#and that was a very small part of the fandom thankfully - and most of us dragged them

[lovvecherrymotion]

thoughts on Nace's antibiotic tit milk please

i feel like drinking it would fix all my problems

[seldomscilence16]

Day 26:

Nightmares

Breakfast Table | Parting words regret | “I’m haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

Fandom: Trolls

Alt:

Survivors Guilt

Fandom: Trolls

Inspired by: @hey-hey-j Whether You’re a Brother

...

..

Branch was a lonely child.

He had school, and friends, but he never… he never felt like he quite connected with them the way the others did. He worried more, and smiled a lot less, and didn’t have a home life that was normal and bright and cheery.

He loved his parents. He loved his grandma. He loved his friends.

But Branch was different, and it felt isolating.

Until something changed.

His parents come home one night, his mother looks more tired than usual but offers him a smile nonetheless, his father still ruffles his hair, it's normal.

He’s cooked dinner this time though, he’d been practicing with Grandma and was confident in his skills for this particular meal- Grandma said he could only get better the longer he tried. It was a surprise, and thankfully a well received one.

“Oh, Branch, did you do all this?” His mother puts a hand to her chest in awe, smiling down at him softly.

“Yep! ‘Cause you guys work so hard, I wanted to do my part too!” He says proudly, his own smile one of his wider ones.

His parents share a look that has it dimming, he quickly looks everything over to see if he’d forgotten something.

“Branch, can I ask you a very important question?” His father asks suddenly, starling Branch as he whips back around.

“Of course!” His face sets into a serious look, ears perked to listen intently.

They kneel down, a calloused hand falling on his shoulder as the two adults level him with their own severe looks,

“Can you be a big boy for us Branch? Do something very important for us while we’re at work? The most important thing you could ever do for us?” His fathers voice holds no room for hesitance, this is a yes or no answer and one that will shape how his night will go, how his future will go.

His brows furrow in thought, looking to his mother for some kind of clue at this task they want from him, but it looks like they both need his answer first. And Branch isn't one to want to fail his parents,

“Yes, I can do it.” He keeps his voice even despite his apprehension, a determination shining in his eyes to prove himself.

“Then you’re going to have a very important job now too.” His mother begins, reaching into her hair and pulling from it the last thing Branch expected.

A small egg. Beautiful swirls of pinks and reds and teals with a tuft of magenta hair atop it. It's the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.

“You’re a big brother now. Which means you gotta take care of and protect your little sibling at all times.” She places the egg in his arms, and he cradles it close with gentle but secure arms, “Can you do that?”

“I won't let anything happen to them.” Branch’s eyes are wide with awe as he stares at the precious life.

And just like that, his world changed.

He was too small to hold the egg in his hair, he’s cautious to leave his pod because of it, but he goes places here and there. Grandma’s pod is always welcoming and he sees the other kids on the way, it's good enrichment- he thinks that's a good word to use but the teacher hasn't given the full definitions yet.

By the time Floyd hatches, Branch has a handle on this big brother thing.

His parents are so proud, and Grandma comes by all the time! And Floyd is an amazing little brother, he makes Branch proud without even trying- even when he breaks something, or wakes him up in the middle of the night, or doesn't listen or-

But the two get along and Branch makes sure Floyd is never lonely.

Which… gets easier when his parents hand him another egg. This one green and teal and yellow and beautiful and squirmy.

Now, Branch is a bit bigger and he can wrap his hair around this new egg and hold Floyd at the same time. They go to school and Grandma’s and on short walks. They sing and dance and the egg is so active inside, especially enjoying laughter, so Branch gets a joke book and enjoys Floyds giggles and groans and the eggs little wiggles.

It's busier, and a bit hectic- Clay is more active and antsy than Floyd- but Branch figures out a system and he thinks he’s being a pretty great big brother. He keeps the house clean and the kitchen stocked and the food cooked and the kids entertained and his Parents spend a little time with them before bed if they can.

And then, the third egg. Purple and indigo and teal and beautiful.

The other kids ask why he’s doing his parents' job. Asks if he's secretly the parent. Tease and taunt. School is a little harder, but he has a few friends who stick up for him, even if they don't understand.

No one really understands Branch, but it's fine cause he’s a big brother with three amazing little brothers.

But…

“Mom… The other kids say it’s weird that I’m taking care of kids…”

A weary sigh, tired eyes and dirt smudged face, she kneels in front of Branch,

“Branch, you said you would be a big boy. Being a big boy means taking care of your brothers, of your family. We can’t do that right now, because we’re digging for our future, a future where we can be a family. If its too much for you-”

Branch shakes his head, guilt churning in his gut,

“No! I’m a big boy! I’m fine!”

“Good sport.” His father says with a yawn, “I’m beat, lets hit the hay.”

That night, Branch reads his brothers a story instead.

It becomes a regular thing.

Branch takes care of his brothers. He gets little jobs around the tree that allow his brothers to stay close, where they can do their homework or color or dance or sing, while Branch trades service for items they need.

It's a mere chance that someone catches them singing together. Someone that sees the joy they spark in those around them, and the way the brothers so naturally meld together.

Performing makes his brothers happy.

Performing makes the King and Queen Happy.

Performing makes the tree happy.

The Bergens like a happy tree, so the Bergens are happy.

Branch is providing for their family, so their parents are happy.

The King and Queen request an audience with him.

Poppy is happy to watch his brothers while he goes in, he smiles and thanks her his nerves making his hands tremble.

On his way out, his sight is narrowed to only the world in front of him. His brothers, the path home, and nothing else. He doesn't see the look of concern on Poppy's face, or that of any of the trolls he passes. His only thought is the safety of their pod.

Branch doesn’t hide it from his brothers, each old enough to understand. He tells them that the Royals think they could use some help in the escape. That a distraction, a way to immobilize the giants, would raise their chances at escape. And that the only way they can think to make that happen is something called:

The Perfect Family Harmony.

He explains the gist of what it is, what it can do, sees the wonder in their eyes.

And so they practice.

Branch makes time for breaks and school and fun. Avoids the royals as best he can, and just… tries to do his best. His parents seem to come home later and later every night, and Grandma has been busy with something else, and Branch… Branch is tired.

But his brothers are happy.

The time comes sooner than he’d like.

The tunnels aren’t necessarily finished, but the King says with the cage and Bergens out of the way it wouldn't be a big problem. He and the Queen urge him to go on with the show.

“Nervous?” Floyd, perceptive and kind, stands beside him as he stares at the gathered Trolls beyond the curtain.

There's no sign of their family.

“A little.” He admits quietly, turning to the second oldest and offering him a small smile.

“I think we all are.” Floyd offers in reassurance, nodding his head towards their brothers.

Clay is practicing the choreo again and Spruce is doing his anxiety push ups. Branch’s gut twists, but he offers Floyd another smile before they walk over.

“Alright guys, it's almost time.” He breaks the tense silence, waiting for all their attention, “This is just a performance. All you need to do is have fun, can you guys do that?”

He sees the way tension falls from shoulders at his words, the bright smiles, the nods as they join in a group hug. Branch never wants to see them lose those smiles.

They go on stage. They have fun. They feel something well up inside of them-

Someone left a vine on the stage.

The performance comes to a crashing halt.

The King and Queen look at him in disappointment.

He limps home with his brothers in a daze.

Only in the warmth of their pod does he come back to himself. Does he see the downtrodden faces, as he patches up minor scrapes and dries tear streaked faces.

“Hey, none of that now.” He admonishes gently, watching wet eyes meet his own.

They all look like they're waiting for a lecture, like they did something truly terrible.

“What happened out there wasn't your fault, and it wasn't the end of the world.” He states firmly, “You guys were amazing, and I’m so proud of you.”

It must be the right thing to say, as he finds himself flat on the floor with a pile of brothers atop him.

He reads them an extra story that night, falling asleep in a pile in their room, it's the first night he doesn't wait up for his parents.

Branch keeps his brothers home the next day.

He knows no one but the Royals really knew about the PFH, but he worries anyway. They play games, and he makes some sweets, anything to keep those smiles on their faces. He’s surprised when Grandma comes over, that she sits down and joins their games. She catches his stare, and her smile is full of empathy and love and oh how he missed it. He thinks this may be the best day they’d had in quite some time.

Grandma tells a story that night, while Branch cleans up, and the pod is calm.

They sit on the branch outside the pod, waiting for his parents in the cool night air,

“I’m sorry about your show.” Her voice is quiet and kind.

“Accidents happen…” He responds simply, eyes roaming the tree limbs in search of two figures.

“Your brothers seemed happy.” He can see her eyeing him out of his peripheral.

“It wasn’t their fault, I made sure they knew it.”

“It wasn’t yours either.” She says.

“I’m the oldest, I have to take responsibility for failing the tribe.”

“Branch, you are still a child-”

“You don't understand Grandma! It's not like you’re around to see!” He regrets it as soon as he says it, but he spots the shadowed figures, “There!” He feels like he hasn't seen them in forever, a guilt heavy in his gut as he thinks of all he hasn't done since their last real conversation.

He stands, offers a hand to his Grandma who waves him off with a strained smile. That guilt hits again, but he promises himself to fix it later.

Branch jogs towards his parents' figures, a million things on the tip of his tongue, but all of them are cut off with a scream of warning.

