#antis stay away that's not a safe place for you

[sirendeepity]

[ Selene one-shot ]

A/N: so this fic took me way too long to write/edit and is 100% self-indulgent. Past tenses are my worst enemy now so if things don't make sense time-wise(?) then close your eyes and look away because if I have to read this thing one more time istg I'm gonna lose it. English is so fun! Anyway, consider this also canon-defiant, as in Nesta kept her powers (as she should've). I am Selene, Selene is me, what I was thinking, she was thinking too. Also, can we all agree Selene was the best sibling? Enjoy! <3

W/C: 1.9k

T/W: --

Death was not what I’d imagined. My idea of dying has always been a cold embrace, yes, but also a release. Leaving a soft knock at my door once my skin had wrinkled and my wings had thinned and my trembling, aching bones had turned into stardust.

That desired rest after a long, fulfilling life. Little did I know.

My life had not been long and my body was not the battered rag of what it once used to be and my death couldn’t have been any less poetic, really.

I used to be bitter and resentful about everything and anything, but, well, you get used to it after being dead for centuries. Throwing tantrums is not the key to resurrection, apparently. One would think the Otherworld would be at least fun—as fun as being dead could be—but no, not even the company of other stolen souls was enough. Because there were none. Not even my mother’s. There had been, at first, when everything was new and strange and filled with sorrow. We only had each other, as we did in those last dreadful moments. We’d spent days and years and ages together, watching over what was left of our hearts, the part of us that was still alive and well. He was most of the time, at least. Well, I mean, he’s always been alive. Kind of. But as the years went by, as I watched him grow into the male and brother and High Lord he was always meant to be, my mother’s essence had grown tired of the stillness, that limbo, and had started to long for the Afterlife that was promised. Her face had turned more frequently, more easily, and her gaze had fixed on the darkness between the stars. Still, she’d stayed. Waiting, holding on to that last thread of hope.

It took five hundred years or so, but as the mating bond snapped into place, securing their souls to one another, my mother kissed me goodbye. It was out of her hands now, was all she’d said. It’s out of yours, too, she’d then added, urging me to follow.

But I couldn’t leave just yet. I didn’t want to. Because what my mother didn’t know was that I hadn’t been watching only my brother and his family—once my family as well. That had been the plan, yes, but plans change. Mind did so very quickly.

There was a very peculiar female that caught my eye. A woman.

She was a vicious, prideful thing, her spirit an inferno burning around a heart made of steel, too big and bright and hot to be tamed and kept confined inside skin and bones so… Mortal.

I was rooting for her—for Cassian, even. He had seen right through her, too—had seen that shivering, weeping, scared girl who had no idea how to give love because love had never been given to her, never felt like it was. She’d been hidden, kept under lock and key. A silver beast prowled her silver cage, keeping guard. Protecting her in the only way it knew how: Nothing was getting through.

That little girl was the reason I’d stayed. And the bickering, too.

Had Cassian always been that annoying? Or was it only for her? The female clearly knew how to hold her own, but still. Their banter was entertaining, almost comical. When it was not gutting them from the inside out, that is.

I felt so helpless when Hybern had thrown her and her sister inside the Cauldron.

What came out was not what went it, the Bone Carver would say weeks later.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

I felt it the moment it happened. Everyone did, even in the Place-That-Was-No-More.

That— Well, that changed everything.

And so I waited and waited, and waited. Oh, that stubborn little—

Weeks had gone by and Nesta still refused to acknowledge the immense power within her, although she did practice with Amren, which was a feat on and of its own. It still wasn’t enough to prevent the war from happening.

Once again, I found myself in the position of begging whatever bastard—sorry, god—was willing to listen, asking them to turn their gazes somewhere else, far from that battlefield. I hoped that none of my beloved would become the company I’d so desperately craved. Cassian, the idiot, had really tried his best on more than one occasion. I’d risked losing Nesta, too, so I’d helped a little, found a loophole of sorts. It only took the whisper of an idea planted in the right mind, a mind that could see past barriers and borders, and the King’s crown fell with his head. She had some backbone, the flower girl.

My joy didn’t last long. Nothing in my life seemed to—no pun intended.

It happened so fast, I barely caught it.

Our eyes had met, a mirror image of each other, and held long enough for me to shake my head. Left to right, right to left. As starlight slid down my cheeks, I could offer him no more than a faint smile as I said, “Not yet.”

And then he was gone. Taken away from me. Again.

But as much as I’d longed for his embrace, I couldn’t help myself but feel relieved. My brother lived—all of them lived when many others did not.

As the Afterworld got crowded, albeit momentarily, and the thread between the worlds stretched further and thinner each day—sometimes I could see and feel little to nothing, others I thought it might snap completely—I kept my vigil. There had been moments when I felt distant, unmaterial. Which is weird to say, considering that I am distant and unmaterial. (Dead, remember?) But as Nesta got lost in herself, I did too. Maybe that’s what my mother had felt when she’d forced herself to stay rooted in place, afraid to inhale and exhale too deeply as if she might start floating if her lungs stretched too much. Maybe that was a sign—my sign. It was time to let it go, to let it fall.

The bridge was crumbling. What had once been inside the Cauldron was now kept chained to the bottom of an icy core, not even an ember of it allowed out, and the flesh of its vessel was giving out. She was giving out—giving up.

Nesta Archeron was giving up.

Please, please, please…

They had tried a last, desperate attempt. I can’t tell how that went down—those days used to blend and blur with one another. It felt like having clouds inside my head. Would not recommend, not remotely as fun as it sounds. One moment I was in a darkened dumpster, the next in a lovely house with one too many people, and then I was going down, down, down some stairs.

My mind was crystal clear when Nesta took a wrong step and went tumbling down—ouch—and I kept it sharp and focused as she pressed her forehead against the wall and started… Pulling. I don’t think that was intentional—as anything that had to do with her power ever was—still, I reached out and pulled back, answering her call. Something had shifted then, and I found myself with a brand new asset: a House.

Safe to say, I peeked through that window as often as I could, helping Nesta get back on her feet in all the ways my brain managed to conjure. New books (her taste was immaculate), cakes and pastries (for her soul), keeping her warm but away from fires (she really did not like those), and, yes, even forcing her to talk when communication was needed. That had proven harder than I thought, especially since said communication took a wrong turn. Who knew someone could be so verbal and physical at the same time? The horny animals currently living in the House had a lot to say, apparently.

Still, Nesta was not the biggest fan of the well of power within her, but I kept trying to lead her toward the right direction—my direction, that is—leaving hints and clues any chance I got. A book here, some candles there, a crystal thrown in for good measure.

No one had ever opened a portal to the Afterworld—I could count on one hand the number of folks who dared try but had still hesitated to take that last, some might say even foolish, step. Myself included.

But Nesta Archeron was not no one. She was a very fancy, very powerful, very deadly someone.

If only she deigned to listen to me, goddammit—

I had almost managed to rope her into it, once. One foot inside the library and her gaze had snapped to the grimoire I’d left on the desk; she’d felt its presence immediately, heard that voiceless call. And had then proceeded to eye it in that wary but curious way of hers for a few moments. That was until Cassian had snatched her attention elsewhere. Nesta had very clear priorities.

So the book had stayed right where it was, and soon enough she’d sat down in front of it, resumed the interrupted staring contest, and then finally—finally!—opened it. Right to the bookmarked page. Good girl.

It didn’t take her long to read the chapter, her eyes eating up the words as they went, and soon enough she was sitting in silent contemplation. Again.

Get there faster, Archeron.

Well, at least now she knew. Small victories.

My kindness backfired, as everything in my (not)life seemed to do, because the two days of freedom I’d rewarded Nesta with had turned into two months, along with a mate—that took longer than I expected—, a miracle, and a nephew. None of this was part of the plan, for your information, but it made Nesta a lot happier. It also made me screech with jealousy. Little Nyxie should’ve been my nephew, too.

Pettiness was motivation enough for me to get back on track, and keep Nesta on a tight leash.

Day after day, I kept working my “insanely annoying for a House” magic—not my words—until, on one fated night, my patience and tyranny finally came to fruition.

Cassian was supposed to be back from Illyria for dinner, so Nesta, as the loving mate that she was, waited for him. Apparently, she also felt bored enough to take pity on my efforts and pick up the chalk, along with every trinket I’d ever given her, and took that final step. If I still had a beating heart, I’d say it was close enough to burst right out of my chest. Was this real? Was it happening?

I felt the cold breeze first. The whispers came right after, then the tingles.

