#and not made me have to feel this way about myself like I’m not good enough or something

[tfwbluu]

what do u think riki’s kinks are

KINKS

PAIRING — ni-ki + f!reader

WARNINGS — dom riki mostly, it’s just descriptive with some lines here and there, we’re talking about kinks so there’s that

WORDCOUNT — 0.8K

NOTE — i don’t want to be repeating myself from my previous works so let’s do with the ones i haven’t done yet. it’s ok if yall don’t agree with me, these are just my personal opinions !

Toys. He’d love the idea of teasing you with them, maybe fucking a dildo into you or pressing a vibrator against your clit until you were trembling. And if he caught you using them while he was gone? Oh, he’d make sure to turn it into some sort of punishment.

“C’mon, angel,” he taunted, his voice low and teasing as he pressed the vibrator against your clit just enough to make you squirm. His other hand worked the dildo in and out of you at a slow, deliberate pace. “You were fucking yourself on this earlier, couldn’t even wait for me. So now, this is all you get.”

Bondage. He’d definitely be the type to tie you up, relishing the control it gave him. Whether it was your hands bound behind your back or stretched upright, or your legs tied open to keep you completely exposed, he didn’t care as long as you couldn’t stop him from doing exactly what he wanted. He loved the sight of you spread out, helpless to his every touch, unable to hide from the pleasure he gave or the punishment he delivered.

“You’re sensitive?” he’d murmur, a sly grin spreading across his face as he pounded into you relentlessly. “I never imagined you’d be this sensitive, but I love it.”

Size kink. Have you seen his build? He’d absolutely use it to his advantage. His massive hands would engulf yours, his broad frame could easily cover you completely, and no matter your height or build, he’d always make you feel small. Especially when it came to the size of his cock—he’d relish the way it stretched you, the slight bulge it created against your stomach, or how easily he could manhandle you into positions you never thought possible. Greedy and insatiable, he’d do whatever it took to have you just the way he wanted.

“You’re so tiny beneath me, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hand drifted down, caressing the visible bulge in your stomach. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing, “taking my cock so perfectly.”

“Too much?” he’d tease, thrusting in slowly, his grin widening. “But I’m not even fully in yet. Just wrap your legs around me, angel. I know you can take all of me. Wanna be a good girl for me, right?”

Dacryphilia. He probably didn’t even realize it until he saw you like this—your lips stretched around his cock, tears and drool spilling down your face as you took him deeper. The sight drove him wild, something about you spurring him on, sending a rush of heat straight through him. He’d wipe away your tears with his thumb, the motion surprisingly tender, even as his hips kept moving, his voice low and strained.

“F-Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he’d groan, his head falling back for a moment before his eyes met yours again. “Feels so good, angel. You’re the only one who can make me feel like this, y’know?”

Choking. He loved using his big hands to grip your neck, especially when he was wearing rings. The cold metal pressing against your flushed skin made your head spin. His grip was firm, just enough to leave you breathless, or sometimes he’d use it to hold you up from behind.

Neck grabs, deep grunts, the desperate roll of his hips against yours. “You wanna cum, yeah? Then cum for me, baby,” he growled, his voice heavy with need.

“Haa, tired already?” he mocked, his tongue clicking in feigned disapproval. “Tsk, tsk, tsk... always leaving me to do all the work.” His hand tightened around your neck as he pulled you up, continuing to thrust into you without missing a beat.

Missionary. He’d absolutely thrive on seeing the raw effect he had on you. With his cock buried deep inside you, he’d watch every flicker of pleasure on your face, loving the way your lips parted for soft moans or how your body twitches when he teased your sensitive nipples.

“Look at me, pretty,” he’d murmur, his voice deep and commanding. “I wanna see how good I make you feel.”

Eye contact would be non-negotiable. He needed to see the way your gaze melted with desire, and if you wanted to cum, you’d have to look right at him.

“You’re close?” he’d ask, smirking as he slowed to a torturous pace, drawing a whine from you. You begged him, finally locking your eyes with his.

If you didn’t? He’d slow down, torturously edging you, leaving you trembling, desperate, and on the brink of tears. Only when you finally obeyed, locking your eyes with his, would he give in, pounding into you relentlessly until you were completely undone.

“Eyes open, sweetheart,” he cooed, his thrusts picking up again. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Gonna cum for me now, mhm?”

[little-mrs-morales]

Trash TV

Dieter Bravo x Personal Assistant Reader

The hotel room buzzed with an awkward quiet, broken only by the faint sounds of the city beyond the thick glass windows. Dieter Bravo sat slouched on the edge of the bed, his hoodie bunched around his hunched shoulders, the fabric stretched tight between his restless fingers. His usual dramatic bravado was gone, replaced by a kind of nervous vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. Maybe it was because he’d never stayed sober this long. Or maybe it was because he’d never been in a relationship that wasn’t driven by his money.

You sat across from him, legs tucked beneath you on the armchair, a hotel robe loosely draped over your frame. This was your first Christmas as not just his personal assistant but also *kind of* his girlfriend. You hadn’t put a label on your relationship, but he’d stayed sober for you and become surprisingly faithful. You never thought you’d see Dieter Bravo clueless about someone flirting with him—yet when the receptionist tried, he brushed her off, saying he couldn’t wait to see the gifts his lady got him. That’s what you were to him: his keeper, his lady, the one who sorted out his messes but also the one he knew he couldn’t survive without. He wanted you in every aspect of his life, even if it meant staying sober.  

It had been an easy night until now—room service, bad movies, and his running commentary punctuating every ridiculous scene with remarks about how he’d do better. But something had shifted—a shadow crossing his face during a rare quiet moment. And now you were here, trying to figure out what he’d never say aloud unless it forced its way out.

“I’m not lovable,” Dieter said suddenly, his voice heavy with self-hate. The words fell like stones into the quiet, echoing through you.

You blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice. “What?”

He didn’t look at you. Instead, he focused on the frayed edge of his hoodie, tugging at a loose thread. “I’m fun for a little while,” he said, the corner of his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. “But there’s too much under the surface. It’s more than anyone should have to deal with.” He let out a laugh that sounded painful. “I’m like trash TV—and that’s ironic because I’m a good actor—you watch it for a while, and it makes you feel better about how normal you are, but it gets annoying if it’s all you watch.”

You stared at him, his words hanging in the air like a unspoken truth. He wasn’t joking, not this time. The usual quips and distractions he threw up to keep everyone at arm’s length were gone, leaving only the jagged edges of his insecurities. He sat there, bracing himself for rejection, like he expected you to agree.

“You really believe that?” you asked, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

“I know it,” he shot back quickly, defensively. His hands stilled, and he finally looked up at you. His dark eyes were wide, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.

“I’ve been through this enough to know how it ends.”

“How does it end?” you pressed, leaning forward.

“With me fucking it up,” he said, his voice breaking just enough to betray him. “With you realizing I’m...” He exhaled sharply, dragging his hands through his unruly hair. “I don’t know. Too much? Too broken? Take your pick. It always happens eventually. And I’m gonna end up shattered, restless, and totally done with myself.”

The weight of his confession was suffocating, but not for the reasons he feared. It wasn’t disappointment or regret that sat heavy in your chest—it was the sheer force of wanting to prove him wrong. You stood, padding over to the bed and sitting down next to him. He tensed at first, but he didn’t pull away.

“Dieter,” you said, your voice steady. He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at you from the corner of his eye. “You’re not trash TV. You’re far from it.”

He scoffed, but you cut him off before he could deflect. “I’m serious. You’re messy, complicated, and frustrating as hell sometimes. But you’re also funny, smart, and... God, so kind when you let yourself be. You care more than you think you're allowed to, and it scares you.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. You took it as permission to keep going.

“You’re not some temporary distraction or someone to put up with. You’re just... you. And yeah, maybe you’re a lot, but I’d rather have all of you than none. You don’t have to be perfect to be worth loving.”

His breath hitched, and you swore you saw the faintest sheen of tears in his eyes. He dropped his gaze, his hands wringing together in his lap. “You don’t get it,” he muttered. “You don’t know everything yet. You know more than most, but there are still things…” He knocked on his head. “…things that would scare you away.”  

“Then let me see,” you said. “Stop deciding for me what I can handle. Give me the chance to decide for myself. And I’ll show you I can handle all of you.”  

He looked at you then, really looked at you, like he was searching for the catch, the lie, the flaw in your words. When he didn’t find it, his shoulders sagged, some of the tension bleeding out of him.

“You make it sound easy,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s not,” you admitted. “But nothing worth it ever is.”

Dieter let out a shaky laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re either insane or... I don’t know. Insane seems more likely.”  

“Probably,” you teased gently. “But that’s why we fit. We’re both insane. A good match, I’d call it.” You nudged his shoulder with yours. “You’re insane for putting up with me. For bringing me my pretty pickles when I’m on my period, or buying my crazy stationery when I’m in a creative mood.” 

He huffed a small laugh, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.  

You stayed close, giving him space to process in his own time. He didn’t say anything more, but the way he leaned into you spoke volumes. There was still a long way to go, but at least he wasn’t alone in it anymore.

He was quiet for a while, his breathing calming, his hand finally still in his lap. Then he shifted slightly, turning toward you. When his eyes met yours again, there was something different—a hint of determination under the vulnerability.