How a giant can go unnoticed has always bugged Branch. They are heavy footed and large and lumbering, and yet they sneak up on them more often than not. It's what makes their whole situation all the more terrifying. It's what makes his heart rate spike and his brain go haywire, it’s what haunts his every nightmare and lurks in every shadow.

That shadow is real now, a hand coming down towards his parents, and Branch can’t move his legs fast enough. His dad shoves mom, Branch’s hair comes out to meet hers without thought, claws digging into the bark beneath him, tail wrapped around a broken off branch, it's only Grandma’s hair joining his that allows them to pull her up. She’s almost within reach, hand outstretched, when that shadow is snatching her and ripping her away.

Branch screams echo his parents.

Moms panicked face, as she reaches into her hair and rips something from it, launching it with all her strength. Branch’s instincts have taken over, catching the item with tender trembling hands. The egg is covered in blood, teals and greens and blues, wide eyes stare at it as horror fills his gut, looking up in time to see a sight he will never forget.

He's frozen, even as warmth splatters across his front, even as that bloody hand reaches towards him. What was the last thing he said to them? When did they last have a full conversation? Branch has been failing recently, would that be all they remembered in their last moments? That Branch failed to give them the freedom that would allow them to be a family?

“Branch!” It shakes him from his stupor, head whipping around as his Grandmother crashes into him, sending him rolling into a bundle of leafy twigs.

He's curled protectively around the cooling egg, eyes frantically looking for the last adult in his life. Grandma Rosiepuff’s scream joins the echoes in his mind, before the shaking stomps of a retreating giant fade to eery silence.

Later, Branch will wonder how he made it back home, how he cleaned up and ended up at the kitchen table. He doesn’t remember a thing past seeing his grandmother's terrified face. The egg is held protectively in his hair, but he has no idea if it's okay, he needs to go to the doctors. But he's never gone without-

His face is damp from a constant stream of tears, he feels the prickling burn of it behind his eyes but no more flow. He stares at his hands, skin beneath his fur rubbed raw from scrubbing the blood from it, the hands that failed him.

“Branch?”

His head whips up, Clay standing in the doorway with a worried furrow to his brow. Branch wipes hastily at his face, looking out the nearest window to see the rising sun.

“Hey bud,” his voice comes out choked and hoarse, “Sorry, I’ll get started on breakfast.”

“What's wrong?”

Branch stares for a long moment.

“Can you get your brothers for me?”

Clay frowns, but nods, little feet pattering across the floor as he hurries back towards their rooms. Branch releases a shuddering breath, going about the kitchen with practiced movements, making a simple porridge for likely nervous stomachs. They come back far too soon for Branch’s liking, rubbing sleep from their eyes and their own brows furrowed the same.

“Clay said somethings wrong?” Floyd asks first, likely more frazzled than not as he takes in everyone's moods.

Branch leans heavily on the counter, back to his brothers, as everything begins to hit him.

He was the one in charge now. But Grandma was right, he's still a child, how is he supposed to take care of them alone? Would the tree even allow that?? Would the Bergens pick them next??? He doesn't know how to do all the things he's supposed to do! Doctors appointments, the escape!? How is he supposed to be what they need? The Egg may die, his brothers could die! What if Branch isn’t enough???

“Branch!” Wild eyed and panicked he turns around looking for a threat.

Floyd is right there, Clay and Spruce just behind him, they needed him.

He takes another shuddering breath,

“I have some… some sad news.”

He doesn’t think the breakfast table will ever be the same, they’ll have to start eating in the living room.

Those teary faces will join those haunting images in his memories and dreams alike. To terrorize him for the rest of his life.

Branch has them stay home again. Hidden and quiet as they grieve, as Branch goes to the Doctor to see if the egg can be saved.

He wonders what's expected from him now. As a family of four- five. Should he work in the tunnels? Try for the harmony again? Stay at home and never leave?

He asks the Doctor, she tells him to grieve. That the tunnel digs work on volunteers only, no one is expected to do more than they can.

His parents had lied then.

“Branch, there you are!” Poppy is there, a small smile on her face that slips off just as quick, “What's wrong??”

“I’m haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” His monotone speech matches his muted colors, turning away from the princess and making his way back towards their pod.

He would protect his family. Like he always has.

…

[thessalian]

Thess vs Lack of Accessibility

Is it petty to just be, like, really really sad right now?

I came to Tumblr because of the Dragon Age fandom. I hadn't been in a fandom in so long, not after the first one, which ... look, getting into a fandom while having a nervous breakdown is a bad thing, okay? Especially when that fandom has named you a BNF for some reason and the responses end up going from "nagging daily to finish a fic" to "long essays shitting on everything you ever wrote" and you're a people-pleaser by nature. Just ... that on top of everything else is ... not recommended. You have no idea how phobic I was of the very idea of fandom. I literally flinch when the media in question comes up (though I have some very good friends because of that fandom and I would not be without them; just ... I will avoid that particular piece of media the same way I do anything overly zealously Christian and conversations about politics with my mother, and for the same reason - my sanity).

Anyway, point is that the Dragon Age fandom gave me back my love of and, more importantly, trust in fandoms. Sure, there's some toxic bullshit, but it isn't like that. Y'all have been so wonderful, and between how awesome the fandom is and how DA: O itself really helped me cope during a particularly dark time, for all I flag up its flaws, I'm always going to have a soft spot in my heart for this franchise.

So of course it makes me happy that everyone's finding something to love about Veilguard and spreading it all over Tumblr. Picking their blorbos and squeeing about Assan and all of that, and it's everywhere. And on one level, I'd love to join in. I'd like to start thinking about what my Rook would be like - which of my internal presets would I send after Solas first? What faction would a Molly be a part of? A Jessie? A Jallira?

...Just ... why, when I probably won't even be able to play it?

One of the reviews had the reviewer literally screw up a livestream by getting knocked over a cliff because her reflexes weren't up to it, and highlighted just how much you need those reflexes and that dodge to actually get through the game. And she couldn't manage. And she's not, as far as I'm aware, fucking disabled. I, on the other hand, am. And it doesn't sound like easy mode and accessibility options are going to get me out of "you have to constantly dodge-roll or experience Death By Cliff".

For most things, I can budget my spoons appropriately. If I want to go to a convention - a big one like MCM or a small one like Dragonmeet - I can plan my life accordingly. But that's a one-off. So is "I'm going to bake things", or "I'm going to make soup", or "I'm going to Borough Market". I can have rest breaks after these things. I can plan them for good days. Most of the time, I can cope with this. I hate it, but I can cope.

But ... I mean, how do you do that kind of thing for a video game that runs so many hours? Too many breaks and you lose the momentum - far too many abandoned playthroughs of BG3 have taught me that. Waiting for good days could have me waiting a week or more before I'm up to even touching it again. If it's not a bad pain day, it could still be a day where I'm having spasms, and believe me, I don't touch anything that requires precision when I'm having spasms ... but sometimes I don't know until I'm trying to do a thing, so I could end up dodge-rolling myself off a cliff if I go to the spasm place.

Thankfully, I'm not the sort of person who turns around and resents the people who are looking so forward to it when I can only sit here and dither over what I'm going to do about this whole mess. I'm glad people are enjoying the anticipation. Just seeing it makes me sad, and I don't want to block the tags because a) I still have some tiny shred of hope and b) that's too many tags.

I resent the fuck out of EA and Bioware, though. I get that they couldn't necessarily go back to DA:O's real-time-with-pause tactical structuring, but moving us to something that's ... probably closer to Kingdoms of Amalur than anything Souls-like but there's still an element of that latter ... anyway, it's a giant fuck-you to the disabled. I've had one of those before. I got chosen for the closed beta of Secret World: Legends when Funcom was making its changes to The Secret World. I was not alone in flagging up that everything from the reticle targeting to the particle effects to the random-roulette light-up stuff all over the UI was a massive trigger for vertigo and migraines. And we all got the same response: "This is what we're doing and we're not changing it; sucks to be you". And it really wasn't that much more polite than my paraphrase, either. (Which is another problem with Veilguard for me, because even that first gameplay trailer full of prologue gave me a migraine that lasted for like two days; part of it was the particle effects, part of it was the glowy redesigns of all the demons, but mostly it was the dodge-rolling making the camera bounce around like a fucking squash ball.)

I resent EA and Bioware for jumping so entirely on the ARPG train that even the best their accessibility options can do don't help. I also resent them for not giving us a fucking demo. I know that AAA games don't do that anymore, for some reason, but how the fuck am I supposed to know whether or not I can play it if I don't have a demo? Steam gives a two-hour return window, and adding the time taken in character creation plus the prologue, that doesn't give that much time to really get a feel for whether or not it's playable, especially not when it depends on the kind of day I'm having.

There are a lot of reasons I hate being disabled. I think most of them boil down to "the people who make accessibility a fucking nightmare". That thing about Borough Market, for example, where I'd have to take a fairly roundabout route to even get there because the most direct route is via a train station that has raised platforms and no elevators, and those stairs were a nightmare even before the cane. And of course, video games. Far too many video games. Including, it seems, the franchise that really got me back into video games in the first place, and one of the first things that really gave me joy after fleeing the abusive ex.

Fuck my life entirely.

