down multiple times and Oliver admitting that they’ve marred the experience for them, and him finally talking about Buck’s character arc with his canon love interest it made me feel so much better about it all

Like okay, thank you for pointing out in a calm and genuinely respectful manner that these bullies are not going to get what they want. Thank you for alluding to their fact that their behavior has never been okay and that you all are also tired of it .

It was just a really shitty feeling thinking that none of these people working on the show saw the awful things some of these “fans” were saying and doing to real people. And now I’m just calmer about it, I don’t feel like I’m the crazy one anymore. Someone made a post on here that made me laugh because that’s exactly how it feels, “it’s legal to ship bucktommy now”

I don’t know how else to explain it. It just feels like this weight has been lifted. And regardless of what they choose to do with tommy and buck, I feel like I can go back to just enjoying the show again. I think a part of me did start freaking out once Buck was canonically bi about them pandering to these fans after their shitty behavior all of these years, I didn’t want the bullies to win.

And now I know they never will

[saveahorserideaneddie]

I wish I had remained as cautious as you this season cause I feel stupid for getting sucked in and having expectations.

listen i won’t lie and say that i am exempt from making exceptions too… im a pessimist- i got that from the amount of times i’ve been burned by network shows before, but even i have that small part of my brain that is like “but what if” which means even though i know something probably wont happen in an episode, i still get disappointed when it doesn’t

the thing is tho that i think fans should have expectations… this whole flying by the seat of tim’s pants thing that he does in terms of writing is something unique to this show and not in a good way (well- maybe not unique but definitely most prevalent here) it’s not fair to cast, crew, or fans, and to me it shows a lack of dedication to the craft, and in my honest opinion should get him blacklisted.

like- if he hates putting in effort on the show so much, why doesn’t he just leave? (we know why bc he’s a narcissistic pig, but ANYWAY)

i think what they’ve done with press this week **if nothing concrete happens with buddie (again- i’m literally stuck in limbo on whether or not i think smth’s happening) is really shitty and my hope is that fans start contacting abc executives, starting petitions, etc. to show them that we aren’t just here for whatever pops into tim’s brain. yes- to an extent there are things that we don’t expect and they work out and can be really good moments, i’m not saying he should do every little thing the fandom wants bc that would make a boring show (and only cause more derision among fans), but what i’m saying is that we need to show them that we are done falling for this formula of “oh, we need to build up ratings/viewership, lets write a buddie plot that really seems to stir the pot, tease it in interviews after the fact, and then completely drop it once we got what we want.”

something i personally find a little funny is that so many people this week have been going “if they wanted to shut buddie down they wouldn’t do all this” and im like…. but they dont want to shut buddie down… if they did that they’d lose too much of their main audience… they want to keep us around which is why they pull stunts like this. queerbaiting is an unfortunate part of media and it unfortunately is effective in what it’s used for, and abc, tim minear, oliver stark, and ryan guzman (no matter how much we love and want to trust them) are not exempt from doing it. i know they say they are, but lets be real who would actually own up to queerbaiting?

i love ryan and oliver but even i have to wake up and smell the roses that at the end of the day this is their job, and while they do genuinely love their characters, regardless of what their feelings are towards buddie or any other storyline, theybare going to do and say what they are told because it’s their job to do so- even if it means lying to our faces about buddie. it’s unfortunate, but it’s true.

i’m not gonna watch the episode live bc i’ll be in rehearsal, and honestly? i’m kinda glad bc even if something buddie does happen, i’d rather have the confirmation either way then forcing myself to nervously watch and getting disappointed in real time (again IF we don’t get anything)

i just feel like the fandom as a whole needs to realize that you can be optimistic and positive without placing complete faith in these people who in all actuality do not care about our feelings, and they need to understand that tim isn’t in this for the characters, he’s not in it for the fans, he’s in it for the massive paycheck disney gives him, and as long as they allow him to work unsupervised, the show is gonna be what he wants it to be

i don’t mean to bring anyone’s spirits down- i don’t want that to be my brand on here, but i do think this fandom can be a little (a lot) naive sometimes and while it’s okay and even sometimes beneficial to carry that bit of naivety, when you create expectations based purely on trusting a capitalist broadcasting company, you’re bound to be disappointed

i would not wish for ANYONE to have the viewing experience i donbc being entirely honest the way i navigated this season was utter HELL for me, and like most other people were having the time of their lives up until a couple weeks ago

so i say all of this not to be like “everyone should doom and close on buddie and never watch the show again” bc i don’t want that- i love this show and i want it to continue… but if it does continue then there NEEDS to be a change and i feel like fandom has to be the catalyst for that.

