#because i can't stand the majority of what people have to say about these characters

[yomigaere]

fandom please stop having bad takes about Shiori and Juri challenge (BLOODY IMPOSSIBLE)

[icewindandboringhorror]

The evil slow creep of it being like "haha these will just be quick little side quests, not much effort at all!" and then noticing each one is getting progressively longer than the last, thus no longer being minimal effort.. auGh....

[transhitman]

Ok I posted about this in anger a while back but I'm gonna say it more intelligently and actually tag it because I think it's something people need to hear. Something that bugs me about how people talk about the morality of the men in this game is that a lot of analysis totally glosses over Anya's motives and what she actually asks of people, and in doing so once again strips her of agency. Like. The reason Curly sucks isn't because he failed to properly punish Jimmy, it's because he ignored Anya in favor of her abuser. He didn't listen to her regarding how to move forward, he didn't give her a way to protect herself. No matter what he would have done to Jimmy, Anya is still traumatized and in danger, and that's the most important point of failure.

I think a lot of people are projecting a revenge fantasy on Anya, and while I'm not gonna argue about the validity of revenge here, for Anya specifically I think that's a major mischaracterization. She's the one who says that our worst moments don't make us monsters. And while yes, this could just be her trying to appease her abusers, she still doesn't strike me as a particularly vindictive person. She's a nurse, symbolically in a role associated with care and healing. Before the crash, she seems like a very soft-spoken and restrained person. Hell, she can't stand giving Curly his meds because she feels so bad for him. There isn't really a point in the game where she calls for violence at all. And even if punishing Jimmy or Curly is morally correct (subjective), saying that it's what anyone Should have done still glosses over Anya's wants and needs. It still centers the abuser, even in vitriol.

It's especially weird to see people judge Swansea on these grounds, because like... We don't know what his dynamic with Anya was like. We don't actually know what she said to him, if she even confided about her pregnancy or the SA at all! I honestly think Swansea's actions give more credence to the idea that Anya herself wanted a peaceful resolution. The whole "Oh, I'm holding it together" thing, him becoming more hostile after speaking with Anya... He waits until Daisuke AND ANYA are dead before trying to kill Jimmy. I think the obvious reading is that he wants Jimmy dead, but Anya asked him not to do anything crazy. Genuinely, I think Anya just wanted to be safe. She wanted out above everything. She didn't want more violence. The only violence she commits is against herself in the end, in order to escape this hell her coworkers made for her.

And like. Swansea is kind of the only one who actually did try to protect Anya in a meaningful way. I won't say that he couldn't have done more for her - all of the men on that ship failed her in some regard - but Swansea intentionally keeps the axe out of Jimmy's hands. He keeps the pod a secret, probably to give to Daisuke, but we can't say anything for sure. I joke that Swansea should have killed Jimmy from the start, but if we're being real that would have been an insane thing to do given what the characters know. But Swansea isn't the point of this post. Like. Idk I just think it's really bizarre that when people discuss Anya's assault, they still do it from the perspective of the men involved. It's weird and I don't like it. Like people have said before me: it's not enough to hate abusers, you have to love victims.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 1/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 3.5 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: 1/3 You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. The first chapter features banter and pining. If you're here for smut, stay tuned. There is an entire chapter of it coming right up.

Your lawyer says it would be a good idea. He even dares to look at you from under his brow like you're a child who doesn't know what's good for her.

And you don't.

Because that's exactly how you feel like: a grown woman who's stunted to a kid, now being supervised by adults. 

The bodyguard they assigned you - the one you accepted because he was your lawyer's first choice - is exactly the broad, brooding type you have always imagined bodyguards to be like.

But he's not wearing sunglasses, and he's not wearing a suit. He says the point of a bodyguard is that they don't look like a bodyguard. 

The first thing you actually pay attention to is the milky-white eyelashes. Only days after you hear that this man rarely shows his face. You were given a file on him, but you never peeked inside it because you were pissed that such drastic measures had to be taken in the first place. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now you pry it from the pile of papers you buried it into, open it, and the first - and only - photo you see is a perfect portrayal of what Death looks like. 

He's the Reaper himself when adorned with that human skull. Keen but emotionless eyes stare from the pits of the sockets to somewhere in the distance, but that look is a stare into the past. The photo raises thousands of questions, and not only the need to know why this man prefers to wear human bones when he's shooting people.

Because apparently, that’s what he used to do before he became a bodyguard. He's buff, that you already know. But in that picture, he looks even more packed, with what you suppose is a bullet vest beneath that blouse. He’s holding an ugly-looking gun – not a pistol, but a rifle of some sort. The gear on him no doubt weighs something close to 60 pounds. His sleeves are rolled up and expose the crisscross veins on his forearms along with war-ugly, crude tattoos, and you swallow. 

Were you really looking at a picture of a barbaric soldier like it was some peculiar soft porn now?

You flip the file closed and toss it on the table, rather disgusted with yourself.

The next time you see him, you look into those brown eyes a moment longer. That stoic stare is the only thing you recognize as that of the man in the picture. That, along with his size, although photos really can't convey how this brooding grunt makes you feel: small and insignificant. Nor do they illustrate how the man looks like he’s the most graceful bull in a china shop when moving inside your house.

You suppose he grew up poor, the way he looks at your furniture, your half-a-mile bookshelf, and the latest art piece you got last month in your living room. He's judging you. 

You're posh. And clueless. And a child.

And this brute lives with you, for now. He's placed downstairs until the target is neutralized. And he's not just a bodyguard: he's hunting the hunter while you're the bait.

It should give you a thrill; your friend giggles when you two gossip about him over a lunch while he's standing only a few feet away. But this situation does not give you a thrill. It just makes you pissed.

And it's not just the situation, it's this... Simon Riley who makes you pissed.

Couldn't they teach manners, some conversation skills at the bodyguard school or wherever the hell this pale, emotionless Hulk came from?

You recheck his file and snoop some more details about his past. He didn't go to bodyguard school (of course he didn't); he used to work for some PMC. The brute's a cold-blooded, cold-hearted mercenary. To put it more eloquently, he's an elite soldier of some tactical unit. But all of that is classified, as is almost every other detail about him. The only thing you are left with is that he's British through and through, but you can already tell that by his accent - the thick Mancunian that makes your stomach and heart flip.

It's gruff – of course it's gruff – and sometimes chafes your ears like they were being grated with the softest grater. You find yourself thinking about him while you're in the shower, when your fingers start to drift and wander.

And for the love of god, you are not thinking about that accent and those eyes while you're masturbating. You're not going to mourn the fact that he never rolls his sleeves when he's with you. When he's at work.

"I saw your file," you start to chitchat over breakfast one day.

"I reckon."