[rosainta]

Day 4 of Rosain Quivan’s Daily Logs

Started December 10th, 2023 at 8:24PM, Home Finished December 10th, 2023 at 10:45PM, Home Log #4

Author's Notes: Originally, I planned for this short story to be only a two-parter. However, I got so carried away with writing backstory and researching facts about the Siberian Mountains and the USSR that I ended up having enough for two more parts. I hope you don't mind, but hey, at least that means more Heavy and Medic-centred interaction in the future, heehee!

I won't say much more, but I hope you enjoy this history-compliant log, as well as all the little references sprinkled here and there!

Title: King of Hearts (Part Two) Fandom: Team Fortress 2 New Mexico, Badlands, Teufort City, The Cap Point 6:45PM, sometime during the Gravel War

"Well", Heavy begins, "it all starts when I first begin to live in Siberian Mountains with family, after escaping shoot-out in gulag."

Sniper nods, acknowledging the tough living conditions his friend had to endure to provide for his family. If he wasn't so curious about the toughened man's relationship with the team doctor, he would have diverged into another conversation entirely, mostly about survival tips. Ever since he was a child, had always dreamed of living in the mountains one day, just him and his camper van... but that is a story for another day.

"Anyway, our father had just been killed, and we had no money. We could not show face to society, or Soviets would put family back in gulag, so we head to Urals."

"Life was very hard on us, but Heavy had to protect family at all cost. We found small but safe community on far outskirt of Soviet city Magadan, where we meet with kind lady who let us settle in her late husband's house in exchange for manual work and company."

Heavy shifts in his chair and pulls a worn, leather wallet out of his pocket. Flipping through a few cards and other minuscule belongings, he eventually retrieves a small, faded picture.

"Here, this is lady", the robust Russian says softly, holding the photo out for the marksman to see and pointing at an aged figure. "Behind is woman's shoppe. If ever you visit Siberia, you must visit. Is very cozy."

The full image was of a youthful Heavy and his sisters and mother, alongside another woman wearing a red hood and light-brown coat. She seemed to be in her late 40's, but she would most likely be a lot older now, considering the aged quality of the picture. Everyone was smiling happily, with frosty snow cozily blanketing their feet. Behind them was a furnished wooden cabin, with the name "магазин джугджур", which roughly translates to "Jugjur Shop."

"Wow", the bushman half-whispered, "you must owe a lot to her if you kept a shot of her all these years."

Heavy smiles, putting the photo and the wallet back. "Yes, is true. Without her, Heavy and family would have probably frozen to death, or be captured and tortured in another city."

Sniper takes a sip of his martini. "I do have a question, though."

"Go ahead."

"How'd you make sure she wasn't a Soviet? She might'a been a secret agent and turned you in to the police, or maybe even captured you herself?"

"Ah, Heavy had same doubts too at time", he says, tipping the waitress as she brings him his drink.

"Luckily, lady was as anti-Soviet as I was. Her son, who was abroad in Moscow at time, was shot by Soviet officer during civilian massacre. It had ruined her husband, and he had committed suicide only a year after."

"The Soviets had ruined her life and her family, and she hated them with passion that is remarkable for such a nice lady. Maybe it was reason she was so eager to help us when she found out we were refugees."

"Oh. I see. I'm sorry to have brought that up, that must've been hard to recount," Sniper replies silently, slightly stunned and uncomfortable from the sudden change in mood that sprang from his question. Thankfully, Heavy senses his mood and puts his bottle of vodka down next to his martini.

"Do not worry, she is strong woman. Heavy's family takes good care of her, because she is part of us now", the giant says gently.

Sniper worried expression softens to a smile. "That's good to hear, mate."

"Anyway," Heavy continues, "family continues to live in mountains in secret for some time. We hunt bear, and... well, mostly bear, and we cut wood and help run shoppe with lady for a few years before only visiting once a month."

"Is nice, but eventually, family gets bored of seeing snow and killing bear all the time, you know?"

"Ah, yeah," the shartpshooter replies, though he doesn't quite know what to make of that, seeing as he's never done that before. Not minding, Heavy goes on.

"So, one day, Heavy takes family to go out and visit city of Magadan on mother's birthday. At time, I was blinded by boredom, and I did not consider how highly dangerous it was to bring family back to place where we could get imprisoned again."

"But, we were all hungry for something more than food, and it was special occasion after all, so we decided we would hide ourselves with thick coat hood and keep away from guards and populous area."

"At first, we were very excited to be back in a community again. We could see buildings, hear people talking everywhere, smell food that was not killed with fist. But sister Bronislava, who was still quite young at time, was most excited of us all, and she really loved being in city."

"She was always pointing at different stores we pass by, and her laughter when she heard choir boys singing near churches was infectious. However, her most favourite sight of all were boats at the port of Magadan."

"Even when she was very little, Bronislava loved travelling. She read many books on world, and her dream was to visit Paris one day and become pilot. Of course, she knew because of how Russia was at time that this dream could not be possible, but this did not stop her from dreaming."

"So," Heavy says, uncapping his vodka and pouring it into a glass "she was begging for us to go closer to port to see boat. 'Please, brother Misha, let us go on boat and sail!', she would say. But I said no- there were too many guards nearby and we would get caught for sure."

"Aw, can't let a little girl have some fun?," Sniper interrupts, teasing.

"If you don't want to be killed, then no," the towering man replies blatantly.

"Right, sorry, go on," Sniper says quickly, blushing.

"Sister Bronislava would not listen, though, no matter what Heavy or mother or sisters said to her. She would insist and insist, and we had to hold her back at one point so she would not run away herself, but she continued."

"She really wanted to go on the boats. Her whining turned to crying, and her crying turned to screaming, until it was certain a guard would catch us anyway because of how loud she was being. It was miserable and terrifying sight, and Heavy could already feel regret for having endangered and hurt family like this."

"But luckily," Heavy says with a chuckle, "her tantrum did not last very long. Just as family was about to leave and hide from inevitable imprisonment, a very interesting, travelling man tapped my shoulder from behind."

Just as Heavy utters the words, someone really does tap his shoulder. Heavy turns to meet their eyes, and immediately, he grins.

"Eavesdropping again, doktor?", he asks, pulling a chair for him to sit next to him and Sniper.

"Ooh, I simply couldn't resist! Mostly because I can still picture ze face you made when you turned around like a frightened deer", Medic exclaims, laughingly.

Heavy groans and rolls his eyes, whilst his two seatmates look at each other, both surprised and amused.

"The big, tough, scary Heavy, frightened? I'd never imagine such a thing!" Sniper chuckles, clinking his martini glass to cheers with the doctor's fizzing sparkling water.

"It was not as bad as doktor puts it, okay?", Heavy grumbles, eyes averted to their playful gazes. Still, you could tell by the way his face reddened and, again, the way his eyebrows lifted that it was, in fact, as bad as he put it.

"Whatever floats your boat, mein friend", Medic says, no pun intended. Sniper downs his martini in one go, signaling the waitress for another glass.

Wanting to change the subject, the flustered giant gets up to grab a deck of cards on a nearby table. He returns, shuffling the cards in his large, calloused hands.

"Let us continue story over game of cards, yes? I find that it will fit in well with next part."

To be continued in RQDL 5... Credits: Team Fortress 2 by Valve Image source: Team Fortress 2 Written by Rosain Quivan Cross posted on Amino ( Rosain Quivan )

[spookystarfishzombie]

Just a little 'hello & welcome to my blog' post.

Most people have a pinned introduction post & I thought I should probably get on that. This will also double up as a FAQ post too.

Also, if you wanna buy me tea, you can -> (green tea of course)

First & foremost: FREE PALESTINE! I won't hear any different, go argue with a wall (no it's not performative, as I have been accused of in the past (all because I criticised an actor), I've attended marches, signed petitions, written to my local MPs, attended meetings & help set up fund raising events, so fuck off with your 'performative activism' buzz words, I'm not here for it). As I run a Stranger Things page, it's worth noting that I do not support the zi0nists in the show, most notably No*h Schnapp (tagged as 'he who shall not be named) & Br*tt Gelman (tagged as 'other he who shall not be named'. I honestly think he's down right insane). If you are one of these people that venomously supports them then this page isn't for you. You're not welcome here. And since some children in the fandom can't tell the difference between criticism and hatred, I don't hate these people (well maybe Gelman because he's actively causing my community a terrible reputation), I hope that through education and compassion they see how wrong & hurtful their words have been. Thankfully, I've been educated my whole life about isr*el through the Holocaust legacy we have in our family, my great grandmother having survived it and actively fought against the idea of isr*el, how it's just going end up brainwashing so many youths into thinking they can just turf indigenous people from their literal homes. I've unfortunately been to isr*el when I was a child because my dead beat father seemed to think it was a good idea, even if my beloved great-grandmother pleaded with him not to. Luckily my mom did the right thing and left him and my step-father has been great. He used to blindly support isr*el until he finally educated himself and has felt terrible that this was his mindset for so long. Change can happen, but you need to detangle yourself from isr*el's cluthes and realise that it's more important to protect the real indigenous people of Palestine. Listen to the Rabbi's out in the streets, protesting. Listen to the Jewish Community when we tell you that Zi0nism is a dangerous thing that has weaponised Judaism and played the victim to use as a shield ... okay that got heavy. Moving on!!!!!

