#and pretend that what they have is healthy

[hybbart]

Day 2655: As winter trucks on, everyone hauls up as the snow piles up in the city below...

Short story below the cut

Snow accumulated along the penthouse's enormous balconies, and the many large windows. Beyond was a landscape whited out by the frosty blanket, difficult to discern the shapes of any of the distant buildings through the heavy weather.

Tango's arm quietly ached. These days he could almost ignore it. Jimmy would chastise him if he knew, say it was not healthy, but what was there to do about it? hypocrite that he was, the avian had his own issues, even if it normally was not painful. They'd spent all morning pretending like Tango couldn't hear his unnaturally deep breaths, or that he'd turned his machine up higher. It was already high compared to before they'd been separated.

Today, though, was an okay day for Tango. He could almost ignore it. His prosthetic couldn't, but it was far too cold for it anyways. There was little to do while hauled up, he'd taken to hardly wearing it the past two weeks as the cold settled in. If not for their few chores and Jimmy's returning energy they'd both be hauled up in their room still.

But they still needed to clean and they still needed to eat. So, while he waited for False to return from taking care of the animals for them and the signal from Wels that his brother was still safely locked up, he cleaned. Plucked the dead leaves from the plants, moved muddy clothing to the laundry room, put away the last game they'd played, anything he saw that he could do.

Humming echoed from the hall, riding the same breeze that wafted a lovely smell of spices and meat. The last of a deer False had found. It was easy to mindlessly work with the smells and sounds of Jimmy cooking nearby. Or maybe it was just easier because he knew there was something tasty waiting at the end of it all. His thoughts were quick to get lost imagining the various dishes, unwilling to risk a fork getting thrown at him for interrupting to ask. It couldn't hurt, though, to take a peak..?

The room dimmed as great ruddy wings blocked the whiteout. False's terrifyingly sharp talons seemed like they might crush the railing beneath them, and Tango was silently glad Jimmy's were that of a songbird and not a raptor like their new companions. It wasn't as graceful as Wels' or Grian's landings either, the woman lurching slightly before hopping down to the ground. A few months ago Tango might not have noticed, but he'd seen the three avians come and go so often from that window he couldn't help notice the differences.

"All the chickens are accounted for, and your horse is fed." She announced, giving a salute with her smile that Tango returned.

"Thanks again for this." He said for the fourth time that day. "Jimmy can't even get himself off the ground this week, never mind carrying-"

"I told you it's fine." False waved him off as she slipped off her cap. even just the short flight from ground level to the 40th some-odd floor had it coated in a heavy blanket of snow.

Tango opened his mouth to protest but a yelp escaped instead, accompanied by clattering metal and plastic. It took them both a moment to realize it hadn't been him at all. Both spun towards the hall, a squeaky curse echoing. Tango was the first to rush forward.

Jimmy was leaned over the counter, head in one hand and the other limply stretched over the kitchen island where his leftovers bucket had spilled over the edge. His breaths came heavy and quick, much worse than earlier. Feathered ears twitched, well aware of his new company but unable to pick himself back up to say anything. At least until Tango had his arm around him. Then, he found the ability to give a weak protest, easily ignored as Tango guided him towards the bench-chest on the far wall.

Tango only glanced to False for a second, to check she had followed, "Go turn up the airificator." He directed.

"I'm fine." Jimmy wheezed. It was as though he'd just ran several miles, his hand clutched to his chest to catch a breath of air that would not come to him. "I just got a bit dizzy and dropped my knife."

"Is that all." Tango muttered, running his hands down Jimmy's tubes looking for any knots or breaks. A wing smacked his head until he backed away.

Jimmy huffed, though it wasn't entirely clear if it was frustration or his inability to breathe. "Just give me a minute! It's already high enough. I don't need to get used to it being even higher."

It was pure stubbornness. And if Tango was honest, he wasn't sure what to do with it. Normally it was himself being stubborn about his arm and Jimmy knocking sense into him. Jimmy could be as stubborn as a mule, but it'd never been directed at his health.

Sheepishly, False appeared around the corner. "I turned it up, there's not much room for higher, though."