“You really think I’m worth it?” he asked, his voice low, almost fragile.

“I don’t think it,” you said softly. “I know it.”

His gaze flicked to your lips for a brief second before returning to your eyes, as if asking for permission. You didn’t hesitate, leaning forward to close the space between you. The kiss started gently, his lips soft and unsure against yours, but soon deepened, filled with a raw desperation and quiet gratitude. His hands cupped your face, trembling but steady, as if afraid to let go. You had shared countless kisses before, but this one felt different—more real, more alive.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the space between you. Dieter’s eyes were glossy, his expression unreadable for a beat before he whispered, “I think I love you.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and unpolished, but it was everything.

You smiled, your hands resting on his wrists. “Good,” you murmured. “Because I love you too.”

A shaky laugh escaped him, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, his face buried in the crook of your neck. For the first time, it felt like he wasn’t holding anything back. And for the first time, you knew he believed he didn’t have to.

Writing Prompt #2916

"I'm not lovable. Not in the long term. I know that."

"What?"

"I'm fun for a little bit, but there's too much when you dig down. It's more than anyone else should have to handle. I'm like trash TV—you put it on for a little bit and it makes you feel better about how normal you seem but grating if it's all you watch."

[l-starsz]

a/n: i know christmas was yesterday and this is probably a very silly little fic but oh well🙂

christmas day. i woke up excited. i was spending the day with my family, and billie had left me some presents to open. i was most excited to give my family their presents and to open my presents, especially the ones from my girlfriend. we spent the morning opening presents and just spending time together.

billie got me the most beautiful presents, i made sure that she didn’t get me loads or anything expensive because honestly the perfect christmas gift would’ve been just spending the day with her and the people i love. i wanted to get her presents though, and she argued that if i was getting her presents then she should be allowed to get me some.

we couldn’t spend christmas together since we were gonna be with our families all day. although i loved spending time with my family, i missed my girl. i wanted her there. i’d been so happy all day, but a tiny part of me just felt slight sadness because i missed her. and that feeling started growing larger as the day went on.

after a long day, i was sat in a quiet area on my own, i was exhausted, and a wave of sadness washed over me. why did i feel like this? i’d had such a good day and i still felt sad. i was surrounded by so many people who loved me, yet i still felt so lonely. i stayed there thinking about my feelings for a little while before i couldn’t take it any longer.

i quickly walked out of the room, rushing upstairs to the bathroom and letting small tears run down my cheeks. my makeup was getting ruined. how did i feel so sad on such a good day? why? i just let the tears run down my face until i was sobbing. that was when i decided i needed her. i’d needed her all day, but i was at my breaking point. i couldn’t take the feeling any longer.

i opened my phone and went to billies contact as quick as i could. once my thumb was hovering over the call button, i hesitated. i didn’t want to ruin her day just because i was sad. what if i ended up ruining her whole christmas. i didn’t want to do that. but she told me to call her if i needed anything. i didn’t know if this counted. i didn’t want to disturb her time with her family.

i sat there for almost 10 minutes trying to make up my mind, but in the end i called. i couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever, and i couldn’t show my face while i was crying, the only way to help was to talk to her. small sobs left my mouth as the phone rang. i didn’t think she’d answer since i knew she was busy. but after a few rings, i heard her voice down the phone.

“hey angel, how’s things going? you having a good day hm?” her voice was gentle and caring, which made me miss her more.

“billieee.” i cried out as i tried to calm myself down, fingers playing with the fabric of my shirt.

“oh baby, what happened? why are you crying?” she spoke even softer, trying to comfort me through the phone.

i took a deep breath in and managed to calm down a little as i spoke.

“i feel really lonely billie. and i don’t know why. i’m surrounded by people who love me yet i still feel so sad and lonely. i wish you were with me.” i sniffled.

i was starting to get calmer since i was hearing her voice and it felt like she was here. it felt like she was closer.

“if you need me to come and pick you up right now you know i will.”

“but i don’t wanna just randomly leave when i’m meant to be spending time with my family. and i don’t wanna disturb your day by being sad.” i mumbled.

obviously i wanted her to come and get me, but i felt guilty.

“you are not disturbing anything. you can’t help feeling sad. you didn’t choose to feel this way my love. i just want to be here to give you all my love and support. how about we change our plans a little, yeah?”

“thank you.” i whispered, my voice breaking again as i spoke, “and what do you mean? how?”

“do you think it’ll help if i come and pick you up a little later tonight? then people will be leaving and you’ve spent time with them, i’ve spent time with my family, and then you can come here and spend the rest of your night with me and my family. does that sound good?” she spoke calmly down the phone.

“are you sure bil? will your family mind? do you mind?” i didn’t even realise i was asking so many questions.

“i wouldn’t of said it if it was a problem baby. i promise you that we want you here. i’ve been missing you all day too and i’d love if you could come over.”

i thought about it for a minute and then happily accepted. how could i say no? we spoke for a few more minutes before ending the call. i looked in the mirror to clean my makeup up a little bit, making myself look presentable once again before going back to where everyone was.

we all spoke for a little bit before i quickly told my mum that billie would be picking me to soon. surprisingly, she said that was fine, and although it felt like i was waiting for years, she showed up soon enough. as soon as i opened the door, i practically jumped into her arms and buried my face in her neck. she spun me around and held me close, making me giggle.

she came in to speak to my family for a little bit, then we went outside to her car. once we were in, we just sat there for a minute.

“i’ve missed you so much billie.”

we hadn’t had much time to see eachother that week. going from seeing eachother everyday to barely for an hour a day was difficult. it was only for the week of christmas since things were so busy for both of us, but it was still difficult.

“i missed you way more angel.”

“that’s impossible.” i mumbled as she began driving us to her house.

once we got there, i greeted her family and then we went to her room for a little bit. we laid in bed together as i relaxed in her arms. my head was hiding in her neck. my hands were holding on tight to her shirt. we stayed like that for a few hours, talking the whole time. everything felt peaceful with her.

eventually, maggie walked in the room.

“hey do you girls wanna watch a movie with us?”

i looked up at billie, then at maggie and i nodded. obviously billie agreed too and we went downstairs. i had a blanket wrapped around my shoulders to keep me warm. we cuddled up in the corner of the sofa as the movie started. throughout the movie, everyone chatted a little quietly to eachother, and before i knew it i was fast asleep in billies arms whilst the movie was still playing. i didn’t feel so lonely now.

(unfortunately yes i did still feel incredibly lonely on christmas even though i was surrounded by people who love me so um yeah that’s what gave me the inspiration for this😶)

[illmasc]

mildly vulnerable/ooc post on main oooh watch out!

feeling weirdly like domming people lately. but i need practice, haha. slowly working it into my page—if you want it from me, you’ll have to tell me exactly what you want at first. i still need to build up my dom muscles.

i used to advertise myself as a switch on here but got tired of trying to dom because it felt like a lot of guesswork and i didn’t know if i was doing a good job

i think that’s the case with all doms, at least at first, though. as horny as i am, i’m also someone on the aro/ace spectrum, so i kind of have an interest in getting people off without necessarily getting off myself sometimes. not that domming isn’t hot—i like to be bossy ;) but i have a lot of ideals about not infringing on people’s free will/not being actually demanding that get in the way. i get confused.

lately particularly tboys (not all, there’s some variance, but particularly) have made me literally just want to top them so bad. i know sub and dom are not synonymous with bottom and top, but you all know what i mean. a feral state comes over me and i want to fuck them with my phantom limb dick. so. there’s that.

hope this drabble is helpful. don’t jump at the chance for this—i’ll probably get overwhelmed again lmao. but just a little signal out to everyone that i’m stepping into switchy territory again…

[evita-shelby]

Eternity

Eva Smith x Tommy Shelby

cw: death, ghosts, body possession, ritual, murder, drowning

@thegreatdragonfruta @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature @zablife @novashelby @hoodeddreams13 @call-sign-shark @peakyswritings @vivianleighwishesshewasme

She dies in his arms and yet the next morning he awakes to find her beside him.

“Did you think a physical death would kill our story, mi vida?” the witch asks as a cold hand cradled his cheek as she used to do when she was alive.

Same nightgown she wore to sleep, dark hair neatly braided and her chest rising and falling with every breath she took.

It is when Tommy reaches out to her thinking everything had been a terrible dream that he knows the woman in bed with him is merely a ghost of her. Blood trickles out of the slowly forming bullet wound that killed her and before he knows it, he is drenched in it.

He cannot move, he can only ask one thing: How?

“I’m a witch, darling, the veil between this world and the next is too weak to keep us apart.” She pins him like she was so fond of doing, kisses him and the mortal man relishes in the familiar taste of the woman he had been married to for four years.

The blood disappears, the wound as well as they give into their longing even if she’s only been dead for less than a week.

Tommy awakes alone, almost strangled by the nightgown she had left on the bed the night she died and with a hangover from hell.

And yet, the moment the whiskey touches his tongue she appears on his desk, sitting cross-legged in her favorite winter outfit as if she’d never left.

“Are you going to be doing this every time I drink?” he asks the ghost who only smiles.

“Did you say something, Tommy?” Lizzie asks from the other side of the library, having come to help put Eva’s affairs in order. They had been good friends, worked well together and now Elizabeth Stark was here to make sure the transition of Eva’s charities and other shit went as smooth as the dead woman haunting him would have demanded.