TLDR; don’t be like me, but everyone should learn to temper their expectations when it comes to queer ships on network television

sorry for kinda hijacking your ask 😭😭 i started yapping and a lot just spilled out

[delliebre]

Hey, you're such a huge inspiration to me and I'm obsessed with your artstyle. I'm currently studying concept art and I want to learn/understand how to create form and lighting and genuinely how to start and finish an artwork. Do you have any speed paints or progress videos of your works? If so, I would love to understand your thinking process

Thx♥️♥️

hiiii

tysm!

big thing, concept art, my first inspirations in digital. Good luck!

Here is a look at the beginning of a work and the finish.. I have a youtube channel where I have uploaded full timelapse, but there is no recent I don't think there. The last timelapse from 2023? My YT is: nonnydoge

Set in the core of what you need to paint and then work at it. Simple. Jk it is not that simple but it is my thought😵‍💫

Light is your #1. Keep your light in mind always. When you are in control of your light, you are in control of your logic, then you are in control of your forms easily.

Looking down at a table and looking at side of the table will give you a different "color" of the table

yeah these are not the same table but I am too lazy to open blender rn. But you will get the same effect in variable strength regardless. The table is brown, but at a different angle, the angle most flat, will show you a paler, whitish, top. This is fresnel effect. This effect shows us how perspective is important to keep in mind with light and form.

you will see nothing without light, and it is your responsibility as the painter, creator, mark maker to make every stroke adhere to the logic of your light. You need to think constantly, it is a good workout.

But it is like math, that, when you know the formulas, equations then are done swiftly, though you still need to dedicate time to solving them. This is what skill in art gets you. Fast logic.

It is the logic of our world, so it is not like you need to invent. Though you are adding any light sources you want, light, and how light will act, can be logically added to your scenes with confidence.

I am sure you have already seen that art, the one with a ball lit from above accompanied with arrows and words telling you how light is affecting it. I dismissed this when I was starting; I found it boring. But, it is all you need, truthfully. It is giving you the answers to light's logic. It is super simple.

Once you know the core shadow, ambient light, diffuse light, core light etc.... you are set, really. Of course, we need to practice a lot, but that is the truth to light. There is not much to it, and it is easily manageable because it is logical.

did this a while ago for fun. I recommend taking an image and doing something like this. Labeling what you see, how you find light is affecting the subject, how the environment is providing context.

one of my favorite stages of the art process is doing this to my own paintings, though I do it in my head. Following my light paths, checking the logic I set up and see if it makes sense. I do a lot of work from imagination, so it is important I know the logic and can effectively check my self and my work. With reference, because the light is found out for you, instead of directly copying, do the checking process in your head. The answers are true as it is a photo, though be careful as photos can be heavily edited so studying from life is the best way to check.

It is like algebra and being presented with a solved problem, and instead of copying it, you analyze and compare to your formulas

Finishing an artwork requires evaluation and correction. Starting an artwork requires you to develop context that logic must hang to. Throughout a render, responsibility is key. And patience!

That is how I think while I paint.

texture, angle, local color, environmental light and colors, circumstance of the material etc. are all important to understand when painting any subject. Yes light is essential, but so is perspective as said at the beginning.

I hope I have helped somewhat!

[crimeronan]

musing on horror fiction and disability.

i've seen a lot of interesting discussion recently on whether or not disability horror is Okay (TM). the most common conclusion (from people who, like, care about ableism) is that disabled protags should Exist, but their disability shouldn't be the source of the horror, and should perhaps even help them survive. and there's been a lot of good horror fiction written around this specific concept!

it's a pretty sensible starting point because, like. disability Actually Exists. you don't want to write a story where the point is to gawk at an actual subsection of your readers n go "wow, GOD, that would suck!! how scary!! so glad it's not me!! okay byeeee"

On The Other Hand, though. when i write horror, i DEFINITELY plot using chronic illness and other disability-related stuff as a key source. so i'm musing on that.

people who already Know my horror work are gonna say "yeah, because you're writing from experience!! so you do it Right!!"

and if we're gonna set Rules (TM) on what narratives are or aren't done "right," then... yeah, i agree. i know what i'm doing and i will not stop doing it anytime soon, regardless of where the Discourse (TM) falls. but i'm trying to figure out what, specifically, makes it Right. you know??

so.

i think some of it is about knowing Why the thing is scary. the Why is what makes horror effective in the first place, anyway! if you know the Why, then you can lean into & manipulate your audience's feelings!

and sometimes the Why is just. shitty.

like, psycho is scary because crazy men in dresses with DID might kill you in the shower. split is scary for similar reasons. i'm trying to remember bad horror about physical disabilities but my mind is protecting me. let's just say, like, the whole subgenre about haunted hospitals with scary disabled patients. the PATIENTS are going to hurt you??? the PATIENTS??!!?!

but the Why re: disability isn't Always othering or cruel or inaccurate, imo.

sometimes being sick Is Scary. not gonna get too deep into it here, but like. it just is. it just fuckin' is. it's scary both internally and externally. the loss of control is scary. the loss of ability itself is scary; the consequences for that loss of ability are also scary. the loss of autonomy is scary. it's scary when doctors don't know what's wrong, and it's scary when they do. it's scary to undergo treatment, and it's scary not to have access to treatment. it's scary not to know what the future holds. it's all fucking scary!!