Just as the sun slipped under the horizon, and the last ray of light went out; just as time stilled, stuck in a dance between day and night, I closed my eyes. The moon grinned down at the world, and so did I.

Nothing changed, nothing felt different. But I knew it was, it had to be, because—

A soft gasp reached my ear, and when I opened my eyes, Nesta was right in front of me.

I waited, too scared to move, as her eyes widened with surprise, then confusion, and then wonder. I knew the exact moment she registered the violet of my eyes, and the last piece of the puzzle snapped into place.

“Who are you?”

It sounded more demand than question, but I obliged her anyway.

“You already know who I am, Nesta Archeron.”

She swallowed, her delicate throat bobbing with the movement. “Humor me,” she breathed.

“My name is Selene, darling.”

[chopsueylou]

.

[bluemoondelight]

I keep thinking about the line "You're not welcome here, you're not welcome anywhere" because that means that Logan was driven away everywhere he went, that he was unwelcome at every turn. I just can't help but wonder what Logan was doing to care for himself for all those years after the incident. Like did he always have a place to sleep at night? Did he manage to get a meal in him every day or did he go days without eating? When he eventually did get kicked out of a bar after drinking himself to the point of blacking out, was it normal for him to just wake up in an alley or on a bench somewhere? Logan didn't even try to fight back with the bartender, did he ever just let people beat him up because it's what he thought he deserved? Did he ever get dumped on the edge of town somewhere after he got jumped by some anti-mutant assholes for daring to step into a motel to get a place to sleep?

Can you imagine what he felt when Wade asked him to stay with him at his apartment? Someone actually thinking about his needs, his wellbeing for once instead of turning him away? The feeling of being able to take a shower, to be able to get regular meals, to have a real bed to sleep in at night? Do you think Logan feels overwhelmed by Wade's kindness because he was just surviving for so long he forgot what it was like to have a home? For Wade it's so easy to provide for Logan, it's as natural as breathing. "Of course we can order takeout, what do you want to eat? You pick tonight, peanut, my treat." And then he's so shocked when Logan breaks down at such a simple thing but to Logan it's more kindness than anyone has ever shown him for decades? Do you think Al ever senses that Logan is not used to being taken care of, so she holds his hand and tells him that he's okay? That he's safe now, he doesn't have to worry about a thing, and she has to rub his back when he starts crying because he's not used to such kind words?

Can you imagine how Wade feels when he wakes up at night to find Logan crying while he's holding him so tightly, and he finds out it's not because he had a nightmare but because he finally feels loved and safe and taken care of? And how that fucks Wade up because *he* finally felt loved and accepted regardless of what he looked like or what he did with his life? And then they lay there crying into each other because they're both so grateful that they have each other?

[kettlefire]

It's not you, it's me. (DPxDC)

Long post, but short plot info or progression wise!

Danny loves his parents, don't get him wrong. They weren't perfect by any means, but they tried. As hard as it was for him to come to terms with, it's okay. Really.

It's okay that Jazz had been the one to raise him. It's okay that his parents talked about wanting to rip him apart during mealtime. It's okay they didn't notice the way ghostly things attached to Danny. It's okay that they never paid enough attention to put his secret together.

It's okay because they weren't bad parents. Not as bad as they could be. Yes, they could be a little reckless. Yes, they had their problems. But the good times were there.

Saturday morning fudge cooking with Jack. Late night self-defense class with Maddie. Tinkering in the lab with both of them. Even the normal embarrassing moments were good.

Because his parents are awesome. They are absolutely cool, and they did their best. As best as they could.

That's why it hurt so much to leave.

It hurt to leave Amity Park, but it hurt more to leave his family. He felt it deep in his core, the pain of having to separate from those he loves. Those he needed to protect.

But it was time. If Danny wanted to protect them, he needed to leave. So, he did. He almost didn't say goodbye. Almost didn't want to face it all.

His friends were easy to say goodbye to, but it still hurt just as much. Sam and Tucker, they understood why he had to go. Same with Jazz. There were talks about other ideas and plans so that Danny didn't need to leave. But he had to. There was no other option.

But Danny needed to tell his parents everything. Tell them about his accident, tell them that he was Phantom. He couldn't just say bye and leave with no explanation. So he bit the bullet and did it.

It went well. Better than good, it was amazing. And Danny wished he could stick around to see the changes in his parents' work because of it.

Danny has cried enough times this past week than he was sure he cried his whole life. He had his fill, he doubt he could cry again soon.

For everyone's safety, Danny Fenton left Amity Park. Phantom had vanished from the streets. Amity Park was safe. The Anti-Ecto laws, the GIW, all of it. They wouldn't target Amity Park anymore.

It was a lot of work to get the other ghosts on board. But after Clockwork confirmed everything, it all set into motions. The world was free of ghosts, but Danny wasn't sure how long the others could stay away.

He needed a plan, needed to get the government to understand ghosts. But there was nothing Danny could truly do. He was just a kid.

He is just a kid. Just a kid leaving in a small apartment right by a place nicknames crime alley. But Danny liked it. Gotham had enough noise and ambient ectoplasm to keep him safe. It would be hard for anyone to find him.

He was safe. Safe for once. But Danny knew it wouldn't last long.

The problem here? Danny was all alone. He didn't have his team to contact. Didn't have Sam or Jazz to tell him that a plan was downright stupid. Didn't have Tucker to back up the stupid plans that could actually work.

That's how he ended up in space.

Danny loves space, and he wished he was visiting in better circumstances. Thankfully, the vacuum of space had no impact on Danny's ghost form. It was harder than he expected to find what he was looking for.

God, Danny wished Tucker was here. The techno-nerd was a wiz with the computer. Amazing at hacking and tracking in a way Danny couldn't understand.

But Danny didn't have Tucker. He didn't have anyone right now. He couldn't have anyone right now.

Even so, Danny found it. Found the secret space base for the Justice League. It was a struggle, but he found it. And for once, his luck was on his side.

The whole team was there. Well, the main ones you see on the news and in the paper. All sitting around a giant table, a whole meeting was happening.

Danny took one shuddering breath in before phasing into the Watchtower invisibly. He was honestly surprised when no alarms went off. No defenses were triggered. He made a mental note to give them some ghost detection equipment if things go well.

Except things didn't go well. At least not the way Danny had been hoping.

He silently made his way to the table, standing a bit of a distance from them. Just in case he needed to run. His eyes jumped between the different heroes.

Danny steeled his nerves, at least tried to. He stood directly across from Batman, in the perfect spot to be noticed instantly. Then he dropped his invisibility.

All eyes were on him in an instance. Danny never felt so terrified in his life. Not like this. His attempt at steeling his nerves failed immediately.

Maybe the anxiety and fear was clear on his face. Maybe it's because he is a child, despite glowing and being someplace he shouldn't be. But Danny vaguely heard a soft, gentle voice speak to him.

He couldn't make it out, not really. His ears were filled with the sounds of his rushing ectoplasm. A tremble settled in his hands, and Danny knew he needed to hurry up. He needed to speak before he lost all his cool.

"I... Sorry, I know I shouldn't be here... But, uh, my name's Phantom... And I... I..."

The words stumbled and spilled from Danny in a less than elegant and confident way. The shaking in his hands got worse the more he tried to speak. His voice shaky and waivering, even when he tried to sound strong.

And Danny couldn't pull his gaze away from Batman. The cape crusader stood unmoving, unphased, and completely silent. The other heroes had a mixed of expression, but Danny couldn't read Batman.

That unnerved the teen so much. In that moment, he regretted ever coming here. He regretted leaving Amity Park. He regretted telling his parents. He regretted ever stepping foot in that damn portal to begin with.

Then something snap inside of Danny. The dam that was holding everything in just suddenly broke. In a split second, his vision grew blurry with tears.

Even though he didn't need to breathe, his breathing started to pick up. Fast and short. He could feel the phantom feeling of a heart beating rapidly in his chest. Or maybe it was his core warning him of the sudden wave of emotions rocking through him.

"I... I... Help."

The single word, the single plea, spilled from Danny in a pathetic whimper. Before he suddenly dropped to his knees. He curled in on himself. Arms wrapped tightly around himself, head bowed and white hair curtaining his face. Tears fell fast down his cheeks, leaving droplets on the floor, as choked sobs left him.

In that moment, Danny didn't feel like a hero. Didn't feel like Phantom. Didn't feel like the ghostly hero that was in charge of fixing everything.

In that moment, Danny felt like a scared little kid. A kid who was given too much too fast, with no real guidance. A kid that had to grow up fast and had people depending on him. A kid who was exhausted and terrified. A kid that wanted nothing more than to run home. To be wrapped up in a Jack Fenton Bear Hug. To feel his mother's hand combing through his hair as she whispered gentle reassuring words to him.