"See?" Jimmy said pointedly. It was true, that it wasn't good for Jimmy to have it so high for extended time. But if that's what his body needed right now, then what could they do? Suffer and almost drop a knife on himself, apparently. Tango's brows knit together.

"You go lay down, I'll finish the cooking."

Jimmy balked. "You have one hand!"

"That's one more than you right now." He knelt down, allowing the hunched avian to look down on him. "It's not going to get better if you push yourself."

There was a look in his rancher's eyes, one that quickly shifted between several emotions until they were almost glassy, before he dropped his head, his grown out hair curtaining his face out of view. Tango sat there, running his hand up and down Jimmy's arm, until a weak voice escaped between gasps, "What if it doesn't?"

If it didn't? There wasn't much to be done if it didn't. They'd live with it like they did every time things became incrementally worse, and a bad day became a regular day. But if this was a regular day, what would be a bad day? Tango couldn't bring to let himself think about the thought that seemed to be consuming Jimmy at that moment. Not while Revy was still in the back of his mind. So, instead he says, "It will."

There was nothing in Jimmy's expression that conveyed any faith in those words.

"You need to let yourself rest." False interjected, hesitant to step forward when both men's eyes turned to her. She fiddled with the tube in her gloves, still having yet to even remove her coat. "Your lungs, if they're straining you need to let them rest for now, build up strength."

"For how long?" Muttered Jimmy, expression resigned. He'd already spent weeks in bed.

False wasn't one for complicated answers. "As long as it takes. You've been straining them for months, it'll take a while. And there's no better time to do it while we're all cooped up in here anyways."

"But it's just cooking. If I can't even do that-"

"Singing while running back and forth and wielding heavy utensils and pots? Your muscles aren't exactly in great shape either after that, it's probably taking it out of your entire body. And there's a difference between exercise and straining yourself."

She pushed he hand to her chest, "If you rest now I can help you with your breathing."

Both ranchers blinked in shock. "What?" Tango asked.

She ignored them at first, taking her time to pull off her scarf and coat, hanging both up on the back of a chair. Hands went to her clothed ribs, and she took a deep breath as her wings flexed. They stuttered, that same oddity Tango had noticed in her movement. "Look, you've met my sister, right? H?"

"Yeah..."

"Then you must have noticed she has a few less limbs." False nodded, fluttering her wings. "She's basic."

"That's a bit rude." Tango couldn't help joke, earning a shoulder bump from Jimmy to quiet down.

She groaned, and then threw her arms out, "I was born from an alteration of her genetics, I wasn't naturally an avian."

That made sense to Tango, knowing what they could do to Doc when he was already alive. It quickly cascaded, other pieces of the puzzle clicking into place.

"I had to learn things you already know, and make up for things that didn't quite take. This included an obnoxious amount of physical therapy, especially dedicated to lung capacity." She put her hands on her hips, taking in a deep breath as if it were an example of her newfound capabilities before releasing. "I don't exactly know all the doctor-y mumbo jumbo behind how it all works, and we don't have all the big fancy equipment, but I know what helped me and what will probably help you some."

"False..." Jimmy sounded torn, and Tango couldn't blame him. It was hard to have any hope after living with his lung damage for seven years, steadily watching it get worse and worse. Their conditions had been very different, but was there really something False could offer that Scar hadn't already offered them in the past? How much was there that she could realistically do? At some point there had to be nothing at all. But it was tempting, even if just to get back to what it had been before, or at the very least prevent it from getting worse. There wasn't much farther it could fall, after all, any lifeline looks tempting.

"It's worth a shot, innit?" She shrugged, giving a tentative smile. "It's the least I could do, is at least try. At worst it does nothing."

"At worst I get my hopes up." Jimmy sighed, leaning his head against Tango. It seemed his body was beginning to decide for him that it was time to rest.

Tango brought his hand up to his rancher's hair, running his claws through the long strands in comfort. Whatever you want to do, I support it. That was how they always operated, wasn't it? He let his tail curl around Jimmy's talons. "I think either way, for now rest is in order."