Secondly, Hi, I'm Kay (she/her), I'm a veteran of Tumblr, unfortunately. I love watching films, I love to draw, read and have green fingers, yes I'm a plant mama, I just love plants. My prized plant is my monstera because she started off so small & now she's doubled in size. So happy! I also put the B in LGBTQ, I'm very proud of the bi community & love being part of it (biphobes, especially within the queer community, are truly baffling to me - so take your biphobia elsewhere, or better yet, you know, educate yourself? It's not a hard thing to do). I also have crippling anxiety and I'm irritatingly shy, I wish I wasn't but I've always been shy, so if you want to talk to me, you're going to have to be the one to reach out otherwise I'm radio silent (I'm working on it). I'm a millennial, so if you're a minor, sorry, I won't be forging friendships. But you're awsome, just know that!

I used to have Texts From Last Night (TFLN) blog for Stranger Things a few years back that was basically the same as this blog (except back then I had thousands of followers *sigh*). I deleted it because a) people were annoying about it, b) people didn't seem to understand that this wasn't to be taken seriously and c) I got chased off the site because apparently labelling Mike as bi was a death sentence. I said fuck it, and deleted. I started it around when season 2 came out & deleted just before season 4. But I'm hoping the fandom is a little more mature now & I can start up with a fresh, new Stranger Things TFLN blog again, mainly because I miss making edits. Making edits helps take my focus off my anxiety. Yay anxiety.

I take texts from the site Texts From Last Night (it's no longer being maintained, unfortunately), then I take screencaps from my own laptop or from a site called screencapped, then throw it altogether (if you want to look at the site for yourself, just a trigger warning, some of the texts are either gross or bigoted - so just a heads up, I obviously filter out those ones from my blog, I don't want that on here).

I do sometimes edit the original TFLN to fit the screencap, so if the original TFLN mentions a name, I'll change the name to say, for example, Lucas or Nancy. I'll change it if it includes ages & place names too, just to fit with Stranger Things. I also sometimes add my own Text to make it flow smoother, for example this one with Steve & Eddie (the post), the original TFLN only had the 'Eddie' part but I didn't think it flowed well, so I made up a 'Steve' text with a made up area code, so it made more sense that 'Eddie' was responding to 'Steve' rather than just having it as a stand alone text (I really over-complicate my descriptions, huh?).

The numbers on the posts are area codes, and the texts aren't colour coded, I just use what ever colour stands out against the background. I also don't do it by ships; I'll find a text that I think is funny and find a screencap that roughly matches up, so please don't request ship/character posts. I'll maybe do submissions at a later date, where you can send in your funny texts but right now, I'm just making my way through the TFLN site.

Not a particularly interesting introduction post but there you go. I ain't got much to say, I guess. But I will say thanks for your support so far on here, you guys seem to be enjoying the posts and that's all that really matters. Much love!

Kay

x

[ouatsnark]

saw someone claim that emma wasn't herself in s6 because the show claimed that she was emotionally healed and happy and have the photos of her in distress and that the whole time hook and her being engaged to him was the source of her issues (it def wasn't lolz) and that s1 emma was perfect all she had to do was to learn to trust those around her and open up to family and she was there at the end of s1 without hook....uh she was barely there and her arc wasn't even over...weridos

When did the show claim she was emotionally healed? The bull shit they come up with...

So this sounds like what we deal with when the SQers try to tear down Emma's looks by using carefully selected screen caps:

If Emma was perfect in S1 then she wouldn't have had to learn anything.

But Emma did learn a lot about herself, her family and what she wanted in life. She learned how to trust, love and not fear the future. She went from someone who was closed off with a small world view to someone who was very open, empathetic and realizing that the world wasn't as small as she once believed. How does that not change you?

It's crazy that SQ believes that character growth can happen without having a significant impact on you. People change. Life changes us.

Oh but wait, Regina supposedly went through a whole ass redemption and she never changed at her core (still a condescending bully). But thankfully on this side of the fandom we stan characters that grow and emulate that growth.

It's really crazy when you think about their infatuation with saying Season 1 Emma is the better Emma because that Emma was not anymore in love with Regina than Emma in later seasons. Season 1 Emma hated Regina and was trying to save her son from Regina.

The only reason they want Season 1 Emma is because that Emma wasn't attached to a man. Or she was, Graham, but he died pretty quickly so they can just ignore it.

Regina is more to blame for Emma's problems than Hook.

In order to claim that Hook is the source of Emma's issues they have to completely ignore Emma's visions of her death and completely ignore that it is part of Regina that is actively trying to hurt her parents.

Killian Jones isn't causing any of this.

And yes, I 100% agree with this.

Emma will always have a significant weight on her shoulders because she has taken up her cause of ensuring that everyone gets a happy ending. It is her job to protect the entire town when there is trouble. That is a lot of pressure.

But that's OK because at the end of the day she's found happiness with the man that is beside her and supports her in every way

This is also covered in the first link up there. It's not only Regina stans that say this but Rumeblle too which is just even more hilariously hypocritical.

But to answer your plea for them to stop... No, no they can't and they never will stop. It's one of the most popular talking points they use to try and prop up their toxic ship.

[kmze]

I know exactly which panel you're talking about.Never watched the full video but YouTube algorithm brought one of those Insta-story type videos to my timeline. I think the only way to handle this level of behaviour is by hoping they'd reflect on how they acted while deluding themselves into thinking they were cool and edgy.I think it is fans like these that the writers took a dig at through their writing.In 8×03,When Caroline and Bonnie went wedding dress shopping,Bonnie said "I'm honoured to be your maid of honour and not because my main competition is in a coma till I die" This is them calling out the fandom's belief that Bonnie and Caroline were Elena-substitute or replacements in every step of the way so much so that they actually believed Caroline would make Elena her maid of honour and Bonnie didn't stand a chance.And the same goes for the ~Stefan dated caroline because Nina left~ because Candice was replacing Nina.They refused (& still do) to acknowledge Caroline and Bonnie as individual characters and Candice and Kat as actors who deserved respect.And this sentiment stems from a very mean-mindedness that people are replaceable.And they do so because they think they are demeaning Caroline and Bonnie while they fail to understand that they are objectifying Elena in the process.Everyone is unique in their own way.Each of these women played a different part and they were all equally important in the story.

God algorithms are the bane of my online existence, like I started using Tumblr again because this seems to be the only site I can avoid them and search for what I want. I have seen that small snippet from that panel so many times in Google or Twitter if I search "steroline" but I had to dig for that one of Marguerite doing Liz's letter because that wasn't something to be used as a weapon against a ship. Google is the worst if I search Google the main stuff that comes up is from Reddit which is FLOODED with D*bsley shippers and one of the first things that comes up is "Do people actually like steroline" like eat a dick! This fans just pounce on anything they can use for negativity because they are still crying inside about the endgame, like people use that clip of Candice to say she doesn't like SC and prefers KC as if there's not MULTIPLE gifsets of Candice throughout the years hating that ship. Even Paul calling it forced (which is EVERYWHERE on Twitter and YouTube now) even though there's an interview he did while filming S6 calling it such a slow burn it's almost glacial.

The way the actresses have been treated by fandom for years has always been disgusting, for the most part I think that's why Kat, Candice and Nina avoided cons for so many years and they still don't attend with the frequency of the male actors because. I remember sometimes in S8 there was a video released of Kat calling some storyline garbage and a certain fandom was calling for her to be fired on Twitter with pitchforks and telling her she should be grateful for the job she has and fam THE SHOW WAS OVER! What is she gonna get fired from IT'S OVER! But Paul could drag the show and the writers constantly and it's always seen as funny and "telling it like it is" that's how deep the misogyny goes with this fandom. And I think JP & Co deserve a lot of the blame for that because they perpetuated it especially with her terrible treatment of Bonnie/Kat and the way she continues to cater to ship wars. Watching that panel she did with Carina and Marguerite talking about how much influence social media had on DE and KC being ships is just sad. I don't know if the network really influenced her a lot because they were concerned about ratings, or it was just her in general not being able to mute them but it's just like why are letting online brats influence your story that you created?

I remember when Cami was killed of on TO and then an episode or so later Davina was also killed (and her death was brutal to watch thankfully she came back) an article came out like "why are we killing so many women on TV this week" and yet they still didn't get the wake up call.

[tazzy-ace]

Mobster x Cop - Zhaoxie fanfic

Torn down, Full of aching

Rating: Mature Warnings: Descriptions of Violence Fandoms: Guardian, The Grave Robbers’ Chronciles Relationship: Wu Xie/Zhao Yunlan Tags (Abridged, All tags on AO3): Alternate Universe, Whump, Cop Zhao Yunlan, Mobster Wu Xie, Hurt Zhao Yunlan, Hurt/Comfort, Wounding tending, Kissing Words: 7,760 Series: Part 1 of Beyond the Territory and the Precinct

 By now Zhao Yunlan knew how this worked. Older cops didn't like the young guy that wasn’t corrupt and that they thought only had a job on the force because of his old man. While Zhao Xinci was absolutely in favor of his son following in his footsteps, Yunlan had different goals in mind than making his old man proud. He wanted to make a difference. He grew up seeing corruption first hand and he knew the games he had to play for him to get far enough that he could actually have the power to do something about it. He knew who to make good impressions on and get close with that wouldn't mind his big vision of a department that actually makes a difference. But for now he could only dream of that day. It was his sole comfort as his body ached. Another training session with his      oh so honorable     superiors. They said it's so important for good cops to be able to take a hit. To know how it feels to be subject to the tools they use. Zhao Yunlan doesn't disagree … but being subject to pepper spray, tasers, batons, and too tight handcuffs and zip ties all in one day left him feeling abused. His head throbbed in pain. He could hardly feel his feet. Every breath burned and his eyes still watered from the lingering chemicals. To say he was worse for wear would be the understate of the fucking year.