“Just talking to myself.” He lies because he doesn’t want to end up leaving poor Charlie without a father too.

“Good boy.” The witch whispers as if Lizzie could hear her.

Before he knows it, Shelby is waiting to be alone so he can see what summons his dead wife to stave off the loneliness she left in her wake.

He drinks with the Russians, and she’s there bored out of her mind in a fine black dress he liked ---because of how her tits looked in it--- telling him every dirty secret those sick fucks have as he pretends to give a shit beyond getting the job done. He hunts down a stag with his brothers to say goodbye to their undeserving father and she’s there right beside him complaining about the weather.

He gets drunk enough to fuck the Duchess and it’s his wife possessing the woman whom he fucks that night. Then it happens again when the dead woman convinces him to try and see if it works with Lizzie too.

Tommy doesn’t know what will happen to him if she ever leaves for good. Already he feels the ache for her when he wakes up to find its some other woman in his bed and not her.

Then Hughes leaves him at death’s door on Good Friday. Those hours or days he was under the heavy drugs had him live out a fantasy with her. In that dream world she was alive, the baby they’d only learned about the week before was a beautiful little girl with his blue eye and her brown one, and then they were on the beach they made love in during their honeymoon when the bubble bursts and he’s taken back to the land of the living.

He wakes up with her telling him his time will not come because she won’t ever let him die without keeping his promise.

“I cannot leave until you join me, mi amor. And I won’t let you leave until Charlie is old enough to make his own way in the world.” She plucks the cigarette from his hand and smokes it herself craving a taste of the world she left behind. “He needs you now more than ever.”

“But I need you, love, I can’t go on without you.” He pleads with the ghost as the laudanum bottle shakes in his hand.

Mary, the housekeeper, had no idea what she was encouraging by telling him to take his medication. She thinks it calms him because he’s too drugged to be reminded he lives in hell with paradise just within reach.

“I will leave if you take your life, Thomas Shelby.” Eva gives him no choice, takes the bottle in his hand and spills the liquid down the sink for him. “I would never forgive you if you left Charlie without a father.”

And because nothing terrifies him more than her leaving, he agrees to keep on living. Even after his family deserts him thinking he was the one who allowed Section D to imprison and sentence him to death, even after John dies on Christmas Day and death feels more inviting than ever.

He reads all Eva has to offer about magic, every book, scroll, and even her journal of what happened to her that night in the desert. He has a witch’s blood, a lineage stretching as far back as Eva’s and eventually he finds it.

If he cannot join Eva in death, then he will make her join him in life.

He killed her and now he resurrects her.

Thomas Shelby never liked magic, but his mother had the gift to bridge the living with the dead and now her cursed blood allowed him to do something even Eva had believed was impossible.

He just needs a body.

“I want to show you something.” Tommy feels guilt gnaw at him as he convinces Lizzie ---whose only crime was to love him and him not loving her back--- to join him on a walk.

He will pay for this and how he used her to be with Eva, but she would understand if she had ever loved someone like he loves his wife. Love like theirs was made to last eternity.

Lizzie only has vague memories of what happens when they fuck. As far as she knows, Tommy is fucking her and not the ghost of his wife possessing her for a fleeting moment. As far as she knows, those sweet nothings and words of love are to her and not the dead woman grasping at those tiny threads keeping her here.

And now she is the sacrificial lamb he is to sacrifice to his eternal love.

Lizzie will die and Eva will live.

The skin must not be broken, no injuries, no blood lost in the ritual or else their will only be a second death.

“Tommy! Please!” those are the last things Elizabeth Stark said before he drowns her in the same canal his mother killed herself in.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie, but I must do this.” Tommy has never killed a woman, and his hands do not stop shaking as he pulled the lifeless body out of the dirty water and into the hex he made exactly as the old scroll he’d paid a fortune for told him to.

The hex was filled with Eva’s most prized possessions, the lock of hair he took for the mourning ring he wore, the photograph of them and Charlie and, most importantly, her wedding ring.

He recites the incantation with shaky hands and tells himself this is for the greater good. Eva needs to live to raise Charlie, to have the three more children in their vision, to keep his family from dying by Luca’s hand.

The gangster and amateur witch isn’t sure it works until the dead woman begins to wake up retching all the canal water she had swallowed as she drowned. Lizzie’s eyes are no longer blue, they are brown, the same shade of brown as Eva’s had been.

After all it is not Elizabeth Stark who inhabits the body, it is Eva Shelby, the Wicked Witch of Warwickshire.

The dead woman is afraid to ask what dark magic he used to transfer her soul into this now empty vessel, but the moment she can gain control of her new limbs she throws herself at him laughing at having a second chance at life.

“You said I was not to join you, but you never said I couldn’t make you join me.” he kissed her forehead, her hands and left her lips for last. “Did you think a physical death would kill our story, my life?”

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

You know what. I’m calling myself out here. I got to thinking about it and I’m going to walk this back.

Flemythal is the embodiment of Mythal’s wrath and vengeance, if I’ve understood correctly. The piece of her that could be ruthless and cruel. But Flemmeth looks like, well, Flemmeth. Her voice is her own. Her body is her own. The fact that she leans into this side of Mythal speaks to her own disposition.

The form we see as being Mythal is what she looked like. She was a spirit of benevolence. She was called the All-Mother. Those are soft things. Gentle things. And in whatever way (I personally think as a son to a mother but whatever) Solas loved her, it was that face and voice that drew him from the Fade. The gentle, beautiful, soft spoken person who told him she loved him and that they were dearest friends and “oh no this mark doesn’t brand you as a slave, my dear friend, just every single other person who wears it, I promise” and he believed her.

And he obeyed her wishes.

This is the person who turned away from him and joined the Evanuris despite Solas’ begging, building a home for her, trusting her. She’s the one he grieved and tried to avenge.

The powerful dominating presence was absolutely there but it was tempered by the other parts of her. Wielded with soft words and a gentle face.

My comment about “he’s afraid of YOU?!” is one made by a person just seeing a picture. Solas had thousands of years to know her. This is the woman who, and I quote: “Pulled you from the Fade you loved and sent you into war. I used your wisdom as a weapon and it broke you.”

She stole him from his home.

- It’s fine, I love you, you’re going to love it. I need you.

She threw him into war. War. War is hell is a saying for a reason. It is. Now imagine centuries of it. Solas went from existing happily in the Fade to WAR. The worst experiences a person can live through, he went right into as a new, spirit-born elf. I can’t even imagine.

- You’re helping me, you’re doing the right thing, you’re making a difference, Wisdom. Wear my brand. Yes it’s usually for slaves but… just do it. For me. You know I love you, right?

She twisted his purpose from Wisdom to Destruction. If you’ve played his personal quest in Inquisition, you know how horrible this is for a spirit. It’s torture. It’s torment. It’s enough for them to wish to die.

- But it’s so necessary, love. We have to win this, or it’s all ruin. Make me a weapon for my war. Serve me and know I love you. You’re fine. Enjoy yourself. Don’t you like the power? Don’t you like how strong you feel, Pride? I brought you here. I’m why you have it! I made you.

So when we come to the end and he’s cowering before her as if she’s about to do it all again, and she just “oh, I broke you… you’re free. We both did so many bad things together because you did everything I required because you loved me… you can stop now, I guess :)” I have to feel like Morrigan was just staring holes in the woman’s back and yanked her back into that idol as quickly as she could. You abused me the same way you did him and now that he’s good and crushed by the final realization that all this suffering was for nothing because you were too stupid to listen TO THE VOICE YOU PULLED FROM THE FADE BECAUSE HE IS WISDOM EMBODIED and got yourself killed, you won’t be touching him again.

Let this poor man go home and take his wife, thank whatever gods there be for her, and leave them alone. Oh and you know what super funny? They’re still going to be cleaning up your mess there too.

I completely understand why every analysis about Mythal in DA:TV is so intense, whether pointing to her as an abuser towards Solas, or whether saying they should share responsibility for all the shit they did, but in truth, the only thing that makes me hate her most is her character visual design.

too Barbie'd for me. Ghilly steals her lunch at school

this woman though. "and I will have her avenged" in Kate Mulgrew's voice. we are in awe when we see her. we fear her.

it is said that Flemeth's fragment has been improving over the years. clearly this has also occurred in the aesthetics. girl, it's called fashion

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬

★ synopsis: you're not just friends, but you're not more than that either. he's the epitome of unreadable and unavailable, leaving you confused, hurt, and lost.

★ character: xavier

★ cw: first person pov, really angsty, like REALLY angsty (i chose violence my bad), college au, situationship plot

★ word count: 4.3k

★ a/n: before i say anything im so sorry. like i was not expecting it to be this angsty but then it was and...well i couldn't stop it. i will for sure write a happy ending for this if someone would like that!! i think xavier would be a situationship final boss cause bro cannot manage his feelings. also can you tell i really like college au's... anyways, enjoy!!

His hands rest on the curve of my waist, firm and possessive, as if his fingers might weave through my ribs and anchor themselves there. His touch lingers with a quiet desperation, a reminder of everything we’ve shared. Once you’ve seen so much of someone, their fears, their desires, the way their eyes light up in the smallest moments���walking away feels like tearing apart something sacred, like committing a sin against the universe itself.