He won't even touch the coffee you poured him but proceeds to drink almost all the tea. The delicate china looks miniature in his hands as he pours the Earl Grey into his cup. The cups are dainty, too – this savage would prefer a large, black mug, perhaps, from which to gulp his tea.

"So. What made you become a soldier?"

"Joined the SAS when I was 17."

And another thing he won't do is look at you when you speak. No manners at all in this man, only rough, sharp edges. He sits as far from you as he can, at the other end of the table, as if you were in a meeting. Or a war council.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

You roll your eyes. Conversation skills, god. Just give this man at least some charm…

"I'm going to do some shopping," you declare. "You can stay here."

Finally, he raises his stare. It's full of tired distaste.

"Nah. That's not how this works."

You rise from the table, gracefully and with a neutral face, indicating that you are an adult and won't be needing a babysitter at a store.

"Lady." 

The command is dark and stops you before you have taken one step from the table. It's a slur, almost.

He rises from the table too, and you almost feel sorry, noticing he hasn't yet finished his toast.

"You hired me. And I'm gonna do my job."

He looks big and broad, like a beautiful storm, with that piercing stare and the most alluring lashes you have ever seen on a man. Your voice turns into a meek, pitched attempt to reason with a giant.

"...I'm just going shopping."

His head tilts with a mock: you're only a child in his eyes. 

"Then let's go shopping."

…......…......

Sitting next to this giant in a taxi must be a hilarious-looking scene. A charming, vibrant lady and a sullen, intimidating Theseus – what a pair.

You've also never been this close to him. The man always sits with a wide spread. One heavy thigh almost touches your knees, which you have turned towards him for some unfathomable reason. You were taught to sit with knees closely set together, and that’s what you’re trying to do now: make yourself as small and feminine as possible. It only accentuates this man's size compared to yours. There's a pile of shopping bags between you two, and your gaze is directed outside the window, but you can feel his presence like there's a thrumming monolith beside you.

And he's always dressed in black. You kind of enjoyed how you two looked at the store: you in your heels and a pearl white suit, he in black, tactical ripstop and boots. You wouldn't define the man well-dressed… but he is sharply dressed in his own field, that's for sure. Even a commoner like you could see that.

He had complained about your clothes. White draws too much attention and makes for a bigger target. You had brushed him off with a scoff. You’re not going to change the way you dress because of this.

"You're from Manchester, right?"

You're only trying to make the journey home more enjoyable, but feel like you're snooping again, this time from the man himself. The less you know about Simon Riley, the more you want to learn who he is. It is only natural to get a little curious when his file barely had two paragraphs and a photo. You suppose even that single picture was taken and given forward with reluctance. 

And the only thing you learn is that small talk is a completely foreign concept to this man.

"You're quite the Sherlock," he mutters with that fat accent that gave him away the minute you two shook hands. You Sherlock about some more, look at the left hand that rests on his thigh.

There's no ring. Not even a tan line. He must be lonely: no relationship could stand working hours like these.

"Do you still live there?"

"...No."

"Do you miss the place?"

"No."

The short answers are guttural and spoken from the back of his throat. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if this Simon is like this with everyone. He's not annoyed, though, not the way you're beginning to be.

"Aren't you a chatty one…" you mumble while watching cloudy London pass by. You figured he might hear it, and perhaps that was your purpose, even if your voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not here to talk. Ma'am."

…......…......

You are told to stay away from the windows. The dinner table is moved so no one can aim at your head through a glass. And even then, most curtains must be closed at all times. 

He goes through doors first, and advises against going out at all. You get a list of things you should take into consideration if you do go out.

And you’re not going to give in to fear.

You simply take different routes to your friends and family, have lunches at different restaurants than usual. He says you should get an armored car, but you don’t have a license. Of course your brooding bodyguard could drive, but what will you do with some armored tank after you're finally through this thing?

What's far more interesting is that it turns out this Simon Riley is a smoker.

Disgusting, you think at first, then think about him all sweaty and grimy after some gunfight, reaching for a cig, curling those thick fingers around a pure-white coffin nail. No, wait – he had gloves in that picture; he wouldn't bother to take them off before he smoked, he would just lean on his gun and on some crumbling wall and sigh from the joy of being alive, of being bloodied and dirty and victorious before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Ugh.

Reluctantly you agree that perhaps there is an odd charm to this man after all. Either that, or then you are in need of some serious therapy.

Breakfasts are torturingly quiet with Simon, and you can hear the slow roll of eyes every time you make plans to go to a party or an art gallery.

Once, a zipper gets stuck and you have to ask him for help. It’s mortifying, and he doesn’t say a word, only mocks you with his eyes as you turn around for him to place a warm hand on your hip and another on your back to pull up the zipper you had fought to reach and drag up by yourself for at least 10 minutes.

A week passes, and he’s buried in work, not only because he’s guarding your body 24/7, but because he’s trying to locate the hitman. The fact that Simon Riley is technically speaking a hitman too - to think that you have hired a killer - is something you don’t have the mental strength to delve into right now.

"Found the one who's hunting you."

Another file is dropped before you at the end of the week. The man marches into your office like there's no door there at all. Doesn't even bother to knock. 

This isn't what you meant when you politely told him to make himself home…

You roll the glass of water on your temple and sigh. The file reveals another photo, this time of a man who looks like an executioner.

"Goes by the name König," he says and clasps his hands over his crotch while taking a wide stance in front of your desk. "Austrian war criminal. Skilled with knives… Likes to torture people first."

Nice. More brutes.

"Why are you telling me this?" 

You're tired, there's a headache approaching, and you really don't care to go over some details about a professional lunatic killer right now. But Simon Riley - codenamed Ghost, you’ve lately learned - looks down at you like a storm cloud over a carefree meadow.

"Because you clearly don't understand the danger you're in." 

He adds "Ma'am" as a footnote. Purposely forgotten...

And you wish he would forget that silly, overly courteous term.

"Well–" you sigh your frustration in the air between you two, then realize that perhaps you're being treated like a child because you behave like one. "What are you going to do about this man...?"

"Gonna kill him," he simply shrugs, the eternal, distant look in those eyes gaining a smug tone to them. 

He enjoys this. Enjoys killing, but what's even worse, enjoys seeing how his ruthlessness makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Or perhaps he just likes shocking you with that file with an image of a lyncher in it. You know perfectly well that you're in trouble and under threat. That's what you've tried to forget, but no one lets you forget.

Simon takes a deep breath before placing his humble petition before you.

"Ma’am. I'm gonna need your help."

And nothing in this man is humble. Even though he rarely speaks and never shows his talents, not to talk of showing off, he reeks of pride and testosterone.

You set the glass on the table and straighten the file to align with the leather pad on your desk. Your fingers are not trembling. Yet.

"What do you mean?" 