 The subway wasn't very busy, a small mercy. An older woman had given him a concerned look and handed him a tissue out of her purse for his eyes. He gave a grateful smile before wiping his cheeks, trying to be careful not to rub at his eyes. It probably would help to rinse them out again when he got back to his apartment. Once he got to his stop, Yunlan gave his thanks again to the woman before getting out and pulling his hat low. The lights were too bright for his sensitive eyes. Thankfully, muscle memory let Yunlan travel through the subway, only having to glance up and squint occasionally. Most passersby were too busy to pay him much attention, simply moving out of the way of the man who was walking with a hand against the wall to guide himself.

 Once back on the street, Zhao Yunlan stopped at a bench under a flickering street lamp. He rested his head in his hands and let out a heavy sigh. It hurt. All of this was exhausting. The walk to his apartment felt like a mountain climb. But he could do it. He knew he just needed to keep pushing. One day things would be better. It didn't feel like much time had passed when a stranger's voice made him jump and jerk his head up to see who had managed to sneak up on him. "You alright there, sir?"

 In front of him stood a man maybe a bit older than Zhao Yunlan. From his attire, he might be a businessman. His white button down looked freshly iron and his blazer was a darker blue that complimented his grey dress pants. Cufflinks: the sign of a well off and influential man. The only detail of the well composed man in front of Zhao Yunlan that made him pause was the simple black stud earrings. He was being stared at expectantly with a raised eyebrow the longer he not so subtly studied the stranger. "Sorry. Yeah, I'm fine. Just enjoying the nice evening weather before heading home," he easily lied.

Continue reading on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48795520

[siphersaysstuff]

New for G2!

Know what I haven't done in a hot minute? A Patreon-backed @tfwiki pic thread about toys from before the turn of the century! Ha haa god I'm old.

Anyway, let's look at some of the new toys made for GENERATION 2, easily one of my all-time favorite eras of TF. I was the exact target demographic for the original TF line, but it was just one of many toylines I liked. I never had a lot. But G2 came when I started having disposable income, and at the dawning of internet fandom, and the innovations it made turned me into a TF FAN and long-time collector.

And before we start, everyone give thanks to Takara designer Takio Ejima (江島 多規男). He designed SO MANY TFs from this era to today, and is responsible for creating the light-piping and balljoint articulation that first appeared in these years.

The "Autobot Cars" became instant favorites (especially Rapido). The European releases were called AXELERATORS (a far cooler name) and had gorgeous hot-pink translucent parts instead of the US versions' smoky black. (Skram, Windbreaker, Rapido (old pic), Turbofire (old pic))

Of course, the "Decepticon Jet" counterparts, aka SKYSCORCHERS, were also adored. Weapons stored in vehicle mode were still rare, and thankfully the US versions kept that lovely bright-green translucent plastic. (Windrazor, Terradive, Afterburner (old pic), Eagle Eye (old pic))

The LASER RODS didn't just have light-up parts, they were the first super-articulated TFs! They used the G.I.Joe O-ring and steel hips construction, which was very awkward and made standing them tricky. (Electro, Volt, Sizzle, Jolt)

Following up are the LASER CYCLES, which use the Cyberjet ball-joint tech for much more stable advanced articulation. Road Pig and Road Rocket (old pic) also keep their lights permanently plugged into their weapons, where the Rods had you move the light from engine to hand.

On the other end of the articulation are the GO-BOTS, small and simple toys designed to work with Matchbox/Hot Wheels-scale playsets. Gearhead here was first released with clear parts, then again in the second wave with opaques… the first of many, MANY redecoes for this lot.

(No really, the six Go-Bots were released in like TEN different decos each all told over the course of eight years. It's amazing the steel molds weren't cheese by the end of it.)

The last toys released in G2 (in the US at least), the AUTO-ROLLERS (Dirtbag & Roadblock) are absolute units. Their back/lower halves have involved gearing that, when you flip a switch, makes them auto-transform to robot when rolled forward, or to vehicle when rolled back.

There's loads more delightful toys in this line, but I've already done pics of most of them, like the water-shooters (sadly my US versions are pretty rough), Rotor Force, Heroes, and the Australia/New Zealand exclusive Power Masters. Try 'em, you'll like 'em.

And if you enjoy these looks back on TF toy history and want to see even more pics per month, please consider joining my Patreon. Every little bit helps out. You can find it at

www dot patreon dot com slash gregstfwikipics

[the-kipsabian]

you're genuinely a great writer, and you've improved a lot since i've been following you. you're really very talented! you get low engagement because you write for a rarepair, in an already not-so-big fanbase. the whole thing with fanfiction is that people read about what they know, stories that expand the media that they already like. if you want to write about something you're passionate about: continue going the way you are. you're improving, and learning, and getting experience. if you want engagement, write for a popular fandom. you have to choose your path. i understand it's frustrating, but not even the most skilled, perfectly articulate and endlessly evocative writer can get engagement in a tiny fandom. 's just how this works, man. it sucks.

like see. i totally understand this. trust me this isnt my first rodeo with stuff like this, unfortunately

the thing thats mostly frustrating to me is that the interactions have stopped almost entirely. that they used to be there once. yeah most notes in any of my posts are still my own reblogs, but there used to be actual interactions there. there were tags in reblogs. there were reblogs and likes. now theres barely anything when i do share something

like yes i get it, this is a very small rarepair in a niche fandom, and im not expecting a lot. im expecting the bare minimum above nothing. and for the most part there isnt anything there anymore. i know theres a lot of reasons for this, and im not blaming anyone or whatever, i dont want it to sound like that - i just want to be seen and i dont think that should be too much to ask even in the case of a small rarepair in a niche fandom

that being said, yeah no im not changing anything im doing. this is where my passion and my heart is and this is what i enjoy doing and what makes me happy. i never wanted to be "popular"; again, i just wanted to be seen. and seeing the curve of interactions going down from the previously already small numbers just makes me sad. ive thankfully gotten into the mindset of wanting to really only write for myself and one other person who i know genuinely likes my work, and thats good enough for me. which i guess is contradictory to what ive been saying, but i think despite that im allowed to be a little sad about this whole thing. i think every artist just wants to be seen and heard at times, no matter what

anyways, i appreciate you nonnie. im just sad cause the amount of energy it takes to put something out there and then not getting anything back, when im already hanging by a thread at almost all times so its very taxing. so like. i dont know

[eurovision-del]

So that was the first semi final! No big surprises with the qualifiers, and overall I thought it was a decent show!

Qualifiers:

Croatia: Very glad to see this get through! I worried it might be too off-putting for a lot of televoters – thankfully that wasn’t the case! If anything I felt the performance was slightly tamer than I was expecting – no sheer outfits or rosebuds! But that might also be because I’ve grown used to Let 3 over the past few months. Still, so glad they’ll be in the final!  

Moldova: I was certain this was going to qualify with ease and I’m happy to be right! The performance was brilliant, the most atmospheric show of the night, I loved every part of it.

Switzerland: The only real ‘surprise’ – with nine entries in this semi the fandom seemed in agreement was going through, Switzerland was the one to take the coveted tenth spot! I did have a feeling one of the ballads might qualify, since they do have their audience and there aren’t that many this year, but I was also in denial because I really wanted this spot to go to another country. Ah well, Remo definitely earned it with his vocal performance, and the staging was also eye-catching.

Finland: Never in doubt! I knew pretty much everything about how this performance would go down from following the national final through to all the published rehearsal footage, yet it still managed to exceed my expectations! Käärijä popping out of the crate like that was perfect and I loved the transition to rainbow colours in the second half of the song. Fantastic song, fantastic show, now to see how far it can go on Saturday!!

Czechia: This one had cooled on me a little and I thought it might be borderline, but seeing it performed tonight I was sure it was going through. The performance was very cohesive, and the pink outfits really stood out against everything else in this semi. Not the strongest vocal performance but the overall energy made up for it.

Israel: I wasn’t impressed by her vocal. Noa kept us waiting by avoiding pre-parties, but she sounded fine to me in rehearsal footage so I’m not sure what happened tonight. It didn’t matter though, the spectacle was enough to see her through, even though honestly I could have done without this one making it.

Portugal: I’m so happy for Mimicat! People seemed worried that her staging was too sparse after the rehearsal footage, but she filled the stage tonight, and smashed that high note once again! I thought she was great! (although it was at this point when they were announcing qualifiers I realised I was going to lose my underdog faves)

Sweden: The other entry whose qualification was never in doubt. The only time I noticed the box was small was in the moment right after she first stood up, it looked as stunning as in MelFest for the rest of the performance – and of course that wouldn’t be noticed by a first-time viewer. Loreen knocked it out of the park, she’s deservingly very much in contention for the crown.

