#and then to ignore or even punish the characters they don’t like in terms of their identity

[transdimensional-void]

been thinking about how jace's identity is in conversation with jon's and joffrey's, and it's all tied up in the role that a noble's mother's identity plays in a patriarchal society. their bastardy raises questions about how important their mother's identity is relative to their father's.

jace and joffrey both grow up knowing who their mothers are, founding their identities at least in part on their mothers', while for jon the mystery of his mother's identity is the very reason his sense of self is so shaky.

because jace is legally a velaryon just as joffrey is legally a baratheon—their mothers' husbands claimed them. yet from the moment we meet him, joffrey is proudly displaying his mother's family arms as equal to his father's. and jace is a targaryen through his mother, has a claim to the iron throne through his mother, plans to eventually take the targaryen name and pass it on to his children because of his mother. yet both were fathered by men other than their legal fathers—to many people, joffrey is no true baratheon and jace is no true velaryon. but what does that make them? if joffrey is a lannister rather than a baratheon, is jace a targaryen rather than a velaryon? or is joffrey a lannister because of his biological father rather than because of his mother, making jace a strong rather than a targaryen? or are they both merely waterses?

is jon a stark or a targaryen? or just a snow? can he choose (stannis seems to think so), or is he stuck with the identity wider society assigns him? and if jon gets to choose, why not joffrey or jace? and if none of them gets to choose, which externally assigned identity is the most valid?

if jace can claim to be heir to the iron throne based on his mother's blood alone, can jon claim to be heir to winterfell based on the same thing? if joffrey can claim to be heir to the iron throne based on his legal identity, regardless of his biological father, can jace claim to be heir to driftmark? should jace be considered to have a claim to harrenhal through his biological father? if not, then why would jon snow have a claim to the iron throne on the same basis? if so, then does joffrey have a claim to casterly rock through his biological father? through his mother? or should none of them have any claim because of their bastardy? (because all of these seats have alternate, legitimate claimants).

which should matter most to one's identity: one's father's family? one's mother's? one's legal identity? one's legitimacy? one's personal choice?

how you answer this question for any one of these characters perforce informs how you answer it for the others.

[fangsforiris]

hello can you do this but with the sakamaki brothers please and thank you so much if you do 💙https://www.tumblr.com/fangsforiris/754832768603750400/mukami-jealousy-hcs?source=share

Sakamaki Brothers Jealousy HC’s

— — — — — — — — —

Shū:

• He wouldn’t be as outward with his jealousy, if anything it’d be subdued.

• But if he is jealous, you wouldn’t know it.

• If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s feigning ignorance and placing a wall.

• Canonically in the HDB and MB Anthropology Manga, Shū gets jealous by stupid things, and is in a sense, comical with it.

• He wouldn’t get fussy like Kanato or Ayato.

• More so annoyed that he’s finding himself attached to someone at this level again.

• All of the boys have a certain level of possessiveness, so it’s not shocking if Shū displays his in lethargic and apathetic fashion.

• He values those close to him, so he wouldn’t want to give away what’s his so quickly. That’s where a lot of the motivation towards being jealous can come from.

Reiji:

• Definitely stern and set with it.

• He takes his jealousy seriously, and wouldn’t want to find himself jealous over anything ‘stupid’ or ‘over the top.’

• Reiji will 100% pull his S/O aside and confront them head on about what bothers him.

• Although, at times he can choose to let it linger, waiting for his S/O to figure out what’s bothering him themselves.

• Almost like a game if anything, all at his S/O’s expense.

• He has no problem with punishing his S/O and blaming them for any unwanted advances or attention being made at them.

• His jealousy is more so triggered by Shū and anything to do with him.

• It sends him into a bit of a frenzy, since it’s all linked to his underlying inferiority complex. Which results in his own diminution of his own talents, which can come off as borderline masochistic.

Ayato:

• You’d know right off the bat if this man was jealous.

• He makes no attempt at concealing his true feelings when it comes to his S/O.

• If he’s upset, don’t be shocked when he does take certain things into his own hands.

• That being, if his S/O is being flirted with in front of him, he has no problem with exhibiting violence to show he possesses someone.

• Ayato is all about possession, and is easily one of the most possessive characters.

• So if he thinks his placement is being threatened, he will react in earnest.

• His jealousy can border the lines of unhealthy and obsessive.

• He’d try his best to resist the urge of marking his prey to showcase his property, but at the end of the day, what good would it do if not even his prey can see the faults?

Kanato:

• Easily one of the most explosive individuals to come into contact with.

• You’re threatening his place in his S/O’s life? It’s like alarms and warning bells going off in his mind.

• Due to his extreme mental instability and heavily implied bipolar disorder, he will switch up instantly if Kanato feels attacked or under heavy scrutiny.

• He has no problem with playing pouty and creating a fuss to appeal towards the ‘lolita’ and ‘cutesy’ side he likes to portray to the outside world.

• But in private? He’s a blamer or victim blamer 100%

• He will pin it all on his S/O, even if the circumstances were unavoidable towards his S/O. Kanato does not care.

• He will get physical. As seen within his routes, he does have temperament issues.

• So even if he does subdue himself from having any physical reactions, his S/O is in no way getting out of the heavy verbal abuse coming their way.

Laito:

• Laito is known to put up a wall, almost like Shū, in terms of concealing his true feelings.

• If he’s jealous, it’ll be in the subtext that one would have to take out to fully understand him.

• Laito is someone who, when jealous, wouldn’t want to admit it.

• With his horrible track record with others, he has a slight fear towards true love and the feelings that come with it.

• So for him being jealous, it would subconsciously tear him apart more than his S/O, if anything. That is, if he was to pursue punishment.

• He’d be sure to make his usual perverse remarks, doing anything to not seek out of the ordinary.

• As seen within his routes, he can switch whenever, keeping the Player and Yui on their toes. Expect that for his S/O.

• He’d keep more of an eye on his S/O, lest he becomes left in the past of his own ghosts and worries. It’ll all come in a full circle with Laito, with whatever he does, he knows to expect it to come back at him. Almost like karma.

Subaru:

• Subaru is quite aggressive. Just as an individual and how he can come off at times with his reactions and over the top emotional moments.

• So he wouldn’t take to it kindly with being placed in a position where he’s to be the jealous one.

• There’s two ways it can go. Either he’s flustered and embarrassed about feeling this type of way for his S/O, or he’s viscerally upset at the notion.

• As an individual, it depends on the situation and if he were to get physical with the person/object that is creating this feeling of jealousy within him.

• He’d subconsciously resent himself for feeling these emotions.

• As if someone like him didn’t have the right to even love, much less feel the need to have ownership over someone who didn’t feel the same way back.

• If he’s questioned about it by his S/O, he’d either respond with anger directed towards them for allowing it, or simply shut off and ignore their complaints/queries.

• Subaru tries to be complicit, but with his internal inferiority complex and hatred towards himself, it acts as a conduit for his conflicting feelings.

[milkteasweetheart]

『just like heaven, chapter 1, part 3』

this part contains riddle’s dream sequence. 

housewardens x reader

author’s note: i depict nrc as an actual college, so first years are 18, second years 19, etc.

summary: crowley has the bright idea of a bonding experience, specifically in the form of a dream potion.

characters: (riddle rosehearts), leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia / platonic mentions: dire crowley (ew), grim

genre: romance, fluff, smidge of angst

warnings: female reader, reader is yuu, reader is around ace and deuce’s height, sappy, marriage, mentions of potential children, some suggestive themes

「dream scene: rose colored reverie」

Everything is going Azul’s way. Last week the prefect told him he has nice handwriting, his academic rival is suffering, and everyone is a bit on edge, especially Idia, who just tried to conspire with Jamil to figure a way out.

Azul is not nervous. He doesn’t have dreams, except those he’s already decided on. Goals is a better term for it. He is curious as to what the prince of Briar Valley wants. Perhaps he could make a deal? A bit ambitious, but… such is business. Speaking of Malleus, Azul is sure he hasn’t blinked in a few minutes.

(Y/N) is sitting on a chair, turned away from the scene. No thoughts are currently moving inside her head in order to preserve sanity for upcoming tomfoolery. “Sweet potato, do you remember what your dreams are about?” Vil hopes they involve him. “I can’t really remember. I just blackout from exhaustion when my head hits the pillow.” His face isn’t exactly pleased. “Stress isn’t good for you. I’ll talk with the headmage. Just so you know, you’re always welcome at Pomefiore.” Preferably permanently.

“Let’s go to the main event, my love.” Dream (Y/N) extends her hand to Dream Riddle, who gladly takes it. (Y/N) is pretty sure she heard someone shriek a bit when the cafe warped. 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The scent of roses wafts through the lakeside park. Stars dot the sky. (Y/N) is yet again quick to recover, and sees the couple on a checkered picnic blanket.

Riddle wants to run away. This is the conversation that happens at the end of each of his dreams. It’s blatant wish fulfillment, but it staves away most of the yearning during the day.

He finds his words. “...please. Let me preserve my dignity.” His face is comparable to the strawberry tart from the cafe. Leona ignores his plea and lies down on the grass near the couple. “Nah. Besides, I bet octobitch will have an even worse sapfest than whatever your brain could come up with.” Azul makes a face. “Mind your words.” He is ignored.

Jamil and Vil have settled onto the bench facing the meadow where the couple are laying. Dream Riddle has his head on Dream (Y/N)’s arm, and they are holding hands.

Riddle knows the coming conversation beat by beat. “It’s beautiful.” Gray eyes wonder at the sky. “So are you. More so, I’d argue.” Her voice is quiet, but confident. Like she’s speaking facts. “We’ll be together longer than the stars will twinkle in the sky.” A lovestruck smile crowns the statement. “You mean it?” The voice it’s spoken in wavers with the threat of tears. “I know it. We’ll live here, with our friends, and each other. We won’t have to do anything we don’t want to. I’ll take you out every night and day, if you want it. I’ll do anything so you’ll be happy.” The real Riddle is currently staring at the prefect. She isn’t reacting, but her gaze is soft. Is it pity she’s feeling?

He sighs. He’ll be clowned on for the rest of his life by Azul, and he pleads to the Seven that Ace and Floyd will never have any word of this. He jumps at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder.

“...Hey. Don’t feel bad. Dreams come from the subconscious or something.” (Y/N) considered her next words. “We can go hang out somewhere cool if you want. Just ask.” She figured his mind has just blended some old romance movie and his want for rebellion without punishment together. “Thank you, prefect.” Riddle smiles with a relieved look.

That’s the queue for Malleus to change the dream into Leona’s.

[ashirisu]

All my love to fans of the coffee theory, but I will never be able to get behind it. It will always be better and more interesting to me to assume that Aziraphale is actually just a complex character who makes mistakes as a result of his trauma.

He’s a sweetheart and of course we don’t want to think less of him, but it’s a disservice to the story to act like warm, soft, and loving characters are incapable of making poor (if well-intentioned) decisions through the lens of their negative biases. A sneaky miracle brainwashing in the final fifteen robs him of the agency he’s spent the last six thousand years painstakingly developing—not only does it take away his ability to make his own decision in the moment, it also completely ignores the impact that millennia of indoctrination has had on his psyche.

The indoctrination (and Aziraphale’s learning to question it) is the core theme of the minisodes. In each scenario, he’s forced to question the moral code of heaven and accept that life on earth is complex, and even then, he still struggles to see the point completely. Crowley is still the only demon he doesn’t distrust on sight, and he only openly admits to there being “very light” shades of grey. He’s working on it, but he’s still got at least six more episodes of self-reflection to go.

In every conceivable way, this decision is actually a step in the right direction in terms of his personal character arc. Aziraphale doesn’t have all the information we’re working with as an audience, so we can’t expect him to see the extent to which he’s being manipulated and the full scope of Crowley’s feelings for him. From his perspective, he’s only recently come to terms with how fundamentally flawed the system is and is being given the opportunity to implement real change from the top—to let the entirety of heaven see the shades of grey he’s discovered and end the practice of eternally punishing anyone who asks questions.

Why would someone who’s finally allowed to openly love his best friend, who has just watched another angel and demon successfully find love by following his example, see that as anything but an absolute win?

Of course it hurts and of course it’s devastating, because we as the audience see the truth of what’s happening, but I promise it’ll ultimately be more rewarding to let this be part of his character development instead of a divinely-contrived backslide that leaves no more room for personal growth. Aziraphale realizing he was wrong and working to amend it (which he will, given his characterization up to this point) will make for a better story than him realizing he was magically forced to act contrary to his beliefs.

Our angel can be flawed and messily three-dimensional and we can still love him, it’s okay. I don’t think we should diminish him for the sake of an almond syrup MacGuffin.

[mammoney-y]

Hi hi! May I request how you think the brothers would react to a trans (gender neutral) Mc? Or just your favorites, I don't mind.

Please feel free to take your time or/and ignore the ask.