He gives a hoarse laugh. The sound drills straight to your core and starts to bloom there. You realize you have never seen him smile before. And he's not smiling now: the short laugh is just a dark chuckle that mainly stays inside his chest; it only makes those stocky shoulders rise and fall.

"Not like that," he looks down at you with a tad of mercy. "You're gonna serve as bait."

"Isn't… that what I've been the whole time?"

"Yeah. But this time, we're gonna lure him in."

The way he talks makes your thighs rub together without your consent. You wonder what it would feel like if you were trapped between that solid chest and a wall, what it would be like if those hands woke you up with a calloused caress of a thigh.

You don't quite understand the difference between bait and a lure but find yourself willing to do whatever you can to help him. Help Simon…

"Sure... I'll help you," you say as if this man wasn't on your payroll.

"That's the least you could do."

That barely hidden bite in his dry retort doesn't escape you. This man's audacity buries whatever odd want you have started to feel for him and replaces it with searing, womanly fury. 

He could be a little more sensitive.

You're the one who has a target on their back. You're the one who fears going to sleep at night and feels lucky they're alive come dawn. If he wasn't so crude and uncaring, you would've asked him to sleep in the same room with you from the start. But he has to be a brute, has to follow and mock you with those ink blot eyes at every turn.

You rise from the chair when he turns and walks toward the door. It's almost a snappy jump, an attempt to reclaim your power. You're sore and thoroughly peeved.

"I never wanted this," you tell him with an annoying timbre in your tone. He stops right before the door but doesn't turn.

"Neither did I."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Could be somewhere warmer with no damsels giving me their cheek."

The BDU blouse you saw in that picture was yellow, burnt yellow. Desert wear… He wants to be in a hot desert with a cold gun in his hand. Dropped straight from some plane, working alone, in a place where damsels aren't giving him their cheek. Where there are no damsels at all. 

You're relatively sure there is no Mrs. Riley. No woman could stand this man.

"Then go somewhere warmer," you snap, almost stomp your heel on the soft carpet. This man is simply intolerable. The way he never reacts to anything makes you want to throw things at him. 

He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to. Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

He turns with that eternal, downgrading look in his eyes. There's a flash of amusement there, too.

Soddy bastard…

"Nah. Not until I've done my job."

His voice is warm now; the gruff and gravel make way to a smoothness that goes directly to your knees. Your lips part, and his eyes fall on your mouth just before he lifts his chin a hair of an inch.

"Your job…" you breathe, too furious to even rage or shout. 

Your fucking job.

Why did you even want this job if it's so–

"Yeah. My job. Some people got one."

You have to take support from the table with your fingertips. 

"Excuse me?"

There's the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth before he takes his leave.

"Good night, ma'am."

…......…......

The next day, you start the breakfast by apologizing. 

You barely slept that night, first because of this man's utter nerve, then because your wrath eventually cooled down into a bleeding consciousness of how you must look in his eyes. 

He has accepted this job, something different from what he usually does, for reasons unknown to you. He might not be on some faraway battlefield where bullets fly past, but this is no less risky. The picture he showed you, the file on König, haunted your restless sleep last night – when you finally did get some sleep. 

You have been running around like everything’s normal when it’s not. The man’s just trying to do his job. 

And you're the one who hired him. Not your lawyer.

"I want to make peace," you coo while spreading some jam on toast. You expect Simon to finally melt a little. You might even get a smile. You secretly hope your reward is that this brute turns into a tamed lap dog you can feed some treats every now and then. 

The situation is thrilling: the beefiest man you have ever seen is going to kill someone for you. Even if he's being paid to do so, he is prepared to die for you. There's something incredibly sexy about that.

But there is silence at the other end of the table. Only the crunchy sounds of toast getting sugar on top can be heard.

"That so?" 

He doesn't sound like he's melting. He doesn't sound at all domesticated. He only sounds more and more amused.

"Yes. I'm happy that you're here," you put the toast down and turn to look at him with angel eyes.

He laughs. When he stops, he looks you up and down, then laughs some more, a silent, shoulder-shaking chuckle.

"I'm… I'm serious," you hurry to add. "I mean it. I haven't been treating you the way I should–"

"That's for sure."

You see more warmth in those eyes. But it's not because of your humble apology.

His eyes are trekking down the neckline of your blouse, and to your horror, you notice – feel – how one of the top buttons has opened, revealing much more than just some skin. You're pretty sure he gets an ample view of the fuchsia bra you're wearing underneath.

If you reach for that button now, you underline that he's not supposed to look, even if it's your mistake that you're so obscenely exposed. If you close it now, you tell him he's not allowed to look. And that's not entirely true.

"Will you forgive me?"

You feel like you're offering peace, or at least a truce, with more than just that peepy question. Because your breasts swell inside that blouse. They rise and fall with your breaths, your nipples grow hard from that look that stays down a bit longer before drifting back up. 

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, voice dropping a note or two. 

"Good," you swallow. The following sentence comes out so weakly that it's almost a whisper. "After all, I hired you."

"Ain't that the truth."

The dim glint in those eyes still holds you as a prisoner, and his tea is growing cold.

"Are we going shopping today?"

"No," you utter, dreading the next inevitable question.

"What then?"

"I… I have a yoga class."

"Of course you do."

…......…......

Taglist: @cumikering

[arandomao3user]

"Jason was just a replacement for Dick." I have heard people say, "Bruce never loved him."

And, to an extent, I agree Jason was just a replacement for ROBIN, but not as a son, no, because Dick was Bruce's son and pride alright, he became his pride, the pride of Batman. But Jason did something Dick often failed to do, not from lack of TRYING but, because, it only lasted a week, maybe two before Bruce went back to that deep, dark hole he carved out for himself.

(Tim Drake: Pride Special)

Something I feel people can't possibly grasp, because maybe they can't relate or don't fully understand the significance or impact? The fact that it was the anniversary of the Wayne's deaths, Bruce's parents deaths that have haunted him for the majority of his life. He was in the cowl, he was BATMAN in the moment and it was his parents deaths, and in the same place he stayed, kneeling between the cooling corpses of his parents, knees drenched in their blood, he stayed there for possibly an hour or more. And yet, as Batman, in the cowl in the same place on the same night-- he laughed.

He laughed. Some punk, little bony street brat with a tire iron stole his tires, hit him with said tire iron, and called Batman a "big boob." and I believe Bruce was fond of Jason the moment he saw him.

Bruce and Dick were the dynamic dup, but there was also some small sense of obligation for Bruce to take Dick in. Bruce feared what Dick would've become, didn't want him to turn out like Bruce did. But with Jason? Oh, with Jason.

"Jason was the first thing Bruce allowed himself to want since his parents deaths." Is what my friend said when I was rambling to them about this, and it hit me how true it actually was.