I stare at his sleeping face. I could protect him, my heart a sanctuary warm enough for him to find peace. He’d never have to wander again, never ever need to leave. The softness of his skin could soothe the ache buried deep within me, erasing the sickness with a quiet, tender touch.

He has my heart trapped like a bird.

Part of me wonders if he knows how he’s holding me, if he finds comfort within his slumber and dreams with my body pressed against his. Or if he’ll stir and realize, turning away and leaving me to stare at the muscles in his back that flex as he sleeps.

I trace circles onto his bicep, like the circles he runs around us.

I had met Xavier a little over a year ago, he was a friend of a friend, and we met at a small house party that a few mutuals of ours had thrown. He was like a star, shining so brightly in the room it drowned out everyone else. He was standing in a corner talking to Jeremiah, a good friend of mine that I shared some classes with. The way Xavier shyly smiled at me when Jeremiah introduced us made my heart feel like King Arthur’s sword, and someone had finally managed to capture it.

We talked the rest of the night, never leaving that spot in the corner. I paid no mind to anyone else I knew in that house, all that mattered was the beautiful cosmic boy I was encountering.

He found me again in the library a few weeks later, lightly tapping my shoulder and asking if he could study with me. Xavier was an astronomy major, ever so fitting for the star-boy who sparkled like constellations no matter where he went. The way his face lit up when asked about space was a vision I wanted to replay behind my eyelids every time I slept.

Xavier quickly became one of my best friends, and every second I spent with him was a second closer to my demise.

With him, I had tunnel vision. It didn’t matter how many guys my friends tried to set me up with, none of them were Xavier.

He was all I ever wanted.

I had never wanted anything as bad as I wanted Xavier. In my eyes he hung the moon and the stars. My love for him was an insatiable hunger that only he could cure; if he was Hades I would’ve taken that pomegranate from his tree, sacrificing my life to spend the rest of my time in hell just so I could spend eternity with him. I’d put myself on display for him so he can play God on judgement day, I’d let him carve his name into me so I’d remember what to say, I’d do anything he asked.

He’s the serpent and I’m Eve.

Xavier was hard to read, it was like trying to understand the plot of a book in pig latin. One moment he’s sitting so close to me I can smell his shampoo, looking me in my eyes and smiling so widely I thought his cheeks would hurt, as he twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. He’ll cut me off mid sentence and tell me I look beautiful, and watch me as if I’m a movie he’s been waiting years to see.

The next moment? I don’t see him for days; I don’t get texts, no photos and complaints about his astronomy homework, no little alien gifs, no hellos or goodbyes. He disappears without a trace, and the only proof I have that he ever existed is the ache in my heart when I realize he’s pulling away again.

I’ve never gotten anything I’ve ever wanted, but once, I got close. Xavier had showed up at my dorm on a storming Saturday night at 1 AM like a sopping wet dog in the hallway, his first appearance in a week. Slurring his speech, blubbering about how Jeremiah and their friends dragged him out to the bars.

“M’sorry I just showed up, I wanted to see you…Just see you…”

Drunk off his ass, the pity for him overcame my anger. I gave him a change of his own clothes, hoodies and sweatpants I had borrowed and never gave back, the only pieces I had of him when he would turn into a ghost again.

Xavier watched me as I maneuvered around the room, grabbing him a glass of water, his eyes bleary and lips mumbling breathless words I couldn’t catch.

“Hey.”

I turned to look at him, his cheeks and ears red from the alcohol. He was sprawled out on my bed shirtless after refusing the hoodie, declaring the room was too hot. Xavier gestured for me to come closer, and as I approached the bed, he yanked my wrist down causing me to collapse onto his bare chest. His half-lidded eyes scanned my face, hand snaking up my waist.

“Is this okay?” He said through breathless kisses on my shoulder. Holding my body very still, I thought if I moved I may wake up.

“Xavier, you’re drunk.” I whispered, my words betraying my thoughts. He stilled, and I internally punched myself. Pulling back far enough I could see his eyes again, he smiled and placed a kiss on my palm. I couldn’t help but smile back, as my heart lurched out of my chest and into his hands for good. Xavier slowly and awkwardly flipped me onto my back, stumbling a bit through his inebriation. He mumbled words of adoration, planting kisses that burned like the fire of a star all over my face and skin.

“Perfect… So perfect… You’re like Venus, so full of love… Beautiful girl…”

Xavier kissed me like I was broken and he was thread, trying to sew me back together. The moment was holy, his heart singing to mine like a psalm. I memorized the movement of his lips against mine, cherishing the taste of cheap beer on his tongue.

“I love you.”

He fell asleep next to me, as I stayed awake staring at the ceiling, wondering what this meant for us.

Nothing, I suppose.

Xavier never mentioned it, and I never felt the courage to bring it up. It was only a fleeting moment, but it stuck with me like a plague, hanging over my head. It left the soft moments with him more confusing, the compliments more intimate, the feelings more frustrating.

I stare at him asleep holding me, face gentle through dreams, and I want to cry. Falling asleep next to me was nothing new, crashing in my dorm after movie nights or study dates. ‘No it’s okay, don’t sleep on the floor. We can just share the bed.’

I am a ticking time bomb, and I’m going to explode.

My heart is trapped like a bird.

-

“Honestly, I really think you should just confront him,” Tara flips through the pages of her textbook, “it’s not getting you anywhere not knowing what he thinks.”

I throw my face in my hands, letting out a groan and tangling my fingers in my hair, “It’s not that easy. What am I gonna say? ‘Hey, we kissed once so what are we?’ Do you know how crazy that sounds!”

“You forgot the part, ‘you also spend the night in my bed a lot’ or, ‘you told me you loved me’.”

“Friends do and say stuff like that all the time!” Shuddering at the thought of rejection, I hold up a finger to silence Tara, “Plus I’m not sure I even want to know. I think staying in the dark is better for everyone.”

She rolls her eyes, slamming the textbook closed, “Right. Okay, fine, that’s fine. Just quit complaining, I’m gonna tear my hair out.” Walking over, she places a kiss to the top of my head, “You know I love you, but I’m gonna kill both of you if I have to hear about it one more time.”

Tara leaves for class, and I’m left alone in the library with my thoughts and an exam to study for. I feel the pads of Xavier’s fingertips against my skin leftover from last night, and the feeling of emptiness when I woke up and he was gone. No text saying he had left for class, just radio silence and his body imprinted in my sheets. It’s moments like this, when I’m convinced I’ve got him right outside my grasp, he’d fall back out of reach.

I’m about to put on my headphones and tune the world out, when I hear a man's voice.

“Are you studying for the exam?”

I look up, and I see the boy who sits next to me in my stats class, Rafayel. His hair is a mess, and his black sweater has a few paint stains on them. I assume he’s just come from the studio, as his satchel is hanging loosely over his shoulder, his portfolio book sticking out. Rafayel’s an art major and never fails to complain the whole time about how the class is required for him, but he’s ‘never even gonna use this stuff’.

I huff, staring at my laptop screen, “Yeah, trying to at least.”

Rafayel slips into the seat Tara was just in, throwing his satchel on the floor beside him, “Oh good, you can help me then!”

I'm grateful for the distraction, as Rafayel is a sweet guy and a good break from the chronic thoughts of Xavier. His glances at me in class while I try to work on a concept with him don’t go unnoticed, or the way he doodles me on the corner of his paper, flashing me a grin when I point to the drawings. He would be so perfect, the artsy goof who showers me in attention, clingy, comedic and kind;

But he’s not Xavier.

“How am I supposed to help you with this if you’re busy drawing?” I tap his sketchbook with my pen. Rafayel looks up from his work with a frown, “I’m getting bored!”

He snatches my pen from my hand to stop my tapping, “Hey, why don’t we go to the cafe for a quick break? My brain could use it.”

“You’ve been studying for fifteen minutes.”

“So? You’re supposed to take breaks after twenty minutes, it’s been like, scientifically proven or whatever.”

He stares at me with a big smile, and I know I can’t say no to him. Literally, I wouldn’t be allowed.

When we got to the cafe, the place was packed and I internally groaned. Looking around the bustling coffee shop, it was uncomfortable just how busy it was. Waiting in line practically squished next to Rafayel, I rested my head on his shoulder as I had done many times in class before. He draped his arm around my shoulder, going on about how one of his professors gave him a bad grade on a painting because he used the wrong shade of blue. I thought about how nice it would be to stand like this with Xavier, but I never felt as if I could get close enough to try.

Trying to shake off the thoughts about him, I thought about Rafayel’s arm around me. The way his finger would poke my shoulder as he talked to put emphasis on his words, or the way his bicep flexed on the back of my neck as he moved. It was comforting in a way, secure. It was protective. Safe.

“Oh my God, I hate that dude.” Rafayel scoffs, looking at a table in the corner. Following his eyes, I caught a glimpse of tousled platinum hair. Meeting his blue eyes, my breath hitched in my chest, body freezing against Rafayel. I couldn’t read a single ounce of emotion on his face, just feeling his stare bore into me.

My first instinct wanted to rip away from Rafayel, let Xavier know I was still his. Yet-

I’m not. I’m not his, and he’s not mine.