so like. the "why" in "why is it scary," for me at least, often boils down to "because it is Real."

disability is coming for everyone who's blessed with old age. disability is coming for a wide swath of much younger people, too. it is happening. that's a scary thing for people to reckon with on a personal level, and so it just seems sensible to me for this to crop up in horror.

what is scary about being sick?? take your pick. but for the love of god, ground it in truth.

then the Other thing is: i think you Have to know your audience. and i think you Have to assume a good portion of your audience Will share the disability in question.

i write my horror FOR chronically ill people. i don't really care about anyone else or anybody else's opinions.

and that's part of why stuff like psycho sucks -- the othering. the takeaway is "people like you are frightening and dangerous." another example that's not actually horror, but which Does hurt my feelings, is a little life by hanya yanagihara -- that book is engineered to tell all the disabled rape victims in the audience that the only sensible course for their lives is suicide.

but then, like. the episodes of the magnus archives dealing with hospitals and psychosis and addiction are Fucking Brilliant. because they're taking the Very Real Horror of those Very Real Experiences and telling the audience, "no, you're not crazy. that was fucked up. it was fucked up that it happened and it's fucked up that it still happens and you are right to feel violated. that's the horror here"

and like. that is!! SUCH an enormous comfort!! at least for some of us!!

so. i write about how being sick is fucked up. and i do it for the people who want someone to tell them, yeah, it sucks, it hurts, and it's fucked up.

not everybody wants this! many disabled people want The Exact Opposite of this in their horror stories. which is why the "disabled horror protag beats the slasher villain to death with their prosthetic leg" stuff rocks.

but different people want different things from their fiction.

for example, on a purely personal level, i can't Stand fluffy escapist fiction about no-ableism worlds where the disabled protags are all perfectly cared for n happy. it just makes me unhappy and upset about the world i'm currently living in.

but that specific genre is a lifeline for other people!!

so. anyway.

i don't know if any of this makes sense.

i will conclude by saying that i'm remembering something hank green said about how he only takes cancer advice from fellow cancer patients. his example was that if someone tells them weed helped with their chemo pain, he's like, thank you, that's great to know!! but if someone tells him to do weed for cancer bc they're.... just a stoner.... then he's like, "uh.... i do not care."

in that vein, i always always Always find it really valuable to hear from other people with the same kind of autoimmune diseases and degenerative illnesses i have/write -- those perspectives on horror/representation/visibility are Wonderful. (even when disagreeing with me!)

but if people's feedback amounts to "well, being sick Doesn't suck for me, so you should be more careful about writing sickness that sucks"

.....i'm like. well. i.... don't think this conversation is about you. i don't think i was talking to you.

maybe sometimes what's scary is being told you're hurting your own community by having. the Wrong Feelings.

[animereviewsxx]

THATS MY SOOOONNN!!!! Look at him! He did so good, im so proud of Nire!!!

He's working so hard to improve himself even though he's surrounded by people who don't mind protecting him. It's amazing!!!

Also he's a perfect little roly-poly🥰

Just a friendly reminder to all the Nire haters out there, Sakura and Suo would absolutely hate your guts!!!! 🖤🖤🖤

They're literally the front men to the Nire protection squad, and im glad because I couldn't do the work all by myself.

Every time you talk crap, just remember that suo and sakura will jump you.

Anywho as for the rest of the epsode it was really good, I enjoyed it. Not surprising.

Them walking this close it killing me, it's hilarious 😂 there's safety in numbers!

Also Nire did not need to go this hard with this fake punch-

Sir!!!! This is the most serious we've seen him and it's a joke, im glad nire didn't have a heart attack. Geez.

Nire would have flinched back regardless lol.

That's my boi, look at this icon. I was waiting for this moment Tsubaki looks so good. I love him so much 🤧

All in all great episode!

[axxxx13]

eee ok i am deeply starved for sickfics (especially for thiam) so thoughts on what theo and liam would be like if they could get sick (and how they’d interact with each other)?

also, do u have any thoughts on how liam getting sick/not feeling well would impact his ied episodes?

thank u icon :)

SAMEEE! I love sickfics but there aren't so much.

First of all I have a very specific headcanon about wolves and diseases: werewolves CAN get sick but not from human viruses. They only get sick from wolf/dog viruses and I love the idea that there are vets/doctors(?) for supernaturals (like where exactly did dread doctors come from?)

So, about thiam

Liam when he's sick becomes super affectionate and clingy: he just wants to stay under the covers to snooze and be cuddled until he feels better. In some way he also likes being sick in the sense that he can just spend some slow days with people (Theo) who spend time with him and take care of him. He loves chicken soup, watching entire TV series in bed and mostly the fact that Theo absorbs any form of pain/discomfort in seconds.