Dick was Bruce's son, and he loved him, yet, but with Jason? BRUCE chose Jason, and he was the first Robin that Batman chose. Dick made himself Robin, Dick gave Robin to Tim and Damian, and I believe even with Stephanie it wasn't entire because Bruce WANTED her to be Robin.

Bruce, after seeing how Ma Gun's school wasn't what he thought it was, he made Jason Robin, took him home the same night (kidnapping is valid if you're Batman and he's up for grabs anyways--) and made him his SON.

He replaced Robin, but Jason was never a replacement as a son.

(Tim was the replacement as a son but we won't get into that today since that is more of my fanon over analysis of the characters--

so, yeah--)

Bruce adopted Jason about... Two weeks, I wanna say(?) after meeting him, taking him home, and I don't wanna say it was some sort of automatic attachment, but I believe Bruce saw the chance to make a proper family, and that's what he WANTED for Jason.

That's what he GAVE Jason.

I'm not digging for anymore panels, this isn't easy work for a post--

But my point stands, and even after Jason dies, Bruce wouldn't hesitate to come save him. Not out of guilt anymore, but because Jason has and always will be his son, not his favourite, because that'd make people mad if I say that (I read comics now, and even after, I still say that Jason is the favorite, but I won't make it a whole thing in this post--)

(Batman: Urban Legends #4)

Bruce, evidently, even with the violence and abuse he's shown Jason after Jason came back from the dead, has proven he'd come for him, that he won't ever give up on him.

Jason is rarely ever called his son in the comics anymore, he's rarely acknowledged to be Batman's son, and some may say "Well, that's because Jason doesn't see him as a Father." And I BEG you look at these comic panels and think that still. The words aren't said, maybe because it's to painful for Bruce to acknowledge he lost another family member, and for Jason? Hell, Bruce keeps punching him, we've all seen the panels, we've seen Dick's crash out.

Their relationship isn't perfect, Bruce has made so many mistakes, called Jason a failure, and Jason has certainly reciprocated those feelings a few times. Jason openly admits they were no dynamic duo, and says there wasn't trust between them-- something I disagree with. Entirely.

(Aaaand there's my image limit. Guess I won't show y'all the panel of Bruce holding Jason's corpse, thinking, "Did he hate me?" Because that was Bruce's thoughts after losing Jason. Guilt. And fear that Jason's final feelings for him were HATE.)

Can we also just... THIS PANEL!? HOW can anyone say "Well, Jason was just Dick's replacement--" then why was the worst fear the BATMAN can imagine, can conjure in his mind, losing Jason? Losing Jason was Bruce's greatest fear, something so terrifying to Bruce, to Batman.

Dick, Tim, Damian... They're all good Robin's (no Tim hate here, that's my boy) but Jason was a good son. In the movie, and comic, (Under The Red Hood) everyone agrees that Jason knew he was loved, he knew he was loved even as he grew older and began getting more reckless and violent-- things he wasn't as Robin, not for the majority of his run-- because he was a teenager who was beginning to go through stupid staged in his life where he could make mistakes. Unfortunately, he had all the supplies to make those mistakes fatal, and they proved to be...

But nobody replaced Dick as a son, something he was to Bruce, but things were to rocky, that first child syndrome hits hard and Bruce was young and so, so stupid with Dick... A good Father, but he wanted to be better with Jason, and maybe this is all to fanon territory, but I don't wanna hear a lick of "Bruce never loved Jason." Because Dick was Bruce's pride, but Jason was every last lick of joy in Bruce's body.

Jason was worth breaking his rules in Batman's eyes, briefly, but at a point he was worth it.

Jason, to Bruce, was worth dying for if he couldn't live in a world with him, Jason had Bruce crying for an hour once, after he was taken away from him during his Robin years.

Bruce loved Jason, because that was his son. Unfortunately, things got messed up, their relationship is messy now, yes, but that is still Bruce's son, and deep down, I think he knows that. It's something easier to admit than other times, and I forever hate the title of "Batman's Greatest Failure" because the only failure was not reaching Jason on time, Jason himself was no failure.

ANYWAYS, THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK :D

---

[the-oblivious-writer]

Oh the Guilt

Sam Carpenter x Reader

One-shot

Summary: no

Warning(s): major character death and mourning/grief

Notes: Based off of this request: hey! i saw your requests are open (i am indeed busting). i was wondering if you’d do some angst with either sam or tara? maybe sam/tara spending the holidays alone because they falsely accused reader of being gf and pushed them away/broke up w them. but it only ended up putting r in danger and leading to their death? love me some good ol angst if you’re up for it! have a great holiday season :)

The Christmas lights blur through her tears as Sam clutches your photo to her chest, fingers trembling against the worn edges. Her apartment feels too quiet, too empty, the silence broken only by the distant sound of people celebrating that makes everything worse. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Sam stares at your sweater draped over her couch - the soft blue one you always wore when it got cold, the one that still holds traces of your perfume. She doesn't deserve its comfort, but she pulls it on anyway, drowning in fabric and guilt and memory.

"We’re specimens to you, aren’t we?" Sam's voice had cracked like breaking glass, fear masquerading as anger. "I’m not letting Tara get hurt again!"

You'd reached for her, confusion and hurt painting your features. "Sam, please. You know me. I would never-"

"I thought I knew Richie too," she'd snarled, backing away from your touch. "Get out. Get out!”

The door had slammed with such finality. She'd thought she was protecting herself, protecting everyone. Instead, she'd handed you to them gift-wrapped - alone, vulnerable, perfect prey.

By the time Sam realized her mistake, she was cradling your broken body in the rain, red seeping into puddles around you both. Your fingers had weakly brushed her cheek, still trying to comfort her even then.

"Not your fault," you'd whispered, but those words haunt her worse than any ghostface ever could.

Now Tara brings food she doesn't eat, Kirby tries to coax her out, but Sam remains suspended in amber, preserved in the moment she lost you. Your clothes hang in her closet like ghosts. She wears your sweaters to sleep, buries her face in the fabric and pretends she can still feel your warmth.

The Christmas tree in the corner - the one you'd insisted on buying together - stands half-decorated, just as you'd left it. Tinsel dangles like broken promises. The star you'd picked out remains in its box, because finishing it without you feels like accepting you're gone.

Sam traces the words of your last text message: "I love you. We'll talk soon." Her phone screen has cracked from how many times she's dropped it, hands shaking too hard to hold on.

She knows she should let others in. Knows you'd want her to live, to heal, to forgive herself. But every time Tara hugs her or Kirby offers support, it feels like betraying your memory. Like she doesn't deserve comfort after what she did to you.

Sometimes, in the depths of night when the walls feel like they're closing in, Sam swears she can feel you. A whisper of movement in her peripheral vision, the ghost of your touch against her shoulder, the way the air shifts as if accommodating your presence.