I remember the feeling of defeat this morning when I woke up, body tired from staying up and watching the rise and fall of his chest, mind exhausted from the push and pull, chasing after him and never quite catching up.

Leaning farther into the boy beside me, I look away from Xavier and look up at Rafayel.

After all, the key to moving on is finding someone new.

“Which one?” I ask him, not sure if he’s referring to anyone else at that table. It was a group of Xaviers friends, people I had met briefly.

“The blonde one, he’s in one of my gen ed classes and he’s a total prick.” Rafayel stares back at Xavier, and I try to avoid his piercing eyes, focusing on picking at a piece of lint on Rafayels sweater.

“Oh, yeah. I know him.” I don’t want him to be introduced to that part of my world. Rafayel is pure, untainted by the chaos. I didn’t want to drag him into the hurricane.

-

After that, I didn’t hear from Xavier for a while. Though his silence wasn’t uncommon, I couldn’t help but think this time it may have been provoked by the moment in the cafe. I saw him around campus a few times, in his usual spots, but when he’d notice me he’d just look away.

Saying it hurt would be an understatement.

I started seeing Rafayel more to fill the void that Xavier was leaving behind. Every tear Xavier had ripped into my heart and soul, Rafayel was taking bandaids and patching them up. While it was nice, it wasn’t a permanent solution to the wounds.

I felt guilty, like I was using him, doing the same thing to Rafayel that Xavier was doing to me. Though, despite whatever was happening, Rafayel was content. I don’t think he minded the situation I had imposed. From little dates to holding hands, to kisses on my cheek when he’d drop me off at my dorm, I was getting the attention I craved and Rafayel had someone to keep him company. It’s like we had this silent, mutual agreement that whatever was happening was okay, and this is all it had to be.

Rafayel never knew about Xavier, and I would never tell him.

The incident at the cafe was the first, but not the only time Xavier saw us together. Whether it was the library studying, or the student union building, Xavier would see us and almost always stare. Rafayel always had comments to make about it too, muttering things under his breath about him being a creepy stalker.

I was sitting on the floor of my dorm with Rafayel, scrolling aimlessly on my phone as he sketched the fake plants I had sitting on my desk. My phone started to blow up with everyone texting in our group chat, something about a party happening this weekend.

Tara: Please tell me you guys are gonna be there!

Jeremiah: i have to go, one of my friends is in the frat and he’ll kill me if i don’t

Tara: Okay that's 2 of us! Who else???

“Who’s texting you so much?” Rafayel says, clearly annoyed by my phone's insistent text tone going off.

“This group chat I’m in with my friends,” I sit my phone down, “there's a party this weekend and they’re trying to get everyone to go.”

“Are you going to?”

“I dunno, are you?”

Rafayel laughs, “You know better than anyone I couldn’t be caught dead at one of those.” He puts his sketchbook aside, grabbing my hand, “You should go though, you don’t really do much besides go to class and see me, and as much as I'm happy with the attention, this is a really sad look for you.”

I pull my hand away, offended, “I am not sad!”

“Then prove it, go to the party.”

“I’m pretty sure this is peer pressure, hazing even.”

“That’s most definitely not hazing.” Rafayel picks his sketchbook back up, going back to his drawing with a smug look on his face.

I text back in the groupchat, upset that I agree with Rafayel. Ever since I started hanging out with him and Xavier started giving me the full blown silent treatment, I haven’t really gone out much. I see Tara here and there for lunch or a quick study session, but it’s been a while since I’ve taken the time to do something fun.

Me: yea i’ll be there, lmk what time

Tara: OMG YAY!!!! I’ll send you the details

Xavier: I’ll see U guys there

Seeing Xavier text that he was going to be in attendance sent a lightning bolt of anxiety through my chest.

This was the longest we had gone without talking. Usually, his moments of silence only lasted a few weeks at most. With due time he’d come back with a post he sent or ask me to hang out, announcing his presence and waltzing back into my life; and I'd let him in.

Every. Single. Time.

The distance he created between us this time around made me anxious to face him the upcoming weekend. Would he say hi? Ask how I was? Would he look right through me like so many times before?

After Rafayel left, I sat in bed cocooned in one of Xavier's hoodies he had left behind, watching the stars through my window. I thought maybe, if I stared hard enough, they could make a constellation of his face.

-

Friday rolled around faster than I had hoped. Per Tara’s request, we showed up fashionably late, so the old beat up house was packed by the time we arrived. It was the first time in months I had put myself together, doing my hair and makeup. Taking a couple shots of whatever Tara had given me, I was feeling mildly prepared for the night ahead.

Walking in, my hand gripped hers tightly as she maneuvered gracefully through the crowd. Grabbing a drink from the makeshift bar, I cracked open the can and started chugging. I was going to need as much alcohol as I could to get me through this night. We found a couple girls that we knew, chatting loudly over the music, as I pounded back a few more drinks.

Before I knew it, the man I was dreading seeing the most appeared beside Tara with Jeremiah.

“Ladies!” Jeremiah shouted, wrapping his arms around Tara and I. Xavier’s eyes could have burned a hole through my skull with the intensity that he stared at me. Internally I was at war with myself, half wanting to shrink away because of how small his look made me feel, but also feeling powerful thanks to the liquor coursing through my veins and the hot outfit I had on.

One voice on my shoulder screamed, “Get out of here! Go home! Never show your face again!” While the other danced around, “You’re such a sexy bitch, show him what he’s missing!”

I chugged another drink.

“Wait- Tara, I want you to meet one of my friends, come with me.” Jeremiah gestured for Tara to follow him, and I flashed her a panicked look. She shrugged, squeezing my hand before following behind Jeremiah.

I stood alone with Xavier, the rest of the group disbursing where it just left us.

“I’m gonna get a drink, come on.”

I looked at him, “What?”

“I’m gonna go get a drink? Let's go.” He raised an eyebrow at me, like I asked a stupid question.

“Okay, but why do I have to come with you?”

“Because I’m not leaving you all by yourself-” Xavier pressed two fingers to his temple, “nevermind it’s fine I don’t need another one.”

“I was just asking-”

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He cut me off, his question catching me off guard.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you having trouble understanding tonight or something? How much have you had to drink?” His words were venom, and I was appalled. Not once had he ever spoken to me this way, not even in arguments.

“I just don’t know who you’re fucking talking about, my bad.” I spat back at him.

“The guy who’s always up your ass, where is he tonight?”

I laughed, shocked, “You mean Rafayel? He is not my boyfriend.” I wasn’t sure if it was the liquor or his jealousy, but his attitude was a loaded gun.

“Well I couldn’t tell, seeing as how you both practically eye fuck wherever you go.”

Stunned, my jaw dropped. His eyes softened, and I could tell he knew he hit a nerve. With the blaring music in my ears, and the alcohol coursing through my veins, I was suddenly convinced that if I didn’t get out of that house I was going to fall apart to pieces.

“I don’t have to take this.” I shoved past him, pushing my way through the crowd and out the front door, until the cold air hit my face.

Xavier called out my name from behind, but I continued walking down the sidewalk. I wanted to be so far from that party, from him, that I thought I may just walk back to my hometown and away from this stupid place; to somewhere he didn’t exist anymore.

Calling my name again, he caught up, grabbing me by my shoulder. His face was switching through emotions every second, and I was getting whiplash.

“What the hell is your problem!” I shouted at him, tears threatening to spill, welling up in the corner of my eyes.

“Hey, wait-” His hand that was on my shoulder went to my cheek, and I jerked away.

“No, you don’t get to do that anymore, we’re done playing that game. I give up!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You- This, us! You kiss me, you tell me I’m beautiful, you tell me you love me, you sleep in my bed and I’m in your arms, then you don’t text me for weeks! You don’t acknowledge anything you do, and I don’t know what any of it means,” I don’t realize I’m crying until I taste the salt in my mouth, “You’re so confusing and I don’t know what’s happening, and it hurts so fucking bad and you don’t even care.”

Xavier stands there dumbfounded, my vision blurry and spinning. I think I might throw up, and I’m not sure if it’s from the situation or the liquor.

“Then you have the audacity to be mean to me over some guy that I’m friends with,” I start to sob, my voice becoming weak and small, “you don’t get to do that, you have no right.”

He doesn’t move, and I stop talking. The only sound between us is my quiet crying and hiccups, mixed with the faint music from the party down the block. He says my name, and I barely hear it over the roar of my own ears.

“You’re my best friend…” He whispers.

The words cut through me like a knife, and I think if I look down I’ll see I’ve been gutted. If you could die from a broken heart, I’d already be six feet under. I swallow thickly, and nod. His words were enough, it told me everything I needed to know.

“Can I walk you home?” He asks.

I shake my head.

I started walking down the sidewalk.

He didn't follow.

When he was out of sight, I sat down on the curb and broke down again. Everything I had felt over the past year of knowing him came out at once, my body ejecting all of it. I cursed him, his name, his future wife and family. I prayed that he was destined to stay up at night, regretting that the woman asleep next to him isn’t me. Distraught, because I believe I myself am cursed to love him forever.

I called Rafayel, and asked him to pick me up. I threw up in someone's yard before he did, and when I finally got back home I closed my curtains and locked my window, hiding under my blankets; convinced the stars in the sky were out to get me. I never wanted to see them again, I’d avoid going outside at night for eternity if it meant I never had to face a reminder of him and his devastating beauty.