Serbia: My third place this year so I’m glad he got through! I did start to question Luke’s chances since he was announced so late, but thankfully he made it! The performance was what I expected, sharp and enticing – it was the exact vibe I was after!

Norway: Announcing her last took all the suspense out of the results honestly – no way she wasn’t going to qualify, the song is too memorable. The staging felt a little empty, as did Alessandra’s outfit actually, although I did like her cape in the first part. Her energy was decent though, and the song strong enough by itself to carry Norway right through to the final.

Non-Qualifiers:

Malta: I loved their show! The concept was the same as in MESC but elevated. The only thing I would have changed is I would have actually liked to see the jumper change onscreen – it was a little odd just seeing the saxophone and drummer and hearing a huge cheer – then the camera pans around and we saw the sparkly jumper. I loved every thing else though, and I’m sad it wasn’t enough. This semi was just too strong.

Latvia: Another huge heartbreak, probably my biggest of the night, though I knew their chances were always slim. The staging and performance was everything I could have asked for, I really hope Sudden Lights feel proud of the show they put on – they should! I’m so sad for Latvia failing to get through again, but I hope they stick to their guns and continue to send alternative and unique acts.

Ireland: A little sad that Ireland still haven’t cracked it yet, but based on the song this result was definitely fair. I vibed with the song more than I ever have this entire season, it was definitely tailor-made to be played in an arena like this and it helped it out having the crowd there, but it’s still not a very strong entry, so personally I’m glad it’s staying here.

Azerbaijan: I actually really enjoyed this one live. The split-screen effects might have been overused, it felt they were throwing everything at it, but the colour scheme was beautiful with the two-tone lights behind them switching colours throughout. In my live reactions I described it as ‘pleasant’ – unfortunately pleasant isn’t enough to qualify.

The Netherlands: Once Switzerland got through I knew this had no hope of making it. I still like it a lot as a song, but I think I prefer it in the studio cut. I didn’t enjoy when Dion sang up the octave – I can’t remember him doing that before, but I don’t think it worked. I really hope that they’re not given too much hassle by the media, they still put on a decent show.

I could have been more confident with my predictions actually – despite all my hopes this semi final went exactly according to the betting odds, which made for a not very exciting set of results, though in the end a reasonably deserved set. With Malta and Latvia both failing to make it, there’s no way Romania and San Marino, my underdog faves in semi 2, will qualify, but hopefully Austria and Australia should sail through, and I’m looking forward to what should be a great show no matter what!!

[drops-of-moonlights]

Would you be able to provide an abridged retelling of the most significant years in the Winx fandom? Been interested in just how much of a shitshow this franchise has been as of late.

SO I've been like Actually In The Fandom since 2011 and after 12 years my memory's not the best, but people are free to add or correct anything I missed or got wrong lmao. I'll only be covering what I remember from interacting with others, the TRUE OG shitshow from the first 4 seasons is not something I'm as knowledgeable. I'm also not gonna name anyone in particular, just because that's like, the polite thing to do.

2011 itself was a Moment, as the Specials were coming out and with them a resurgence of the Dub Wars in full, Nick coming in as a new contender. Nick using Aisha's original name caused its own set of issues because people both thought they changed her name for no reason and because people argued that calling her Layla still was Wrong And Bad and they should stop, which like. yeah.

2012 is S5's debut. I feel that's self-explanatory enough. 2013 carried on with that as the season progressed, and it was also the time of the Transformation Wars -or more accurately, the Enchantix vs Everything Else War. If you didn't like Enchantix above all else you were invalid and wrong and other such synonyms, essentially, especially after Sirenix's official release.

2014 came with S6 (which has its own issues), but what I want to touch on is that 2014 came with the Couture artstyle. This marked the first official foray into the whitewashing of the Winx, though few people paid attention to it (that I saw, anyways).

2015 was S7's debut. This is also I feel self-explanatory enough. SURPRISINGLY I remember people PRAISING S7 at the time? which is weird as hell? But anyways, 2015 was the first time people noticed the Couture artstyle significantly whitewashing the Winx. This also was the time of the announcement of WOW.

2016 and 2017 I'll group together as it was the time WOW aired, and the full start of the Whitewashing debacle. It was the height of the whitewashing denial too, with people not seeing the issue with the Winx looking lighter (and some agreeing with them being lighter, even!) and coupled with WOW's mixed reception it was just Not a good time overall.

2018 reached another point in the Whitewashing as we got our first teasers for S8, which not only kept the whitewashing but also drastically changed the artstyle, more than WOW did. 2019 was S8's proper debut and it was, for a bit, a time of uncertainty, as during S8's airing Rainbow had seemed to indicate that the franchise was over (more notably, the renovations of Rainbow Magicland, which was primarily Winx-themed, removing Alfea Castle).

AND THEN ON THE SAME FUCKING DAY S8 AIRS ITS FINAL EPISODE WE GET FATE'S CONFIRMATION AND CASTING. September 17th was a day.

2020, 2021 and 2022 are what I'd call the Fate Era, as that was the primary part of the franchise at the time and I feel we're all familiar with its discourse, but the main points were the further whitewashing of Musa and Flora (as Terra is pretty much Flora), the show itself being bad with its multiple writing and costume choices, and just what it caused was. yeah. THANKFULLY IT'S DEAD NOW.

It was during this time that we got the full confirmation of S9 being a reboot, and now we're all just. waiting to see what comes out of that. AT THE VERY LEAST THEY AREN'T WHITEWASHED ANYMORE small mercies.

[hisokas-toybox]

Hisoka/Illumi engagement headcanon (crack)

So, I know that as a fandom we tend to typically view the engagement between Hisoka and Illumi as having the following dynamic:

Illumi sees it is just a “business deal” where they’ll help each other with mutual enemies but ultimately one will kill the other.

Hisoka treats it as a very real marriage/relationship and takes every opportunity to brag about his husband/flirt with Illumi and generally make things complicated and awkward for Illumi with his family.

BUT

Hear me out

Imagine the reverse

One day Hisoka tells Illumi he’d like to propose an idea. The idea is that they should make some kind of formal contract so it’s clear that they are not really friends and that one will eventually kill the other. In Hisoka’s mind this is a convenient business deal and all pretty clear.

HOWEVER. Illumi in all his social inexperience/emotional constipation hears the word “propose” and assumes Hisoka is LITERALLY proposing to him. The part about killing each other is just a small detail that he’d always assumed would happen either way... He assumes Hisoka’s insistence on formalising that specific part means making it a pre-nup term so neither can go to jail for the murder of their spouse. 

It takes Illumi a while to decide. He’s never thought of Hisoka as anything other than a convenient ally/worthy adversary. But then, it’s not like he’s ever been attracted to anyone else either... Sure, it means he probably would never have biological children. That would surely disappoint his family in terms of carrying on the family lineage.

 But otherwise? Hisoka IS strong and morally grey/corrupt enough to be worthy of becoming a Zoldyck through marriage; a privilege not many can claim. Plus, it’s not like Hisoka ISN’T attractive in his own way.... Lastly, when Illumi kills him, as his spouse and only known family/next of kin, he’d inherit everything Hisoka has/owns (Illumi has no need for Hisoka’s money/possessions, but he’ll still take them - he doesn’t kill for free after all).

Illumi. Says. Yes.

Some time passes. Hisoka has no idea the car crash he’s orchestrated until Illumi starts asking questions. Questions like, when should they announce their engagement? Are they doing engagement rings? When/where does he want to get married.... At first, Hisoka thinks Illumi is joking. Making a play on words because Hisoka had used some phrase about a proposal. So he goes along with it, thinking the sarcasm is clear. Obviously Hisoka is the kind of person who would NEVER make that kind of commitment to anyone other than himself.

For a shamefully long time he is convinced “the engagement” is all a big, long-running joke just between him and Illumi. That is until he is formally invited for dinner with the Zoldycks at their mansion by Silva and Kikyo. The invite is for Illumi and his fiancee to celebrate their engagement and to vet Illumi’s potential spouse as per Zoldyck tradition.

Too late, Hisoka realises this was never a joke. And what’s worse. Illumi seems EXCITED by all this.... He’s NEVER seen Illumi excited. Not like this anyway.

It’s debatable whether Hisoka has much of a heart (don’t come after me for saying that! Hisoka is still my fave and I love him regardless. I just know that all my faves are problematic, hot messes) but he doesn’t have the heart to come clean about the miscommunication and to burst that happy little bubble Illumi is in. 

So, with no other alternatives, it looks like Hisoka is engaged to Illumi.

For real.

Thankfully for Hisoka, Illumi is hot, intelligent (most of the time) and a strong enough killer/fighter to keep Hisoka entertained. For now, at least.

[dauntless-gothamite]

Prove Them Wrong [1/?]

Fandom: Divergent Pairing: Eric Coulter x Fem! Reader Summary: Y/N is a Dauntless transfer from Erudite, and she has a drive, an ambition that sets her apart--it always has, even back in Erudite. She brings her perseverance (and need to prove others wrong) to Dauntless when she transfers, and she uses her mind to make her way through the initiation process. Along the way, she makes friends and enemies, and she finds herself comfortable around the man most people in Dauntless avoid at all costs: Eric Coulter.  A/N: hey, everyone! so some elements of this are based on myself and how I interact with people, mainly because I tend to bond with people who are not well-liked (i.e. I got along well with teachers everyone hated, consistently). I plan to keep most descriptions of the reader vague so you can insert yourself, though! this first chapter is a little bit slow, but I am already well into writing chapter 2, and I am really excited about where this fic is going! Enjoy!!