"I see you everywhere," she whispers into the darkness, clutching your sweater like a lifeline. "The coffee mug you chipped is still in the cabinet. Your stupid action movies are still in my queue. I can't… I can't delete them."

The apartment creaks, settling into winter's grip, and Sam lets out a broken laugh. "Remember how you used to say these old buildings had character? God, you'd make up stories about the noises - ghosts having dance parties, you said." Her voice catches. "Is that what you're doing now? Dancing without me?"

Sam reaches out, fingers trembling in the empty air where she imagines you might be. "I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. I was so scared of losing everyone that I pushed away the one person who…" She chokes on the words. "The one person who never gave me a reason to doubt them."

The Christmas lights flicker, and for a moment, Sam's heart stops. She's learned to find meaning in these small disturbances, these tiny rebellions against reality. "I know what you'd say. That I need to forgive myself. That I need to let people in." Tears track down her cheeks. "But how can I? How can I when every time I close my eyes, I see you bleeding out in my arms?"

Something shifts in the room - maybe the heating kicking in, maybe something more. The tinsel on the half-decorated tree sways gently. Sam watches it, transfixed. "If you're here… I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I should have trusted you. Should have protected you. Should have been there when…"

The star for the tree - your star - sits in its box on the coffee table. As Sam watches through tears, a draft from somewhere catches the lid, lifting it slightly. Her breath hitches.

"You want me to finish it, don't you? The tree?" Her laugh is wet, broken. "Always so stubborn about traditions." She reaches for the star with shaking hands. "I don't know if I can. It feels like accepting you're really…"

The room grows impossibly still, as if the very air is holding its breath. Sam could swear she feels the phantom pressure of your hand over hers, guiding her toward the tree. The sensation is so vivid she gasps.

"Okay," she whispers, standing on unsteady legs. "Okay, baby. For you." She clutches the star to her chest, your sweater hanging loose on her frame. "But I'm not ready to let you go. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

As she reaches up to place the star, the Christmas lights seem to glow a little brighter, and for just a moment, Sam swears she can feel your arms around her waist, your chin on her shoulder, just like before. Just like always.

"Stay with me?" she asks the empty room, knowing the answer, dreading the silence. "Even if I don't deserve it?"

The lights flicker once, twice - like a heartbeat, like a promise - and Sam breaks down sobbing, sliding to the floor beneath your half-finished tree, beneath your star, beneath the weight of a love that even death couldn't quite end.

———

A/N: first request filled, ob-la-di (sorry if this sucks, I’m half-asleep)

[cfyslvr]

General smut headcanons

→ author's note: honestly I have no idea where this came from, I started a baji × reader fic but uhh.. I got bored of it :) my apologies I promise I'll finish it asap. honestly writing this was a little tricky for me bc I've never looked at chifuyu this way but I also had a few ideas and wanted to put them out there + I'm lacking when it comes to activity and headcanons are much easier to write than a whole ass fic so- here it is ^^ lmk if y'all want any other characters and I'll do my best to write them asap !!

→ warnings: smut, 18+, timeskip chifuyu (you'll never see me sexualizing by little blond baby), fem!reader, I would say minors pls don't interact but I know that y'all will read it anyway so 🤷🏻‍♀️ i wrote this in like 15 minutes so it might not be the best

Y'ALL idk why but my stupid ass tumblr won't let me put three pictures like I usually do 😭 I've been trying for like 10 minutes now and it won't work so just deal with the one picture (I'm gonna kms)

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- depending on when you two started dating, there's like a 90% percent chance you were his first.

- i feel like he would respect your decision on whether you want to wait till marriage or not, he's okay with either.

- i saw some people making headcanons that he used to watch porn as a teenager, but tbh he doesn't really seem like that type of person to me so I'll say he didn't do that.

- although he most definitely did see some interesting stuff from takemichi's gang and their nasty ass comics 💀

- i can also say that he probably has visited porn sites, not bc he's a porn addict or anything but bc he was genuinely curious (like most of us are).

- i also saw some people saying he'd be into one night stands, but once again I'd have to disagree

- to me personally, he seems like someone who would want to build a relationship with someone before engaging in something so intimate as sex.

- I also feel like he would wait for at least a year or maybe even longer to do it, especially if it's both of yours first times.

- as I said before, he has visited porn sites and saw makoto & yamagishi's 18+ comics, so I wouldn't say he's ENTIRELY clueless, but definitely not experienced

- that's okay, you can just teach him what to do if it's not your first time

- or even better, you can learn together!

- he may not be experienced, but WHEN I TELL YOU he's 100% a fast learner

- he's great with oral, like when he first dove into u you almost couldn't believe it's his first time !!

- when it comes to his length, I feel like he'd be a little bit smaller than the others, but that doesn't mean he can't make you see stars if you ask him to ^^

- he's VERY gentle at first, almost too gentle (if that's possible)

- I feel like that'd be because he's nervous, it's (most likely) his first time and he doesn't want to hurt his precious girl 😔

- once he's fully inside of you, it might take him more time to adjust than you 💀 buuut once he starts moving it's heaven

- would be very slow at first, you'd have to straight up tell him if you want it rough

- he usually takes intimacy very seriously and despite being inexperienced somehow manages to find the PERFECT center of rough and gentle to make you feel amazing!!

- he's into petnames, both giving and receiving them

- I feel like his petnames would be very sweet, some stuff like "angel", "honey", "love" etc.

- I can imagine him being a bit uncomfortable with degrading you, would avoid calling you "slut" or anything similar unless you're REALLY into it

- even if he doesn't like calling you degrading nicknames, I feel like he wouldn't mind being called those petnames when you're on top

- speaking of top, he's a major switch

- can rock your world if you ask him to, but can also whine like a needy baby when you're on top

- absolutely ADORES when you ride him

- I feel like he would let out whimpers and soft moans when you take control, might be a bit embarrassed about it so you'll have to reassure him that you enjoy hearing those precious sounds

- he's not good with dirty talk when he doesn't it intentionally, but I feel like he somehow manages to get you all riled out by accident when he just says what's on his mind

- he's more of a thigh or boob type of guy, but wouldn't touch you without your permission

- once you give him the go, he'll suck the shii out of your tits (it might be a bit harder to pull him off them)

- he's favorite positions are any of the more intimate ones, but I feel like he'd usually go for the classic missionary one

- he may not be able to last a million rounds, maybe three or four at best, but those 3-4 rounds are enough to have you feeling completely used, but also extremely satisfied

- puts your satisfaction before his own

- I honestly have a hard time thinking of his kinks 💀 I imagine him more on the vanilla side but I feel like he'd enjoy having his hair pulled and doing the same to you if you're comfortable with it

- also likes marking and biting

- he prefers being the one receiving the little bite marks and hickeys, although he LOVES seeing your neck and thighs covered in small purple and red spots 🫶🏻