In the end, Danny Fenton was still just a kid. And it seemed the Justice League could see that.

Danny couldn't focus on the words he heard spoken around him. He couldn't focus on the moments either. He couldn't focus on anything.

Until suddenly, arms were wrapped around him in a gentle and warm embrace. He felt something draped over his back. Danny blinked the blurriness in his vision just enough to make out who was in front of him.

Batman. The hero that scared Danny the most seconds ago.

Except this time, even through the cowl, Batman looked softer. The man looked human and understanding. It made Danny's mind flash to his parents once again. Which only made him cry harder.

A glowing kid was wrapped up in Batman's arms, the two kneeling on the ground. Batman's cape wrapped around the trembling, sobbing form. The kid clinging to Batman like a lifeline. The rest of the Justice League stood around the two.

Nobody quite knowing what the hell they were supposed to do. Or what was really going on.

All those heroes needed to know was simple enough. There was a kid who went through all this trouble to end up in the Watchtower. A kid that's so hurt and exhausted, pleading for help. And helping was the Justice League's specialty.

[ossiethegreat]

hue makes an appearance again.. if any of yall know me from tiktok and saw my first post about him ily

don’t mind me @toffeebrew @howlsofbloodhounds

Yapping below \/

So initially he didn’t have much of a story because I’m not very creative and I blank out whenever I try to make something original so yeah.

basically, if Color were ever to get error-d, I think he would be on a hike, probably in some random AU that had nice scenery or something. He’s wearing a rain jacket because it was raining at the place he was, and he he just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and Error or some other entity was destroying it or something. As for how he got into the anti void,,, yall can use ur imagination 😭

(That’s the best explanation I can give, kill me)

I was more focused on the actual character than his backstory, so I’ll just explain my ideas of how he would act and such..

I called him Static Hue, or just Hue for short. (It’s a synonym of color I’m very creative guys)

I think whatever caused the error in his code amalgamated the human souls, and kind of made them fuse together, so Hue can never understand what they are saying because they speak over each other all the time. The different traits overlap and he feels mixed emotions all the time, along with intense mood swings and anxiety attacks. His flames also change color at a much faster rate, so people with epilepsy will stay FAR away from him 😭😭😭😭

Fun fact: he’s also blind. The only thing he can actually see is the color of his flames (which change all the time), and it tends to give him headaches and nausea. His grabblings are always out and just attached to his back so he can use them to move around.

As for the strings, they are very hot to the touch and leave burn marks on however he uses them on. They burn himself as well but he doesn’t pay any attention to it.

Hue’s memory is very jumbled, he didn’t necessarily forget about everything, but he doesn’t remember why exactly he does things. He knows he needs to help killer and protect him at all costs, but he isn’t sure why. He knows he hates Nightmare and REALLY wants that guy dead, but he doesn’t know where that hatred came from. And of course he naturally feels safer near the epic trio, and nervous staying in the same places for too long.

hue’s pretty obsessive over Killer for this reason. His need to help killer was multiplied by a gazillion, and he tends to just.. kidnap Killer and take him random places to keep him close. Sometimes he accidentally hurts him, but he doesn’t realize it, the only thing he can think about is keeping him safe and close to himself. On the contrary, he gets super aggressive and defensive at the mention of Nightmare, and if he were to see him face to face he would attack without hesitation. He knows his job is to keep Killer safe and away from Nightmare, and that’s really his only motive. He just doesn’t know where it came from.

Similarly to most errors, he has trouble speaking because of stuttering and glitches. He also can’t form very clear thoughts because the souls are constantly influencing his behavior. He has trouble explaining his thoughts and feelings, he tends to speak more in actions (as in he would crush you to death in a hug to show affection.)

anyway. If anyone wants to add onto this or share thoughts I’d appreciate it..

Here’s some older drawings of him LMAO

[caninepoetryrelator]

Liquid Luck

Carl Grimes x Reader (16+)

Aged up Carl Grimes x Reader soft smut

Synopsis: Carl and you are not friends. So what’s gonna happen when you’re locked in a room together with a bottle of whiskey?

Warnings: Dick, dick getting sucked, no fully blown sex just oral, Carl is a cutie, also it’s a zombie apocalypse there’s gonna be zombies, plus various weapons and very brief nondescript violence.

Words: 3,843

It all started with a bad raid. We figured we could sneak into the pharmacy, get the medicine for Hershel, and then get out without attracting any attention.

Rick and Daryl stayed outside and kept watch while he sent you and Carl to take care of the rest.

That was it, straightforward, in and out.

Or at least it had been.

A week prior Glenn had put a boombox on the rooftop of the place to attract the walkers out and up instead of prowling the streets and the building.

The windows were almost all broken. Either by walkers or raiders, we didn’t know. But it sure was convenient when the door turned out to be locked.

You watched Carl adjust the brim of his hat and narrow his eyes at a broken square window a few feet above his head.

“I think I can fit,” he stated firmly, casting you a sidelong glance, quickly looking back at Rick when you made eye contact.

He had never been outright rude to you; he had never been anything to you. He had only introduced himself with a short greeting and a tight smile. He seemed much more open with everyone else yet standoffish around you.

“The kid can fit too,” agreed Daryl, nodding towards you. He’d always called you that despite you being the same age as Carl.

Carl’s face dropped as he glanced at you again. “I can do it by myself.”

“No, you can’t,” ordered Rick. “We don’t know how many walkers are still in there. You’re taking her with you.”

He sighed. Did he really not like you this much?

Before you had come to a conclusion Daryl had laid a leather jacket over the jagged glass in the frame before he and Rick boosted Carl into the window.

“I’ll make sure it’s safe!” He hollered from inside the building. There was some scuffling inside for a moment before he yelled “It’s clear!”

Next thing you knew you were standing in their respective interlaced fingers and they boosted you up to the window. You grabbed the edges and dove in. It wasn’t until you let go of the window frame that you realized that you, unlike Carl, were falling face first instead of feet first.

Luckily, you were met with the last type of relief you expected. Carl grabbed your waist, slowing your descent enough to use your own momentum to turn you so you landed on your feet. His hands linger on your waist as you stand chest to chest with him. You look up at him through your lashes, breathing heavily. His face is red, probably from exertion.

Just before you can thank him he pulls quickly away, looking down nervously. You lower your head into his line of sight so that he makes eye contact with you.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile.

He nods shortly before taking out his knife and heading towards a door. “This way.”

You follow him, Michonee’s old sword she had given you in hand as you follow him closely, checking your surroundings avidly. Both of you continuously glanced up at the ceiling, which creaked under the weight of anywhere from fifty to one hundred walkers.

Your shoe nudged something on the ground— a bottle of whiskey. You quickly stooped and picked it up, putting it in one of the pockets of your oversized cargos.

You make your way to the back of the building, into the section where the pills are stored.

“What are we looking for again?” You ask.

“Promethazine, it’s anti-nausea medication for throwing up. Hershel’s worried the vomit from people with the flu in town could make it more contagious.” He replies, examining bottles instead of looking at you.

With a soft frown at his bland attitude, you wander to the ‘P’ section, browsing for promethazine.

You found five prefilled prescriptions made out to various, probably now dead, people.

“Carl,” you call, holding up a handful of amber pill bottles.

“Nice one,” he says, a genuine smile on his face. The first time he’s smiled at you. It was a nice smile. You felt your face heat up as you smiled as well.

Carl turned around for you to put the meds in his backpack. You brush his hair out of the way and he whips his head around immediately.

“W-what’re you doing back there?”

“Making sure your hair doesn’t get caught in the zipper,” you reply simply.

He relaxes as you unzip the bag and place the medications inside.

Just as you were zipping the beg, a loud creaking sound resounded from the ceiling. Carl and you glanced at each other with wide eyes.

“This way,” he commanded, taking your hand and leading — practically dragging — you through the pharmacy. The thumping on the roof was becoming more prominent and you could hear gunshots from outside.

You were practically running now as the sounds became nearly overwhelming. You were near the doctor's office section of the building when the ceiling began to give.

“Shit,” you muttered as the ceiling tiles began to fall.

Carl’s hand was on your waist again, this time snatching you out of the way of something falling— a walker, collapsed on the ground where you had just been standing.

Everything was happening so fast, and next thing you knew the ground was littered with walkers, all focused on the two of you. Your sword could only do so much as you slashed at the hoard, managing to take out two in one blow as you attempted to keep them at bay.

When Carl’s hands were on your waist again this time you didn’t question it— he snatched you backwards and into a room, where he slammed the door closed and locked it.