As for the IED I think it depends on the illnesses. Like, the flu or "bed illnesses" don't affect his IED that much in the sense that he's weak to get angry and also by staying at home 99% of his triggers are not there. It's different for the diseases that I call "high functionality illnesses" (such as colds, coughs, etc.) for which you have to do everything you usually do in the same way (school, work, etc.) with the annoyance/difficulty of tissues, a red nose, watery eyes and all these things. I think this kind of disease makes him totally crazy, like his tolerance drops by at least half since he spends a good part of his time already frustrated ONLY because of the cold.

Theo, on the other hand, is a real drama queen. Regardless of what kind of disease that boy has, he hasn't had a single cold since he was 8 years old, so any little physical discomfort makes him complain OUT LOUD about anything. He's the kind of person who treats a fever of 37 like he has the plague and looks like he's dying if his nose runs. A funny thing is that when Theo is sick he takes a lot of drugs, even if they don't work or aren't for the type of illness he has, he still takes them "just in case".

I think it's quite funny to see Liam, whose main quality is NOT patience, try to take care of Theo who complains about EVERYTHING: the sun, the dark, the heat, the cold, the food, the series they chose, EVERYTHING. Liam squashed a pillow on his face more than necessary AT LEAST once just to have some peace.

The other thing is definitely that Theo, used to PERFECTLY controlling his emotions, when he is sick has no filter anymore: what usually happens is that Theo is exasperating, Liam at a certain point explodes screaming at him to stop and Theo STARTS CRYING. And of course Liam feels like crap and immediately starts apologizing and trying to console him and it's only at that point that he can put him under the covers and cuddle him until he feels better.

Now if you leave me I'm going to write a fanfic with exactly this content because oh god it's SO good.

[0viraptoraskblog]

How do you think btd/tpof characters would react to a chubby MC being insecure about her weight?? I think I saw Lawrence likes chubby people or something, I don't remember it quite well but I'm curious about how'd he take mc being insecure about it, I love your account, thanks you so much for bringing all this btd/tpod content!! 💗💗💗 (english is no my first language so I'm sorry if I didn't choose the correct words 😞)

I hope you don’t mind I combined these two.

I did talk about that a little in This ask, so if I don’t answer their initial reaction for a character it’s because I’ve already explained it there— just so I don’t have to write it out twice :)

Strade- Strade likes all body types pretty equally, he only tends to avoid those stronger than him. He’d treat you more or less the same if you’re chubby. If you’re shy or insecure, he actually would give you good advice, believe it or not. He’ll explain how you’re great the way you are, and there’s no reason to be insecure. He’s not skinny himself, either.

Ren- (see post) Ren might think it’s kind of cute that you’re insecure, but he’ll give you his speech about being yourself and tell you you’re perfect how you are. Even if you don’t believe him at first, you won’t be able to deny it forever, it’s clear that he does like you and thinks you’re attractive.

Lawrence- (see post) if you were insecure about it, Lawrence would honestly focus more on his opinion of you than yours. He knows you’re beautiful, and he just won’t listen to you talk bad about yourself.

Sano- Sano would see no problem with it, so long as you’re healthy in general. If you’re really insecure.. he could always offer to make alterations, of course.

Akira- Akira is fond of all body types. I think he’d find someone chubby cute, similarly to Ren. If you’re insecure, he may laugh because you look cute when you’re unsure, but he’ll also give you a compliment here or there.

Vincent- Vincent, as I’ve mentioned before, likes people that are smaller than him. Skinny or chubby, as long as you’re a small person, he won’t discriminate. Yeah, he likes different aspects of your appearance than someone like Farz, but he still likes it.

Cain- I think Cain is pretty indifferent, like Rire. He cares more about being entertained than visually pleased.

Rire- nothing really will change. He’s more focused on what you do, not what you look like. If you’re interesting, what does body type matter? Human bodies are so limiting anyway, he barely bothers to make a preference on them.

Derek- (see post) He’ll likely put you down for it constantly. It’s not even personal at this point, he just likes body shaming. If you’re insecure? Oh, insults double time. Especially if you’re in front of others— he’ll never miss an opportunity to make you feel ashamed. At night though when you two are alone, you may notice he likes touching your thighs or belly. So he might be a hypocrite.

Celia- (see post) if you were insecure about it, she’d just laugh softly and tell you just how cute you are. It won’t reassure you or put you down, just leave you wondering what to make of that.

Mason- Mason might try to avoid anyone he sees as too overweight, just because he wants someone athletic. But being chubby doesn’t mean you can’t be! If he saw enough spark in you to purchase you, regardless of body type, he likes you all the same. If you were insecure, he’d probably give you practical reasons why you’re fine the way you are. Having more body fat means you store more energy and are warmer for the winter months (that sort of thing.. he still views you a little bit like his prey). It’s meant as a compliment, though.

Also, I just realized I forgot Fox on that original post. But he’s the same with young Ren!