- he also loves it when you give him head, but couldn't force you to do it if you're not into it

- he's the KING of aftercare

- he'll wash you, dress you up, make the bed all warm and cozy, bring you water, he'll even cook for you if you ask him to

- refuses to go to sleep until he's 110% sure you're satisfied and he thinks he's done a good job at making you feel loved afterwards

- loves cuddling and falling asleep together after a session

- honestly I don't imagine him having a very high sex drive, he can live perfectly fine without doing it often, sometimes you'll even have to do specific things in order to turn him on

- will buy lingerie for you only if you're comfortable with it

- i think he isn't the type to jerk off way too much, but it definitely does happen here and there

- the first time he jerked off with you in his mind, he was probably looking through photos of you that he took of you while letting out the smallest whimpers of your name

- will be extremely ashamed after it and would act like he committed 500+ war crimes when he finally admits it to you

- feels extremely relieved when you say you don't mind it

- idk about you but I'd ask him to send whimpering audios when he's at it 🤷🏻‍♀️ (I can't help it his voice is so attractive)

- overall a great lover, intimacy with him is amazing !!

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© cfyslvr 2024 | please don't steal or repost my work on other platforms !! | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated !!

→ edit: y'all are nasty 😧 I legit posted this like a week or two ago and it got more likes than posts I made months ago wth (jkjk as long as I get likes) (jk again)

[saintsenara]

It’s so funny to me that Dumbledore has no friends. Like we know for a fact that other eccentric, old sages must exist but Dumbledore has never enlisted even one sidekick… hahahaha, loser. He’s literally hanging around with people 80 years younger than him, my man get friends your own age. Like those are literally his schoolmates’ grandchildren.

i find what this says about dumbledore's role in the creation and maintenance of his benign post-grindelwald public image - and why, therefore, he spends the period after 1945 as an entrenched, profoundly unradical member of the wizarding establishment - fascinating.

it really stands out to me that the characters we meet in canon who adore dumbledore and assume that he is truly the heroic, sensible legend the pre-deathly hallows series presents him as were either adults when dumbledore was a teenager - griselda marchbanks, who examined him for his newts and must, therefore, be around twenty years his senior, for example - and were impressed by the prodigiously and precociously talented boy, or all reached adulthood after - and, indeed, were often born after - his reputation as the vanquisher of the magical world's version of hitler was established.

but anyone we meet of a similar age - someone who could feasibly have known dumbledore in the period between his mother and sister's deaths and grindelwald's defeat - is generally much, much less inclined to see him as a great and morally-spotless genius.

and - to talk about my favourite boy - this adds such an interesting layer to voldemort's attitude towards dumbledore. it's entirely plausible that - when voldemort returns from the continent, which seems to take place in the mid-to-late sixties - he encounters a dumbledore who is suddenly regarded as infallible and unimpeachable, in a way which was very much not the case in the forties. and that this is a major contributing factor to his obvious belief that dumbledore is a hypocrite...

we know from what muriel says to harry at bill and fleur's wedding that rumours about the circumstances surrounding ariana's death circulated widely. many of voldemort's cohort must have been aware of them - their fathers and grandfathers would be dumbledore's age, after all - and i find the idea that it was an open secret that dumbledore, despite his academic brilliance, ended up as a schoolteacher because he was beset by scandals extremely compelling.

[i don't think anyone knew about his relationship with grindelwald - to be clear - but i do think that dumbledore was widely suspected to have killed his sister - or perhaps to have knowingly covered up for aberforth doing so - and to have escaped charges on extremely dodgy grounds...]

after all, you can't tell me voldemort isn't trying to needle him by saying - during his job interview - that he's surprised that dumbledore never left the school for the ministry... since he brings it up in response to dumbledore offending him by calling him "tom", and since he's so transparently pissed off when dumbledore pretends that his only motivation for staying at hogwarts was an altruistic desire to hone young minds...

[bettsfic]

I have this thing where what I'm writing is absolutely not what I'm about in real life. I like complexity and depth in what I read. But the things I care about make only vague appearances in my writing, I don't know how to fully explain it. I have a lot of passion in life and I'm ~relatively emotionally intelligent. I'm curious about emotions, anyway, but what comes out in my writing is just cookie cutter.... Bland..... Zero complexity or emotional exploration. It's like I'm on autopilot when I write and I can't shake it.

i'm about to present to you yet another writing spectrum: director-writers and actor-writers.

a director-writer creates stories by writing discrete scenes that they see in their mind. like a film, a scene begins, something happens, a scene ends. we move on to the next scene. i would venture to say a majority of writers today are director-writers, because what's been en vogue in the 21st century is very much influenced by our visual media. we watch visual media. a great many writers like to render their prose such that it feels like a reader is watching the story play out. these director-writers are standing on the outside looking in, manipulating and moving all the pieces of their story to create the desired end result.

director-writing is so common that i meet many, many writers who trap themselves in scenic prose because they assume that's what "good writing" is. these writers are not actually directors. they don't want to be standing behind the camera; they want to be in the mind of the characters. and those people are actor-writers.

an actor-writer's prose doesn't necessarily prioritize scenes one after the next, but develops a compelling narrative voice. actor-writing is about learning to be someone who isn't you. i think the moment you abandon the forced witness of the camera and instead dive into the mind, experiencing the story instead of rendering the story, you unlock the path of that complex emotional exploration you feel is missing in your work. and you will probably never go back.

here's an activity to try:

whatever you're working on right now, open a new doc, take your main character and, in your mind's eye, trap them in an interrogation room. sit them across from you. ask them, "what is your deal?" write down their answer.

in this activity, you're looking for a few things:

what is their story? why does it matter to them? (this is probably the biggest problem i have with the pitfalls of director-writing: nothing matters. everything is just...happening. as a reader, i'm always looking for what i'm being asked to love. maybe that love is awful, toxic, contradictory, ambivalent, whatever. the point is, it matters. a huge percentage of the things i read never ask me to love anything.)

are they trying to convince or persuade you of something, making their testimonial unreliable? or are they confessing to you things they'd never admit to anyone else?

what is at stake for them? what is their deepest desire and their greatest fear? in what way is their deepest desire flawed? how is their greatest fear irrational? how have the events of their story influenced or distorted their perception?

close narration offers us the greatest possible access to the interiority of the narrator. first person is really just a monologue, an explanation, an excuse, a confession, a plea, a prayer. so so so many writers get blocked because they're trying to See the story instead of Listen to it. they force themselves into this elastic third person where the reader remains a distant witness with the occasional thought, insight, or feeling, but that comes second to what i call Bodies in Space. if i never read another "he strode across the room" again it'll be too soon. imagery is wonderful, don't get me wrong, but i would always, always rather get insight into what a character is feeling, thinking, grieving, dreaming than the knowledge that they are sitting in a chair.

i'm not saying switch to first person. you can create the effect of first person with very close third, and you can create the effect of third person with very distant first. pronouns don't really matter. what's important is voice over vision.

i say this a lot, but if i want to watch a story, i'll turn on my tv. prose is the only art form that allows us to fully explore human consciousness. let it do the thing it was invented to do.

my theory of director-writers and actor-writers is adapted from Percy Lubbock's The Craft of Fiction, in which he defines "picture" vs. "drama" writing. however i found that terminology confusing and poorly articulated, so i flipped it into a process-based approach with what i hope is more accessible phrasing. also, prose = consciousness is from 13 Ways of Looking at the Novel by Jane Smiley.