That Jimmy found the strength to grumble about. "Fine, all of you can go hungry. I don't care."

"That's the spirit!" Tango chirped, hauling the whining avian to his feet. He couldn't pick him up with only one arm, so he resigned to dragging him down the hall. He stopped as they reached False, giving her a grateful smile before shuffling past her. He hissed as his stump bumped against the wall. Jimmy's head shot up immediately. "It's fine, I'm used to it." Tango strained to say through the jolt of pain. He'd forgotten just how tender it had been that day.

"You shouldn't be used to it." Jimmy chastised. "It's not healthy."

Tango gaped at him then burst out laughing, "Okay, Mister Hypocrite. Time to go to bed."

"Excuse me!"

[littlelamy]

𝓬𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓰𝓸

it had been three months since you broke things off with rafe. three months of cold silence, ignored texts, and avoiding places you knew he’d be. three months of trying to convince yourself you were done with him, that you didn’t still think about him every time you walked past the marina or caught the faintest whiff of his cologne. but tonight, all of that hard work unraveled the second he walked into the bar.

you felt his presence before you saw him, that heavy, electric feeling crawling up your spine like a warning. and then there he was, leaning against the doorway like he owned the place—or maybe just like he owned you. his blue eyes locked onto yours from across the room, and the noise around you seemed to fade into the background.

“what the hell do you want, rafe?” you snapped as he approached, your voice sharper than you intended.

he didn’t respond right away, his lips pulling into a slow smirk that made your stomach tighten in equal parts anger and longing. he looked good—too good—and he knew it.

“just came to check on you,” he said finally, his tone light but his eyes anything but.

“bullshit,” you hissed, stepping back, only to bump into the wall behind you.

his smirk widened as he realized you had nowhere to go. “you look good, baby,” he murmured, his hand coming up to rest against the wall beside your head. “better than good, actually. glowing.”

“get to the point, rafe,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“the point is,” he started, leaning in closer, “i can’t stop thinking about you. and i know you’re thinking about me too.”

“you’re delusional,” you shot back, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding.

“am i?” he asked, his other hand brushing lightly against your arm. “you’re telling me you don’t miss me? not even a little?”

“not even a fucking second,” you lied, your voice shaking slightly.

“that’s cute,” he said with a low chuckle, his fingers trailing down to your wrist. “but i know you, y/n. better than anyone. you don’t hate me—you hate how much you still want me.”

you tried to shove him away, but he didn’t budge. instead, he leaned in even closer, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“stop fighting it, baby,” he whispered, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “stop fighting me.”

“you’re insane,” you said, your voice cracking.

“insane for you,” he countered, his hand slipping to your hip, gripping it tightly.

“you don’t own me,” you spat, glaring at him.

“don’t i?” he challenged, his lips brushing yours.

“no, rafe, you don’t,” you said, shoving him again, harder this time.

he finally stepped back, but only enough to give you a sliver of space. his eyes burned into yours, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself in check.

“you can say whatever you want,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “but we both know the truth. you’re mine, y/n. you always fucking will be.”

“you’re so full of yourself,” you said, your voice trembling as he leaned back in, his mouth hovering over yours.

“maybe,” he said with a smirk. “but i’m also right.”

his lips crashed into yours before you could respond, his kiss all-consuming and desperate. you hated how easily you melted into him, your body betraying you as his hands roamed over your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“fuck, rafe, stop,” you gasped, breaking the kiss and pushing against his chest.

“can’t,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. his hands stayed on your hips, his grip firm but not forceful. “can’t let you go, baby. don’t ask me to.”

“this isn’t healthy,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “you’re suffocating me.”

“then stop running,” he said, his forehead resting against yours. “stop pretending you don’t need me as much as i need you.”

your breath hitched as he cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “i don’t know how to stop,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “you’re it for me, y/n. you always have been.”

tears pricked at your eyes, and you hated yourself for feeling anything other than anger. “you can’t just show up and—”

“and remind you how fucking good we are together?” he interrupted, his lips brushing yours again. “yeah, i can. because you need to hear it. and i’m not going anywhere until you admit it.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel l @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[casually-eat-my-soul]

I was tagged by the very lovely @demonicfaerie so here is an angry stiles blurb that I dont exactly know what to do with but that I really wanted to get the idea down.