[azialways]

feel absolutely free to ignore if this subject is too tender, but could you write something with ronin seeing his partners self scars, something soft and comforting?

sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my first 😊

Heal with me

ronin x sh!recovering reader

cw: mentions of sh, scars, addiction, mental health struggles

YOUR MENTAL HEALTH MATTERS! PLEASE SEEK HELP IF YOURE STRUGGLING! DMS ARE ALWAYS OPEN <3

You were insecure about your scars. For the longest time you were, even when you were a teenager and you first took the blade to your skin, it felt wrong. You struggled as a teenager with depression and anxiety, and you used self harm as a coping mechanism, albeit not a good one, but you didn’t have anywhere else to go. Your story was nothing short of a tragedy, but that wasn’t important. At least, you didn’t think it was important until one night, you and Ronin got drunk and the two of you spilled your life’s secrets and struggles. Luckily he was so shitfaced he didn’t remember you bringing up your old self harm habits, but part of you felt bad for lying. The truth is, self harm was a part of who you were when you were younger; you were the cutter at school, your home life wasn’t great yet your parents still had the time to make fun of you for it. You didn’t have many friends at school or out, because news spreads like wildfire in small towns. Nobody wanted to be friends with the cutter and the suicidal kid, so you moved out as soon as humanly possible. You were addicted to drugs for a while, constantly reliant and needing, but since you quit, your life turned around quick.

You did the therapy, you did the psych ward stays, and now here you are. You made it past your 18th birthday, and then your 21st, and now here you are, still alive past it. And you were happy you were, because you were in love with this man who was actually a serial killer. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you first joined the server, but you chose to stay, and then you fell in love. Sure, he was a serial killer, but he was mostly killing people that deserved it, so you could get behind it. You and Ronin weren’t the most intimate couple, because you were always so anxious about him seeing your scars. You feared his disapproval, his love dying because of your history with issues. You didn’t want him thinking you were going to be a problem, especially when you finally recovered. People had left you for much less, and you didn’t need him leaving too.

You always felt there was a big elephant in the room whenever you didn’t have a coat on, and it broke so many friendships and relationships. Your family would always stare, your friends always stared, even if they already knew, they’d always stare. Everyone is almost always noticing that instead of you you are, and that constant judgement always makes you feel even shittier about yourself. You already had low self esteem because of it, sometimes you’d look at your arms and think of just how ugly they were, and how it was all your fault. You didn’t want the only person who loved you to think less of you because of it. Sure, he should love you regardless, but you didn’t want him to feel awkward because of it.

But one day, he walked in on you taking your hoodie, and the conversation was completely inevitable.

“Oh shit-my bad-Darling?” You quickly realized and shoved your hoodie back on. He walked in, gently approaching you. He approached you like he knew how to talk to you, and it made you feel slightly reassured.

“Baby…is that why you don’t wanna wear short sleeves?” He asked, joining you on the bed. And you just nodded, and he offered his hands out to hold you. You agreed, cuddling up against him. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your head.

“Wanna talk about it?” He offered, and you nodded your head.

“You have questions, I can tell.”

“I do, but you don’t have to answer them. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I’ll answer them, Ro.” You muttered into his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me…? Darling, I have scars too. From my surgeries, nasty ones…I know what it’s like to feel insecure about them.”

“I know but that’s different.”

“Scars are just signs of our battles, baby.” He spoke softly, stroking your hair. “And you’re the strongest person i’ve ever fuckin seen. I mean dealing with me? Takes a soldier.”

“God you’re so corny.” You mumbled, and he just laughed.

“Alas. it’s true though, you don’t gotta hide from me…I won’t ever think any less of you, okay?”

“I know but…it’s me too.”

“Why, do you think I'll think differently? self esteem? talk to me.” He asked, genuinely wanting to hear what you say.

“Bit of both.” You responded.

“I promise you, I think you’re the hottest, most amazing person, scarred or not. And for the record, I think scars are sexy, so how about that?”

“God you’re so unserious.” You laughed, genuinely laughing at his stupidity. He was an idiot, an unserious one, but your idiot nonetheless. You loved him, you loved him more than anything, and the fact he still saw you as beautiful even with your scars made you see him in a whole other light. He was truly a sweet guy under the whole “devil” persona he put up. He honestly wasn’t that devilish, even if he had his moments. He was a supportive boyfriend, one who loved you like you were the most holy thing ever. He loved you like he loved murder, like he loved his crowbar. He worshipped you, treated you like you were the most precious, like you were only to be loved by him. And you loved that about him, you needed that soft love, the gentle and slow love. Sure, you could go into the deeper, more intimate parts, but you also loved this type of love. You didn’t feel the need to rush things, because you were just getting back into dating for the first time since you were in recovery.

So for now, baby steps. One foot in front of the other, and it’ll all work out in the end. It did before, and it will now.