[fairuzfan]

im trying to ask all different kids of accounts bc i can't get one solid answer - how would u specifically define zionist? do you think the people who are currently israelis (and are not west bank settlers, may they all be tried for their crimes) should be able to live in a decolonized palestine?

I had to take a couple of days mostly because I was trying to find a single concise answer for you in a citation. Before I give you a definition of a Zionist, I must first describe what Zionism and it's implications are. Here is Ismail Zayid's "Zionism, the myth and the reality" (click).

The very first couple of paragraphs of the book, he says:

Zionism, as a modern political creed, grew in close association with three interacting major forces which exercised a profound influence on the character and nature of the Zionist movement, resulting in three basic qualities characterizing this movement, namely: settler colonialism, expansionism and racism.

The first of the three major forces was the growth, in the nineteenth century, of European colonialism and imperialism and the expansion of the colonial settler regimes. The alliance made between Zionism and European colonialism is clearly attested to by both sides, identifying reciprocal benefits in the alliance. Herzl, in his "Der Judenstat," expressed clearly both the racist nature of Zionism as well as its role as a settler colonial outpost: "We should, there, form a portion of the rampart of Europe against Asia, an outpost of civilization as opposed to barbarism. We should, as a neutral state, remain in contact with all Europe, which would have to guarantee our existence."

There's more in the book that I can't type up lol, but in essence a Zionist subscribes to the idea of Zionism itself, and insists on the establishment of a settler colonial entity whether passively or actively.

Zionism is a settler colonialist movement, as stated by the founder of the movement for Zionism, Theodore Herzel (quoted above in the smalltext). It modeled itself after much of the European colonialist strategies, enforcing borders and nationalities on a previously border-lose world. I mention the making of borders as a fundamental part of colonialism because by rejection of those borders as a concept, we start to imagine the world in a post-colonial universe. Sherene Seikaly makes this point in her book "Men of Capital" in the introductory chapter:

But in such a search, it is almost inevitable that nationalism—its “lack,” its “strength,” or its “weakness”—will stand as a metonym for politics. In some renditions, the weakness of normative nationalism—a “political deficiency” and a lack of a national “spirit”—resulted in, as the leading historian of collaboration continues to argue, the catastrophe of 1948. In response, scholars have documented a national project among the Palestinians. This work is invaluable and has shifted the terms of debate as well as our understanding of the social and cultural geography of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries in Palestine. However, to continue reveling in the marriage between national consciousness and politics reifies colonial epistemologies. Moving beyond nationalism as both the means and ends of politics is long overdue. Certainly, nationalism was one aspect of subjectivity formation, but it was not the only way to make politics. What I seek to destabilize here is not whether Palestinians were sufficiently national, but to ask why that sufficiency and/or its lack continues to be the measuring stick for whether people can remain on the land they resided on for centuries. Must people’s investment in the random and shifting borders that imperial and colonial officials drew determine their status? Are there other ways to think about politics outside, beside, underneath, and alongside this national prism?

I've said this multiple times before on this blog in different ways, but I'll state outright: I reject the notion of nationalism as a way for us to authenticate Palestinians' claim to the land they've lived on for centuries, as Seikaly mentions. Zionism's core goal is the establishment of such borders is aligned with European colonialism's core goals: division of the world so that they may categorize itself within the world's hierarchy.

Now, the core saying in the Free Palestine movement you often hear is "From the River to the Sea." This, basically, is a rejection of the establishment of those borders as a necessity for the Palestinians to be recognized. Zionism relies on border-making for it to be an actual thing. Without borders, Zionism would not exist. Which is why the "Balfour Declaration," that had essentially districted and redistributed Palestine is often referenced by both Zionists and antiZionists. Balfour, a well known racist and antisemite, had advocated for the establishment of a "Jewish State" not because he really cared what happened to either party — but specifically so that he could get the Jewish people of Europe.... out of Europe.

Seikaly mentions this in "Men of Capital":

However, we should qualify its meaning to get at the specific condition of Palestinian invisibility in colonial epistemologies. Zionists of the late nineteenth century did not imagine that there were no people on the land of Palestine, but rather that they were not a people. Theodor Herzl described a set of caricatures that inhabited what he called the land of Israel: the wealthy effendis who could be had for a price and the remaining impoverished peasants who could be smoothly removed without incident. These people were a motley crew without anything defining or unifying them. Zionists from various political leanings did not share Herzl’s confidence that the people who lived in Palestine would not be attached enough to its land to resist their displacement.  However, the Zionist emphasis on the lack of a politically coherent and distinct people in Palestine who deserved to make claims to the land on which they had resided for hundreds of years would continue apace. The caricatures of the effendi and the peasant, as well as the depiction of the Palestinians as insufficiently rooted, continue to have currency. In the meantime, Zionists were hard at work shaping a cohesive settlement community around a new ethno-national understanding of what it meant to be Jewish. They called themselves the Yishuv. Zionism promised Jews who had suffered religious, political, and racial persecution for centuries in Europe that they could finally become European but only by leaving Europe. Anti-Semitism and Zionism had one thing in common: the belief that Jews could never assimilate in Europe. The process of becoming European by realizing a settler colony would be an abundant source of persecution: For the Palestinians it entails ongoing erasure; for the eastern (Mizrahi) Jews who did not fit the Ashkenazi (European) mold, it has meant decades of marginalization; and for the Ashkenazi, it required killing centuries of tradition, language, and culture to fit the template of the new Jew.

So now you know that Zionism is, at it's core the establishment of borders to reinforce itself as a colonialist entity — thereby enforcing a separation between the colonized and the colonizer that can seem material, but is, in fact, immaterial. Zionists are people who ascribe to the ideology that a Settler Colonial "Jewish State" must exist, and that its establishment is necessary for whatever reason, thereby enacting those borders and displacing the indigenous populations. But what does a post-colonialist society look like if we no longer have these regional borders and nationalism as we've come to understand it?

Palestinians argue for the Right to Return to their homes. I have family members that cannot see the places they were born in because they were kicked out and not allowed to return. I think, for these people especially, it's only natural that they be allowed to return.