The next morning, I blocked him.

Well, I blocked him on all social media, even the ones we didn’t use; but I didn’t block his number. For emergency purposes, I thought.

Or I guess for the slim chance he came back; haunted by regret, choking on apologies, and falling to his knees to plead for forgiveness. I told my friends I was finished with him, swore it with conviction, but I’m starting to think those words were as empty as his own promises.

I won't text him first, I’ll just wait.

I’d wait until he misses my laugh, the sound of my voice, or the songs I’d sing to him as he fell asleep, my fingers through his hair.

I won’t text him, but I won’t shut him out entirely. I’ll close the door behind me, but I won’t lock it, not completely. I won’t hand him the key, but maybe I’ll leave behind a clue, something subtle, something only he’d recognize. Just in case he decides to come back, he’ll know where to start searching, know there’s still a way in, even if I pretend there isn’t.

I’d keep the house behind the door clean, buy a welcome mat, and even build a porch.

Just in case;

But he never called.

(divider by cafekitsune)

[the-tmnt-ficfinder]

Christmas Kindness Letter: (hope I'm doing this right)

To Dandylovesturtles,

Where do I start? I have so much I could praise you on. I have read pretty much all of your Rise fics, and you’ve written several favourites that I continue to return to. I particularly love Sharing Ice Cream, and Other Dad Things, Tapping Out, and I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good— God, I could praise that last one ALL. FREAKING. DAY. I’ve read through the whole thing… what, twice? But have also come back to read particular parts and scenes. I was absolutely blown away by it. I laughed, I almost cried, and I felt so much on the first read and the re-read, and I WILL be reading Leo’s journey again— it’s so funny, how Donnie is also your favourite and you targeted Leo. Judging by the existence of Say Something True and Emotional Support Water Bottles (hilarious name, by the way), you seem to like going after Leo quite a bit (I did also read Corrupted Upgrade, so I did not forget about that one, either, another great fic!)

I won’t lie. To me, I May Be Invisible is the unofficial sequel to the Rise movie— with it calling back to lessons that should be learned (particularly the “next time you think of doing something dangerous, stop and look for us first”), how the fan-created lore fits in perfectly with what’s already canon, and how you write the characters— which I CANNOT praise enough. It feels like you yoinked them straight out of the show. It’s absolutely incredible, how intimately you seem to understand them, and how you captured their voices so perfectly. I hope to one day have that ability myself.

But so they aren’t left out, a few words on the the other fics I mentioned! Sharing Ice Cream is such a cute little story that honestly tackles Donnie’s insecurities so well— and I LOVE how you wrote Splinter. He felt so in-character, and I HEARD his voice in some of the lines you wrote (especially with him talking to the door, that was amazing!). It’s so sweet!

Tapping Out? That’s definitely influenced how I view Donnie and Leo’s relationship— especially the part about them being equals. Neither is older or younger. They’re just brothers, and that’s all. The point of twins are for them to be the same age. Not to mention, their SYSTEM is SO SWEET. It’s cute how it was created for Donnie, probably because of his disability, but eventually came in clutch for Leo, too!

And Corrupted Upgrade, since I brought that up? The first part HURTS bad (that was the first fic I read where the brothers were actually cruel to each other, and it made me realise just how important their love for each other is to me) Donnie makes an excellent super villain, in that. I’d say he enjoys it too much, but it’s all an attempt to get his family’s attention and make him miss him. Which is sad… anger born of pain— an interesting route, too, since it’s probably super easy (and tempting) to write him spiraling emotionally. An interesting twist on the story!

There’s a ton, ton more that I could say, but I don’t have the words (nor the patience) to type a college-worthy essay. I certainly hope you get the point, and I look forward to whatever you have in store for us, next! You are truly one of the greats, in my opinion. I wish to be like you, one day, in terms of ability.

I’m eager to see what you share next! Have a great Christmas (if you celebrate).

@dandylovesturtles

Christmas Kindness Event Post

[morningsharksworld]

Could you write some jealous hazard??🥺👉👈 I am indebted to you for this scrumptious hazard fics you got me kicking my feet and shit

Flames of Doubt

Hazard x Reader

A/N: AAAHHH SORRY IF THIS IS REALLY LATE I GOT TO MANY ASK AND IM TAKING MY TIME WITH EM, but for this one I’ve written some that deal with jealousy before…but now with some insecurities though 🫣

Summary: Hazard gets jealous…and thinks your better off with someone else :[

The soft hum of conversation filled the room as the party buzzed around you. Hazard stood near the edge of the crowd, his amber eyes tracking you like a hawk as you spoke animatedly with a group of friends. Your laughter carried over to him, light and carefree, but it was the way one particular person leaned in—their hand brushing your arm—that made his chest tighten.

I clenched his jaw, willing himself to stay where he was. Jealousy wasn’t something he often gave into, but tonight it burned bright, threatening to break through his usually stoic demeanor. He knew he had no reason to doubt you, yet the sight of someone else vying for your attention lit a fire in his veins he couldn’t ignore.

When you finally noticed him standing there, his tense posture and furrowed brow gave him away instantly. Excusing yourself from the group, you made your way over, concern flashing across your face.

“Hazard?” you asked, touching his arm lightly. “Are you okay?”

He hesitated, his gaze flicking over your shoulder toward the person who had been standing too close for his comfort. “Aye, I’m fine” he said, but his voice lacked its usual confidence.

You tilted your head, clearly unconvinced. “Come on” you said, tugging gently on his hand. “Let’s get some air.”

He followed you out onto the balcony, the cool night breeze a welcome relief from the heat simmering under his skin. The city stretched out below, a sea of lights and motion, but his focus remained solely on you.

“Alright” you said, crossing your arms as you faced him. “What’s going on? And don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s stupid” he muttered.

“Hazard.” Your tone was gentle but firm, coaxing him to meet your gaze.

“I didn’t like the way they were lookin’ at ye” he admitted finally, his accent thick with frustration. “Or the way they touched yer arm, like they had the right.”

Understanding dawned in your eyes, and you stepped closer, your hand resting over his. “Hey” you said softly. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m here with you, remember?”

“I know” he said, his voice low. “It’s just… I see someone else makin’ ye laugh, and I cannae help but think they’d be better for ye than me.”

“Hazard.” Your voice was firm now, pulling his attention fully to you. “That’s not true. I choose you, not them, not anyone else. You.”

He searched your eyes, the jealousy and doubt slowly giving way to relief as he saw the sincerity in your expression. “I don’t deserve ye sometimes” he murmured, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips.

“That’s not for you to decide” you said, lacing your fingers with his. “And for the record, no one else can make me laugh the way you do. Or make me feel the way you do.”

The corners of his mouth lifted, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. “Ye mean that?”

“Every word” you assured him.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, the warmth of his body grounding you both. “Thanks, love” he murmured against your hair. “I’ll try tae remember that next time.”

“Good” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “But for now, let’s go back inside. The sooner we’re out of here, the sooner I get you all to myself.”

Hazard chuckled, the sound low and reassuring. “Now that’s somethin’ I can get behind.”

With his arm securely around your shoulders, you walked back inside together, the earlier jealousy fading like smoke in the wind.

[pouletaulait]

If you say, you don't want to change my opinion, okay I'm gonna believe you, yet in your answer you said: "I feel quite powerless and unequipped to persuade those who already formed their opinion." Maybe you can see, how this statement might be interpreted differently? "Please, don’t take it personally. I am purely looking at the arguments in the debate, not at who made them."

I'm sorry but when sb is reacting to sb elses statements, their statements are usually understood to directly relate to their mutual conversation. I'm trying to express this in the most respectful way I can: If you want to make generalized statements which are not directly relating to what I've been saying I'd appreciate it if you made a separate post because, honestly, I'm a bit frustrated at this discussion because I really try to take your arguments into consideration but when you continue to keep making assumptions about my views and opinions and misconstruing them, you keep forcing me into a defensive position which I find quite unfair. In good faith, I take it that this was not your intention, therefore I'm still gonna address some of the things you mentioned: Yes, you're right, I focused on Yashiro and not on Doumeki in my arguments about consent. After all, Yashiro's consent is the point of contention here which is why I focused on his role in these scenes. You're insinuating that I'd be romanticizing Doumeki's intentions in these scene and I have to object to that vehemently, because I never have, nor would I ever do that. Doumeki should never have done what he did. His behaviour was very egoistic, I've never been making any arguments to the contrary. In relation to your remark about Doumeki's role in this: To be honest I'm a bit confused about why you deem certain aspects to be unfit when discussing the question of Yashiro's consent: "But when given arguments in favor of dismissing Yashiro’s right to object or arguments that shift the focus away from the simple topic of consent, then I have to ask myself why this is happening." But then you again you say that the focus should not lie on Yashiro alone but on Doumeki too: "I’m questioning the approach of analyzing in depth Yashiro and bringing all the attention to him instead of Doumeki in this case." Idk, maybe I'm misunderstanding you but either we're solely focusing on the question of consent on Yashiro's side or we are not. I fail to see how Doumeki's behaviour or intentions pertain to the question of Yashiro's consent. I'm sorry if I'm making an unfair assumption here but aren't you shifting the focus away from the simple topic of consent if you're asking me to look at Doumeki instead? I agree that Doumeki and his actions have a lot of issues, yet I struggle to understand how these issues, his intentions or his behaviour relate to the question of whether Yashiro gave consent or whether he did not. If you made these statement about anything outside of this specific question, like I've said, I find this unfair because you're simply commenting on my "supposed" opinions that you don't know nothing about because I didn't get to say anything about that topic in the first place, in other words; you're putting words in my mouth. In regards to the question of consent: I think I've already made my argument about this question clear: His consent is ambiguous imo and like I've said, I think that this observation very much matters to the understanding of the story and how my opinion does not relate to any real life issues in regards to consent. Again, if you see it differently, so be it, but honestly I disagree with your moralization of my interpretation: "Stigmatization of Yashiro’s sexual past is the same as victim blaming." First off, I don't understand why you're thinking that I'm stigmatizing Yashiro's sexual past. How so? I'm not judging him for his actions, nor am I judging the nature of his actions. If anything I'm pathologizing his sexual past and yes, absolutely I am, yet I fail to see how I'm victim blaming because of that. "Without the romantic lens on, sex isn’t more morally acceptable if it’s gentle and the parts involved love each other…"