“Dauntless!” Marcus Eaton called out--Abnegation was hosting the Choosing Ceremony this year--and as your blood hit the burning coals, a series of cheers and claps erupted from the fearless faction. You took your place next to the other Dauntless transfers and snuck a glance at your family. Your parents looked sad--disappointed, almost--but it was nothing compared to the way some parents reacted to their children choosing another faction. Your father caught your eye as he pulled a handkerchief from his crisp blue suit and handed it to your mother, who was just barely containing her tears. Quickly, you looked away. A moment later, a girl with dirty blonde hair sat down beside you. Her loose grey clothing indicated she was in Abnegation, or at least she had been. She was Dauntless now, and so were you. 

A series of names you only half heard filled the room, and before you knew it, the ceremony was over. Then, as if they’d been waiting for the chance to get up from their seats, all the Dauntless rushed out of the building, racing for the train tracks. You and the other initiates stared at them as they began to climb, shocked. Sure, you knew you’d be taking the train, but you’d never thought about how you’d actually get there. Shoving the thought out of your mind, you began to climb, the Abnegation girl from before and a girl from Candor scaling the poles on either side of you. Once you made it to the top, you saw everyone standing in a line, facing away from the train. That’s when it hit you: they were going to run and jump onto the train. This was unlike anything you’d ever done, but it was exciting, and you knew that with the right speed and angle, you’d be fine. When the rails started to vibrate and the train came into view, you took off. 

You weren’t the fastest, but you weren’t the slowest either, and that was worth something. At the very least, you would make the train. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw an opening, and without hesitation, you jumped. It was so different from life in Erudite. There, nothing was done without consideration. You had to look at a problem from all angles and weigh the possibilities, consider the outcomes of every scenario, even for the simplest of tasks. Here, you could just do. It was liberating, and you knew you’d made the right choice. Although, it would be damn near impossible to drop all of the habits you’d picked up in Erudite. Some aspects of the scholarly faction were simply a part of you; it would be impossible to erase that. But, for the sake of your survival, you’d have to do your best. 

“Hey,” said a voice from behind you. You turned around and saw a boy with brown hair and dark eyes, which stood out against his pale skin. “I’m Albert,” he said. “But everyone calls me Al.” He stuck his hand out and you shook it.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, glad to have already made one friend. You smiled before turning away to look out at the city; the train provided a great view when it wasn’t in the center of the city surrounded by buildings. While you were looking at the skyline, you saw movement and heard screams of both terror and excitement to your left. You turned to see what was causing the commotion, and you saw people jumping from the train onto a gravelly roof. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Al said as he joined you at the edge of the train. 

“This is crazy,” you agreed. But whereas Al looked terrified, you were grinning, adrenaline from boarding the train still pumping through your veins, making you aware of each and every nerve in your body. Then, with the roof coming up, you took a few steps back, ran forward and jumped. 

Your body hit the gravelly roof hard, ripping a hole in your blazer. Thankfully, it seemed like that was the only thing that broke; your body felt perfectly fine, if a little sore from the impact. You looked around to see Al a few feet away from you, and you smiled, glad he’d made it. The two of you got up and headed to the other end of the roof, where the initiates who had already jumped off the train stood facing a tall man with cropped hair and neck tattoos. “Alright, listen up,” the man said when the last car of the train passed the edge of the roof. If someone wasn’t off of it yet, there was only one stop for them now: factionless. “I’m Eric, one of your leaders here at Dauntless. I will also be overseeing your training, which began the second your blood hit the coals. So, rather than waste any more time, let's get on with it. You want to get into Dauntless, this is the way in. Who is going to jump first?”

At this point, everyone was peering over the ledge Eric stood on, more focused on what was behind him. A dark hole in the concrete far below where we stood. You looked around you, nodding at Will, who you knew from Erudite, happy to see a familiar face amongst all this chaos. As you moved towards him, the girl from Abnegation who had sat next to you earlier stepped forward. “Me,” she said, volunteering to jump first. Everyone looked around with wide eyes while Eric scoffed. 

“The Stiff? Alright.”

Unbothered, the girl stepped onto the ledge, and a few seconds later, she disappeared into the shadowy depths of whatever lay below.

Watching the girl in grey jump first had sent a shock of surprise through you, but it was followed by something new, the desire to try this new and dangerous thing before you, and as the third jumper stepped off the ledge, you found yourself stepping forward, volunteering to go next. As you stepped onto the ledge, Eric raised a pierced brow at you, waited a few seconds for the previous jumper to get off of the net, and jerked his head towards the net, motioning for you to jump. And then, in a silent response, you jumped, a smile unexpectedly gracing your lips as you made contact with the net below, landing with a bounce. You turned to the man standing next to the net who helped you out of the net, and he introduced himself as Four before directing you to stand in line with the other initiates who had already jumped. Minutes crawled by as you waited for the rest of the initiates to jump, and after what felt like forever, Eric landed in the net and directed his cold stare at the initiates lined up as he slid off the net without Four’s assistance--though it didn’t seem like Four was inclined to help him, either. Interesting. 

--

The transfer dorm was small, crowded, and damp--somehow it was exactly what you expected and entirely different at the same time. As everyone claimed a bed, Four and Eric stood near the door, ready to make an announcement. You smiled at the Candor girl with short, black hair who was setting up the bed next to yours, about to introduce yourself when one of the trainers by the door--most likely Eric--cleared his throat, silencing the room. “Welcome to Dauntless, Eric said. “As Four just explained, this is where you will be staying for the next few weeks while you complete your training. You will receive more information about the training process tomorrow morning at the first session, but for now all you need to know about it is that the training room is three floors up, down the hallway, and to the left. Meet in the Pit, which is upstairs, in fifteen minutes for some announcements from Max and dinner.” Then, he left.

“That guy is all business, huh?” the girl you were about to introduce yourself to said lightly. 

“Yeah,” you smiled back. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Christina,” she replied with an outstretched hand. As you shook her hand she looked you over and said, “So, Erudite. What made you want to transfer?”

“Well, it is best for one to go to a place for which they are well-suited…” you trailed off. “What about you, Candor?”

“Candor is a place of words and action, with slightly more words. I wanted more action,” she shrugged. A thud on the bed on your other side distracted you before you could respond, and you turned around to see familiar light green eyes.

“Will!” you said, wrapping your fellow Erudite transfer in a brief hug. You’d vaguely registered his name at the choosing ceremony followed by the word “Dauntless”, but it hadn’t really dawned on you until now that there were fellow Erudite transfers here. “Have you seen Edward?” you asked.

“Yeah, he’s right over there,” Will replied, pointing to the corner of the room. You waved at Edward, and he smiled back as he continued setting up his bed. 

“Amazing,” you said softly, more to yourself than to Will. “By the way, this is Christina, she’s from Candor,” you said, remembering your new friend. Will shot her a smile, and Christina reached out to shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she said enthusiastically. 

“Likewise,” Will replied. Seeing all of your fellow transfers getting to know each other was exciting, and even though you wanted to stay in this room with all of them and get to know everyone else, you knew it was a better idea to start making your way to the Pit; there was rarely a time when showing up early was a bad thing, and leaving early would make sure you got there in time even if you got lost along the way. As you started to head out down the hallway, the former Abnegation joined you, seeming to have the same idea. “Hi,” you said, introducing yourself. “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Tris,” she replied quietly. “You were in Erudite, right?” she asked.

“I was. And you were in Abnegation?”

“Yeah.” There was something sad about the way she said it, but you decided to let it go; you didn’t really know her yet. As you were thinking of what to say next, Tris interrupted your thoughts saying, “My brother just transferred there. To Erudite, I mean.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll love it,” you said, smiling fondly as memories of the Erudite libraries surfaced in your mind. “You get to spend so much time learning and teaching others, and they actually respect personal space--at least a little bit. I’ll even let you in on a secret: the suits are much more comfortable than they look, I promise.” She laughed a little bit at the last statement, and you relaxed, starting to enjoy her company. 

--

As it turned out, you and Tris had no trouble finding the Pit, and it wasn’t surprising that you were the first ones there. Both of you sat down, and you did your best to ignore the occasional looks from Four and Eric as they stood on a balcony overlooking the Pit with Max, the head of Dauntless leadership and the faction’s representative when the five factions held council, and talked amongst themselves. Soon, thankfully, a few more of the transfers sat down with you and Tris, and they were soon followed by a steady trickle of transfers, the room getting louder with each person who entered. Max walked to the edge of the balcony and called for everyone’s attention, and the room got quiet, a nervous excitement filling your body. 