It was a check up office; it contained white brick walls and linoleum tile. In the corner was an oak desk with a monitor and sanitary supplies stacked on it. There was a cot against the opposite wall and various equipment hanging from the walls.

The thudding at the door where Carl stood jarred you back to reality, spurring you to grab the desk and shove at it. It had to be at least four hundred pounds. Carl pulled from the other side and together you managed to use it to barricade the door. He collapsed against the cot, panting.

You joined him, holding up your hands in a calming gesture as he looked at you with a shaky, nervous expression.

“Well, shit,” he muttered with an ironic chuckle.

“Probably gonna be in here for a while,” you sighed.

“Yeah,” he muttered bitterly.

Why don’t you like me?

The words almost came out of your mouth, but it wasn’t the right time. Instead you just looked at him, with a resigned expression.

You take the whiskey from your pocket and open it, taking a swig. After drinking with Daryl it didn’t phase you too much anymore, but he stared at you with a shocked expression, cheeks dusted pink.

“Where did you get that?”

“Store,” you replied simply, holding out the bottle to him.

After a moment of hesitation he took it, taking a swig with a grimace. “How do you drink that shit?” He laughs.

He laughed. A real laugh. It’s your first time hearing it. You want to hear more of it.

“Daryl,” you explain simply and he nods with a groan.

“I see,” he takes another drink and passes the bottle back to you.

It’s called liquid courage for a reason, you think. That’s all the convincing it takes for you to start chugging the bottle. You get about five swallows down before Carl’s hands, one on the bottle and one on your jaw, stop you from going further.

“Don’t overdo it,” he chides you gently.

You nod dumbly, watching a drop make its way down his neck, tracing his adam’s apple as he takes another drink. You notice the way his lips pucker around the mouth of the bottle and you force yourself to look away.

After a moment of silence he speaks again.

“Wanna play truth or dare?”

You look at him in surprise, hesitating for a moment.

“Only if you want to—” he starts nervously before you cut him off with a simple statement.

“Sure.”

He looks at you in relief, clearly afraid to have overstepped before smiling, a bit anxiously. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you don’t hesitate; they really do call it liquid courage for a reason.

He glanced around the room before his eyes land on the stethoscope. “I dare you to give me a checkup?” He phrases it as a question so you don’t feel forced. Cute.

You grab various medical equipment, wrapping the stethoscope around your neck with a drunken grin. “I’m your doctor, I’ll be giving you your physical,” you say in your best attempt at a deep voice. You were clearly already drunk. Normally you would’ve felt stupid but with the heartwarming giggle he let out paired with an over dramatic eyeroll, you felt nothing but at ease.

As you begin measuring his heart rate he swallows hard, his pink cheeks darkening to red. His heart thumped steadily; quickly.

“Truth or dare,” you murmur as you measure his vitals.

“Uh…” he swallowed hard, eyes flickered from your hands against his chest to your face, feigning focus. “Dare.”

“Take your shirt off,” you say with an innocent grin. He blanches, surprised. “To check your vitals better. Only if you want to.” You assure him sweetly.

In a moment he was struggling to pull his shirt off, disoriented from the alcohol.

Next thing you know your hands are running down his sides to the hem of his shirt. Halfway through struggling out of his shirt he looks up at you from his sitting position, face still read and panting. You gently tug his shirt upwards, prompting him to pull his arms through the holes and you pull it over his head.

You giggle at the state of his hair, correcting it without hesitation.

“Real soft,” you muse as you gently sweep his hair out of his face. The poor boy looks overwhelmed as he stares up at you, arms wrapped around himself nervously.

You gently move the arm he has wrapped around his chest, pressing the stethoscope there once more. His heart is beating almost worryingly fast.

“You okay hon?” You ask gently.

“Mhm,” he manages, seeming to have a hard time speaking.

“Okay,” you murmur, putting the stethoscope on various places around his chest, pretending to know what you’re doing.

“Truth- uh truth or dare,” he chokes out.

“Dare,” you repeat, this time even more sure than the last.

“Can you uhm.. touch my hair again?” He wasn’t making eye contact at all now, seemingly fascinated by his jeans as he stares down, still adorned by that bright blush.

In a second your hands are in his hair. Even when you hadn’t been talking you were fascinated by his hair. Rick had caught you staring several times and always met you with a soft smile or a laugh, whereas Daryl arched his eyebrow with a slight grin.

His hair really was soft, soft as hell. You rubbed a single strand between your fingers before trailing your fingers from his roots to the ends of his hair. You secure your hands around his scalp, threading your fingers through his hair as you continue to play with it, enamored.

You hadn’t even noticed his face, eyes closed, mouth open, breathing deeply.

You lean in closer and murmur by his ear. “Truth or dare.”

His eyes flicker open and he breathes for a moment. “Truth.”

“Why do you avoid me back at camp?” He froze.

“I-I don’t,” he lied, resulting in a small tug to his hair. He draws in a sharp breath, looking up at you surprised.

“Don’t lie,” you chide.

“You make me nervous,” he admitted after a moment of silence. “People usually don’t make me nervous, but you do.” He was once again apparently entranced by his jeans so you cup his jaw gently, bringing his gaze up to meet your own.

“I like making you nervous. But not all the time. I like talking to you, Carl,” you explain in a soft voice.

He looks up at you with a genuine involuntary smile.

“Really?” He breathes.

“Yes,” you whisper, realizing how much closer you had gotten, your hand still settled on his jaw.

“Um… truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you repeat, adamant on forcing him out of his comfort zone.

“Is it okay if I— can I please, uhm—“

“Do whatever you want, Carl,” you interrupt him. “I trust you.”

His eyes widen at that and he finally rises to his feet. A familiar feeling. His hands on your waist. His grasp is awkward this time, less sure of himself when he’s not saving your life. When it’s a choice to be touching you.

He tugs you a bit closer and his eyes flicker to your lips. You know what he’s trying to do and you know he’s scared to do it.

Your hands are still in his hair and you use that to your advantage, pulling him towards you and letting him close the distance, giving you a hesitant kiss. His lips are a little chapped, but they’re plush and soft. He tastes like whiskey, and you’re sure you do too. He’s inexperienced; this might be his first kiss, you realize.

You follow that kiss with another chaste one pressed against his lips ever so gently.

“Feel good?” You murmur, forehead resting against his with your eyes closed.

“Mhm,” he hums, barely audible as he lets out another shakey breath. You know his eyes are closed too.

You’re both reveling. In each other's presence. Just breathing each other in as his arms move to loosely wrap around your waist instead of simply placing his hands there.

There it is. That’s right.

His hands on your waist were sweet but his arms encircling your waist was just right.

You pull him in for another slow kiss, heads tilted, mouth moving and prompting his to do the same, teaching him as best you could without saying a word.

“Wow,” he gasps against your lips. You try to give him a chance to explain his exclamation by pulling away, but he pulls you back in.

You slide your tongue over his bottom lip, hoping for him to part his lips a bit more and in response he gives your tongue a light suck, pulling it into his mouth and letting out a soft whine as he does.

Your kiss evolves in passion as his hand starts traveling over your body. It slides up your waist and onto your ribs, just shy of your boob. The other stays securely wrapped around your waist as though he’s attempting to anchor you to him.

As much as you adore the feeling of his lips, you pull away. His brow furrows, eyes still shut as he leans forward for another kiss, his lips chasing yours with a small sound of displeasure after you pull away.

You tug his hair, gently prompting him to tilt his head to the side to give you access to his neck. You start by pressing soft kisses there, a trail from his jaw to the base of his neck, before retracing your steps with parted lips, allowing yourself to taste the sweet musky skin of his neck.

He lets out a choked whimper before covering his mouth with his hand. Not on your watch. You immediately grab his hand, pulling it down to your tit. He lets out a shakey gasp as he grasps at the soft flesh, groaning softly as he squeezes experimentally.

“Thank you..” he murmurs, eyes still screwed shut.

“Of course sweetheart,” you smile against his neck. He shivers at the nickname, giving you a minor power trip.

You begin sucking the flesh of his neck into your mouth where you begin biting gradually before biting harder to leave dark marks. You leave one by his jaw before remembering Rick, and what his reaction would be. You press a quick kiss to the mark before shoving him down on the cushioned exam cot, straddling him.

That’s when you notice the tent in his pants. He glances down at the point where your crotches met, biting his lip nervously. “S-sorry—” he started.

“Don’t be,” you assure him, leaning down to begin littering his chest with kisses.

You start the marks by his collarbone, before moving down to his chest. He was whimpering without restraint now, back arched.