--V.X

I didn’t know if you wanted the reader to be transitioned before they went to Devildom, but imma assume that the reader went into Devildom pre-transition I hope you don’t mind

🫐The Brothers Reacting to a trans mc

Pairing(s) platonic! Demon bros x reader

Genre: Fluff

GN reader (they/them prns used)

CW: small mention of transphobia on Beel’s parts, cringy dialogue

☆ Lucifer

When you told him he definitely made a little shocked face then regained his composure

But you better believe that it fueled his feelings of pride when you told him first

He will Never misgender you…..like he will not do that

If you’re not out to the rest of the bros, and you’re not ready to tell them yet he’ll refrain from using pronouns and he’ll use your name… like I said once he finds out he won’t misgender you

If you are ready to tell them but you feel anxious he’ll give them a super long lecture about the lgbtq+ and about your identity

He’ll punish them if they misgender you even if it’s done accidentally

Like if Belphie was half awake and accidentally slipped up he’s hanging upside down and Lucifer is forcing him to stay awake

Even worse if it’s a low ranking demon 💀

Luci can and will tear a low tank demon apart if they dare misgender you

If you ever feel dysphoric Luci will comfort you but it’s a bit awkward since he can’t really relate

Lucifer will contact Solomon (much to luci’s dismay) to see if he can cast a spell on you so you can get your ideal body or something

☆ Mammon

He acted like he knew what it was (he did not) then researched all night

Mammon will not look stupid in front of his human!

His search history consisted of this:

Trans human

What does trans mean?

How much Grimm is transgender?

Is it expensive being trans?

Trans merch

Trans people simply explained

Trains?

You’ll wake up with pride merch in your room…..it’s the cringy target merch 💀

When you walk in his room he’s wearing a shirt that was the words “my friend is a transformer” or something like that and he looks at you with a goofy grin

“Hey! Human don’t ya feel honored? I, the great Mammon bought ya gifts!”

he tried it’s the thought that counts

If you’re not ready to tell the others he’s confused

Like you told him so why can’t you tell the others??

He starts blushing when you told him that you trusted him the most

Then he gets all cocky like “of course you wanted to tell the great Mammon first! I’m amazing!”

He chews out low ranking demons if they misgender you

He probably outted you to the brothers accidentally

Like one of them uses the wrong pronouns and Mammons sees the upset look on your face and he snaps

“Oi! MC goes by they/them! Ya got that?!”

Instantly feels bad and locks himself in his room because he thinks he upset you

He gasses you up if your feeling dysphoric

Constant praise and love from him to make you feel better

“Of course ya pass MC! Those low ranks don’t got nothin’ on ya! You’re amazing!”

He expects the same when he’s feeling sad

☆ Levi

Please explain it to him in anime terms if you don’t wanna be there for the rest of eternity

Since he won’t understand he’ll think your pranking him or making fun of him

“Of course you’re pranking a yucky, gross otaku like me….”

After like 100 anime references he’ll understand

“Ok so like the TSL side character Yuki! They accompanied the lord of the shadow in the live action adaptation and they were trans like you and-”

Levi will also get really blushy and flustered that you told him first

Like you wanted to tell a gross otaku like him your secret?? He’s honored-

He compares you to other trans anime characters to make you feel cool….it works?

He also buys cosplays of said characters in hopes of you cosplaying with him (you’ll never hear him admit that)

Once you tell the others he feels weirdly jealous? Like he knew it was bound to happen but he liked having a secret with you-

He’s constantly telling the others that he knew first so they shouldn’t think they’re special lmao

He Rages when you get misgendered like almost Satan level rage

Like those worthless low ranks think they can say that to you?! Hell no

He’ll mutter insults towards them under his breath and will probably get Lotan to deal with them

He gets in trouble the next day but it’s worth it

If you went to him feeling dysphoric he won’t know what to do

He’s the worst at comforting out of all the brothers

He ends up cuddling with you in his tub? Bed? He’s blushing the whole time

☆ Satan

He likes to read about humans and such so when he read a book about the trans community he suspected something about you

Satan knows what you are

When you told him he had a grin on face glad that he was right and glad that you trusted him more than Lucifer

“Hmm..you’re trans? I had a suspicion but I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Oh you didn’t tell Lucifer yet, you trust me more than him? That’s amazing.”

Although he already knows a lot about the subject he’s always reading up on the subject because it intrigues him

No one dares talk bad about you or misgender you when satans around

Like they wanna live to see the next day💀

But if they do…may the lord forgive them because Satan won’t

Threatens the brothers when you tell them

Rubs it in Lucifer’s face that you told him first

He gotta kill that pride somehow 🤷🏽

If you go to him feeling dysphoric he reads to you while you rest your head in his lap

Or he’ll make you some tea and lets you rant about your feelings

☆ Asmo

Asmo was ECSTATIC when you told him

He was probably the only brother to make a big deal out of it tbh

“Ah! Darling you told me first? Hehe I’m so glad, come to me if you ever need help♡~”

He’s already giving you makeovers based on your preference, he can make you look femme or masc, whatever you want

He takes you out to get a new wardrobe the moment you tell him

If someone misgenders you accidentally he’ll correct them passive aggressively

“For someone that claims to know MC you don’t seem to know their right pronouns, maybe pay more attention, hon.”

But if it’s on purpose he’ll tear that demon’s confidence down to the ground, like if that demon thought highly of themselves they definitely don’t when Asmo’s done

He also buys you pride merch but it’s not cringy like Mammon’s dw

Asmo will never let you feel dysphoric, the moment he suspects something you’re bombarded with compliments and the two of you are having a spa day

☆ Beel

Poor Beel nearly choked on his food when you randomly told him-

He looked at you shocked, smiled and then gave you some food

“You’re trans? Mhm thanks for trusting me enough to tell me. Here have some food you look tense.”

He already knows about the lgbtq so no explanation was needed

He won’t tell the brothers if you’re not ready, but he’s ready to be there for emotional support when you are

Most demons think that Beel won’t do anything about you being misgendered because he’s chill but they’re so wrong 💀

Beel gets pissed if someone misgenders you

If a demon is blatantly being transphobic to you Beel’s chill demeanor does a complete flip

He was just munching a second ago and now he’s standing right beside you glaring at the demon, menacingly

“It’ll be better for you if you apologize to MC, I don’t wanna hurt anyone…well in front of MC at least.”

He likes to make you food when you’re feeling dysphoric because “delicious food can make anyone feel better”

☆ Belphie

When you first told him he was half awake so he murmured something and went to sleep

“Huh? Oh..good for you, come lay with me.”

So when you told him again when he was actually awake he gave a better? response

“Ok? That doesn’t change the way I feel about you..now let’s take a nap”

Out of all of the brothers his reaction is the most nonchalant

That’s not to say that he doesn’t care, he loved that you trusted him enough to tell him

He just doesn’t want to make you feel weird by acting differently because you’re trans

He would actually kill anyone who misgenders you, he doesn’t care who it is

You’d have to rip Belphie off of the demon to get him to stop

He’d just stare at you innocently before saying that “they should’ve thought before they spoke, so it wasn’t my fault”

You probably don’t wanna go to Belphie if you feel dysphoric cause most likely he’s sleeping

But if he finds out he’ll play with your hair, eventually falling asleep

[eldritch-spouse]

Pinnie. I am going to eat your ocs I love them so much ahhfjwhdjiixjs /pos /gen

((If you want, how would member of the clergy react to being like- bitten?? In a loving playful way?? Cause I like- gnaw on things/people I like and I wanna make sure I don’t get my ass kicked))

-Valentine’s Anon <3

[I'm sorry, I don't use a lot of tone indicators, is "/gen" supposed to say "genuine"? Also, thenk ye eitherway.]

Reaction to being bitten (cuteness aggression?)

Morell will manually grab your jaw and shut it. Listen. He's poisonous. If you end up actually tearing a chunk out of him, which is unlikely, you'll probably have a quick reaction to his natural poison and die. It's really cute of your feral ass, but he would rather not see you spasm on the floor and froth violently because you were impulsive enough to ignore his warnings.

Santi moans. Because what else were you expecting, really? Although his skin is mostly very dark, he encourages you to bite harder so that a mark will be left. He loves wearing claims on his body, you're allowed to bite anywhere. He doesn't just return the favor, he's very opportunistic and will get as much saliva on you as he can. Then wait for the effects to take...

Grimbly's instincts tell him you're hungry when you're doing that. So he's probably going to get flustered and suggest you go out somewhere to eat. It actually makes him jump and yelp, even if your teeth are quite blunt, his lizard brain says you're going to tear him open using fangs you don't physically have.

Gallon will let you bite him and then promptly trap you. Have you ever seen those cartoons where a character gets their tongue stuck to something frozen? Yeah, that's you smartass. Then, he'll act as if you won't let go of him, which is quite rude, you know? He thinks it's honestly hilarious, you can eat a piece of him if you want, but he doesn't taste all that good.

Nebul will always see biting as a punishable offense. If you want to be a dog so bad, he'll get you a little muzzle. It's only coming off if you ask politely, and after an adequate apology, naturally. Matter of fact, maybe you'd like a chew toy too. Sit still, he's sure he has a bowl somewhere. Now that you've fully embraced your role as a mutt, things will be much easier. He's scary, you'll never know when he's joking or serious.

Vinnel wonders if you just enjoy the taste of fabric. Also, stop that, you're getting him soggy. In his dickish ways, the performer will rip someone's shirt off and offer it to you, so you can chew and drool on it rather than him. He may look like one, but he's not a doll, so kindly don't mess with his life support. He'd bite you back, but it's not worth the risk, so he just laughs and pinches you hard when you start chewing.

Patches shamefully enjoys the pain, so he won't really say anything about your weird habit. He's going to sit there awkwardly with bated breath, silently wishing you would bite harder, and in more places. He's probably the one who loves this habit of yours the most, all things considered. You'll probably get him to moan too at some point.

Fank-e thinks this is hilarious. Yeah sure, bite him all you want! It looks silly! You will most likely damage your teeth, he doesn't feel a second of it. But hey, if you're biting him, it means you're paying attention to him, so in his eyes, it's a good thing. Does he taste good?

Belo doesn't immediately understand what this behavior means, so when you bite him, the angel's just going to be upset and ask you why you're so mad at him. Once it registers, he's going to ask you not to do it so often for a couple of reasons. One, it's distracting, two you're soaking his fur, three- You're probably also eating some of his fur and that can't be good for you.

Sybastian is probably one of monsters you definitely don't want to bite, because he absolutely bites back, and a love bite from that bear trap of a mouth is a total gamble in terms of how maimed you'll get. He welcomes biting however, so do it at your own risk. More than that, he prefers licking, which is less dangerous for the two of you.

You have a lot of nerve to bite Krulu. You know he could just make your teeth fall off one by one if he wanted to, yes? Although he senses your affection, you must learn other methods of displaying it adequately. Do it too often and Krulu will pretend to return the gesture just to frighten you.

[messenger-of-stupidity]

The Months I Loved You

Quinn Quinn Quinn Quinn. This man has me by the chokehold along with Blake. And now that the theory of Quinn being Darlin’s ex is fully and without any sign of doubt confirmed, I wanna write about their toxic relationship. So have the product of my two angst brain cells rubbing together!

CW: manipulation, depictions of a toxic and abusive relationship, depictions of self punishment through actions of another (Darlin “punishing” themselves with Quinn’s fangs), Quinn because he's his own warning, cursing, mdni because of mild sexual context, not full timeline compliance (some events might not match up chronological wise for purposes of the story.), mild depictions of violent acts against side character (Darlin’s friend that Quinn harmed), Not proofread

Summary: Twelve months of memories released, except the honeymoon period wore off really quickly. Too bad the trap had been sprung.

Redacted Masterlist

Present Day

They knew it wouldn't be easy, standing on the other side of the one-way glass as Quinn didn't hesitate in spilling their deeper secrets. They could see the outrage flickering on Sam's face. They could practically feel it in that mating bond that connected their core to his own. Just like they could feel the concerned glances their alpha was sending them. Thankfully, David didn't speak, didn't acknowledge any of what Quinn said. It was embarrassing enough. And to think, they had thought they were in love with... that.

Back before they wore the term of endearment Sam had gifted them like a proud name. Back when they just went by Tank and distanced themselves from the pack that cared so strongly about them but hadn't known how to connect. It had been easier just to ignore that connection. To pretend it didn't exist.

January

The cold air had been what pushed Tank to enter that seedy bar. They ran warm like most of their fellow wolf shifters, but the leather jacket they wore didn't do much to protect against the biting chill of a Dahlia winter. It took their eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer lighting, having been used to the streetlight's glare off of the snow outside. They shuddered, hands still tucked deeply into their pockets.

Wasn't there something about liquor warming up the body? So what of it was only seven forty in the evening and they had yet to eat something? The sun had dipped below the horizon, so it could be late enough to drink. They would just square up with whoever tried to judge them anyways. Tank kicked their snow littered boots against the side of the wall and went towards the bar counter, movements lithe despite the chilling ache in their bones.

They ordered glass after glass, letting their thoughts grow fuzzier with each new order. They could feel their phone buzz with a text. Probably from their friend. But their friend was having her boyfriend over, and Tank didn't want to subject themselves to that... again. And so they ignored it and continued on their path that would end with a vicious hangover.

"Well, don't you paint the sunny disposition?" A smooth accented voice murmured next to them. They felt his aura before they actually turned their gaze to him. Vampire.

"Fuck. Off." They grumbled, waving a dismissive hand towards him. He smirked at it, but made no move to leave. Whatever. They returned their focus to their drink, face beginning to feel warm from the growing intoxication.

"You should slow down. Alcohol poisoning is such a pathetic way to die." The vampire continued. Why was he still here, bothering them?

"Don't you have someone to bury your fangs into, vamp?" They snapped, voice cold and still dismissive. They really didn't want to deal with someone who was just going to pretend to understand them. Gabe was a great alpha, no one could or would deny that, but he didn't understand Tank. Not really. Although it might be a stretch to say that they understood themselves.