“Welcome, initiates,” the leader’s low voice filled the room. “We are glad to have you here at Dauntless. Here, you will be trained to be protectors of our city. You will be tested physically, emotionally, and mentally, and it will be hard, but you will come out stronger and braver, which is what you need to be to survive in this faction. Your training starts tomorrow; you will be working with Four and Eric, the initiates who aren’t transfers will be working with Lauren. For now, dig in, you’re going to need your strength for tomorrow.” Cheers erupted across the room, and people got up to grab food before racing back to their new friends. This was the beginning of something new for everyone, and excitement raced through your veins. You were ready to start your new life.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

------------------------

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

------------------------

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

------------------------

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

------------------------

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

------------------------

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

[1987vampire]

A Good Something? | Judd Birch

Fandom: Big Mouth Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: a hurt racoon, the f slur, just a lot of cussing.  Request: None! A/N: This isn’t established Judd x reader, this is meeting him for the first time so if I write more fics for him, I have something I can refer y’all back to :) If y’all want to see more Judd, an ACTUAL judd x reader, I can give y’all that ALSO the reader has dyed hair in this - not blue - it’s not super important but there’s a line in here that references it.  Extra: 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” your words were stressed as you slammed on the breaks. The rain made it hard to see; it wasn’t your fault that the animal had run into the middle of the road. You weren’t even going that fast, they should have been able to hear you.

You flung your door open harsher than you meant to, but you had to move quickly in case someone came speeding down the road, and you ended up bleeding out right next to whatever you had hit. The road was slick underneath your feet. You almost slipped and fell as you skidded to a stop in front of them. It was a racoon, a fat one at that, and it was staring up at you with big doe eyes. His leg was twisted, and he was letting out small grunts of pain.

“Oh, I’m sorry, little buddy,” You cried. “Can I pick you up? I’ll find somewhere to take care of you, I promise.” You hadn’t really expected an answer- it was an animal after all – but he nodded up at you, reaching his little paws out in hopes that you would help. You paused for a moment, taking in the situation and trying to figure out how to pick him up without hurting him.

You reached an arm under his butt and the other under his neck so you wouldn’t jostle his leg too much. He made little chirping sounds as you steadily walked over to your car, using your head as a shield so he wouldn’t get rain in his eyes. You let out a quiet stream of ‘I’m sorry’s as you did so. You made it into your car just in time to close the door as someone sped down, narrowly missing you as they went.

The little racoon shivered in the passenger seat, but you covered him in blankets and spare clothes you kept in the back, turning the heat in your car on high, trying to dry him and heat him up at the same time. He stared up at you thankfully as you put the car in gear, driving home even slower than before, never going over twenty-five-miles-an-hour.

Once you had reached your apartment, you had to sneak him in in hopes that your shitty landlord wouldn’t notice. He had a strict no animals policy, but this was a bit more important. Fortunately, you could sneak past his office by telling the raccoon to be quiet, since he seemed to be good at listening to directions somehow, and hiding him underneath the pile of clothes, passing him off as laundry.

Finally, inside the comforts of your apartment, you laid him down on the couch and set to researching what to do. After a few calls to a few vet offices and a lot of google searches, you were able to give him a makeshift cast and lay him in a way that would be best for his recovery. He was still talking in his little racoon language as you went. It really looked like he was trying to tell you something, but unfortunately, you were human and could not understand him.

That was until he held your hand in his little paws and pulled them to his neck. How had you not noticed the skinny collar he was wearing? His thick fur had almost completely covered it. Really, it wasn’t even a collar but a thick piece of cord with a circle nameplate in the middle.

You fiddled with it, reading the information attached. ‘Contact Judd. 555-4200’ was engraved onto it in someone’s personal handwriting instead of with a machine. “You know it’s illegal for someone to own a racoon around here, right,” you told him. The racoon made a noise of disapproval and fiddled with the collar again. “Do you want me to take it off?” He hissed in displeasure, making you stop abruptly. “Call him?” He nodded enthusiastically. “You’re a strange little guy, you know that, right?”

You pulled out your phone and dialed the number, tapping your foot against the floor anxiously. It took a few rings, and you were sure he wouldn’t pick up, when a deep voice answered the phone.

“Do you know what fucking time it is, right now?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned towards the first clock you could find—three o’clock in the morning. “I- I’m sorry. I can call back in the morning if you want. I just have this racoon with me, and his ankle is twisted because I accidentally hit him, and he had your number on his neck, and I- I-“

“Racoon?” His voice cut you off, and you could tell that he was waking up at the information. “You hit one of my fucking racoons?”

“He ran out into the middle of the road when I was driving. It was raining, so I could barely see, and I couldn’t swerve to miss him because there was a car on one side of the road and trees on the other. I wrapped his leg, and he’s resting, but he wanted me to call you, so here we are.”

He let out a few grumbles, and my fingers instinctively rose to my face so I could bite at my nails. “Fucking hell. Why was he in the middle of the road?” It was a rhetorical question, but you had almost wanted to respond even though you didn’t have an answer. “Does he have any distinctive marks on him? A missing toe, clipped ear, maybe he has uneven stripes.” Your eyes fell on the racoon again. He looked pretty normal besides the leg.

Almost like he knew what you were talking about, the racoon pulled one of his hands up to his forehead. After you pushed some of his fur to the side, you knew what he was pointing at. “He’s showing me that he has a scar on his forehead - like he split his forehead or something.”

“Of course it’s fucking Gerard – the fat fuck.”

You frowned at the statement. “He’s not that fat.”

“I mean the sentence in the most loving hatred filled way I can mean it. He knows I don’t mean it. Can you give the phone to him?”

This was the weirdest fucking situation you had ever been in. “Oh yeah, I guess.” you placed the phone in the racoon’s hand, and he made a chirp as a hello. You could hear Judd’s voice lowly in the speaker as he talked to him, the racoon making noises of acknowledgement as he went. You could make out very little besides him asking if you were taking care of him and then berating him for being stupid. The racoon – well, Gerard – kept trying to talk to him, but Judd refused to let up, barely giving him a moment to speak even if he did understand him.

After a few minutes, Gerard pushed the phone towards me, and I took it back. “So, what do you want me to do with him. Like, I can take him to yours, since I guess he belongs to you, or-“

“Fuck off. What are you – the feds? Give me your address, I’m not letting you see my shit.”

“Well, usually people ask me on a date before seeing my place, but-“ the words had slipped from my mouth before I thought about what I was saying, and my eyes immediately widened with embarrassment. “Oh my god- I’m sorry-“

He laughed loudly and pulled the phone away from his ear. “Well, we can think about that after I get the fat fucking faggot in your house.”

Your arms crossed. “You better part of that community if you’re using their slurs, fuckface.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mused. “Give me your address. I’m getting in my car.”

After giving him the information, you hung up, itching at your arm as you stared at Gerard. “He isn’t very nice, huh,” you told him. He chirped and shook his head as if defending him. “Is he really mean or is it a front?” He chirped at the second part, and I smiled. “Well, he’ll be here soon.”

And soon it was. It only took him about ten minutes before you heard a loud knocking on your door, banging more like. You jumped from sitting beside Gerard to the door, peeking out into the dark hallway, the latch still connected. “Judd?”

On the other side of the door was a decently tall man with black and blue hair, his sides shaved til it was only stubble. He was clad in a gray hoodie and black jeans, gray converse on his feet. His face was set in a glare as he stared at you. “Who the fuck else would it be?”

You shut the door and unlatched it, opening it wider so he could come in. “You knock like my landlord.”

“Landlord?” He pushed into your apartment, his sights set on the racoon lounging on your cheap couch. “You don’t look old enough to have a landlord.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m nineteen. This is my apartment.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “And you let some strange man in? Pretty stupid if you ask me.”

You frowned and pursed your lips. “I can kick you out- keep your racoon if you don’t start acting nice.”

“You could definitely try.” He picked up Gerard’s leg, inspecting it. “You did a good job with this. Almost as good as my work.”

“He was a good patient.”

Judd scoffed, sticking his hands underneath Gerard to pick him up just as you had earlier that night. “He was probably just basking in a pretty girl’s attention.”

Pretty? A smile was climbing onto your face. He was pretty, too, if he didn’t have such a sour attitude.

His eyes fell onto yours as he turned. “I like your hair by the way. The color suits you.” You ran your hand through your dyed hair, suddenly very conscious of how you looked. “You should try blue next time.” Gerard made a loud noise in his arms and reached out to you. Judd frowned down at him. “You had your fun, dumbass, but you’ve got to go home now. I’m sure the others are worried about you.”

“Others?”

Judd looked back at you. “Yeah, I was – uh – training a battalion of racoons to kill my younger brother.” He groaned quietly. “Now they’re good for catering and attacking intruders, but they refused to hurt him. Got a few scars because of it.”

You chuckled quietly and shook your head. “You sure are something, alright.”

His lips upturned the slightest bit into a tiny smile. “Is that a good something?”

“Sure, we can say that.”

You opened the door for him as he started taking strides towards it. He paused right past the entryway, something sitting on his tongue. “Try not to hit any more racoons, alright?”

Your fingers drummed along the door, and you laughed. “I’ll be sure to call you if I do. Just in case.”

He was already walking away when he responded. “You have my number.”

You hesitated on shutting the door right away, choosing to listen to him begin to berate the racoon as he walked down the hall, something along the lines of, ‘you make me come out in the middle of the night, scared shitless. You could have died, you fucking cunt.” He continued as he disappeared out of sight, but you didn’t even have the heart to ask him to cover the racoon as he left, preferring to just deal with your landlords berating the next day.