[ellebellewritesfic]

I Look In People's Windows

For Day 5 of @empyreanevents Bodhi week: Prompt is I Look In People's Windows.

Thank you to my darling @theoppositequeens and Cassie for the beta 🥰

Read on AO3 here.

I had died the tiniest death I spied the catch in your breath Out, out, out, out, out, out

The first time it happened, he didn’t even realise what it was. Just a flicker, barely a moment – Xaden's step slowing, breath hitching, before his voice hardened again.

“No, Bodhi. Not this one.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows like he always did. Like Bodhi hadn’t asked. Like Bodhi hadn’t wanted.

He’d stood there in the corridor, mouth still parted, excuse half-formed. Not this one. It was never this one. It was always next time, later, someday.

Each refusal was small. Nothing grand. Not betrayal. Just... absence. Another tiny fracture where he couldn’t point to the wound, only feel the ache after. He learned not to argue. He learned how to make it a joke – the little pause before Xaden left – a “nearly got you that time”. 

But truthfully, every refusal made him die a little bit more inside. Every no was another rift inside him. 

And somehow, the fact that Xaden’s breath hitched and he almost changed his mind made it worse. 

North bound I got carried away As you boarded your train South, south, south, south, south, south A feather taken by the wind blowing I'm afflicted by the not knowing

All his friends moved forward. That was the thing of it.

Xaden went to Basgiath first, heavy with grief and vengeance and leadership, Garrick at his side. Imogen burned through the world like a comet, dangerous and brilliant, always in motion. Liam’s abilities took him straight to the top regardless of the relic on his arm, with his easy grin and his steadiness – and then he died a hero.

Violet arrived with wide eyes, fumbling abilities and unsteady joints and somehow, impossibly, became part of the centre of it all.

And Bodhi just stayed in the background. Waiting. Training. Being told to hold position.

Directionless. Rootless.

So he stayed, always slightly out of sync. Watching the people he loved march south – toward purpose, toward the future – while he drifted north without really realising that’s what he was doing – in a carriage that seemed to have left of its own volition, with him as the sole passenger.

And the worst part was, he didn’t know why. He didn’t know what made him so seemingly different to all those around him, why he they all seemed to know where to go, how to move forward, when he felt trapped and confined where he was. 

Not knowing why drove him insane. 

I look in people's windows Transfixed by rose golden glows They have their friends over to drink nice wine I look in people's windows In case you're at their table

He started noticing more things after that. The way the others – Xaden, Imogen, Garrick – glowed when they spoke. Not literally, but close enough. They had presence. Gravity. Their tables were always full. People leaned in when they talked – would fight for the chance to share a meal with them.

They made it look effortless, this belonging. Like gravity pulled them toward one another.

Meanwhile, Bodhi lingered at the edge. Orbiting them – close, but never quite pulled in. No, he watched. He listened. He laughed when they laughed. He wondered, sometimes, if they talked about him when he wasn’t there. If they noticed the empty space.

He sat with them sometimes – had access to all the same things as them. The nice wines, the best rooms. He ate beside them. Even made them laugh. But there was a difference between presence and place. Between being tolerated and being missed.

Or maybe he’d already become part of the furniture. Something useful. Something solid. Something you assumed would always be there, but never really thought about.

He started catching himself stepping back more – lingering in corridors, watching conversations that weren’t meant for him. Not in a creepy way, just… observing. Hoping, maybe. That someone might look up. That someone might say, “Come sit.”

They didn’t. Not often.

He wasn’t unwelcome. But he didn’t feel wanted either.

And all he had ever wanted was for somewhere he belonged. Where his presence mattered – made a difference. Instead he watched them bond more tightly – Violet included in their circle – while he was still just there as the spare. He didn’t even have a proper signet to bring to the table, nothing he could offer up – he was as neutral and unnoticeable as his neutral signet. 

Would they even notice if he wasn’t at the table anymore?

What if your eyes looked up and met mine One more time

He remembered Xaden’s expression at the edge of the small plot of land where they had buried Liam in Aretia. Not just the grief – Bodhi understood that. But the way his eyes swept over the crowd, landed on Bodhi for half a second – and then moved on.

That half second haunted him. Because it was brief enough to be coincidence, but long enough to feel like something.

Did he see him? Did he ever worry he’d lose Bodhi the way he lost Liam?

Would he, now?

Bodhi thought of that more often than he wanted to admit. That maybe what he wanted wasn’t even leadership, or power, or even belonging.

Maybe he just wanted someone to look at him like he mattered. Not as an accessory. Not as a mirror of someone else’s brilliance. Not as the one you left behind when things got dangerous.

But as Bodhi. Nothing more. Nothing less.

To be seen. 

He had spent his whole life close to power – to legacy, to heroism – but never quite central. He had stood beside Xaden and Garrick – in the proximity of something incredible, but without ever truly belonging – watching them be decisive, chosen, and bold. He was always present, but somehow always on the edge of the frame.