"Mm." The vampire hummed and licked his lips. It didn't faze them as they continued to level a dead-eyed stare at the stranger. "Not in the present moment, no. But I'm sure I'll find someone before the night is up. Are you offering?" He said, and his voice dropped to an alluring purr. Tank contemplated dumping the contents of their drink over his head.

"No." They answered, their tone not changing. He shrugged and leaned his forearms against the bar counter. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal hints of a few scars. If those were there, they either happened before his turning or had been bad enough that a vamps' natural healing abilities didn't do anything to fix all the damage. Tank sighed and turned their gaze to the drink that sat in front of them.

"What's your name?" The vampire asked. They glanced at him, remaining stubbornly silent. His smirk pulled wider at that. "Well, my name is Quinn. And I'll just call you Precious, since your attitude certainly is." Quinn decided. They rolled their eyes. A far cry from the nickname they went by. Maybe that was for the best though. Being Tank obviously wasn't any more positive than being called Precious for a night.

"Do let me know if you change your mind on letting me bite you. You seem delicious, Precious." He added and they snorted.



February

"Well isn't this romantic?" Quinn said as his tongue traced the indents his teeth had left on the skin of their inner thigh. Blood stained his lips and some drops were on the sheets below their naked body. His sheets were red though, so it's not as if it mattered. Probably for this exact purpose. Quinn's fingers continued to move inside of them, coaxing soft gasps from the shifter.

"Letting me bite you on Valentines day. Did you drag it out so long to make it all special? Just string me along on the promise of your veins, Precious?" Quinn continued, silver eyes watching them from his place between their legs. Tank's grip tightened on the sheets, jaw clenched. Quinn chuckled and licked another lazy stripe along their thigh.

"No matter. I'll be sure to enjoy now that you've allowed me to taste you." He continued. His fangs piercing the skin on their other thigh, pulling a soft moan from them. The ache was quickly turned into pleasure, added only by the way his fingers pressed and moved against them. They made a quiet whimper and Quinn's gaze dragged up to their face, dark interest flashing in his eyes.

"Use your words. I haven't tranced you, so I know you can. Be a good little thrall and speak what you want." He purred and one of his fingers pressed on a spot that made their vision go tunnel focused.

"Fuck me... please. Fuck me while you bite my leg." They whispered. Quinn smirked and shifted so their legs could rest over his shoulders. His eyes looked down at them, drinking in the intoxicating sight of such a proud werewolf begging something like that from him.

"You know I'd do that for you. You can ask me to do all the dark depraved little fantasies in that cute head of yours. The fantasies you don't share with anyone because of shame. I'll do every last one. You don't need to feel that shame, not with me." He purred before removing his fingers from them. They could feel him teasing that entrance with his length.

"Please." They whimpered and he pulled a moan from them as he bottomed out. No shame with him, no judgement from him. Something new, but something needed.



March

"Four leaf clovers?" Quinn asked as Tank pulled on their jeans, covering the littered scars and fresh bite marks on their skin. His home was the only place they felt comfortable with it being visible. It was one of the reasons that they had adamantly refused to go to the pack pool party.

"Yeah." They affirmed, glancing back at him. He still lounged on his bed, exposed in all his nude glory. He was casually licking any blood residue from his teeth and lips.

"They don't actually bring any luck. They haven't for the many and many of years I've been... somewhat alive, Precious." He hummed. They shrugged and tugged their shirt on.

"It's just a silly little family tradition. I wanted to continue it, even if my folks went back up to Washington." They murmured, rubbing the nape of their neck. Quinn watched them for a long moment before sitting up and moving toward them. His hands found their waist and he tugged them closer to him.

"It sounds worthless. You could do something useful instead. I can promise it will be far more worthwhile." He said, nuzzling their stomach. They looked down at him, thinking about it. Then they sighed. He was right, it was silly and useless. The luck gotten from the four leaf clovers when Tank was able to find one hadn't helped them thus far.

"Alright then." They answered. He grinned at them, fingers playing with their belt loop.

"Wonderful." He said, his accented voice taking on that silken purr again. The one that sent butterflies to their stomach and heat pooling low in their gut.



They ignored the phone calls that Gabe, David, and Asher sent them when the pack cookout came around for the first day of spring. Quinn had insisted there were far more important thing for them to do than go to some silly cookout where gossip would be exchanged and judgmental eyes would be turned onto Tank for not being around lately. It was just easier to continue avoiding all the social things. Besides, if it was truly important, Gabe would have called their friend to get in touch with Tank. As far as the pack knew, they were still residing with said friend instead of moving in with Quinn.



April

Tank stared at the rain that pattered against the window as Quinn scrolled mindlessly on his phone. The rain prevented Tank from going outside for now, while the sun in addition to the rain stopped Quinn.

"It truly is a marvel that humans evolved technology enough that I can hold what was similar to a rocket ship in my hands to do my bidding." Quinn muttered. Tank glanced at him, raising a brow.

"Damn you're old." They said in response. Quinn grinned playfully at them, fangs on full display. They turned fully towards him, arms crossed over their chest.

"Perhaps. But that doesn't make you any better. You're fucking this old man after all. Where's your dignity?" He teased back. They frowned a little. That hit a bit too close to home. They waved a hand, not wanting him to see the effect. They were just being sensitive, he was only teasing.

"You're immortal and permanently stuck at..." They realized that they had no clue how old he was when he was turned. He didn't talk about it much and Tank never asked. "So don't make it sound weird." They finished. Quinn snickered and returned his gaze back to his phone. They stood up.

"I'm gonna go for a run." They announced. Quinn waved a hand in dismissive acknowledgement and they left the home, making sure not to let too much sunlight leak through.



Tank didn't mind the wet dog smell that came from shifting and running through the rain. But nonetheless, they just walked, unshifted, towards their friend's apartment, the rain soaking into their hair. Luckily the leather jacket kept them from getting too wet. They probably should have brought their phone, if it was charged. It wasn't though. It hadn't been all week. A small frown tugged at their lips again.

It was odd. Every time they went to go charge it, Quinn needed help with something or other. They would have thought he was trying to keep them from charging their phone, but sometimes he wouldn't even be in the room. They were probably just being paranoid.

They didn't get to knock before they heard two familiar voices through the door to the apartment. Their friend's and the gruff low voice of David. What the hell was he doing here?

"Well when did you last see them?" David was asking. It didn't take a genius to know who he was talking about. Tank lowered their knuckles from where they had been poised to knock, eyes narrowing. Their friend's voice was quieter, and not just from the intimidation that David fucking Shaw - although he might argue that being a buffer and acting as his middle name - demanded with his presence. But their friend sounded worried. Why were they worried?

"Since the end of February and beginning of March." She answered. That wasn't too bad.

"You haven't seen Tank for a month and a half?" David clarified. Well when he worded it like that of course it sounded bad! "You didn't tell the pack?" He added. Tank assumed their friend had nodded in confirmation. A long pause before a mumbled answer that they had to strain to hear.

"I have a general idea of where they are." Another pause. "They mentioned meeting someone. They're probably with him." They could hear David release a sigh.

"And where would that be?" David prompted. Then he groaned. "They didn't tell you an actual location. Because of course not. And every call immediately goes to voicemail, text left on delivered." He continued. They shifted slightly. How many missed calls and unread texts awaited them once they charged their phone? They should probably remedy this... Tank knocked.

The door was opened mere moments later, revealing the relieved expression of their friend and the fairly annoyed one of David. Their own face was set into a scowl.

"I need to get some stuff." They grunted. Their friend stepped to the side and they walked in, the door closing behind them. They paused slightly as they locked eyes with David, but neither wolf shifter said a word.

"I'm going to go make something to drink. You look cold, Tank." The unempowered human said before skittering off towards the kitchen. Privacy for David to scold them about things he had no business in. Wonderful.

"Where the fuck have you been?" David started. They could feel their own irritation rising and crossed their arms over their chest. They glanced down at themselves, paranoia making them check to see that their legs were, in fact, covered. The jeans covered the bites like always and they returned their attention to the beta of their pack.

"It's none of your business." They said back cooly. They could see a muscle flutter in his jaw as he stared them down. They didn't back down, as defiant as ever.

"You're part of the pack, it is my business." He answered in retort. Ah yes, because being part of the pack made them lose every sense of privacy. This was why Quinn said packs and clans were unhealthy, and why he preferred to just be on his own.

"No. It's not. My private life is my own. I'm not going to spill every little detail of it to you." They growled out. Their friend deemed it time to reenter the room. Tank felt a little bad for her, having to balance being Tank's friend but David also being beta. It was a line that could grow very thin at times. They silently handed a mug of hot chocolate to Tank and offered a coffee to David. He took it, if only to be polite.

"No one has heard from you for weeks, Tank. No one has seen you either. We're all w-" Tank cut him off, not wanting to hear the rest of the sentence.

"Either expect that I'm fine, or read my obituary in the newspaper." They snapped at him. David's face hardened and his lips pressed together. He was displeased, but Tank didn't care. Let him be displeased at a boundary being set. One that the pack would probably try to step over. "Just go away, David. Tell Gabe that I'm fine and let's leave it at that." They added. David stared hard at them before turning to their friend. He handed the mug of coffee back.

"I should get going, but thank you." He said, sounding sincere. Tank didn't show any sign of farewell as he left, closing the door gently behind him. Their friend waited a couple heartbeats before looking at Tank. Tank frowned at the pity and frustration that they saw there.

"Everyone has good reason to worry. You just kind of dropped off." She said quietly. The sugary sweet taste of the hot chocolate turned bitter on their tongue and the frown deepened.

"It's none of any of their business. Besides, I'm hardly close enough for them to worry about me. Not that there's any reason to. Quinn is nice." Tank responded quietly. Their friend sighed and looked down into the coffee, waiting a bit before speaking up again.

"Just... send a text or call every now and then? I get worried too, Tank." She said. Tank nodded non-committedly. It seemed to be enough for their friend, because they weren't pushed on the subject further.

May

April showers brings May flowers was either full of shit or Quinn liked to commit mass genocide on the floral population in front of his home. Tank lifted their gaze from the yard filled with pitiful patches of green grass and only stubborn dandelions and clovers. They couldn’t help but think of Gabe’s house with the lush verdant grass, and the scent of flowers that would start to be filling the air. Or the honeysuckle that the departed pack matriarch had favored. But it was fitting that death would linger in a place where the undead resided. Well... sort of undead. Vampires were in that odd in between stage of dead and alive. Not dead, but not alive. It was better to not think too much about it.

“Normal partners go out on dates you know.” They muttered, pointedly ignoring Quinn from where he fed on a human’s neck. He had insisted it was only to get some blood in his system when the jealous gleam had entered Tank’s eyes. Although he had seemed awfully happy to watch the shifter squirm with discomfort and jealousy. The human he fed from kept moaning softly, it seemed like it was more than just feeding...

“You’re hardly normal Precious.” He reminded, teeth biting back into the human. Tank tried to ignore the pleasured gasp that the action elicited.

“Neither are you.” They snapped at him. He liked to remind them a lot, that their abnormality was safe with him. That they didn’t need to shield it from him like they did from the rest of the world. That he would accept the depraved parts of their urges, their temper more than anyone else would. He made a quiet hum, continuing to take a few more gulps before finally stopping. A tap to the human’s lower back had her moving off of his lap - why she needed to be there Tank didn’t want to know - and he stood up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“True. But that’s part of why we work together so nicely. Our broken parts don’t scare each other.” He purred, moving towards them. He tipped their chin back and leaned down, brushing his lips against their own. They could taste the blood on him and it almost made them recoil. A part of them went cold at his words though. Broken. That was another thing that Quinn liked to point out. That they were so drawn to him because he was broken like they were. Otherwise why else would they be with him? He was a constant reminder that they wouldn’t be accepted anywhere else, and a consistent acceptance of even the parts Tank didn’t accept yet. It was bittersweet.

“But if you would like to go on a date, I can do that for you. Just let me get cleaned up some.” He added, pressing another chaste kiss to their lips before walking from the room and heading to the room he shared with them. They settled a glare on the human he had fed from. She looked back at them.

“What?” She asked, sounding uncomfortable. Tank forced more ferocity into the look and watched as she shifted slightly, adjusted her clothes. Good.

“Why do you even do that?” They asked coldly. Why did they have to watch as Quinn fed from someone else? Why did it make them feel like they weren’t useful or enough for him? She stood up, shrugging.

“It pays well.” She muttered. Quinn returned a few moments later in a fresh shirt and hair carefully styled. He handed her some cash and didn’t even look at her as she left. Tank did though. Tank watched her saunter out, as if she had fulfilled some purpose to the world. That cold feeling washed over them like stepping into an ice bath. Purpose. It had given her a purpose. But what was Tank’s? Were they just floundering around in the world, useless and without direction? Burdensome?

“Shall we, Precious?” Quinn asked, offering them his hand and a crooked grin. 

June 

The pack was doing something for pride month, and Gabe had reached out to request Tank’s presence. They stared down at the text as they sat on the bed, body bared as Quinn trailed kisses and nips down their spine.

“What is it? You’ve gone all tense and it’s not because of me.” He sounded slightly upset, but Tank ignored it. They continued to stare at the text from their pack alpha.

“I got invited to a pack thing again.” They had ignored the Memorial day celebration the pack had hosted as well, simply leaving Milo’s texted invitation on read. Should they go to this one? Quinn let out a groan.