Yes, it's not, yet, again, I fail to see how this relates to anything I've said. I'm not making any moral judgements about Yashiro's nor anybody else's sexual preferences. I was making the argument that Yashiro's sexual preferences seem to have been caused by his experiences with CSA and that he therefore had no free choice in regards to his sexual preferences. Like I've said I come to this conclusion because i.a. the question of Yashiro's actual sexual preferences keeps coming up in the manga. This conclusion is in no way judgemental or moralizing, it's purely an observation. That's how this story presents itself to me. Again, by saying this I'm not making any statements about people's sexual preferences in general, nor am I implying that other people's preferences are caused by any sort of trauma or the like. "If you think that he can’t control himself or doesn’t know what he wants when he wants to have sex (which is not the case in every example given in the story), then you must think that maybe Doumeki could have had better control of his own sexual desires and could have waited." I never said that Yashiro can't control himself and I didn't mean to imply that that he doesn't know what he wants per se. I made the argument that his sexual preferences are based on his coping mechanism and that they do not appear to be indicative of his actual preferences and wishes. What I am arguing is that there are sort of two different layers, if you will, to his desires: (1) The desire caused or necessitated by his trauma and (2) his underlying/actual preferences. Yes, I do think that Doumeki should have controlled his sexual urges and he definitely should've waited. "I look at the way Yoneda draws Yashiro after sex with Doumeki and he is always at a low point. To me, it seems that the point was to bring him to break, to experience a crisis. And I am having a hard time romanticizing it."

Yes, these are low points for Yashiro but I suppose that we have differing opinions on how so. Personally, I believe that his sexual encounters with Doumeki force him to face the truth about his sexual preferences (gentle vs. violent) and the fact that he feels incapable of change (accepting love and tenderness from Doumeki which seems to be what he longs for). I believe that Yashiro's thoughts at the end of chapter 57 demonstrate this: As always I'm full of contradictions. I blame him for being cruel. But the moment I'm being treated gently, I want to run away. In spite of all of that, I can't help myself – I get into it. Humans are creatures of change. But in my case, I'm just like unchanging lifestock. Completely incapable of growth. Again, this is purely my interpretation, you're free to have your own. Lastly: "In my analyses I will continue to be critical of things, and I can’t see that as a misuse of fiction. I am grateful that you took your time to read my arguments. This remains a place open to discussions as long as we are aware that romantic views about love and sex are not superior nor compulsory to read Saezuru." I never asked you to stop being critcial, quite the opposite and I didn't mean to imply that you can't read fiction any which way you want to. As far as I'm aware I didn't suggest that a romantic view about love and sex are in any way superior nor that a romantic view is compulsory to read Saezuru. I was simply making the argument that to me personally Saezuru appears to be a romance at its core, albeit with quite a few realistic elements that's not to say that others have to see it the same way. That's really all I have to say about this. Let me reiterate that I have no intention of persuading you of anything but I feel the need to clarify these aspects. I hope I didn't come off as too antagonistic because that's truly not my intention but I don't agree with sb making assumptions about my views and stating them as facts or putting words in my mouth. If you in turn feel misrepresented by anything I said, feel free to object or comment, otherwise I think this discussion is futile, to be honest because, like I've said from the beginning, when it comes to the question of Yashiro's consent, I can see where you're coming from and I accept your opinion but ultimately I believe it's important to recognize the ambiguity in his actions/words, more so than it is to commit oneself to a definite conclusion about whether Yashiro consented or whether he didn't. Like I've said before, I fail to see how an unambiguous answer to this question might matter to the understanding of the story in the first place. To me personally, the question of how this situation pertains to the question of consent in real life is secondary. That doesn't mean that I'm opposed to a discussion about it but I don't think that the two should be conflated either which, with all due respect, that is what I think you're doing when you're accusing me of victim blaming or any such things based on my views on this subject. Again, I'm not condoning Doumeki's actions at all but like I've stated above, I don't see how the nature of Doumeki's actions pertains to the question of Yashiro's consent in the first place. Apart from that thank you for this discussion, because it helped me to organize some of my thoughts in the process of putting them into words.

Following the discussion from here. Hoping you don’t mind if I make a new post so that the other one doesn’t become too heavy. I’m answering some lingering questions, but I am also saying that I won’t be dissuaded from treating this manga differently. As said recently*, Yoneda takes such care to give details and context to the story, that it is intriguing to look into things with analytical eyes and I can’t see the problem with it. For those who maybe feel like “the story isn’t that deep”, that is more offensive to the author tbh than to me or others in fandom who write commentaries. * @dragomfry said: “It makes our analyses of her work hold extra weight because there are things that she wants us to look for and derive meaning from (rather than us trying to derive meaning from nothing to begin with)”.

So to clear this first.

I can’t quite see why this story would be distorted into something it’s not intended to be if we approach it under a romantic lens.

I am not debating people for approaching the story romantically, but - because some troubling arguments were made about the recent poll - I will say this. Rape culture takes some arguments from romantic and patriarcal views to defend the aggressors and blame the victims instead: this isn’t romanticism’s fault, but the very fact should be at least taken into consideration. [More on this below**]. So several of the reflections I was writing about framing the manga as romance rather than literary realism were prompted by this issue. And reading your thoughts about the story, I can understand where we differ so much: and that is in how we view Doumeki especially, rather than the rest. Maybe you are not romanticizing Yashiro and his trauma, but you are especially romanticizing Doumeki. For example:

I allow myself to indulge in the romanticism of it all; both of them falling in love at first sight, depressed Yashiro finally finding someone who truly cares about him, Doumeki who doesn’t back down when Yashiro rejects him, Doumeki still having feelings for Yashiro even after he shot him in the leg and pretended not to remember him, etc. There’s so much in this story that’s blatantly romantic, almost corny.

There are many aspects of the manga that I do find realistic in it’s portrayal, such as the CSA, what I don’t find realistic, however, is the portrayal of love, the romance. I find it very idealised and romanticised for the most part (i.e the falling in love at first sight (I’ll get to that), Doumeki being Yashiro’s exact type, Doumeki happens to be impotent which allows Yashiro to develop feelings for him, the fact that Doumeki is completely accepting of everything Yashiro does regardless of how Yashiro treats him, the fact that Doumeki is still in love with Yashiro after he shot him the leg, maybe he even stayed in the Yakuza world just to be near him (although who knows why exactly he did that?) Idk maybe it’s just me but I find it very unrealistic. It’s this romantic idea of „there is this perfect person out there who accepts you just the way you are and you don’t have to do anything to keep them happy, you can even shoot them in the leg and they’ll still love you, they’ll stick around no matter what it takes to be with you“.

I can’t pick and choose what I want to romanticize or not, I have chosen to look at things differently, and I am keeping the same approach when looking at characterizarion. When I look at Doumeki, I see as many problems as those Yashiro has. He is the one depressed imo, at the beginning of the story, he is in much worse shape than Yashiro. Yashiro has a support network, Doumeki was isolated in prison and kept family away when he was released. Doumeki isn’t this strong and stoic person who is in love with Yashiro and is therefore shouldering a burden or enduring abuse in the name of love. I have been misunderstood before on this, but I want to say that I look at these characters without romanticizing either of them. I am not so much interested in looking at who is right or wrong, or to paint one character in a better light and bashing another: I want to understand their differences and how they came to be, how the relationship is affected by those differences. This is why I don’t take a shipper’s approach either, I am not solely focused in their relationship, but in the story as a whole.

There are several posts where I talked at lenght about these characters, because Yoneda gave a lot of backstory, and I encourage who may be interested in checking further. Doumeki has trouble facing or recognizing reality, until reality kicks him in the face, and that is happening to him since the nurse and Aoi. So he is only observing when it suits him. Yashiro established his emotional boundaries plenty of times, and Nanahara is there to corroborate and reinforce Yashiro’s prefereces. Here are some examples, and these are from volume one alone. It is a pretty clear situation, and Doumeki understood it.