This is based on my headcannon that stiles and Jackson actually have know each other the longest. And that Jackson is the only other person who knows stiles real name.

The pack makes jokes about Stiles, saying that he never really gets angry, sure he gets defensive but never angry. Until the day Jackson calls Stiles by his name.

After the whole kanima disaster, Derek moves forward trying to connect to his betas. Including Jackson. Especially since now that he is a werewolf which shifts the dynamics because technically he’s now Derek’s first beta.

One afternoon during pack training when tensions were raising higher than usual. The pack had devolved into using grunt and growls as form of communication. Snarling with a little to much teeth.

So Stiles, in Stiles fashion begins making sarcastic remarks to try and settle the situation. After Jackson take a hard tumble with fighting Derek, Stiles quips about Jackson still being a fake werewolf. Especially after spending so much time in lizard scales.

Jackson spits blood from his mouth, turns to him, anger rolling in his chest. A self satisfied smirk forming as the words drip from this lips. — you would know all about fake identities, wouldn’t you Mieczyslaw.” — Stiles goes deathly still and the air shifts. Like the moment before lighting strikes.

The pack is immediately on edge. Derek makes his way towards stiles. The hair on the back on his neck standing up, putting his arms out as if he’s trying to calm down a wild animal. The way Stiles chest heaves with exertion like a cornered, feral animal. Derek knows what it’s like to watch a predator prepare to strike.

Derek swears he doesn’t see Stiles move. One second Stiles was standing on his porch steps, body tense like a spring coil about to snap. In the next second Jackson is on the ground with Stiles on top of him and the smell of blood in the air.

Lydia is shrieking for Stiles to get off Jackson. The betas step backwards from the carnage. They want to help but all their instincts are begging them to flee.

And Stiles is screaming, between the sounds of fist hitting flesh, — you don’t get to call me that — Stiles is screaming — I’ll rip your tongue from your fucking mouth. — stiles keeps hitting Jackson — That name belonged to my mother — just repeating over and over again. Stiles is screaming.

It takes Derek and Boyd to pull him off Jackson, even so he fights against their hold. It was surprising to the werewolves, the fact that they were struggling. Stiles was going rabid between them, still screaming — let me go, I’m going to rip his throat out with my teeth — and Jackson was still on the ground, not healing, covered in blood.

Derek barks out and order to get Jackson to Deaton or Melissa or both as fast as possible. Boyd slowly releases Stiles just in case he’s needed to grab him again. The minute the hold on him slacks fighting is throwing himself towards Jackson again. Derek barely catches him.

While the betas clear out, Derek throws stiles over his shoulder. Stiles still fighting against his hold. It’s only as Derek steps into his bedroom and sets Stiles on his bed, does he calm down. It’s like all the fight drains from his body.

Instead panic takes its place. Stiles fights to breathe with the same vengeance as he did Jackson. Clumps of broken sentences echo out between his sobs — not his, not his, nothis, nothisnothisnothisno — the more panicked he gets, the faster it comes out.

Derek holds him until the panic subsides and a there nothing left but silence.

The pack doesn’t mention Stiles’ breakdown the next day, or the next. And Stiles likes pretends like nothing happened. Everyone else would to, except for the fact that Jackson is barely healing, healing slower than a healthy human would. Stiles smile is a tad bit to tight and the pack is a tad bit too cautious of him.

They also don’t mention the fact that the bruises only go away after Jackson apologizes. Even so they don’t really make jokes anymore.

[criticalcrusherbot]

What’s gross is that I bet you’re smarter than this, you just have a bizarre antagonistic parasocial relationship with Vivienne Medrano.