“Your pack is always pestering you, Precious. Besides, they’re far too different from you to understand the real you like I do. Just stay here with me where there isn’t that harsh judgement.” He said as he wrapped an arm around their waist. They frowned, fingers picking at the edge of their phone case. He was right. The pack didn’t understand them, but... Gabe had seemed sincere when he said he wanted them there. At their continued silence he straightened up, taking a hold of their jaw to turn their face towards him. His silver eyes read their convoluted expression and he frowned.

“Listen to me, Precious. Your pack might pretend to mean well, but they don’t. They don’t actually care about you. I care about you. Not them, just me. You don’t want to lose that, right? The one person who actually cares about you?” He said, his voice deceptively gentle and sweet. They stared at him before they gave a small shake of his head. Distant alarm bells rang in their mind, but they ignored that too as Quinn pressed a kiss to their lips and then continued speaking. “Then stay here and just avoid all the conflict. Besides, showing up now after so many months would just put a bigger strain on interacting.” He murmured, hand rubbing soothing circles on their bare back. Tank gave a small nod.

David called them a week later, and they answered half asleep with Quinn next to them.

“Hello?” They mumbled into the receiver, voice heavy with sleep. David’s sharp tone had them pressing their face into the pillow with annoyance.

“There are so many things I want to say to you, Tank.” He snapped. They pulled the phone away from their ear, David’s voice growing quieter the more distance they put between it. Quinn cracked open one silver eye after a few moments. He held out a hand in offer, but they shook their head. After waiting a few more moments, they put the phone back to their ear. “-noon!” He finished saying. 

“I’m going back to sleep, David.” They mumbled into the phone, not bothering to pretend to respond to whatever the fuck he had been saying. The sigh he released had them pausing, spine stiffening. He sounded so exhausted. David Shaw did not let himself sound exhausted. Not to people who weren’t Asher or Milo. Although even then that was iffy nowadays.

“Please, Tank. Just come around once. Despite what you might think, we do miss you.” They blinked as David said the words slowly. Clearly as if he knew that they would try to think their way out of believing the words genuine. They pressed their lips together, eyes glancing at Quinn. He had closed his eye again, but his hand was still held out, the offer continuing. It was him offering to save them from this interaction. His words rang in their skull.

“No.” They say firmly before hanging up the phone. They tossed the device onto the floor and curled up in the blankets. 

July

“You can’t just push everyone away!” Their friend said as she followed after Tank while the shifter gathered up the rest of their belongings to bring to the home they now shared fully with Quinn. Tank sent a glare at their friend, but the unempowered human didn’t back down, standing in the doorway with arms crossed.

“I’m not.” They replied sharply. They watched their friend snort, the position growing more defensive in the doorway. Tank adjusted the bag higher up on their shoulder.

“You are. You look different Tank. Less healthy. I don’t know what you and Quinn are doing, but it doesn’t seem like it’s good for you. Everytime I see you, I grow more worried for you.” Guilt punctured Tank at her words. Guilt for making her worry, guilt for even being able to cause worry. Tank rubbed a hand subconsciously against their thigh beneath the dark jeans. “David says he hasn’t even seen you since you two crossed paths last April. That was months ago, Tank.” 

The mention of David had Tank prickling with annoyance. They gently pushed past their friend, moving towards the door.

“I have my reasons for avoiding the pack, alright? And I’m fine. Quinn is fine too.” They said. They didn’t look back as they left the apartment, shoulders tensed. The guilt and annoyance had started to dig sharp metaphorical claws into their stomach, making it clench painfully. They swallowed and rubbed a hand on their thigh again. Then they pulled out their phone, sending a text to Quinn.

‘I need a distraction. Are you thirsty?’

‘Always, Precious.’

August

Tank glared at the pair of mates that were leaning against their truck. Milo, to his credit, didn’t look nervous under the cold irritation under their gaze. Why was this pack so stubborn?! They moved their gaze over to Milo’s mate. 

“What?” Tank asked sharply, hand gripping the bag that held a six pack within it. Milo glanced at his mate before looking at Tank.

“Have... you lost weight?” Milo asked. The way he sounded as his accented voice spoke pointed towards the same conclusion their friend had reached last month. They had gone to the doctor finally after several texts from her begging them to, a week ago. Turns out they were anemic. They had gone home and immediately asked Quinn to feed from them. The light-headedness kept them from remembering how the members of the pack were starting to text them less and less and how their friend only sounded more and more concerned.

They didn’t answer Milo, still leveling an icy glare at him and his mate.

“The pack is throwing a barbecue before the younger shifters start school back up this fall. We wanted to invite you in person, Tank.” Stealth, since that was all that Tank knew them by, said. Their voice tended to always remain quiet. It was as if they were always trying to avoid detection subconsciously.

“No.” Tank said firmly, waiting for the pair to move so they could go back home. Milo glanced at his mate again, and it was almost like they were silently communicating. Tank knew they weren’t, that wasn’t how mating bonds worked after all, but it was still unnerving. More unnerving that Tank knew they couldn’t do that with Quinn. They might not ever. They didn’t want to think about what that might mean.

“Please, Tank.” Milo said, but Tank was already shaking their head. They moved towards their truck, baring their teeth at Milo and Stealth.

“I said no. Now move the fuck out of my way.” They snapped. The two complied after a few heartbeats of hesitation. Tank didn’t glance back as they drove away. More guilt pricked their heart and they tightened their grip on the steering wheel. Why couldn’t the pack just leave them alone? Forget they existed? Why did the pack have to pretend to care so much? It just made their heart hurt and then they went back to Quinn’s fangs to try to make themselves forget.

They weren’t sure when it happened, the burn before the pleasure was starting to last longer and longer. They also weren’t sure when they started to enjoy the way it hurt them more than how it made them feel good. It was different from seeking out pain in a masochistic way. No... this felt heavier somehow. Darker.

September

The phone dropped from their hand, eyes wide. Quinn lifted his head from where he sat on the couch. Gabe... he was dead. Horror filled their expression, even as grief cracked something deep within them. They immediately moved towards the door, hand grabbing their leather jacket and shrugging it on. The chill of fall had been affecting them more than usual lately. Quinn told them not to worry about it and just bring their jacket with them.

“Where are you going?” Quinn called out, silver eyes tracking every movement that Tank made. 

“To the pack.” They answered, shoving their feet into their boots. Quinn was standing up in an instant, next to them and gripping their shoulders, straightening them up from where they had been bending down to tie their shoes.

“Why?” He asked quickly, his voice growing colder from the bored disinterest of earlier. They stared at him a moment, blinking quickly.

“Gabe died. Hit and run. The pack needs... I need to be there. To say goodbye.” They had left all his texts on read or delivered these past few months. They had never gotten to say goodbye to him. That guilt cracked something else in them and they swallowed around the lump in their throat. Quinn shook his head.

“No.” He said, grip tightening on their shoulders. Tank’s expression turned incredulous.

“Quinn, let go of me. I’m going to pay my respects.” They said, their voice firmer and unrelenting. Quinn gave them an odd look, as if doubting that they really meant it. As if he couldn’t comprehend why they would even care. “Why are you looking at me like that?” They snapped at him, emotions too raw to try to rein back their slowly rising temper. 

“It’s been almost nine months. Why do you still care about that stupid pack of yours?” He asked, his voice rough, as his grip started to send sparks of pain through their pain receptors. “I’ve given everything you wanted me to, Precious. You wanted a place to stay while your friend had her boyfriend over, I gave it to you. You wanted me to bite you and feed into those twisted fantasies in your head, I did. You wanted someone to accept the broken sick you that you hide from everyone so determinately. I did. So why are you being selfish and trying to leave me for a pack that has never done anything for you?” He snapped at them. 

Tank went still. Very still, their eyes staring at him. At the twisted obsession that gleamed in his silver eyes. Had that always been here? They shoved him away from them. 

“Chase me into the sun and drag me back then.” They snarled at him, throwing open the door. The vampire backed away from the sunlight that spilled into the dim room from the door, glaring at them. Tank slammed the door shut behind them.

October

Things were different after that day. Quinn brought more people home to feed from, glaring at Tank the entire time while he did. He still followed through with the requests Tank would whisper to him in the dark of night and privacy of their bedroom. The sex that they both partook in with each other had changed too. Instead of just heated, there were tints of resentment and guilt and shame instead. He would leave their body trembling in ecstasy, but after the high came down Tank felt filthy and unwanted. Even with the bruising bites on their skin. Still only where they could easily hide it. 

“What shall we do for Halloween, Precious?” Even the way he said the term of endearment had changed. He practically spat it at them like he wanted it to hurt them. Tank was miserable with him, they realized with a start. But... who else would accept the broken parts of him? Who else wouldn’t curl their lip in disgust at the actions that made arousal cloud their veins?

Tank had no idea if the pack was doing anything for Halloween. David was alpha now, Asher being named his beta. They had showed up for that pack meeting, staying close to the wall. They had been the last to enter and first to leave. They felt bad for Asher though. He had gotten glares when David had appointed him to the position. Especially from fucking Christian. Tank had almost snapped at him. But they felt so tired.

“I don’t care.” They muttered, turning their back to Quinn as they lay on the bed. Quinn wrapped an arm around them and they tensed.

“You could let me bite your neck. Since I did get to bite you for the first time on our first Valentines Day together.” He purred into the back of their neck. They closed their eyes against the dizzy feeling that washed over them. The only times they really asked Quinn to bite them anymore that wasn’t in a sexual context was when guilt or anger made their blood feel more like thick sludge. He had aptly started calling it their ‘self punishment cycles’. They couldn’t refute the claim.

“No.” They mumbled into the pillow. Quinn lingered before sighing and pulled away from them.

“Fine.” He grumbled, leaving the room. The door closed behind him, leaving them washed in the dark. They knew they shouldn’t be in this... but... there was no one else for them. Maybe they deserved this for pushing people away like their friend had warned them against.

Quinn came back that night with a dazed manic grin on his face. Blood had covered the lower half of his face, staining his shirt. Tank stared at him from the doorway, fingers clutching the door. 

“What happened?” They demanded. Quinn turned his silver gaze to them and his grin turned into a bloody smirk.

“I fed.” He answered with a shrug. That was more than just ‘feeding’. The blood hadn’t just dribbled onto his shirt, but sprayed. Parts of his hair was even crusted with dried blood. 

“What happened?” They demanded again, voice firmer. He moved towards them and leaned in close enough that the coppery scent of blood filled their senses. He glared at him, pressing a hand against the wall next to their head.

“I was thirsty and you weren’t offering any meal. So I went out. And I fed. Seems you’re stronger than you realize, Precious. They didn’t last very long. Rather boring actually, but I suppose it’s just more proof that your my favorite. Just... offer me a meal next time and hopefully some random stranger won’t have to sate all my thirst in one sitting.” He hummed before pressing a kiss to their cheek and moving towards the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went. Tank stayed where they were standing before wiping away the bloody mark his lips had left on their face slowly.

November

It turned out that no matter what Tank did, Quinn was always still hungry. And more often than not, he returned home looking similar to the way that he had that night last month. And with each passing day, it became more clear of what Tank needed to do. That twisted obsessive gleam that had been in his eyes when they had left to pay their respects to Gabe flashed through their mind. They would need to get some shit together before they could even attempt to leave Quinn. Let alone report him to the Department. Until then, they would keep gathering more information for the report.

“Are you sure that it’s completely safe, Tank? I don’t want you getting hurt...” Their friend said as she jogged alongside Tank. They were trying to get back the muscle mass that they had lost over the last several months.

“It’ll be safe as long as it’s me doing it. I need to keep you and the pack out of it fully. Which is why I need you not to tell David or anyone. I’m only telling you so you can give a testimony if I end up dead.” Tank answered, relaxing into the feeling of the sun beating down on their neck. She still looked unconvinced but nodded nonetheless. Tank pushed down the guilt on their face and focused on the burn of their muscles.

Tank kept a tally of how many nights Quinn returned looking blood-crazed. Or coming out of a blood-craze anyway. It was easy to remember for multiple reasons.

“Thanksgiving is coming up, Precious.” Quinn said, nuzzling against their neck. Tank pushed him off of them.

“I’m not going to be your thanksgiving meal, Quinn.” They said quietly. Quinn sighed and pressed a kiss to where their shoulder met their neck. 

“Not even a nibble?” He hummed. Tank shook their head and he let go of them, walking towards the door. They felt a tinge of guilt but pushed it down. Another tally, another mark against him in the eyes of the Department. This would come to an end and quickly.

December

He had been furious. Tank didn’t know how he had found out.

“The fucking Department?!” He shouted at them. They dodged the plate that was sent hurtling towards their head. They needed to get out of this house. Right now. Quinn stalked towards them, murder written in his silver eyes. Tank’s hands gripped the file that held the evidence that they had collected against him close to their chest. For the first time, they were genuinely scared of Quinn. Of what he might do to them. He held out his hand. “Give. It.” He said, his voice low. Tank took a step back, shaking their head. 

“No.” They said. Quinn, normally so composed even while bloodsoaked, seemed to snap. He lunged at them, hands gripping onto the file. It only took mere moments before it had turned into an all out fight for the report and evidence. Tank only got away by shifting and running off into the night, several papers missing that Quinn was now shredding. His silver eyes watched the giant wolf disappear into the dark of the night.

“You don’t get to play this game with me, Precious, without having to face the consequences. And if you flee, than someone else will have to take your place.”