He’d always found it both powerful and beautiful to watch… but never quite known how to enter. Never quite believed he was meant to.

Because being strong, or loyal, or present, was never quite enough, never quite seen amongst all the other people gathered, the other people playing their parts, making a difference. 

And if his own cousin didn’t even see him, what chance was there that anyone else would? They had always followed Xaden’s lead – even when their parents had still been alive – and so why would now be any different?

Bodhi was alone. On the outside, watching as everyone else found their purpose, had goals other than being the “spare Riorson” – moving on and up without him. 

None of them looking back.

But gods, sometimes he wished someone would look back. Just once more.

And see him, watching through a window from the outside.

[genjyoandgojyoandhakkai]

The modern!Crow AU no one asked for. Especially not me.

Compliance Department Viago is a menace, and I blame this monstrosity on @gatesofminrathous and this post by the always funny @rookanis-de-riva

unbeta'd, mistakes are from the last 2 hours of my life laughing at my keyboard

800 words

Viago de Riva loved his job. Senior Vice President of Corporate Resource Optimization & Workforce Strategy. It was a mouthful - he allowed employees of his department to lovingly call themselves CROWS, but only internally. Viago had worked for Advanced Negotiation & Tactical International Vacancy Alignment (A.N.T.I.V.A.) for twenty-five glorious years, and every department he’d ever worked in was the better for it. Viago’s organizational skills were legendary, and though many of his coworkers flinched when they saw him coming, Viago recognized grudging respect when he saw it. 

This particular Monday marked the kickoff of internal compliance undertaking season; Viago’s favorite time of year. He had circled in on the desk blotter calendar, with the letters ICU written in precise block script, diagonally centered. Viago sat at his desk in his top-floor corner office of ANTIVA HQ (the furthest corner from the front door, but a corner office nonetheless), tapping his long fingers impatiently on his mousepad. The time was 7:04 in the morning. 

“Arthik,” Viago called softly, knowing his assistant would hear him regardless. 

“Boss?” Arthik leaned back in his chair, cracking the door to Viago’s office open a little wider. He pulled the vertical blinds open wider, offering Viago a view of Arthik’s desk space and the open office beyond. “What’s up?”

Viago steepled his fingers, elbows placed on the corners of his calendar. “Do you know what today is?” 

“ICU,” Arthik replied without missing a beat. “We’re deploying the email campaign at 8:30 this morning, just as planned.”

Viago’s satisfied smile was all the confirmation Arthik would get. He’d lasted eight months as Viago’s assistant and was familiar with recognition for a job well done by now. 

“Coffee?” Viago inquired, but Arthik had turned away to look at a new face, mostly hidden behind a double-stacked tier of Karasu Kafe carryout cups from the cafe downstairs.

Viago knew it was a new face because:

He didn’t recognize the hair that went with it

Coffee was due at 7, and 7:05 was unacceptable

HR had informed him there was a new hire starting this week, and the hiring of said person was not negotiable, nor did he have insight into the hiring process.

“De Riva?” a melodious voice asked. “This is the 5th floor, exec suite T, correct?”

“You’ve got the right place,” Arthik said kindly. “Are you the new guy?”

Before the hair could respond, Viago intoned, “Send them in, please.” He needed to see the miscreant himself. 

The coffee cups made their way into Viago’s office, followed by the shiny white hair of their bearer. Viago watched with (internal) mild amusement and (mostly) withheld judgment as the person shifted their stack of cups and placed them on the chair just inside the door. 

“Good morning, Mr. Viago de Riva!” the person chirped. 

They wore a velvet suit jacket, shiny satin slacks that didn’t reach their ankles, and colorful socks with sneakers. A clear violation of the ANTIVAn dress code, if Viago had ever seen one. 

“It is morning,” Viago said dryly, trying not to make eye contact.

“I’m Aydenne de Riva, no relation, but isn’t that weird?” Viago didn’t have a chance to process this odd coincidence, because the Aydenne kept speaking. “I’m your new seasonal intern temp-to-hire shadow, and today’s my first day!”

Viago’s jaw dropped. This...Aydenne...with that suit...in his department? Shadowing him? He’d thought the hiring was for a replacement for Arthik, who seemed to show more frequent signs of interest in other roles.

“Leave the coffee. Arthik will show you where to go.” Viago turned his chair to face the wall, as clear a dismissal as he could give, with so little time to prepare himself for this news. 

There was no sound of a subordinate exiting in an orderly fashion with their eight little coffees (which clashed unpleasantly with Viago’s aroma diffuser in the corner). Viago waited five more seconds in case the newcomer was unclear as to their directive. 

“Mr. Viago?” the beautiful voice asked, sounding unsure. 

Just great. Viago now faced the predicament of turning to address this person once more, or waiting to see if they would finally understand what was being asked of them.

Power plays on a new hire’s first morning, before 8 AM? 

Viago allowed a hint of his arctic annoyance to creep into his tone. “I trust you know which one of us is Arthik?” 