This critique is fundamentally flawed in its analysis, misinterpreting the narrative structure and character dynamics of Helluva Boss. Here’s a breakdown of why it doesn’t hold up:

1. The Claim About Blitz and Octavia:

The statement that Blitz “pretends Octavia’s mother never existed” grossly oversimplifies his behavior and motivations. Blitz’s struggles are rooted in his unresolved trauma and inability to form healthy relationships, not a deliberate erasure of Stella. Additionally, the idea that Stella is treated as a “nameless surrogate egg donor” is false. The show repeatedly acknowledges her presence, but she’s portrayed negatively because her actions (abusing Stolas, prioritizing status over family) make her an antagonist. This isn’t about erasing her but about exploring Stolas’s toxic marriage and its impact on Octavia.

2. The Misreading of Stella’s Character:

The critique argues that Vivienne “has to make the woman purely evil and unfeeling,” but Stella’s characterization is consistent with her role as an abusive partner and a foil to Stolas. Her lack of maternal care is a reflection of her values and personality, not an inherent “hatred of women.” Plenty of female characters in Helluva Boss are nuanced, compassionate, and strong (e.g., Millie, Loona, Octavia), disproving the claim of misogyny.

3. The Strawman Argument of “Gay Erotica”:

The scene where Blitz throws Stella out the window isn’t about her disliking “gay erotica.” It’s a comedic exaggeration that underscores the absurdity of the situation, fitting the show’s satirical tone. The focus isn’t on her gender but on the humor of the clash between her and Stolas.

4. The Daughters’ Reactions:

The daughters’ lack of mourning in the Christmas episode is a misinterpretation of the narrative focus. The scene is meant to emphasize Blitz’s moral growth, not delve into the daughters’ feelings. It’s also possible that the mom died quite some time ago and they have moved past actively mourning, but to assume they “don’t care” is reading into something the episode doesn’t explicitly address.

5. Accusation of Misandrist Themes:

Claiming that Vivienne portrays “gay men’s love as more pure” ignores the complexity of Stolas and Blitz’s relationship, which is far from idealized. Their love is messy, imperfect, and rooted in deep emotional baggage—hardly the pedestal the critique implies.

In summary, this critique misrepresents Helluva Boss by cherry-picking elements and ignoring context. The show’s nuanced exploration of flawed relationships, trauma, and humor-driven storytelling doesn’t align with the reductive and bad-faith interpretation presented here.

[just-a-mer]

Odysseus was no fool; he spotted the change in demeanor as though it were a visible speck in the air surrounding them. With a soft sound of acknowledgment, he led the two of them into a side room in the hall, one that ended up being a rather large library.

Quietly, the king gestured to one of the softer chairs before sitting across from them. "You don't have to hide, Icey. Believe it or not, I know what it is like to bottle those emotions away and put on a mask to pretend they don't exist. It isn't healthy."

He pauses, gazing around the room. It was almost the same as he remembered, if not in need of dusting. He hoped the suitors hadn't ruined much in here, with their hands or their blood he had spilled.

"You don't have to tell me what became of her, but why don't you tell me something about her? I'm sure there must be some fond memories if you can speak of her in such a way." His gaze flicks back to them. "Did she have a name?"

*Awkward ass finger guns*

Hey hey Ody!!!!! Uh... heard ya got back home...

*They walk beside him and smile, first thing noticeable is the missing eye. He leaves for like 2 days and they get their eye burned out. Sounds like Icey so it aint no mimic*

How is it?

- @1ceyanonhasarrived

Odysseus is in his palace. An almost odd sight for the siren so commonly found within the sea or resting atop the docks. Even stranger is the sandals he wears on feet. His feet. One would think he'd be smiling, sleeping beside his wife, or telling tales to Telemachus about his adventures. Instead, he sits in his chair in the dining hall, looking down at his bow.

"Icey. It is nice to see you, kid. I'm... glad to be with my family." He seems hesitant to continue, and when he catches sight of their eye, he takes the chance to shift the subject. "What happened?"

[fearthhereaper]

One of the biggest HotD missed opportunities is not exploring the trauma that comes from having to marry your immediate family.

Not exploring how Targ women are raised to think of their brothers as their future husbands.

How damaging it is when the lines of what's familial and what's romantic blur.

Helaena grew up knowing she'll marry her older brother, never given an option to even think of finding love somewhere else.