He wasn’t stupid enough to go after the Shaw Pack directly. That was asking for a straight path to execution. Two or three of the members were working directly for the Department, and the pack was the most influential one in all of Dahlia. No, going after one of the members wouldn’t end well. But... an honorary member that didn’t quite fall under their coat of arms. Didn’t his precious thrall have a dear unempowered friend?

Tank felt dread pool in their gut, even as they dropped off the report. The person at the desk had only given the puncture wounds in the paper from their teeth a glance before setting it to the side and promising that ‘it will be reviewed at the earliest convenience.’

The dread only grew as they walked down the sidewalk. Each step the moved closer to their friend’s apartment only made them feel worse. The hairs on the back of their neck startle to prickle and their body tense. It was only when adrenaline rushed through their veins at the smell of blood did they run the last couple blocks. 

A part of them was glad they ran, while a small part wished they hadn’t. They could hear the weak cries of their friend as the smell of blood coated the air so heavily, almost as if it was an overused perfume. Quinn was hunched over her, sucking greedily from one of the many bite wounds he had left to ravage their friend. A snarl of fury ripped from Tank as they let their body twist and shift before throwing themself at Quinn. They didn’t hesitated in sinking their own teeth into his shoulder and shaking their head like a dog with a chew toy. 

Quinn laughed and ripped himself free to face the snarling mass of muscled wolf that stood between the injured human and himself. Blood dripped from Tank’s own mouth, but somehow it tasted more sweet that bitter. A low growl rippled through them, hackles raised. 

Present Day

Darlin could feel that same kind of righteous anger ripple through their body, magic sparking. They were going to make him pay for what he did, one way or another.

[anonymous-dentist]

i kind of miss when walter bob was the outlier and not the example when it came to federation workers. maybe it’s just me being nostalgic.

for me, the reason why i can sympathise with walter bob but not the other workers like fred or agent 18 or whatever is because walter bob seemed much more trapped and unhappy in the federation: he was literally imprisoned, and was afraid of being punished by cucurucho for breaking rules. he was rank c, a simple construction worker, and then we found out he’s also part of the rebellion! which! interesting! does he have personality and emotions because of the rebellion? or did he join the rebellion because he has personality and emotions?

but apparently all the workers can feel things? despite it initially seeming like they were like. brainwashed out of having that stuff and that their only purpose was to serve the federation?

idk. i would’ve much preferred it if during qfoolish’s infiltration arc, the workers seemed so much more distant and inhuman, but slowly opened up over time. it would’ve made the federation still as intimidating, if not more, because it shows that they have the power to just completely get rid of someone’s anger and make them pliant (kind of like the happy pills; except instead of making the person happy it just makes them empty and responsive to orders). but because the other workers just get to act how they wish, it kind of brings down the fear factor of the federation.

one of the things i liked about tubbo and fred’s friendship (although i don’t really like or trust fred at all) was that tubbo had to teach them about emotions, identity, and friendship. they didn’t understand it, and it makes them so complex because they’ve tortured and want the torture of other islanders (pierre and quackity) but they also are developing a like for an islander, one that is kind of driving cucurucho insane because of his rulebreaking; i feel like there could be a cool scene where fred has to choose between tubbo and the federation (which could be made even more interesting if fred is working for cucurevil or whatever).

but i look at the other workers and it’s kind of obvious the admins just want to have fun and play silly characters. because they don’t have that same problem of struggling with emotions or having their own personality, and they also seem to be on good terms with cucurucho (they only seem slightly afraid when they get caught slacking which is to be expected since cucurucho is like. their boss ?? i think?).

idk there’s just a strange dichotomy between walter bob and fred, who seem to show that the federation is evil and doesn’t stand for imperfection in the form of rulebreaking or personality, and then all the other workers get to dance, and complain about the coffee machine being broken and whatnot. i don’t really get what i’m supposed to feel for the federation and the workers. i think i’m supposed to feel bad for them, especially when there’s plots where they get kidnapped or killed (qbbh and qcellbit’s arcs) but i just don’t. i mean, i do feel slightly bad for ron but not because they were kidnapped but more because of whatever stockholm syndrome they’ve got going on (but even then, not really because most of the islanders have some stockholm syndrome at this point).

maybe it’s because i’m more interested and sympathetic towards the player characters instead of the npc ones, because of their situation, and therefore any attempt to make me dislike a player character’s actions against these npcs just doesn’t work. i don’t feel bad for them because i’ve seen what the islanders have gone through. the federation has done worse to the islanders than they could ever do to them, and whether they want to or not, the workers are a part of the federation and are therefore responsible for some, if not most, of their trauma and pain.

(sorry for the long ass wall of text lol. and the negativity. feel free to ignore this, i understand if the neg asks you’re getting about the qsmp are getting tiring or repetitive atp. just wanted to put my thoughts out there because i like seeing your view and opinions)

Quite legitimately nothing to add here, you’re right

[charleslee-valentine]

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Fan Works Event Day 5: The Saw is Family

Ship(s): Lefton

Word Count: ~2,000

Warnings: Pregnancy and sexual themes, pregnant ftm trans character, discussion of abortion and miscarriage, implied abusive family dynamics, period typical transphobia, brief misunderstanding about consent.

note: This is the groundwork of an au where Drayton is Sissy’s father who raises her like a brother, rather than being just her brother. Inspired by this post from @fry-house

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

________

Still living with his mother, it was nothing short of humiliating that he fell pregnant.

Leave it to Drayton to get himself knocked up just as soon as he got even a few folks to recognize his chosen name. Even mama was starting to be willing to call him by something other than a throwaway nickname like “girl.”

Not if he comes home with a round belly.

Boude would be the one to know what to do, but he’s also the one waving his dick around gettin’ people pregnant. One time. Let him get that horrible thing near him just once, and he ends up with child.

He’s heard the horror stories. About men like him so desperate to not carry a little one to term they end up bleeding out in their own bathrooms. That could never be his choice. Drayton’s too much of a coward to take his own shots, let alone perform an operation on himself.

He’ll have the baby. It’s just, he doesn’t have to pretend to be thrilled about it.

Can’t un-dead this rabbit, though he’ll certainly try to ignore it as long as he can.

When mama's sister Nancy was pregnant, she was out working on the farm ‘til she couldn’t even stand anymore. He’s got at least three or four more months in him before he’s resting in bed.

Except Nancy never had her baby. Maybe following after her isn’t the best idea.

Cold, sickening dread settles heavy in every bone that makes up Drayton body. Some things you just can’t wish away. Like the damned organs in his body that make it possible for him to even be in this mess, God knows Drayton tried to wish that the lady parts away.

Maybe this is punishment. A cruel fucking trick from the big guy in the sky himself for changing what ought not to be. Too damn bad God gets to sit on clouds all day while there’s mortals in their human body’s going through the evil he placed onto this earth. So fucking what if being a predestined, pretty little baby factory wasn’t the life Drayton wanted.

Damn it all to hell. Burn the bridges of the past self.

As much as he hates to admit it, if he’s going to be this stubborn, he can’t do it alone.

Already he’s suffocating under the weight. Or maybe he needs to loosen the bandages some. It’s the same damn issue either way, and he needs his boy to help fix it.

Drayton usually pays his visits under the guise of business. Trading meat for dairy, wool for fruit. Just in case the folks are home and he shows up without reason knowing damn well they don’t approve.

Though that cover today doesn’t go as gracefully as he’d hoped.

The packages he and mama wrapped up this morning for the job smelled something awful. Usually it don’t bother him at all, being raised in meat and everything, but he was off the path and hurling up his guts before he was even halfway to the neighbors. Heightened sensibilities.

That’s of course, how Lefty found him. Doubled over in the weeds. Sweaty and pale and a disheveled goddamn mess. No worse than the done deed itself, Drayton supposed. At least this time, he wasn’t totally vulnerable.

Still, he’d like to not be gawked at. He swipes the back of his sleeve, pulled over his hand, at his mouth, “You just gon’ stand there, Enright?”

“Right. Sorry.” Lefty goes into action mode quick, taking both of Draytons hands and steadying him, letting him choose how much contact he needs. Drayton settles for leaning into his side, so Lefty throws one arm around him to support him best he can. They walk together, at a pace set by the weaker one between them.

Growing a human ain’t easy work.

It’s silent until Lefty asks, hesitant but too concerned to let the unknown linger, “You.. alright, Dray?”

Before he can stop himself, Drayton scoffs, “You should know..”

Those big blue eyes sparkle with worry and remorse, “Did I do something?”

If he weren’t relying on him to walk, he’d be pushing the oblivious asshole away, “Oh yes sir. Oh-ho yes…”

Lefty gets him into his yard and sits Drayton down on a random crate, taking away the little excuse package. Thankfully nobody else from the Enright family is home at the moment, won’t be for a while either, so they’re free to talk in the open air. Mama’s lazy ass surely won’t come snooping.

Maybe he shouldn’t say that about her; Drayton’s not the only one going to have a baby. Mama’s six months or so along. Just a few ahead of her son. That’s half the reason he’s fucking terrified. Having kids that close together, they might as well be siblings.

Lefty don’t know the reason yet to be afraid as he should be, so he keeps prodding, “Whatever I done.. Let me make it right, lover.”

He’ll blame the sickness for how red his face gets, a fever at fault for the warmth under his skin. Blame that quickly turns into frustration and lashing out at him, “This one, you can’t fix. Can’t just, fuck it away, ‘cause- ‘cause thats the damn problem, you hear!”

Lefty’s face sinks. The dread and the anguish in his features, tells Drayton he gets the wrong implication.

He sounds like he’s choking, “I’m sorry, I-I thought we both..”

Drayton cuts him off. Angry as he is, he doesn’t want that kind of anguish in Boude’s heart.

“You’d be right, Enright. But it’s your damn hair-trigger got us into this mess anyhow.”

Confusion. Revelation. Something else unreadable. Almost.. pleasant.

“Are you telling me you’re-“

“Yessir.”

“Drayton that’s-“

“Don’t tell me. I don’t need your damn opinions. I’m keeping it, damn it.”

Really, he shouldn’t be as confident as he is. Lefty Enright can be trusted, sure, but that don’t change that he’s an open transsexual, and now a pregnant one at that. A poor little farmer's child in the most fragile of situations, acting like he has total control.

His Boude is more than used to that. Lefty smiles gently, “I was going to say it’s great.”

“You’re not the one lugging it with you.” Drayton counters.

He won’t argue that it’s a positive. Or even that it’s amazing really. Every part of him is just so afraid, so not used to this particular struggle on top of all the others that he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Really, he feels guilty for taking it all out on his boy.

The very same who so heroically offers, “I would if I could. For you.”

Lefty bullies his way onto the crate seat next to Drayton and holds him. Proving even more of his gentle and sweet nature. His face won’t show it, but Drayton knows he’s desperate. Trying to be heard.

His heart wants to give in. So badly. To roll over and show his (swelling) belly and let Lefty have the validation. For the moment, he’ll indulge some, by leaning heavily into his embrace.

Something rises up. Not just bitter bile, but even harsher words. Mostly, dear.

“That don’t make you some saint, you know that? You still got an unwedded man, a queer, pregnant.”

And then he hurls onto the grass. Instant Karma.

Lefty just rubs his back through it. Soothes him. Only argues with him a little bit, “But I’m a lover, right? A partner, who done nothing but care for your little ass. That makes me a father too.”

A father. They both will be.

They’re only young. Not too young to handle it, but life just started for real. Popping kids out is a lifelong investment to no longer goin’ sneaking. Experimenting. Whatever you could call what it is they’ve been doing together.

It’ll be expected that they get married right away. Before this damn bump starts to show itself would be ideal. A nightmare for someone whose legal name on the certificate wouldn’t match the one his favorite people know him by.

Drayton isn’t ready to face those realities. He shakes his head, pulls away from Lefty just a little, “We can worry about that in a few months.”

It’s not outright denial. He wants Lefty involved and that is thankfully obvious. The intricacies really can wait. For the sake of him not losing his mind already.

Lefty agrees, focusing on the present as well, “What do you want from me right now?”

“Take me inside. Please.” Drayton holds his arms up, finally allowing himself to be as weak as he feels.

He’s not expecting to be fully lifted up and carried there, but since he’d just delivered some relatively life changing news, he’ll let that slide as well.

Lefty assures, as strong willed as he is physically tough, “We’ll figure it out, Dray.”

That’s not the part Drayton was afraid of. He never doubted that Lefty would want to do right by the kid. A man who places that much value on his family isn’t going to just kick a child he’d created to the curb.

His partner is maybe another story.

Lefty loves him and he loves Lefty, easy, but it’s not been as simple navigating what that meant when halfway into their almost decade long relationship, Drayton confessed the truth about the disconnect between body and identity. His boy has always been perfect with it, which is what makes it so terrifying. Unlikely as it is, there’s always that whisper that he’s only been pretending to accept it.

Now that Draytons put out, and of course got knocked up on the very first time doing so, there’s no real reason to keep him around. Lefty could pick up the kid on the weekends, settle down with a nice woman. Move the hell on.

They’re so in sync at this point, Boude sort of reads his mind, “I’m not gonna leave you.”

Tears burn in his eyes and ball up his throat with emotion. Drayton just nods a little in acknowledgment of his boy, not saying a word still.

It’s exactly what he was thinking and it still blindsides him. Some wounds, like the ones that come to be when his daddy left years ago, well maybe they never close up.