His hand was moving up your body, down your arm, and to your hand. He held your hand, giving it a soft squeeze before simply holding your hand.

“Can I.. can I have—” he cut himself off with a small whimper before you stopped your ministrations.

“Use your words sweetheart.”

He groans slightly at that. “Can I— I wanna kiss.” He squeezes your hand again.

You lean up and meet him halfway with a soft kiss. He’s better now. He’s more prepared. You run your tongue along his bottom lip and he gladly parts them, granting you entry. He opens his mouth a bit too wide, but you don’t mind. You pull back slightly, pulling away and following it with a chaste, soft kiss before continuing where you left off– his chest.

You continue sucking dark hickies along his chest, leaving a trail of bites and kisses down to his belly. A faint covering of dark hairs spreads from just about his belly button, trailing down to below the band of his jeans.

You let out a soft sigh of desire, lightly caressing his happy trail with the tip of your fingers. He shudders softly and you watch his cock twitch through his jeans. He begins to apologize again, cutting himself off with a soft groan when you plant a firm kiss to where his happy trail disappears under his jeans.

You tug softly at the button on his jeans. “Can I?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

He blinks in shock, looking down at you with wide eyes and a flushed face, mouth agape. “A-are you sure?”

“Yes,” you chuckle.

He responds with a small nod, still clearly shocked. You make quick work of undoing his pants, tugging them down before looking up at him with a small nod, prompting him to climb to his feet and shed his pants, quickly clambering back onto the bench. You swing your leg over the base of his thighs, straddling them.

You’re quick to feel him up, groping at his straining cock.

Freeing his cock you glance up at him in surprise, He’s packing. Six, maybe seven inches, not too wide – you could probably fit your hand perfectly around it – with a pretty pink tip, practically dripping precum. You test your earlier theory by experimentally wrapping your hand around his cock, eliciting a whine from him.

He swallows hard before looking down at you. “Are you s-sure? You’re comfortable?”

You nod. “I want to do this for you sweet boy.”

He smiles softly, letting his head fall back and his eyes flutter shut. “Thank you,” he sighs happily.

You lean down and kiss the head of his cock, causing him to jolt slightly. After lapping at the slit of his cock you take the head into your mouth. He gasps, bucking his hips.

Without warning you grab him by the hips and force him back against the cot which draws another whimper out of him as he pathetically attempts to squirm his hips closer to your mouth. You tut your tongue and pull away until he stops moving.

“Please,” he whines, struggling.

You decide to grant mercy on the poor boy, taking his head into your mouth once again. One arm forcing his hips against the table, you wrap the other hand around his cock and gently squeeze. He sighs happily, breath hitching as you begin moving your hand. Rotating it gradually as you move your hand up and down, you allow some of your saliva to drip from the head of his cock into your hand.

You use it as lubricant to begin pumping your hand up and down his cock faster, limp wristed as you continue lapping at the head of his cock. He arches his back more and whines.

Just as you begin taking more of his cock into your mouth his hand flies to the back of your head, threading his fingers through your hair before squeezing, clearly doing his best to hold back from pulling your hair too hard.

“Mmh..” he moans softly, gripping at your hair firmly and applying slight pressure.

Suddenly you take as much as possible into your mouth, deepthroating him without warning. He lets out a sharp moan, gripping your hair tighter before releasing his grip in a slight panic as he realizes what he’s doing– it’s cute how hard he’s trying to hold back.

You use your tongue mostly, swirling it around his cock to the best of your ability as you begin bobbing your head up and down. You use one hand to massage his hard balls, ready to burst already. With that you remember that he’s a virgin, and you probably shouldn’t be teasing him so much.

This whole time he’s been making the most lewd noises, moaning and letting out small whimpers to the rhythm of you bobbing your head. His cock twitches in your mouth, prompting you to go faster to help him through.

You release his hips and meet his eyes when he gives you a confused glance, silently giving him permission. Experimentally, he bucks his hips, moaning before falling into a steady rhythm, his hips rising and falling shakily against your mouth.

He grips your hair even tighter, bringing tears to your eyes as you gag on his cock. After less than ten seconds he releases his load down your throat. Despite your attempts to swallow it dribbles out of your mouth and down his cock.

The low groan he had released had tapered off into a moan, sighing as he finally collapsed from his high. As he lays there, chest heaving, you slowly climb on top of him, collapsing there and cuddling into him.

He turns and kisses the top of your head, his wide smile unknown to you.

“I think I’m less nervous around you now,” he murmurs into your hair.

You smile softly as he places his hand on your waist once again. “Good,”

Thank god for liquid courage.

They cleared the pharmacy of walkers eventually, and by the time they reached you the two of you were cleaned up.

You came out swinging, having to run to the truck.

The two of you ended up so battered and bruised Rick didn’t even think to mention the bruise at the base of Carl’s jaw, and the one on his collarbone, just visible when he wore tank tops.

You saved the whiskey for next time.

[sylvaridreams]

Inhales. You know what gets me when I think about Heart of Thorns. The anti-sylvari sentiment in-universe was SO real for a while there. During the period of time where the whole world of Tyria learned the secret that Wynne had died to protect, that sylvari came from the jungle dragon, that they were made to serve it. Everyone turned on them. Friends, lovers, commanding officers, it didn't matter anymore. They COULD turn mordrem at any time, so you had to assume that they would. You couldn't trust something that belonged to a dragon. Even Laranthir (of the Wild) right after the crash, being held captive by his own people, waiting for him to go feral and tear their throats out. The sylvari Commander was granted a little wiggle room, a little space to walk around freely, but it's all very conditional. Prove you're a good one, that you won't fall to the dragon. There's the event in Verdant Brink where they round up all the sylvari in a camp and ask you to interrogate them, to break them down until they confess to being mordrem. And inevitably a few of them are hiding among the camp, but an equal number of sylvari run from you in fear, more afraid of you and the Pact than the certain death of the jungle beyond. The other innocents that stay don't have a choice. It's keep your head down and don't say anything or be killed, one way or another, while the Commander that you've worked under for the past couple of years interrogates a crying novice, asking if they've heard a voice. And who hasn't heard the voice at that point? The Commander admits to hearing it too. Canach likens it to a buzzing fly. Irritating. Nothing more. Strong willed sylvari don't stumble when Mordremoth speaks. But even that's not true; maybe not everyone's played Heart of Thorns on a sylvari Commander, but the closer you get to the dragon, you start to falter, to black out and lose time. In its domain you actually do fall to it. Briefly. Just for a while, you forget who you are and what you're doing there, and mordrem start giving you killing orders. And you snap out of it and never tell anyone, never. They can't know how close you got.

But what GETS ME is that after the dragon is dead, no one talks about it. It all returns to normal. Like the tension was never there in the first place. I'm sure there might be some loaded quips about sylvari in Living World Season 3 right after, but the next time I actually can recall it coming up is in Path of Fire. Right as you get into Desert Highlands; Canach says something about "I always knew this whole human/gods arrangement wouldn't work out" and Kasmeer shoots back "This coming from someone with a DRAGON in their family tree." And that's that. No one actually really discusses it in-game. They all moved on and don't care if you're a dragon minion or not.

Which. Augh. WHAT!!!!! NO ONE CARES? I'm sure it's a better end-user experience than if everyone you encountered as a sylvari player was like "OOOOOH I DON'T TRUST YOUR TYPE... YOU WRETCHED DRAGON PLANT FOLK" but narratively it's a little boring. At least in the sense that it doesn't feel finished. There should still be tons of anti-sylvari sentiment in Tyria and propaganda spread to force them out of parts of society and stupid hoops to jump through to be considered safe. Just as I think that sylvari should still hold anti-asura sentiment--you're telling me their small second generation had a huge group taken away and tortured to death and there's no ingrained fear of it happening again? I want my sylvari commander to have met Gorrik in LWS4 and been like haha. uh. 😥 (do I really have to work with this guy. An inquest...) (and EVENTUALLY come to like and trust him!) instead of the game plowing over it like oh yeah don't worry about it n_n the facility exploded and all so he doesn't work there now don't worry n_n NO I'M WORRIED!-- again I'm sure that the smoothing over of Everything is a better end-user experience. rather than everyone you meet being rude to you or vice versa. However----💥 (I am killed by a sniper from a long distance so that I stop talking before I begin delving into the prejudices that are already baked into the narrative)

[porcelain-gal]

random things i've scripted

i never embarrass myself.

no one ever throws up on me.

no one ever hears me pooping.

everything works out in my favor.

all parties i go to are fun and lively.

people are always willing to help me.

i have my house address memorized.