“I...yes?” the newbie said uncertainly. 

“C’mere, Rookie, I’ll take you around the office and show you to a desk you can use,” Arthik said helpfully, if belatedly. 

“Arthik. Please ensure the...Rookie reviews the employee handbook and signs off on their compliance training before you start with the tour.” Viago needed this eyesore to understand what the rules were before they knew which cubicle the headhunters kept their peanut butter and cracker stash in. 

“My name is Aydenne,” the Rookie said. “I use he/him pronouns, if that helps.”

“I use Excel whenever possible, but it’s nice to meet you,” Viago responded crisply. “Hand me my coffee, if you please, and close the door behind you. It’s an important morning, and I have much to do.” 

I truly and honestly enjoyed this and it's going to live in my WIP bin because I think I'd commit to a whole story or series about them 🤣 writing about a hapless new hire and their dramatic manager in corporate hell is certainly a topic close to home lolol

[acourtofthought]

Yes, Az did say Elain should not apologize, that he should be the one....then trailed off and did not apologize and hadn't bothered in the months that followed. So again, he is the one who called her a mistake than failed to ever make amends. If a guy in real life did that to your friend I'm fairly sure you'd call him an asshole.

Elain wanted to kiss Az and Az wanted to kiss Elain but the thing is, we don't know Elain's reasons so how can we place blame on her without her thoughts? But we did have Az's thoughts and it's clear his interest in hooking up with Elain was not for the right reasons. Is being jealous over not getting a mate a good reason to want to make out with her? Is the fact that she's the third sister a valid reason to think she should have been his mate? Is him thinking Lucien doesn't deserve her when he himself doesn't even want a future with her something to be applauded? That he didn't even feel remorseful over the danger his actions could have brought onto their world when confronted by Rhys? Az was 100% a hothead in that scene and it is valid for readers to call him out for that. Just like his starting physical fights in important meetings, pouting anytime Mor does something he doesn't like and his refusing to respect Feyre's High Lady command and instead turning to Rhys for confirmation as to whether he needed to listen to her is a valid reason to find his behaviors off-putting.

Did I ever say Az is a horrible person who deserves to be miserable? No, so don't put words in my mouth. I know he's getting a HEA and I know he's not a truly bad guy. All I've done is said that I am not a fan of how Az behaves right now. That I find his actions towards both Elain and Lucien problematic. I've also previously pointed out how Elain has never pushed to get to know Az either so I don't feel she's any more suited to him than he her but the original post said nothing of Elain. This was a Lucien vs Az situation and Lucien is being loyal to Elain whereas Az is currently loyal to no one female. Also Lucien is doing nothing of consequence to Az whereas Az is showing a lack of respect for Lucien (arrogantly saying he'd easily defeat him in a blood duel and that Lucien doesn't deserve Elain) so it's valid to point out that Az has extremely one sided beef with Lucien for no reason at all. He also has beef with Helion for no reason, hates all the Illyrian men and I've never seen him interact positively with any male outside the NC. I'm unsure where this idea that Az is a gentlemen comes from when gentlemen are respectful to men and women alike and are often non threatening, they don't stand about brooding and radiating aggression. You can love Az's character regardless but he's not a cuddly little kitten especially when Sarah herself said she'd be scared of him and she wrote Rhys saying Az at times scared the shit out of him too. He has issues, lol, Sarah has not make them difficult to spot and just because he's kind to women that does not make up the sum total of his personality.

Also, I have not seen a single person condemn Az for sleeping around, for taking his many lovers in secret. We're not talking about random faceless people here, we're talking about his actions with Elain - Rhys's sister in-law while he's supposedly in love with Rhys's cousin while also being unnecessarily bitter towards Lucien. There are ramifications to his actions that would not be there for some no name person in a pleasure hall.

Nobody romanticizes Lucien hooking up with people in ACOTAR. They simply point out how the second he realized Elain was his mate, even before he truly got a good look at her, the thought of any other female held zero appeal for him. Had Lucien continued hooking up with others and wanting to go down on others after finding out about Elain I guarantee his actions would be judged. Even with Elain's current "disinterest", people would not find it appealing if Lucien was still behaving like a rake. Lucien stans applaud his loyalty to Elain, not his past rakish ways.

This entire argument is WILD coming from the "we're not misogynists for not liking Elain!" crowd. The "we don't have to like every character in the series and it's our right to talk about Elain's flaws!" But the second anyone comments on Az's issues, the pitch forks come out.

And you claim you ignore posts you don't agree with (we all do) yet you continue reblogging my rebuttals so clearly you're no more innocent in this back and forth than I am. You are the one who tagged Lucien in your original reblog which accused Lucien stans of behavior that they deserve to counter argue whereas I have used the "Az critical" post each and every time.

i find it weird how lucien gets praised for being a rake from a certain group of people but when it comes to az, those same people call him a careless whore fuckboy