Lefty can’t take the silence. He tries to prompt, “I lov-“

“Enough.” Drayton stops him there. He knows it already. But talking about it isn’t his thing. Loving somebody is enough without all the sappy bullshit. “I’m not ready to talk.”

Lefty looks sad. Frowns a little bit. But he doesn’t argue. Never does. That sort of makes Drayton feel worse.

But they really will talk. One day down the line. Give it some time and he’ll be ready.

He places a hand on his belly. The baby is too small to be moving yet. Probably about the size of a pebble. There’s time. Mama will have her baby first, almost like a trial run.

Yeah.

They’ll be able to do this.

Shaking, Drayton takes Enright’s hand. He doesn’t know what to do with it, it’s awkward, but he wants to show him, in some minute way, that he gives a shit about him too.

A small smile is all the acknowledgement he gets. It’s enough.

Hopefully it’ll be enough to save them until Drayton is ready to talk more. Best he can do now is stay curled up in Lefty’s arms for the few hours he’s able. Going back home at the end of the day won’t be easy, it never is, but neither will parenthood be, so. Guess it works out anyhow.

[topaz-carbuncle]

OC in 15: Valerie Michaelis

rules: share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Thank you for the tag @crownleys! <3

I have been missing Val and Nate a lot recently, so it's been fun to go through my older stuff for this, especially as she's the OC who got the most love so far in terms of written dialogue!

Dialogue from posted works will be marked with " <x>"!

1: "Nate...I'm sorry, but I couldn't just sit and hide while you got hurt, especially not because of me. I might not be anything special, like you four are, but do you think I could bear to stand by and watch you get hurt either? I know that you are trying to protect me and I appreciate that so much…But you need to let me work with you, as a team. You need to trust that I can do this, that I can be a part of your world." <x>

2: “I promise. I’m sorry for worrying you, I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you,” she gives him a watery giggle, a giggle that transforms into a shy smile as he raises a neat eyebrow at her- urging her to continue, “we really make quite the pair, don’t we? Constantly worried for the other, to the point of ignoring our own safety and how it would affect those around us.” <x>

3: As if on cue, Val’s melodic voice cuts through Adam’s rant before Nate could even raise a hand to interrupt him. “Aww, you do care about me!” <x>

4: With her hands still on his chest, she looks up at him bashfully, biting her lip as she considers her words. “Is this a bad time to admit that, despite being the one to suggest that we come to the beach, I don’t actually know how to swim…?” <x>

5: “Well, most children who have parents to take them on holiday probably do.” She struggles to keep the bitterness out of her voice, wincing slightly as she sees the sadness in Nate’s eyes, the same sadness that plagues him whenever she brought up her childhood...Or lack thereof. “But this is my first holiday! My first family holiday, so it would be nice if one of you could teach me…?” <x>

6: “Punishment… what punishment?” Before she can fully register the situation, a cold gust of wind brushes past her as she stares up at Mason in confusion, slowly realising that her vampiric defence had vanished from in front of her. “Wait… Et tu, Nate?” <x>

7: “I’m not exactly sure where to start,” Val runs her hands through her hair as she paces, the action doing very little to bring her comfort as she tries to pull at the stitches holding her heart and mind together, “or how to start actually… This might take a while. It might take a few days.” <x>

8: “No, she didn’t know. I had changed my emergency contact for the hospital to Tina a few years before that. If Mum knew…she certainly never visited, so there's a good chance she doesn’t know at all. She can’t know, Nate. I’m sorry to throw all this onto you like that.” <x>

9: She cocks an eyebrow up at him before giving him her best dramatic gasp, her hand planted on her chest, "Agent Sewell, do you mean to tell me that you've been snooping through my possessions? What would the others say?"

10: "Yeah well...It's about to sound a lot more like begging in roughly 2 minutes if that disgusting spider isn't dealt with. Are you all here to watch, or can one of you do something since Adam is more content to be a pain in the arse?"

11: "Are you proposing to me, Agent Sewell?" She peers up at him through her eyelashes, the humour in her voice falters as hope takes over.

12: "Am I doing this right?" She breathes out a small laugh at the adorably confused look he sends her way. "I'm not doing a very good job at coherently starting my sentence. It's just… I'm worried that I don't know how to love properly, it's not like I had an example to follow while growing up."

13: “A lot of people prefer putting their thoughts out for the public to read. This can work out well for me when the station finds evidence out in the virtual open like this, you have no idea how many people incriminate themselves through this. Books can be burnt, but this? This stuff is forever, so uh…be careful if you plan on committing any crimes and then posting about it online.”

14: "And you are a powerful man, Agent Sewell."

15: "...Yes Nathaniel ?" <x>

Tagging: @serenpedac @lucysarah-c, @humanitys-strongest-bamf, @youre-ackermine, @l3visthighs! (i'm not sure if some of you have oc's that you write for, but it could be fun to show some "reader" dialogues as well / instead of! <3)

[araedi]

I promised an update on my life/activity and stuff, so here it is! I’ll stuff it all under the cut but the tldr is I’m still here just on a super slow. I’m always down for chats and interactions as long as you’re cool with that!

I’m quite private about myself online so gonna keep this brief (lol watch me do anything but), but I feel like I keep circling back to apologising every few months for not being here enough then punishing myself over it when I’m not magically active again. It’s ultimately a hobby but I still feel bad that people writing with me could be feeling let down/ignored, so I wanted to drop this rather than keep on cycling the same apology until it feels hollow.

Life’s a Lot right now: I’m currently juggling two part time jobs, pretty much full household responsibilities for three people, night-school with essays, and an emotionally intensive placement as part of my training which also involves paperwork. Home life is also less than ideal (won’t go into details). On top of this, I have chronic health problems alongside chronic pain so most days I’m just crabby and exhausted; my mental health could be better but rn it just feels like I’m treading water to get to a place where I’ll have fewer commitments.

Ultimately rp and writing/creative stuff in general is part of how I unwind so I’ll always be around because this outlet is so rewarding, but as it stands I’m just so mentally and pysically drained that when I do have the time I’d rather just switch my brain off and play a bit of a game and have a sliver of social life than try to force out writing which is gonna be sub-par. I’ve been feeling kinda down about my writing for a bit and just feel like I’m giving the same post over and over, which also isn’t helpful!

As for my activity and where y’all fit: I’m still around and intend to be; still responding to DM’s on Discord or IM’s on here (unreliable though they are -_-) just being ridiculously slow with replies and popping reblogs or replies out just as and when. I’m not the type to up and quit, hell I’ve been on this blog for years so I’m going nowhere, just on the go-slow with the odd spurt of like 3-5 replies.

Of course I 100% understand if this weird unpredictable activity doesn’t fit for you: we all have different needs and expectations with this hobby and if me only showing up now and again isn’t gonna work that’s totally ok and you don’t have to follow or write with me: it’s been a blast knowing you!

If you’re chill to stick around and deal with my slowness, please know I WILL get to replies, even if it’s at glacial pace. I’ll post a shot of my tracker/a list up in the future so I can be 100% on what I owe and know you can always check in with me/hold me accountable for stuff. Please know you can ALWAYS drop stuff in my ask boxes, whether it’s memes or questions for muses or just crack. It always puts a smile on my face <3 if I received it I’ll reply to it, so barring just a few memes I have nothing else waiting!

This all being said I would LOVE to build up more long term/in-depth character relationships and sustained interactions over multiple threads. I love getting to know my rp partners beyond the muses – it’s just that right now it’ll take six times as long to get anywhere. My door’s open for any chats r.e. any muses here or on the multi.

If you need my disco handle just ask/reply here or whatever and I can send it; if you need to get in touch for any reason and can’t seem to get through to me, just send a ping to the bestie Benevolentgodloki c:

If you read all this and are ok with sticking around know that you have my undying love lmao; I know it isn’t easy trying to build anything with someone who only posts once in a blue moon so your patience is appreciated and I’ll always appreciate having people to come back to on here <33

[thatoneguy56fanfic]

you misunderstand what I said ( I feel that part of the reason korrasami was popular in the FANDOM was due to irrational hate for mako and desire to spite and punish mako . ( I have seen people claim mako ending the show single was karma for love triangle ignoring that it wasnt just mako's fault so by that logic they should all have ended the show single. (it's why when I have fantasies about an oc who is rich and manages to get a hold of the rights to make a look remake(s) I sometimes think about either just doing a b4 remake or a full lok remake( expanding upon lok ) and keeping the love triangle intact and focus a bit more on mako's internal struggles to ezplicitly state mako's flaws in b1 etc.

I want to put down the idea that mako deserved to end the show single as punishment for the love triangle in the garbage by allowing a mako who did those same mistakes end the show being hinted at getting into a relationship. show that I disagree ( and in my fantasies where I do ab4 remake followed by a full lok remake that is when I have asami be an equalist spy who is a foil to Korra etc

since it would feel like I was demonizing asami for the sake of a ship and ignore mako's mistakes (which is why I would do a b4 remake beforehand

or saying the mako haters were right that the mako who made those b1-b2 mistakes didn't deserve to end the show happy

) ( I like that bryke didn't go the easy route of having asami be a villain in b1

( to be honest I remember ikkinthekitsune coming up with an idea for kuvira joining krew in b3 ( like say asami having to go back to republic city for some important job or getting injured)

and interacting more with them

I mean seriously the mako haters bent over backwards to vilify his every action putting him through standards they didn't put any other character through ( lets be real here mako mishandled a love triangle that doesn't make him a womanizer or equivalent to yue's fiance

they even tried to claim mako called asami a leech when he was using a figure of speech telling bolin to end it quickly.

or they abused terms like creators pet ,Gary stu

I feel korrasami became actually canon in the show as a last minute retcon ( which went against the narrative pointing to mk either straight up getting back together or the show ends with a hint to them eventually doing so for they overcame the mutual flaws that broke them up in b2) as a publicity stunt ( and possibly due to bryke feeling bad about not including LGBT stuff and its possible that they allowed some of the fandoms thoughts to influence them)

korra and asami were barely friends and barely interacted with each other ( so censorship argument couldn't be used and asami showed she wasn't able to support Korra the way she needed to be while mako did etc https://www.tumblr.com/ikkinthekitsune/124974796098/structural-shortcomings-of-the-shipping-variety

Barely interacted with each other? Did we watch the same show? Because I don’t think we did. Look, I understand not liking a ship. That’s fine. But this take is even more out there than your original one. I’m sorry, I just don’t agree with your opinion on this. I don’t believe that Korrasami was a “last minute retcon”, and it definitely wasn’t made canon just to punish Mako either.

[dangermousie]

Of course Ming Ye’s plan to save Sang Jiu involves gruesomely dying in her stead. If aesthetically suffering was an Olympic sport, the man would be going for a gold medal.

I have my issues with this portion of the story (not the way it’s written, it’s done well, but with my liking or lack thereof for this couple, about which more below) but this is the important point! Yes, the tears are important blah blah but this is a lesson about how to swap someone’s demonic stuff without, you know, driving nails into them like they are evil Jesus. 

By now, I am quite done with these two boneheads, but I confess that made even my cold black shriveled heart hurt.

(I guess they had a starter marriage :P)

Ummmm, honey! She just massacred 10K people! I am sure they had old and kids among them. Like...by now I want to smack both of them with a shovel, tbh.

Awwww. Even with my annoyance at these two, this once again made me :(

Sang Jiu being her charming self. Let the man die in peace (or, since you yourself are about to keel over), let him survive in peace. 

OK, OK, Mousie, stop being irritated and concentrate on how pretty LYX looks here.

And then she’s all “psych! I can’t be undevilized or even survive because my normal body is dead.” You couldn’t have let him know BEFORE he got repeatedly flambeed for you?

It’s OK, hot dimbulb, there are many many fangirls who will gladly accept your...ahem...divine essence. All night long.

What the hell! Now that she’s dying, she still wants to do her best so he’d not have any peace. No dissipating before a final twist of the knife. WTF! By now, any shred of sympathy I had for her (and to a large degree MY) has disappeared utterly. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think it’s bad writing - just as MY is terrible at communicating and prone to dramatic gestures over common sense functioning, Sang Jiu is incredibly self-absorbed and immature from beginning to end. She was someone who thought it was a great idea to marry a guy who did not know her at all because he was hot. She also thought it was a great idea to force him into sex right after they got divorced. She didn’t wait to find out whether the method she came up with would result in divine punishment or whether it was still worth it to use the crystal chalice despite where it came from or or or or or really anything. It’s just before she went powerful and evil, Ming Ye and the viewer could ignore the red flags (which got redder and redder; I mean much as fictional dubcon in 14 was hot, it WAS 100% dubcon/sexual assault; no nice sweet good selfless well-adjusted person does that) but once she got power into her hands and trauma really shoved her further, it became really clear. It’s kind of like Tantai Jin. If he has no status and no power, does it matter in terms of its effect on the world if he would love revenge or is cold or has trauma or w/e? No, of course not because whether he’s a well-adjusted sweetheart or dysfunctional psycho, he has no power to carry out anything, whether it’s to open a puppy shelter or to carry out a wholesale slaughter. But once he gets power, his traumas and quirks become everyone else’s concern and one must deal with them somehow because he makes it everyone’s business. Same here.

What. The. Fuck. That is not romantic, this is UGH. Honestly, I am glad MY and SJ found each other because they should not inflict themselves on other partners. It’s kind of amazing that I started out liking them and by now I am all “thanks divine lightning, hurry it up with your barbeque.” 