i don’t get bad second hand embarrassment.

i’ll never get a tattoo or body modification that i’ll regret.

i never get a stiff neck from laying, sleeping or sitting weird.

whenever i get cocky, it’s perfectly justified because i am that bitch.

my nails (both hand and toe) don't catch on or scrape against things.

i am never an angry or abusive drunk (i'm taking no risks with my bloodline.)

my ears never get damaged when blasting anything at a high or full volume.

grease isn’t hard to wash off of stuff and doesn’t leave stains on any of the dishes i use.

i can tell when an animal is showing specific kinds of behavior (e.g., casual, affectionate, hostile, etc.)

you can't shame me for shit. i always own the shit i've done with my chest and can acknowledge when i'm wrong.

all the places i stay, especially hotels, have completely soundproof walls unless i don't want them to be for a reason or i scripted a scenario or whatever.

the majority of humans commonly can live up to 200 (i'm not human in most of my drs and ion want my human friends just dying on me too quick.)

i'm pretty good at regulating my emotions and i never let them get out of hand to the point where i'm impulsively or thoughtlessly hurting someone or something.

i enjoy rollercoasters, fair rides, etc., and have no fear of them. plus all of the ones i go on are completely safe, stable, and fully-functioning and no one ever gets hurt on them.

my disorders rarely cause me issues with physical intimacy (sexual and non-sexual) and if they do, there's always simple ways around the issues that doesn't really inconvenience me or anyone else.

whenever i commission someone or pay for a service, i always pay exactly on time or sometimes even before. i never allow people that work for me or give me any kind of service go unpaid or unsupported.

none of my friends, followers/fan, family members, or anyone i am currently aquatinted with or will be aquatinted with ever had a racist/homophobic/sexist/etc phase nor do they support/defend that type of thing.

i never slam any part of my body into doors, windows, books, and vice versa (i slammed my finger into my grandma's front door once and it took literal years to turn back to its normal color. plus it hurt like shit so NEVER again.)

any online creator who has harmed, is harming, or is attempting to harm any other creator without valid and justifiable reasoning has their platform taken away and can never get said platform back nor are they able to rebrand and start over.

i always give the best advice for people when they ask me things. like the advice i give leaves people with new perspectives and hope and all. and i also deliver it in a very good way that doesn’t offend or make people or uncomfortable or feel like they’re being berated or whatever. it’s just incredible advice delivered in the best way without sounding bad or sketchy.

anti-shifter, proship/profic, ageplay, pro ana, bigot/incel, and any variation dni

[evilminji]

Okay, you know how City Spirits are a thing?

And Superheros both Die, Un-Die, Re-Die, Dimensionally Sorta Maybe Die But Then Don't, and also never Died in the first place? And probably do at least a portion of that in Medical? While ALSO hanging out, quantumly maybe Dead, maybe alive, in their Super Cool Clubhouse?

Which is ALSO exposed to space rays, the entirety of The Magic Club, weird alien Technology, aaaaand whatever they decide to store on it??

:T

I'm just SAYING...

For as long as dwellings Of Significance have existed, there have been house spirits. They are the IDEA of the house. The SIGNIFICANCE of it. What makes it HOME. The weight of the halls that turn into Halls. And The Watchtower? Is KNOWN to enough people, to have SIGNIFICANCE.

It's a HALL where Heros Live. A Place Of Safety. It GAURDS.

It is also inanimate. Steeped heavily in every sort of energy, be it magic or science, and multidimensional fuckery imaginable. But? Not SENTIENT. Yet.

Until of course... this new fangled Anti-Ghost Shield comes out. By the new and recently no-longer on the run (from the Goverment they're at war with) Dr.'s Fenton! Why were they are war? Don't worry about it!

They Won.

:)

Unrelated! Never threaten their kids. They WILL find you. Not a threat, just informing!

:) :)

The security guy they sent to the expo was from Gotham, unfortunately. So he found the couple to be completely normal. They? Should not have sent Thomas. He was hired BECAUSE his parents were Mad Scientists in the making. Batman was steering him away from a life of crime. Thomas could judge "normal" from "deeply unhinged" if it belly danced infront of him, in the seduction dance of a thousand, deep fried, mackerel.

It's his version of face blindness. Great with technology though! And the shield worked a treat. Even promised to be both ethical AND programmable! Not harming the ghosts it pushed out unless they try to force entry AND allowing them to program in exceptions. Allowing Heros such as Deadman to freely enter!

Is it a little janky looking? Yeah. But if it works, it works. They add it to the systems and flip it on.

One small and immediate problem. There is now a small knight shaped child in the engine room. She was NOT there a second ago. She has controlo of the ENTIRE Watchtower, claims to BE the Watchtower, and knows all their names. Knows a disturbing level of information about every employee on the Tower.

Oh and apparently "No one is leaving."

No one panic! Just unplug the... she has swallowed the ghost shielding unit into a wall. Slightly panic.

Panic lite.

Luckily, no one is willing to throw the first punch at what appears to be a small child. So the JLA Dark have a chance to literally run over.

They demand to know who's bright idea it was to add... "ectoplasm"? Was THAT the energy source? Oooh. Their departments probably in trouble. Later though, the hero's are trying to negotiate with a small child. Who is apparently a ghost.

It's not SAFE, she's insisting. Everyone has to stay HERE where she can protect them. From the nebulous threat of Bad Guys. They LEAVE and come back HURT. She is UPSET and everyone is going to STAY! Forever!

Not good.

Then Thomas pipes up, like the oblivious asshole he is, that he should PROBABLY call the engines makers. They did mention something a long these lines might happen.

WHAT.

You think, Thomas? Might be a good idea, maybe? Just a bit? YES FUCKING CALL THEM!

(All right, all right! No need to YELL! *ring ring* 'Ello? Maddie? Sorry to catch you at dinner-)

So now? There is a glowing college student, who was escorted here by a WEREWOLF, who just? Tore open reality? To some green, swirling hellscape? And popped through like "sup, sorry I'm late. Was in a council meeting!" And judging by the ficking CROWN and the various quietly panicking magic users, he probably didn't mean student council, and just?

Guess he's hear to talk to their newly sentient Tower.

Question! Asks Thomas, of the fucking Ghost King because of course he does, are they Dads now? Or if they already have kids, Dads AGAIN? Do they have to come up with a baby name?

.......oh dear lord, the Ghost King looks like he has to think about it.

What are we gonna tell our SPOUSES!? "Hey honey, guess what I got at work today! A NEW CHILD. They're a space station!"

@hdgnj @nerdpoe @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[shadowwolfmemes]

My blog is NOT a safe place for proshippers!!!

Hopefully, I won't have to repeat myself after this. If you're a proshipper/darkshipper and you come across my blog, make a graceful U-turn and simply GO FUCK YOURSELF!

I don't give a rat's rotting ass if you don't support pro-contact, I still cannot confide in people like you. Here's another thing that I don't understand about y'all. How are you going to call yourself 'anti-harassment' or complain that antis "harass" you, but then go around and interact with antis all willy-nilly to try to persuade them that they're in the wrong?

And no, most antis don't go out of their way to harass you. They mostly block the people they dislike so that the proshippers don't get the chance to interact. The ones that do interact with the people they dislike are just wasting their own time. I suggest that you don't waste your time with them either.

I hate proshippers, but I don't waste my time trying to convince y'all that what you're doing is wrong. That one time I had to interact is when I asked one of my followers if they're a proshipper or not (they were, so I blocked them). Call me a "bad person" for doing that if you like, I will stand by with what I did and I'm not actually sorry for blocking them. :)

Here are some examples of the most popular dogshit excuses they use to try to make themselves look as innocent as possible.

Excuse #1: "They're not real, so why does it bother you?"

It doesn't matter that the characters are fictional, it's still disgusting that people like you glorify illegal material like incest, pedophilia, abuser x victim, child porn, etc.

Excuse #2: "Fiction doesn't affect reality. It can't hurt you."

While it's true to some certain extent, the way it's used in this argument makes it worse. Again, it doesn't give you the excuse to worship pedophilia and other problematic ships that shouldn't be normalized. Fiction or not, some things shouldn't be shared at all.

Excuse #3: "This is just my coping mechanism."

I'm sorry, but this is one of thee most shittiest excuses I've ever heard in my life! In fact, the term 'excuse' is too kind for this. What's another word to describe this bullshit? Glorifying problematic ships is not a healthy way of coping. Why? Because you're manipulating your brain into thinking that whatever traumatic experience you went through should be romanticized. No normal person would do that to themselves and justify it.

Excuse #4: "If you don't like it, just block them."