Aegon not wanting to marry his sister but he is a Targaryen and as a Targaryen there isn't much of a choice in it anyway.

Aemond who says he will marry his sister because it would be his duty to do so. Who doesn't even understand how strange and wrong that is - the fact that he sees marrying his sister as just another duty to fulfill.

The fact that we don't see how Helaena (arguably the biggest victim in that situation) feels about it all is just criminal.

The fact that we were never showed Helaegon getting married is such a missed opportunity because it would give an audience a way to understand just how disturbing that Targaryen custom is.

Another missed opportunity is not seeing Helaena pregnant and/or giving birth.

But I especially, ESPECIALLY, hate the way the show implied that it was all Alicent's doing purely because it means that now that highly traumatic experience of not only children but also siblings getting married became an Alicent issue and not an issue of hundred years of one family's abusive blood supremacy tradition.

[arttsuka]

Some past fiddlestan? (Like Ford just went through the portal. He gone now. Past. Yk?)

The mystery misery yaoi

[soulless-bex]

hot take: Jason is actually one of the most emotionally intelligent members of the Batfam because, contrary to most of them, he actually expresses his actual emotions. and while those feelings are mostly negative, he still expresses them, which is more than can be say about Bruce (who will bottle it up till it blows up in his face), Damian and Cass (who were trained out of expressing their feelings during childhood by literal assassins), Tim and Dick (who are chronic liars and will bullshit their way through life unless there’s no other way).

[deoidesign]

something that makes me sad is when people tell me the healthy communication in my writing is "unrealistic."

like guys this is how me and my partner talk with eachother... I'm writing from personal experience...

[goldkirk]

.

[whatkindofnameisella]

me when i show up to the bad ending competition but robin hobb is there

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I would really like it if the hive mind could move away from the idea that the exception disproves the rule every time

there's such a thing as statistical distribution, the species is made up of unique individuals that nevertheless aggregate into identifiable trends, you can have something be true of most or virtually all people and nevertheless find exceptions. This runs the gamut from effective medical treatments, to the kinds of media people like, to gender roles and expressions, all kinds of things

This Procrustean effort to force everyone to conform to the standard and/or the delusion that the standard is just an axiomatic lie that can be tossed out on a whim are both ridiculous, you can have rules of thumb and broad heuristics that allow for all kinds of exceptions without being falsehoods

[bibuckleykinard]

how many times do we need to learn as people that irony and hyperbole can be harmful because 'jokes' aren't easily distinguished from genuine thoughts and feelings until we stop rewarding people for speaking or posting about violence

like even if you're joking/don't actually believe that/think whoever you are insulting is bad/immoral/fictional therefore deserves it - ad hominem attacks always do more harm to the people who share those characteristic then the individual you intend to cause harm to or discredit

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

I wanna just say that like

Ships don’t need to end in a marriage with 2.5 kids, with them dying in bed together at an old age from natural causes in order to be enjoyable.

Like ships can come to fruition in other ways. Sometimes a relationship doesn’t happen, but attraction/feelings are acknowledged (sometimes not even by eachother, but other people). Sometimes a relationship happens but with an end goal that is quickly achieved and the relationship ended shortly thereafter. Sometimes it’s a mistake. And sometimes it is a relationship cut short, for any number of reasons.

And I understand enjoying the domesticity and comfort of your ship being fulfilled in a typical way, but Jesus Christ please look at some characters sometimes and go ‘yeaahhh they’d fuck nasty and then never talk again’ because that’s exactly what would happen and the fact you don’t know that is wilful ignorance

[supurman]

clark is not a good liar, but he is great at keeping secrets and can be described as secretive by lois...

[skinnypaleangryperson]

American culture is a living hell where poor working class wage slaves are forced to become psychotic and insane clinging onto a fictional character to pretend like they have a chance at marriage and kids and a family while the very actors that voice the characters are blaring in their face on a screen with their happy rich lives and happy healthy children that the mentally ill and working class will never have. What a living hell of a dystopia

The worst part is how fake it all is. And me, the poor insane person with nothing but characters, is supposed to be the unhinged and embarrassing one for being black pissed about it.