He ultimately does not but by then I stopped caring. I am so so so happy we are back to our headcases Tantai Jin and Susu.

The thing is - my ranting does not mean I did not enjoy this portion of the story (unlike in the novel where I skimmed it since I dngaf about it at all.) The acting is great, the visuals are nuts, and the characters, including MY and SJ are completely internally consistent and their actions make total sense for what and who they are - their arcs are logical. I strongly dislike both of them by the end, but that does not mean it was not a well-done story.

[mostlydeadallday]

Lost Kin | Chapter XXVI | Far From Perfection

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: self-harm, body horror, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, ambivalence toward suicide AO3: Lost Kin | Chapter XXVI | Far From Perfection First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Chronological Notes: Hollow attempts to answer their sister. Hornet comes to terms with things, and washes a mountain of laundry. Ever get into a cleaning frenzy and then suddenly everything needs to be cleaned? While you're possibly avoiding intrusive anxiety thoughts about the fate of the world and your sibling's serious injuries and how your request for help might get ignored? Yeah.

○

Hornet startled, her head snapping round, and it froze.

Its chest pulled tight. Void churned deep below its shell. Was it—was this what she wanted?

It knew what it meant to do, to say. It knew the answer that it meant to give. The pain was not gone, and it was not small, not while its shoulder ached and throbbed, not while the keen ache of void-loss thrummed in its veins. But it was nothing like the all-consuming fever heat, nothing like the splitting, screaming cold of running itself through with its own nail, so the middle sign seemed like the correct answer.

It could not move.

Sister’s eyes, when she looked back at it, were dark and sharp, a deep and shining color, nothing like… like the other stare it remembered. Nothing like the white-hot glow that cut and tore and burned all at once, that it could even now feel in memory, probing its mind with fire and malice.

The chill crept back over it, despite her steadying touch on its mask.

I do not wish to harm you.

It knew that, it knew that, and even if she had, it had no right to say otherwise. But this twisting contradiction, this never-ending loop of terror in its mind, laying down groove after groove until it wore a rut in the ground—it did not know what to do with that. It—

It was stuck.

The word seemed humorous, suddenly, absurd even, like a gangly hatchling that had tangled itself up in its own sleeves. But it was not a hatchling, it was meant to be a knight, meant to be perfect, and this was so, so far from perfection that the bubble of amusement broke and left behind only a haze of disappointment.

It was still sitting—or lying—motionless, only its hand had pulled tight now, rather than remaining open for the sign. The prick of its claws in its palm was bright and new, and it pressed harder. She had said it could not answer wrongly, but what if it did? What if it was mistaken—what if this was not what she wanted after all?

Wrong, wrong, wrong, it was not supposed to speak, to think, and this was both—

Hornet glanced to the side again and startled when she saw all its fingers clenched, its claws near to drawing void in its trembling hand.

I do not wish for you to hurt yourself.

A pulse of shame rushed through it, heavy, queasy. She had taken its hand before it could loosen its fingers, pulling it close with the speed of a hunter reeling in prey from her web.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I—

“You don’t need to open these wounds again,” she said, working her thumb under its claws until they were forced to relax. Her words were carefully neutral, though the vessel examined them for anger, for frustration or sorrow or cold satisfaction, until it was her voice repeating in its head instead of its own.

Was she not displeased? It had failed twofold—it could not follow her orders without breaking the constraints that had been placed on it, and yet it had tried, and in the trying, those constraints were broken anyway.

It showed itself faithless with every action it took, and still she would not punish it.

Would not even let it punish itself.

It trembled a little as she wound its hand with silk once more, softening its claws with careful layers of padding, then folding its fingers inward until they rested against the linen she wadded into its palm. She did not notice the shaking until she let go and its hand remained suspended, held aloft by the muscles that had locked tight, immobile in its uncertainty.

Its sister hesitated, then took reached out again, sliding a hand down its forearm to lift its elbow from the floor. The position she placed it in alleviated the tension in its shoulder, and gratefulness welled up before the vessel could quash it. She handled it so gently, though even the gentleness had an unsettled edge to it. Even then, as she laid its hand across its abdomen, she pet the back of its hand twice before she withdrew, stroking its carapace in the one place her silk did not cover. The sensation sent prickles up its arm, as if its circulation had faltered, its strange, voided heart fluttering traitorously.

Was it meant to feel this way? It could not help it—there was no conscious thought involved at all, nothing it could smother or stow away. It simply was, and there was nothing the vessel could do about it.

“I am not displeased with you,” she said softly, and its heart skipped in earnest this time. It was as if she had read its mind, as if she saw through every layer of restraint it placed on itself to the treacherous thoughts that hid beneath.

Could she? Father had possessed a measure of insight into other minds along with his foreknowledge; might its sister have inherited that? The Pale King had never indicated awareness of his vessel’s impurities, but that had been when its repression was flawless, when it could feel the glimmering traceries of his mind interlacing around it like silver tripwires.

It felt no such thing here. Sister was half-mortal, which might mean she had no such ability—or that it merely could not sense it, as it had sensed its father’s, and that was definitely the worse option. Still, she had not shown any sign of his prescience, and unless her surprise at its previous actions was part of some elaborate ruse, she had not perceived its pain, its impurity, until it became too obvious to ignore.

“We will revisit the question later,” she said now, and it couldn’t help the jolt of unease—quickly pressed down, for fear it might become overwhelmed again. “Tomorrow, perhaps.”

Tomorrow. It had until tomorrow. Perhaps something would change before then. Perhaps it would find a way to satisfy her.

Perhaps, it thought, with a wild sense of dismay, the cavern ceiling would fall, and then it would not have to.

○

Hornet pushed down a creeping disappointment as she stood and stretched, turning away from Hollow so they would not see the slump to her shoulders. The rattle of the rain seemed to grate against her mask like sandpaper. She had told them she wasn’t upset—and it was a lie.

Not that she was upset with them. They had done better than she anticipated; she had tried not to anticipate much, knowing that the last time they spoke to her, they had been forced into it by her callous, unthinking actions. For them to choose to speak openly when there was no threat of imminent harm—either to her or to them—was something she had hoped for, but not expected to get.

And she hadn’t, though they had tried. What else could that have been? She had not seen them so badly shaken since two days ago, when she’d returned to find them huddled into a ball, all but sobbing, hiding their face in blankets stained dark with their own void.

It was herself she was displeased with, for driving them back to that. For asking a question that scared them so much that they stopped breathing altogether.

Looking at them then, she wondered how she had ever thought they could not feel. The thought had been distant, made small and faint by the immediate emergency of her sibling refusing to breathe. But she could not ignore the way the void twisted and squirmed behind their eye sockets, or the way their heel-spurs dug into the mattress, or the slight bristle in their shoulder-plates as the muscles beneath clenched in rigid stillness. Thankfully, they hadn’t torn anything open this time, though that was likely because they seemed to have little control over the remaining muscles on their left side, withered and burned as they were.

She would have hoped that meant they didn’t hurt, but she knew better.

Measuring and communicating their pain had seemed like a good place to begin, and now she was back where she started. Hollow had returned to a fragile peace, still wheezing gently as if their chest pained them, still tense, still watchful, still waiting for whatever doom they seemed to expect for themselves.

And she had no way to reassure them. Without knowing what they feared, without knowing why they panicked at the mere mention of their pain, she didn’t know what to say. The reassurances she had given them already did not appear to be adequate.

And she did not know what might set them off again. When something as simple as describe your pain sent them into a spiral she had to drag them free from, how could she be sure that any of the things she might say were safe for them to hear? What if she said something that sent them over the edge, back into the mindless terror that she suspected nearly made them lash out at her? She did not know how well she could care for them if she was injured herself. Last night was testament to that.

She pressed her fists to her eyes, disguising the motion with a restless sweep of her hands down her face when she realized they might be looking at her. She avoided their gaze, studiously looking elsewhere, then gritting her fangs with the realization that everywhere her gaze fell was a disaster.

Papers on the floor. Pillows strewn about. Drips and splatters of infection and void on the blankets, the mattress, the rugs, the flagstones. And Hollow was filthy again, smeared and splotched with black and gold where their wounds had bled down their shell.

Air hissed out between her mandibles. Irresponsible of her, to leave them like this. In more ways than one. She couldn’t have stayed long enough to ride out the guilt and fear that had seized her? To ensure that Hollow’s wounds were cleaned, that they were comfortable, that they would heal adequately? And that wasn’t even mentioning the damage they had done to themselves by crawling to her side when she passed out on the floor. The wound they had reopened still looked uglier than the others, crusted with a wet-looking orange-yellow that refused to fully scab over.

As awful as she was at being a princess, she somehow made an even worse sister.

The urge to swear in front of her sibling was near-impossible to resist.

Did they even know how to swear? She had learned it from her mother, but she could not imagine the Pale King swearing—he had hardly spoken in her presence at all.

Well, if they didn’t, she would not be the one to teach them.

She hissed again, low enough that they hopefully did not hear her, and forced her thoughts into order. Top of the list was getting Hollow back to bed. The rug could not be as comfortable as the mattresses, and the pillows she had propped under them had gone flat. But before she could do that, she really ought to strip and wash the blankets, and spot-clean the pillows, and wash Hollow off so they didn’t get the bedding dirty again, and—

The curses had dissolved inside her mouth, and now there was only a wet-metal taste, the sharp edge of tears that hadn’t yet fallen. What was wrong with her?

No, she would not cry for the third time in as many days. She had not gone weeks in the wilderness alone without a single flicker of expression or sound, hardening herself to stone against the constant wear of the world, for a messy house to make her break down now.

She could get more blankets. Replace the soiled ones. There were a few left upstairs, and it wouldn’t matter if those got dirty while she washed the first set. As long as she had enough for two sets, she would be fine.

She would be fine. And more to the point, Hollow would be fine. They had hung from those chains in the temple for years, while the Radiance cracked them open and spilled her rage down their body from the inside. They could tolerate a dirty blanket.

Now move.

Move.

She grabbed the corner of the topmost blanket, dragging it free of the tangle Hollow had made of them. Then the second, and the third, until she was down to a single layer—the void had soaked that far. She scooped the pile of dirty rags into the center and deposited the whole lot by the door, to spread outside in the rain and soak.

The pillows were next—either stripping the covers from them to go outside with the blankets, or tossing the whole thing into a pile she would deal with later. How much later was not worth thinking about.

Now that she looked, the rugs were nasty, too, fuzzy with dust, the fibers caked together where Hollow had bled on the floor. She shuffled all her papers into a pile—some were already beginning to smear, the damp house and smudgy charcoal conspiring against her—and stacked them out of the way, on the shelf full of rotted ledgers she had never bothered trying to salvage.

Come to think of it, those should go too, so she swept all the ledgers off the shelves and into the bucket with the cast-off bits of her kills.

The room blurred into one incoherent mess, still revealing itself no matter how far she dug. The rugs came up to reveal an equally dirty flagstone floor, blossoms of mildew sprawling across it like landmasses on a map. The tapestries, so faded as to be unrecognizable save for a general impression of opulence, cascaded down in gales of dust, only to reveal that the peeling wallpaper behind them was nearly as bad. The top layer of charcoal in the fireplace was fresh, but sweeping out the faded embers revealed a congealed mass of greasy ashes that made her wonder just what the last owners had burned there.

She was conscious that she was going too far, exhausting herself for no good reason—or, perhaps, a very good reason she was not willing to confront.

She could not heal Hollow, body or mind, but she could clean this disaster of a house.

Well. Clean might be an overstatement. She paused in the wreckage of the room, dirty hands held away from herself, with the impression that if she touched her face or her shell or anywhere on her body, she might explode. Her cloak was no better, and it did no good to wipe her hands on it, leaving streaks in the dust that actually made the fabric look cleaner than before.

How many cloaks was she going to need?

She turned to Hollow, who had been watching, though she tried to ignore it. They had to be questioning her—any sane creature would be—and she was not used to having to explain herself to anyone.

That was one benefit to being alone. You could act as bizarrely as you wished, and no one felt the need to stare at you.

“I need to change your bedding,” she began weakly, and trailed off. Her tram of thought had already taken her so far from that goal that she could not begin to explain how it had gotten there.

Right. They didn’t need to know that; they only needed reassurance that she was not leaving when she stepped outside.

She stepped over to the now-formidable pile of laundry and nudged it with her foot. “I am going to take this outside, but I am not going far. You can see me through the windows. I will be back very soon.”

No acknowledgement at all. They were breathing quieter, at least, though that had been a gradual change she had overlooked while she was busy.

She was tempted to add “Sign ‘yes’ if you understand” but it was probably best not to push, not when her ambitious attempts at language scared them so badly this morning.

She’d make several trips, then, to reassure them she wouldn’t be gone long. She would probably need several trips anyway, with how much washing she had accumulated.

Her first trip outside did not seem to affect them, though their head moved minutely to track her, and she thought their hand clenched more tightly than before, though it was hard to tell beneath the silk. She stayed out a little longer the second time, and when their status did not appreciably change, she made a final trip, positioning herself carefully in view of the windows as she deposited the rest of the pile. Then, with a long, heavy sigh, she stripped her cloak off too, letting the rain streak down her back and legs. She would be drenched before she finished anyway; might as well throw her cloak in with the rest of the laundry.