I know that people are objecting to the very idea of framing Doumeki as the aggressor in this case, but the power dynamics had already shifted at that point when things went down in ch 24-25. It is the result of an escalation that sees Doumeki hiding his feelings and his arousal, and becoming more aggressive and unhinged towards others during the investigation into who ordered the hit on Yashiro. Yoneda was painstakingly building towards that scene, while also painting a bigger picture and external plot, and there are so many details that I haven’t even touched upon yet, but nothing is filler. And the parallels between Doumeki’s arousal and his violent behavior can’t be easily ignored.

Again, I feel quite powerless and unequipped to persuade those who already formed their opinion. But when given arguments in favor of dismissing Yashiro’s right to object or arguments that shift the focus away from the simple topic of consent, then I have to ask myself why this is happening. **Rape culture does play a role, and as I said, rape culture can and does weaponize some romantic ideas about love. Or against the autonomy of the person, against choice and so on.

I find it very important that Yoneda chose to put those words in the mouth of an ex-policeman, while dressed up as a policeman, and of another abusive detective with the police. Or the fact that Inami commented on Doumeki’s father building a career to cover up his crimes. See these statements from the Wikipedia page on rape culture:

With how difficult has become to search on the web for unbiased results, I am just giving the Wikipedia page not as a source of authority, but as a peer reviewed summary that provides a starting point for research and some bibliography on the subject. For example:

I want to add that I don’t agree with the way the article frames “men” as perpetrators and “women” as victims. That should be corrected and can be misleading. Men have been historically and consistently discouraged to speak up about being victims of rape themselves and often the law didn’t even consider them. And the gendered approach contributed to make so many victims invisibile. There is so much we have to learn.

Again, this post is solely for the purpose of answering arguments or points made directly to me about how we interpret the story in Saezuru. These are my observations and reflections, the links I see, and it is possible because these things are in the manga. And last, I love love-stories. But romance - especially romantic tropes, often reinforced by fandom shipping culture - don’t always equal love to me.

[itspileofgoodthings]

one of my favorite things about getting older is that I’m just more sure and more confident in taking control in social situations and making other people feel at ease. I really love it!

[hana-bobo-finch]

tis here!! My stupid little beta pdbc comic!! UHHHHH

additional ramblings because I don’t know how to stop yapping:

I know the ending is extremely abrupt but honestly? I can’t even lie I think it’s funnier and somehow more in character that way. There is no way in hell he’d question what just happened he’d just lay on the floor and say “alas!” As if that is in any way is a proper response to what just happened. So no apologies for that, I genuinely think the ending is amazing and won’t hear anything else. Alas.

I WAS REALLY SCREWED OVER WITH THE TEN IMAGE MOBILE LIMIT SO THE PACING IS VERY IFFY!! That alongside the fact I wanted to get this out as quickly as possible to gauge opinions and such—therefore making this much less detailed than I’d like to have made it, yes that’s my own fault I know—means that I couldn’t properly show what the briar zome is like (HEARTBREAKING). It’s a lot more spacious and unending than what’s shown here. In this it only looks like you’re there for a few minutes but experiences there can last up to a week. There are also a lot more thorns and spiked vines, it’s just that, like I said, I wanted to get this posted quickly and coloring in all of those spikes probably took more time than some of the drawings themselves. Had I made this as accurate to canon as possible, it would be much more visually cluttered. The briar zome is VERY hard to traverse because almost everything is covered in thorns (hence the name). Also worth noting that although it’s seemingly wintry there, there’s no actual temperature in the briar zome which is why pumpkin daddy is not fucking freezing to death (you have to look DAPPER when you’re illegally eating crabs)

This technically isn’t canon. This is a mishmash of all of the stuff I have about the briar zome, but in canon it’s all much more spread out, e.g. the eyes weren’t discovered until a few trips in when they actually bothered trying to figure out if/where the briar zome ends, in which BAM they found a buncha eyes!! Speaking of the eyes, their official names are Sotes, and where they’re found is called the “Eyes Rink” (GET IT!!! EYES!!! ICE!!! GET I-💥💥💥)

you’re probably wondering what the Miika chimp incident is, which is a fair thing to be wondering, however I will not be elaborating because I think it’s funnier that way. sorry (I am not at all sorry)

AND THE TIIIIIIME yes indeed the time works differently there. As one could. Probably guess by the wack-ass watch positions. The briar zome does in fact have its own time system that’s displayed differently than most would be used to. Alas, I had to cut that part short because I realized I was quickly running out of pages and I really wanted space to draw some of those beautiful beautiful eyeballs. I has this whole lecture about different types of watch hand designs and their names but that was unfortunately cut for time (ironically)

anyway uh. hope this was somewhat enjoyable? *EXPLODES*

[donnieisaprettyboy]

2014 - realized I liked girls but began desperately trying to “pray the gay away”

2016 - stopped believing in Christianity as I began to better accept my sexuality

2020 - publicly came out as bisexual, and shortly after my gender crisis began

2021 - nonbinary ? we’ll run with it, I’m experimenting! I’m playing with it! I’ve been in college for a year so now I have the room to try some things out!

2023 - my first pride parade! and the gender crisis continues on…. I would really love more masculine features… a deeper voice is my dream… I see men with flat chests and I get so envious. maybe I’m trans?

2024 - FINALLY allowing myself to use multiple labels that feel right! nonbinary, transmasc, genderfluid, genderqueer, they all feel like ME! planning on starting HRT after I get married and get onto my fiancé’s health insurance. plan on getting married in a wedding dress because THAT’S WHAT I WANT! because gender is not a strict binary and I am allowed to play with it however I want! my gender is not for the pleasure or comfort of anyone else! I got to experience my SECOND pride finally feeling content with myself and my identity! I’m happy! I’m so happy :)

[benkyoutobentou]

Ranking the books I read in Japanese this year

It’s the end of the year and I don’t think I’ll be finishing any more Japanese books this month, so I thought it would be fun to rank what I read! I read twelve novels in Japanese this year, hitting my goal (but not quite reading one a month). There won’t be twelve rankings here, though, because I read multiple books from the same series and will be combining those.

9. コーヒーが冷めないうちに - 川口俊和: This book just didn’t do it for me. I listened to it on audiobook in February for a target language listening challenge and got stuck in a vicious cycle of not paying attention because the story was boring me and being bored of it because I wasn’t paying enough attention. Most other people I’ve seen who have read it in Japanese also thought it was boring, though, so I’m not mourning any loss.

8. 宝石商リチャードの謎鑑定 - 辻村七子: I really wanted to like this series but the negatives outweighed the positives so much that I only read the first volume. The most damning part of this for me was that I couldn’t stand the writing style. It was extremely confusing, and having a language barrier on top of that just made it miserable. I’m really glad I read this with others because I was not the only one who found the writing style to be ridiculously confusing for a book that doesn’t even handle confusing or difficult topics. Seriously, the writing was so bad that I considered continuing the series in English. But the characters were good.

7. あん - ドリアン助川: Now we get into the books that I enjoyed, just not as much. I liked this book well enough, but it was just a bit middling. I wasn’t overly invested in the characters or story and I found myself wondering how on earth this story could go on for another hundred pages. It was sweet, but ultimately I don’t think the story will stick with me at all.

6. ちょっと今から仕事やめてくる - 北川恵海: This was another audiobook read and although I know I enjoyed it, I really don’t remember much about it. I’m also not sure if the twist, which I did think was really good, actually happened or was something I misunderstood (I’m pretty sure I understood it though). Overall, this one goes on the to-reread pile, just as soon as I can find a physical copy of it.

5. 旅猫リポート - 有川浩: This was an adorable story perfect for cat lovers, but the end had me a little bored. Honestly though, it was quite the experience to go from being a bit bored to crying my eyes out in the span of ten pages. The writing style and the main cat’s perspective was super charming as well.

4. 人間失格 - 太宰治: This was my first classic in Japanese and wasn’t as difficult as I expected. Dazai’s writing style is a pain in the ass, but I will admit that it started to grow on me as the book went on and now I find it endearing. It also wasn’t as depressing as I had heard it was, and I really enjoyed getting a perspective of that time period.

3. 美しい彼 - 凪良ゆう: I only read one volume of this, probably exclusively because I suddenly couldn’t stand romance when I had fifty pages left of this. What can I say, I love a good toxic gay romance. The writing style is chronically readable and the story is super engaging.

2. No. 6 - あさのあつこ: I’m a fan of the anime for this and the novels have not let me down. I’ve only read two so far, but the story and characters are super gripping. I really love the emphasis on dialogue in this series, I really feel like it makes the characters pop more. The only problem I have is this odd quirk in Asano’s writing style, where the majority of the series is told from third person point of view, but will suddenly switch to first person point of view for a single sentence. It’s not enough to deter me, but it is a little odd to see.

1. キノの旅 - 時雨沢恵一: My number one favorite read in Japanese this year and no one should be surprised. I’m a massive Kino fan and read three volumes this year. I love books that I can analyze the hell out of and this is exactly that. Additionally, I think the writing style and the way both Kino and Hermes are characterized adds so much to both the stories and the underlying meanings that Shigusawa is trying to get across.

[fingertipsmp3]

Maybe I did this to myself but it does irk me when people see me knitting and they ask who it’s for and I say it’s for me and the immediate reaction is “you should sell it” yeah… let me spend at least a week’s worth of my free time making an item I like, want, and would wear just to sell it on etsy, making at most a £2 profit on materials and not being compensated for my time whatsoever 👍🏻

[james-spooky]

this is a test