I do. Like I previously said, I don't waste my time on these people. I want them to stay as far away from me as possible as much as I stay away from them. However, fantasies the proshippers have shouldn't be shared as a normal factor. It's okay to write about dark topics, what's NOT okay is romanticizing/normalizing it.

Before I close this off, I want to say that all of this applies to radqueers, too. Y'all are not slick, you're just as bad as proshippers!

Does this post offend you, proshippers? If it does, good! Y'all are NOT welcomed in my blog whatsoever and I will do anything in my power to make sure you don't get an opportunity to interact with me.

I'll say it one more damn time;

MY BLOG IS NOT A SAFE PLACE FOR PROSHIPPERS AND IT NEVER WILL. ANY PROSHIPPER/RADQUEER THAT INTERACTS WILL BE BLOCKED ON THE DOT.

GO CRY ME A RIVER, MOTHERFUCKERS! BOO-FUCKING-HOO! (This is directed towards the proshippers and radqueers).

[wingzie]

Keeping a "Safe Place" on Social Media (As Army and a Jikooker)

In my opinion, social media needs to take responsibility for what it has become. I don’t think it ever will, because it feeds on negative attention, but I try to focus on what I can do to help. For myself and others.

My bio on Twitter includes the sentence “A Positive and Safe Space for everyone” and I take this very seriously. As a baby Army, I used to be in several GC’s for report pages. Back then, reporting used to be primarily done in GC’s privately and we tried to limit any engagement. Soon afterwards, I started to witness a change: Egos started to get big, there was a saviour complex with Y/N tendencies, some would start engaging with the posts we reported and deals were being made behind the scenes to protect certain accounts. It made me sad to see this change in priorities and it wasn’t why I joined them in the first place, so I left when things started to go bad.

What did I do instead? Mute, block and report with my own system. I tend to “mute” someone first if they really annoy me and then “block” a second time if they are a repeat offender. I will automatically block and report someone if they say something really bad. I do not engage. That includes: liking, retweeting or quoting. It boosts the harmful tweet. Even more so if your display name includes something related to BTS or the members and it will add to the trends. By taking away the engagement, you are taking away their audience that they are hoping to gain.

I have mentioned before how a particular anti revealed that they would aim to get on a report page's radar, because the posts on them helped advertise their posts and accounts. Their plan was rather like a business model and it was scay how well thought out it all was. It was also clear that they had help and was in a GC thrmselves, just like the report pages were. When report GC's started to die out, they grew even more with how public the fighting became. The antis figured out how the change in social media worked in their benefit, before the rest of the fandom and even the social media creators itself did. They still fail to this day to understand how fandoms (and the language within them) changes over time. The algorithm encourages these type of negative posts too. On my second account I accidently liked a BTS tweet and my feed suddenly contained so much negativity about them, rather than about their projects or joy.

But how is all of this linked with being a Jikooker? Because we sometimes end up boosting that negativity that we really shouldn't. I quite honestly do not care what their theories are, but I always end up seeing them somewhere. More than I see actual posts about Jikook sometimes. Someone reached out to me that they felt like they knew more about tker theories than about BTS or Jikook as a whole. It's also why, whenever something negative happens, I start to spam more Jikookry instead. It's actually how the Live Reactions series was created, because I wanted to counter those talking bad about it. And to help us relive it with fondness.

I also think there is a lack of understanding about what the word "cult" actually means. It is up to an individual to try to break free, but it might also be difficult. There was a post by a young girl who had been added to a tker GC by a friend from school. She wanted to leave, because it was quite frankly bullshit, but was afraid to because she had given the GC owner some private information that they had threatened to leak if she left. That is terrifying and I sometimes think back to that girl and how she is doing. If she did manage to leave or not. For some, they are persuaded to stay whether they really want to or not.

That adds an entire new layer to all of this: Children being on the internet too young or not understanding the implications of certain things. I am a 90's kid. It was drilled into me religiously about the dangers of The Internet. That doesn't seem to be a thing anymore though, or they are quite literally left to their own devices. Because of this, we sadly saw an increase of online crimes aimed towards children during lockdown. There needs to be more done and again social media needs to be taking responsability. Ticking a box claiming your age does nothing to protect anyone. Not every Army with questionable intentions is a child though, of course. There are those that refuse to watch content or rely on heavily edited clips. I get a lot of those edits myself in my inbox, either by tkers or jkers who have found them and asked if they are true. My common answer: No. This is also why I try to give sources and encourage anyone to try to watch all the BTS content that they can. I know there is a lot, but it will help you on your journey. What can be done to stop them? Honestly, not much. We can hope to encourage them though and stop those that wish harm in their tracks. How do we do this? By being louder in our support. Because, at the moment, we're being louder with our hate and social media is boosting that even more. Rather than the praise and love that BTS and Jikook deserve.

[matan4il]

Can't stop thinking about that poor French girl. Most of my friends didn't even have their periods at 12. We have been screaming ourselves HOARSE for months that "globalize the intifada" is going to come back to bite us...and now it's beginning to. They didn't listen to us then and they won't now. Instead, they let a child pay the price for the crime of being Jewish.

I remember back in early April I walked by a protest and I told a cop there what the phrase meant. She didn't even deign to look at me, instead she told me where I could counter-protest. That is not what I was asking about. No one is protecting us, yet they wonder why we feel safer and have an attachment to our home.

I haven't been able to visit home since the war started, I'll be there Sunday finally. And I can guarantee that I will be moving comfortable there, despite my half baked plan and no official place to stay.

I just don't know what we are supposed to be doing anymore. עד מתי??????

I can't stop thinking about that girl either.

I can't stop thinking about what it means that she knew she wasn't safe telling her boyfriend at the time that she's Jewish. I can't stop thinking about the fact that she was right, as he proved. I can't stop thinking about the kind of environment she grew up in, where she had grown so accustomed to antisemitic attitudes being the rule, that she didn't see that guy's antisemitism for the red flag that it is, and didn't stay away from him.

And I wanna make it clear, it is ABHORRENT that Jews should have to stop and consider just how much they're going to lose out on socially because of antisemitism. But it IS hard to constantly lose and miss out and be depraved of social rewards that others get just because you're Jewish, especially when you're 12 years old. So this responsibility lies on the hellish environments that push Jews to have to decide between being included and being safe.

That the specific way that this girl's abusers were violent with her for her Jewishness was sexual, committed by at least one person she intimately trusted, done as a group, and (from what I've gathered) in public, just makes the whole thing even worse, and I cannot stop grieving what was taken away from her, and what she will have to deal with for the rest of her life.

And I've heard from multiple sources that the perpetrators' phones had anti-Israel material on them. It was easy to guess, but it's still chilling to have that confirmed.

I am SO sorry that you had that experience of a cop not giving a damn about our safety as Jews. But yes, we absolutely cannot rely on anyone else for our protection, it's a part of why we need Israel. And there's only one place in the world where we can be safely and effortlessly ourselves as Jews. I'm so glad for you that you're coming home, and I also hope that if fellow Israelis see this, that maybe they can reach out and help, too.

אם יש כאן במקרה ישראלים, השמיעו קול!

As for what we can do, we can continue to live even when they don't want us to, we can go on supporting each other, we can thrive even when they think they've taken that option from us, we absolutely should educate ourselves continuously when our haters are relying on people's ignorance, and we must speak up where and how we can. Even if our reach is small, it's better than being silent. Not to mention, sometimes one person listening to you, if they're the right one, can make a much bigger difference than we could imagine.

I'm sending you lots of hugs and love! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[pastelpinkkadan]

All these theories about Elain leaving the Night Court are so obviously created for one purpose, and one purpose only.

It’s not so Elain can have an adventure, or find herself, or grow, or whatever the antis hastily slap on at the end.

It’s to get Elain away from Azriel.

Because the antis know, just like Elriels know, that if both Elain and Azriel stay in the Night Court, they’re going to end up together.

If your ship depends on another ship having to be physically distanced from each other…babes, I’ve got news for you.

Because I have not read one El*cien theory that doesn’t require Elain to be away from Azriel. If Lucien and Elain cannot be together in the Night Court, if Elain has to leave all her friends, family, and safe place she’s made for herself behind, then maybe, just maybe, they’re not meant to be together. 🤷🏼‍♀️

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

I sent you some mermaid themed brain rot a long time ago. And guess what...I've still got more so here you go *dumps and runs.*

(Ignore that it's approaching the end of May ik I'm late lol)

Trainer/handler reader for sea monster legacy. He's terribly anti social at first in the aquarium. Doesn't like the bright lights and bring prodded (deep sea creature and are all of these vet check ups really necessary????) But reader is chill and isn't invasive. Is fine with just sitting near the tank, being quiet, and letting him approach in his own time. They grow closer, legacy feels comfy occasionally going up to the glass to play with kids, and tolerates vet check enough now that his molting scales due to stress or injury got fixed. Thoughts???