The corded strap that held her spare soul vessels knocked against her chest as she leaned forward to drop her cloak into the heap. It was heavier than usual, and she caught it on its next swing, lifting it to stare at the charm still pinned to the end.

She’d almost forgotten about it, except for the welcome strangeness of her soul vessels being completely full. In the diffuse, blue-stained light under the City’s skyline, she could see details that she hadn’t before, while crouched in the shadowed doorway of the Black Egg. How there were looping lines carved on the face beneath the wrapping, how a sharp-edged crack ran up between the eye sockets, though the charm seemed sturdy enough when she squeezed it in her hand.

Where could it have come from? Its purpose was obvious—soul was a formidable force in combat, and a seemingly limitless supply would confer advantages she had never had cause to consider. If the little vessel had gone to the temple expecting a fight, they could hardly have been better armed.

Then why leave it behind? Such a powerful charm was not something one carelessly cast aside or misplaced.

White sparks spun upward where her clawtips touched the surface. Even after so long equipped, it still had more to give.

Another sigh, and she let the charm fall back against her chest-plates, a cool weight, a heavy question she might never hear the answer to.

She glanced over her shoulder at the window, to the pale blur beyond the rain-mottled glass. Hollow was waiting inside—patiently, as they always did, though now she wondered how much of that was an act. She should not be standing here idly, mossgathering.

Hornet hunched her shoulders beneath the rain and got to work.

Rain gardens were one of the fads that had swept the noble sectors of the city before the plague took hold, and this house had a decent one, though shabby with lack of upkeep. Cascading pools of stone fed the rainwater into each other, some sprinkled with shimmering mica, some studded with ten- and twenty-geo pieces, others lined with mirrors that reflected her face back at her, warped and wavering. She didn’t know why staring at the water in a fancy pool was any better than staring at a puddle, but it worked to her advantage now. The lilypads had long since died out of the largest pool, and she had thought before that it would make a good washtub, if she ever needed to wash anything the small tub upstairs couldn’t handle.

The mass of blankets, pillowcases, and tattered rags clogged it admirably. She set to scrubbing, though with less vehemence than the fabric deserved. The water was a cold shock down her limbs, but rather than energizing her, it only emphasized how much she ached, how her claws trembled with fatigue as well as the chill.

Hornet leaned on the edge of the pool to squeeze out a pillowcase and had to pause to catch her breath, vaguely grayish water spilling out over her feet and bleeding into the puddles between the cobblestones.

This was… perhaps not wise.

Hornet had endured worse, many times. Hours spent curled in caves or under leaves or beneath woven silk camouflage, waiting for her strength to return after a narrow escape or a bad injury, sorting her rational thoughts and panicked instincts out from each other. Utterly alone, her only company whatever wall or thicket she placed at her back, drained of silk and soul, legs still shaky with battle rush.

The thought of her mother surfaced often, in those circumstances. Herrah would understand, she thought—though her mother had never been as solitary as Hornet was forced to be.

Allies were few and fleeting in the dead kingdom. Herrah had tried to instill in her the importance of trusted friends, advisors and companions who had nothing to gain from you, but as seldom as Hornet found a friendly face in these ruins, it was even less likely to be someone who would linger for the pleasure of her company.

She could count on one hand the number of times she had asked for help.

The memory of meeting Quirrel at the lakeshore sent something hot flashing over her shell, like a pocket of gas exposed to flame. Something more like anger than embarrassment, something that set her scrubbing as hard as she could at the towel between her claws.

Where was he?

Did she care?

She found that she did, but only in a circular, impotent way, like a beast pacing the confines of its cage. Whether he was lost in the City’s twisting, silent streets, or had changed his mind after she left him, it was for the best that he was not here. Perhaps he had decided to go through with his original plan after all, and she could not bring herself to feel more than a quick flicker of shame at that thought.

Anyone else would have tried to persuade him to abandon those plans, or reassure him that they were unnecessary. Anyone else would have stayed with him, or taken him somewhere—not safer, for there was almost nowhere safer than the lands around the Resting Grounds, but somewhere not so quiet, so serene and empty.

She was not anyone else. She was who she was, what the falling weight of the world had molded her into, and she had nothing else to give. Regret would only go so far, and she could not go back and change what she had done—or failed to do.

That meeting on the lakeshore would be the least of what she’d change, if she could.

Regardless, she did not need Quirrel. And he would likely have tired of her soon enough, even if he had come to find her.

Companionship was transactional, when every waking hour was uncertain. She would require more from an ally than witty banter and another body to warm the blankets. And she could not count on others to keep up with her, or to uphold their end of a bargain she would never plainly state, or to understand what she had to do—

She would not make good company, in any case. Not now. She had been left on her own too long, like an unruly plant; she had grown too many spikes that would need pruning.

She hauled the towel out of the basin and dropped it in a clean one, then started in on another, nearly ripping it with her claws. She scrubbed harder anyway. Towels were one thing she could mend.

Despite her best efforts, she did not manage to finish the laundry.

She stopped halfway through, leaning on the basin again as dizziness swirled in her head, like water draining from a hole in a bucket. The sheet tangled round her hands gained several more claw-holes as she gripped the stone to keep her balance.

There was foolish, and then there was downright stupid. She had to rest, or she would pass out again.

The thought of what Hollow might do if they saw her fall was enough to make her sigh and push the sheet aside. It wouldn’t hurt the fabric to soak for a few hours, long enough for her to eat, and rest a bit, and perhaps get her sibling back into bed.

She gathered up her newly clean cloak along with the rest, wringing everything out as best she could once she ducked under the eaves. They would take a long time to dry in the damp air of the house, but having a clean cloak again, rather than cycling between whichever one was less dirty, was something she was willing to wait for.

The house was quiet as she pulled the door open and slipped inside, the muffling of the rain welcome after the better part of an hour spent outdoors. It was darker than she’d thought it would be, and she had to blink a few times before she could see any more than the glow of infection in the shadows.

Hollow still lay as she had left them, head turned toward the window, bound hand resting on their stomach, rising and falling slightly as they breathed. They did not sound any more agitated than usual, although they took a deeper breath when she shut the door behind her.

“Well done,” she said, forcing a little lightness into her voice. She was so tired, and it sounded false to her own ears, but they should know they had done what she wanted. “Thank you, for waiting patiently for me.”

The void twitched behind their eyes, making one sharp, abrupt motion before returning to its normal slow swirl. Were they surprised that she was thanking them? Or did her words startle them in some other way?

She was too tired to try and figure it out. She patted herself dry with some of the remnants from the new cloaks she had cut, and then she made herself hang the laundry to dry, draping it over whatever clean surfaces she could find, until the room resembled a festival booth, festooned with banners advertising—she didn’t know what, exactly. Blue dye?

Gods, she hated blue.

Maybe she could try scavenging something to liven up the room, if Hollow would let her leave for that long. The run-down mansion had to be more interesting than staring at the same wall in the temple for a hundred years, but if they had no choice but to be laid up here, she might as well try to make it more cheerful.

She ate, mechanically, sitting on the hearth with the still-unhemmed cloak wrapped around her shoulders, and considered the problem of getting them back to bed.

Moving them herself was out of the question; she was too tired, and she would have no way to know if she hurt them, or worsened their injuries, especially since they did not seem capable of telling her. If they had been able to crawl to her side the night before, perhaps they could move back—but she would need to phrase her order carefully, to ensure that they did not push too far while trying to obey her. Awkward as it might be, helping them across the room as they moved at their own pace seemed the best option.

Or, she could wait nearby should they need help, and take the opportunity to observe how they moved, assessing whatever damage remained that she could not see.

It might be the only way she had of getting information they could not—or would not—convey otherwise.

Before she lost her nerve, she set her food down and stood.

Hollow tracked her silently as she approached, but made no motion otherwise. She had to swallow before she could speak, mouth still dry from the tasteless jerky, and even then the words were quiet, hesitant, as if something choked her voice back.

“Listen carefully.”

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[hawkogurl]

I love Harry, but I think that one of the reasons people bash Raimi Harry, is that he’s played by James Franco and some people tend to dislike characters when the actor is a know piece of shit.

Oh this is absolutely just true. And the thing is if someone doesn’t like him because he’s played by James Franco and that makes them a bit uncomfortable, I get it. I’m not gonna say that’s wrong. It’s completely valid. Frankly I think nobody is obligated to like any character regardless of whether or not I understand the reasoning.

But in terms of other reasons I see people hate my boy that are significantly less valid imo, even if nobody is obligated to change their opinions because I think it’s dumb, it’s like 90% white boy redditors who go through this thing I find fascinating in which it’s like, these white dudes who’ve probably endured some bullying in their childhoods over that sort of thing and are the sort of people Peter is made to be a power fantasy for take the way they feel towards those bullies and perceived or real mistreatment, often somewhat related to the common baggage with women that those sorts of people often have. You know what I mean.

So instead of projecting those feelings towards people who treated them poorly on Flash, the intended target for that, it ends up falling onto Harry, because Harry had the audacity to do something they perceive as a betrayal: date a single woman that Peter happened to be interested in. I have talked about this in depth in the past. But because of that, a lot of those negative emotions towards both women and other men end up on both MJ and Harry. MJ is a whore, ignoring the established character reasons for her commitment issues and the fact Peter also cheats, and Harry becomes the sort of man that they both compare themselves to and deeply resent. This is how we end up with wild ass takes like Raimi Harry being cool or a playboy, despite the movies themselves implying the opposite on both fronts, and the phenomenon in which these men will see awful things happening to Harry and not see it as a tragedy or part of the cause of his bad behavior and instead see it as Harry basically being punished for what they see as him wronging them. It’s not tragic, it’s not a horrible thing happening to someone who’s already implied to have mental health issues and pushing him further down a destructive path, it’s justice. It’s vindication for them. It’s cathartic to see him suffer. Harry’s eventual redemption is just sort of this thing that further nails in to them that Harry and the people he represents are as deserving of resentment as they think because to them it means those type of guys are just as wrong and beneath them as they want to think they are to deal with their own insecurities

Now obviously that’s not gonna apply in full to every person. There are straight white reddit boys with based as fuck takes on Harry. There are people who don’t fall into that category who have terrible opinions. There are people who only some of what I just said applies to. Nobody is a monolith, not even redditors. /j

It’s moreso an analysis of a weird trend I’ve noticed because I will take any opportunity to run my mouth and I like talking about things at length.

Anyways people who don’t like him because of Franco are valid, even if I don’t personally feel the same and will probably be a little salty if you don’t apply that same logic to people like Jeremy Renner or Jamie Foxx

[haleigh-sloth]

I usually don’t share my specific thoughts about bnha but I need to get this thought out there so sorry if this is weird but….

Personally I think the thing most people forget about Shigaraki is that before anything, before afo before killing people Shigaraki was “taught” (abused into thinking) that every time he did something his father viewed as ‘heroic’ he was/would be punished for it cause it would be hurting the ones around him (it would affect his family). Of course this is the worst thing to be taught when you are 5 years old .

But this continued until his family was dead and then he met afo. Afo basically convinced this 5 year old child who was not in a position to tell him (afo) he was wrong and still had the idea of good thing = bad things going to happen, that heroism is bad and that as long as you are mad at the person you’re killing it’s fine (obviously not true but when you are 5 I don’t really think you would actually understand that it was wrong)

And then this way of thinking continued basically for like 15 years..

In simpler terms, afo seemed to convince him that, good thing/good deed = bad things going to happen/ no real benefit and, bad thing/bad deed = bad thing going to happen however you got treated badly therefore it’s ok if you do bad things too

the thing everyone’s needs to understand in my opinion is that people who talk about why villains think this/ that or people who just like the villains of the show, are not justifying that fact that they killed people but merely just explaining their thoughts/opinion of the matter and trying to get you to understand that when you are abused or/and manipulated it changes the way you think (not everyone can dramatically change their life the second they are not next to their abuser anymore)

((And in the end this show is. not. real! The villains did not kill a bunch of real innocent people, some people don’t seem to get that anymore and act as if that’s what happens…))

Sorry if there’s any mistakes in this, I kinda have trouble putting my thoughts into words that others understand heh. . . .

In response to this...

I mean, yes, I agree with everything here.

The reason I didn't dive into all of this is because, and I mean this in....some type of way...actually idk. There's no nice way to say this really.

Anybody who is just stuck on "They did bad things, they're evil because of this and they should die" is not worth arguing/debating/discussing things with for me personally.

I'm serious--I do not have the patience to explain the obvious to people who just don't care about these aspects of the villains. It's too tiring, and ultimately pointless because--they don't care.

If the conclusion someone has come to is "They killed people and they're bad and a sad backstory isn't an excuse and that's that", then I mean, I have nothing to say to counter.

Imo, everything you pointed out is very obvious, so anybody ignoring its importance is doing it intentionally and probably has no intention of changing their minds.

People write essays on tumblr about redeeming characters who do horrible things, why it's done in fiction, how it's done, how to tell when a character is set up for a redemption arc early on, but it doesn't matter. If someone doesn't want to accept a redemption arc in a character, there is nothing to be done.

I really do not mean to sound pretentious or anything....but honestly I don't have the energy or patience to explain old arguments that have been beaten into the ground and things that are just painfully obvious and shouldn't even have to be said (namely that none of these people are real and nobody has killed anybody--like I'm not gonna write an argumentative meta on that).

So yes I agree with everything you've said here, but I tend to intentionally leave these points out because if someone is still held up on the points you've made, I really don't have the patience to discuss with them.