(As always, as a person with one of those hyper realistic mermaid tails, I've got more)

MORE SEA MONSTER FOUL LEGACY YIPPEEE (also can i see the tail)

your coworkers warned you that Legacy was unruly- he's scared away every handler before you, the last one resigning after just a month, although there were never any injuries which you think is very interesting. deep sea monsters like him usually resort to using their teeth and claws if they feel threatened, and your friends tell you as much as you enter the dim, empty room. for a while you barely see anything in the enormous tank, only the hint of a tail swimming by or a distant shadow as you sit on the bench and wait, flipping through a book you brought. Foul Legacy is so quiet, in fact, that you don't notice that he's been curiously watching you until he lets out a faint hum, an echoing tune like a whale's song. you don't say a word, allowing him to swim around and examine you as best as he can- you're different from the others. not as loud, devoid of the horribly bright lights they usually bring- instead you just place your hand on one side of the glass with a kind smile, and after a moment Legacy's webbed claws reach out and mirror your action, a soft trill bubbling up from his fanged maw

as your coworkers quickly discover, Foul Legacy absolutely ADORES you. he swims by your side as you walk by his tank, turning happy flips and shivering his fins when you look over at him, because he knows he's safe in your presence, that you'll treat him like a person and not an animal. you're the only one allowed to treat his injuries or give him checkups, since you're the only one who handles him gently, giving him treats and scritches as rewards for staying still- Legacy willingly comes to the top of his enclosure, where it's bright and full of lights, just to snuggle his head against your lap. once in a while, on warm days, you'll be allowed to go swimming with him, and he wraps his long tail around you in delight, just holding you close and purring as you brush a hand over his delicate fins

no matter how good or bad the pay might be, you know that you're staying just for him

[gonnalosemydougdimmadomedamnmind]

Jason todd fans are honestly incomprehensibly delusional. How is it that they think Jason, the character known for killing people, would not be a killer if bruce hadn't picked him up But all the other kids would be killers if bruce hadn't picked them up? The ones who are anti killing and value human life and second chances.... they're the ones who would become murderous maniacs instead of the actual murderous maniac. You can't make this shit up. They will throw away everyones characterization for jason.

That terrible white boy decided to hurt and kill people for his own version of justice, it's literally the only thing he's known for, and all his 'fans' are like nooooo my uwu literature theater nerd baby boy golden child that everyone loves would actually never do that!! He's so special and perfect and everyone respects and admires him because he tries so hard to be kind to people and he always helps people!!! And maybe he'll bitch and moan but he'll still cook your favorite meals on your bad days, even though he's never been shown to be a cook, and everyone loves to stay with him if they need to be away from the others, even though no one has ever thought of him as a safe place ever, and actually even though characters have to be written out of character to be brainwashed into hanging around him, he's such a trusted member of the community uh huh uh huh- like. Who is this? Huh? Who the fuck is this?

[vodika-vibes]

Hey, Vod'ika!! I saw you reblog memepocalypse's "gentle care" prompts and I saw you suggest requests for underrated clones so I'm here to deliver (numerous times) .

How about a Hound x reader fic where the reader sees him injured after an anti-clone dickhead jumps him with the prompt "I can't believe someone would do this to you"??

Love your work and hope you have a good day/night!!

You Deserve Better

Summary: Hound shows up on your doorstep bleeding, and you help him.

Pairing: ARF Trooper Hound x F!Reader

Word Count: 986

Warnings: Reader got pregnant at 17, and mentions of domestic abuse and child abuse.

A/N: So I'm not sure this is the greatest fic, I got really dizzy halfway through writing it, but I tried. I hope you like it.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

“Are you okay?” You glance over your shoulder, from where you’re pulling your first aid kit out from under the sink, when you hear your son’s voice, tiny and afraid ask his question. 

“I’m alright, verd’ika,” Hound sounds as jovial as ever, even though his face is covered in bruises. Even though he’s holding a cloth to his face to try and stop the bleeding, “Just a bad day.”

You watch your son watch Hound for a moment, his eyes old and tired in a way that looks out of place on a six-year-old. “Mama will patch you up,” He says, “She’s got a lot of practice.”

“Why don’t you take Grizzer and get ready for bed, Nel?” You ask as you walk over to Hound and set the massive first aid kit on the couch next to him.

Nel looks up at you, “What if the bad man comes here?”

“He won’t.” You smooth your hand over his head, “And if he does, we have Grizzer.” Your son stares at you for a moment longer, and then he nods. You wait until you hear his bedroom door click shut before you focus your attention on Hound.

You pop open the first aid kit and pull on some gloves before you carefully start to tend to his injury. Hound watches you, his gaze darting between your hands and the first aid kit.

“You know,” He offers, “I really only needed you to call my brother. This wasn’t me needing you to take care of me.”

“I don’t mind,” You reply, “Head injuries bleed a lot, so it looks worse than it is. I am a little worried about a concussion, though.” You pull away from him to grab something else out of the kit, “How did this happen? Your armor is supposed to protect you.”

“I was jumped by some anti-war protestor.”

You pause, your gaze snapping to his in disbelief, “What?”

“Yeah, apparently it’s my personal fault that we’re still at war.” Hound jokes with a wry smile.

“That’s…” You take a deep breath to smother your anger before it flares hot, “I can’t believe someone would do this to you.” You say instead.

“People are tired of the war,” Hound replies, “I’m just an easy target.”

You scowl at him, “It’s not right.”

“Of course not. But it is what it is.”

Your scowl deepens. This situation sucks. All of it. You wish you could just take Hound and run away somewhere. Hound and Grizzer.

But there’s nowhere in the galaxy where a clone would be safe.

“So,” Hound interrupts your thoughts, “Where’d you learn how to first aid like this? Nel seems a bit…steady…to need a first aid kit like this.” You’re able to translate his words easily. He means that Nel is too careful to get badly hurt.

And, well, he’s right.

You consider him for a moment, “My ex. Nel’s father. He liked to drink and he didn’t much like me. Or Nel.” 

“You had a kid with someone who hates you?”

“Eh. I was 17, and my implant failed, and then I got guilted into keeping Nel. In truth, he’s the only good thing that came from that relationship. But I stayed with his father for far too long.”

“What happened—ow!” You roll your eyes when Hound jerks away from you when you start to clean his head wound.

“Well, he tried to kick Nel after he was done working out his anger on me,” You reply, “So I took Nel and went to my parents. I stayed with them while my dad and brothers got all of my, and Nel’s, stuff. And I never saw him again.”

“Never?”

“Well, he vanished.” You shrug, “I have a pretty good idea about what happened, but I don’t have any proof. And, really, we’re better off without him.”

“So, you know first aid because you were in an abusive relationship,” Hound says slowly.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. That should have never happened to you.”

“Yeah, well. People are people, and people suck sometimes.” You pull away from him, “Alright, all I need to do is put a bandage on this, and you’ll be all set.”

Hound catches your wrist when you go to put the bacta bandage on his forehead, “You know people are generally good, right cyare?”

“How can you, of all people, think that?” You shake off his hold and press the bandage to his forehead. “You’re a member of the guard, it’s no secret to me that you are all being mistreated by the people who work with you.”

“I mean, sure. People in positions of power suck, but the average person—”

“...you were, quite literally, just jumped by an average person, Hound.”

“...I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

You sigh and tug your gloves off, before gently cupping his face in your hands, “What am I going to do with you?”

“Love me forever?”

“Silly man, of course I am.” You just wish you could keep him safe. But the only way to do that would be to leave Coruscant, and he’d never leave his brothers.

Hound stands, hand hands dropping to your waist. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve better.” You correct him with a gentle smile, “Now, do you want to stay the night? Nel will be thrilled to see you in the morning.”

“Just Nel?”

“Mm, well. I wouldn’t kick you out of bed.”

Hound laughs and leans in so his nose is bumped against yours, “Let me call Fox and get his okay, and then I’d love to stay.”

“Good,” 

He closes the tiny distance between your lips, and you sigh into the kiss. Maybe, if you find a ship big enough, you can steal all of the guards? You're sure your brothers and parents will help. But that’s a problem for later you.

Present you needs to make some food for him to eat.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

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@justiceandwar98

@mira-loves-star-wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

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@continous-mistakes

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@rebell-ious