You ask if people who are currently live in Israel should be able to live in a decolonized Palestine. Short answer: yes. Of course. There is no reason to reject these people who are willing to live in a decolonized Palestine.

Long answer: still yes but I'm going to re contextualize it a little.

We've established that a decolonized Palestine is one in which borders are irrelevant, as is the current version of nationalism, and no need for categorization. In a decolonized Palestine, as long as you are not a perpetrator of a "crime" (I put that in quotations because of the current colonial implications, but I lack a better word for it) that makes you — and not your grandparent/parent — directly responsible for colonization — like as you mention, settlers who violently expelled Palestinians — and willing to participate in a Palestinian society in which there is equality of all peoples regardless of race, ethnicity, economic status, or religion, then it is possible to become Palestinian.

Israelis are all, to a certain extent, culpable in colonization. There are antiZionist Israelis, but nevertheless, it doesn't change the fact that they are settled on land that was acquired violently. Of course, the same can be said for many USAmericans. To a certain extent, I am a settler in Turtle Island despite being a refugee. I willingly participate in a colony, whether I actually agree with it or not.

I think from hereon, to live in Decolonized Palestine as well as a Decolonized Turtle Island, we must make the reparations necessary to the communities who have suffered systematic violence at the hands of the colonial entity to truly live in a post-colonial world. You might be asking how I think that's going to be conducted — I am not sure. But what I do know is that living without borders — or in other words living without colonialist labels and all sorts hierarchies that arise — will require a reframing of the understanding of our world as well as how we interact with each other in it.

[durgeapologist]

I'm confused, durge. Do you like Solrook or Solavellan? Your post bashing Solavellans contradicts your recent reblogs defending them. What are your actual thoughts on these ships? Because I cannot tell.

alright i feel like this needs to be said here and now. buckle up because this is long, and probably the only time i will be commenting on this ever again.

i do not hate the solavellan ship. i have stated many times across all my socials that i used to be a hardcore solavellan shipper. i am IN LOVE with my lavellan. i literally started playing the dragon age series because i heard about the betrayal in solas' dai romance, and i am a sucker for angst. i played through dao and da2 just to romance him with my lavellan in dai.

when dav came out, first day of release, i set my world state up to be solavellan. i redeemed him and sent her off to the fade with him. point blank.

however, even before i started shipping dreadrook, i was wary of solavellan FANS. not the ship, the FANS. i am a solas lover to the ends of the earth and back. i can get behind ANY ships that involve him. what i cannot, and will not ever, get behind is the absolute infantilization of both solas and lavellan that many solavellan shippers i have interacted with engage in.

i had to leave and the solasmancers subreddit because they bashed the fuck out of epler for having SANE and NORMAL takes on solas' villainous behavior. because: YES. solas is a VILLAIN. he is an ANTAGONIST. and for some reason, most of the solavellans i was friends/mutuals and most other VOCAL solavellans i saw refused to admit as much.

they baby solas, they baby their self-insert lavellans, and they romanticize the ship without acknowledging the (imo delicious) potentials for a tragic, toxic, and morally-grey partnership. they whiddle solas down to this abused, kicked, drowing puppy that must be saved- nay, can only be saved by their adoring, kind, never-angry-always-understanding lavellans.

i also dislike immensely the way rook gets dragged through the mud, killed off, belittled, bullied, etc. by some (not all) solavellans who cannot handle solas having insane chemistry with another character. because the chemistry between dreadrook is insane.

i could drone on for hours my issues with the solavellan fans that twist and bend the relationship dynamic between the two, but i won't. it's been regurgitated by so many people so many times, and i would be adding nothing new to the conversation.

my canon lavellan romanced solas and moved on to cullen after the events of trespasser. my canon lavellan would never leave her life behind in southern thedas to follow solas into the fade for eternity, especially not after he killed varric. if your lavellan would do that, then kudos to you! really! i am so thankful many solavellans have a way to get their happy endings! i did it the one time for the novelty, and never will again.

but i can't stand solavellans who can't admit to themselves that their pairing is just as toxic as (if not more than) the dreadrook pairing, and i doubly cannot stand solavellans that baby the fuck out of the pairing. these are two grown (pixelated) adults. they are not infants. their relationship is built on lies and deceit (again, delicious dynamic to me!) and it heavily annoys me when people cannot admit that.

THIS IS ALL TO SAY: i do not hate ALL solavellans. my bestest mutuals and online friends are major solavellan shippers. i am a solavellan shipper. i just so happen to enjoy dreadrook a thousand times more, and therefore have my lavellan married to cullen in my canon world state while my rook and solas frolick off into the sunrise together.

tldr; it's a CERTAIN TYPE of solavellan FAN that i do not enjoy interacting with. i do not think ALL solavellan fans are like this. i KNOW they are not. it's just the ones that ARE happen to be the loudest in a room at any given time. that is all.

[coraniaid]

I know I keep going on about this, but I really do think that the majority of the Buffy fandom downplays the importance of Buffy's relationship with her mother to, at times, an almost ludicrous extent. Obviously it's not a perfect relationship (if you think Buffy has a perfect relationship with anyone on the show you've really not been paying attention) and indeed at times it's a very strained one, but it's a central part of understanding who Buffy is and why she says and does things that a lot of writing about Buffy on this site just ... pretends isn't there.

There are more or less extreme examples of this -- I saw a "Giles should have adopted Buffy!" post a couple of years ago that didn't even acknowledge that Buffy had a mother who might have objected -- but so much analysis of the show seems not to engage seriously with the thought that Buffy might care about her mother as a person or worry about her mother's opinion of her. And really, the show is very, very clear about this. There are multiple episodes in the high school seasons where the emotional stakes only make sense if you accept that 'demons from hell might end the world' and 'Joyce might think her daughter is getting into trouble at school' are two roughly equivalent problems for Buffy to navigate.

I recently saw a post about Season 5 that listed Joyce's death as just one of several different reasons for Buffy's burgeoning depression that season -- along with Riley leaving and her having to drop out of college -- but .... that's not right, is it? Those aren't three isolated and independent issues at all. All of those factors go back to Buffy's mom. Riley leaves her in Into The Woods because he decided the fact she's too worried about her mom getting sick to spend time humoring his fragile ego means she doesn't really love him. Buffy drops out of college in Tough Love because her mother died and she has to take care of her sister ... which, when you remember that Dawn is explicitly presented as a stand-in for Buffy ("she's more than [my sister]," Buffy tells us in The Gift, "she's me"), can only be read as Buffy dropping out because she has to take care of herself. "Who's going to take care of us?" as she asked Dawn in Forever.

Buffy's depressive spiral in Season 5 happens because her mother dies. There are aggravating factors, sure, but this is surely the heart of it. It's not because her crappy boyfriend left or she suddenly remembered she was a Slayer. It's because her mom gets sick and dies, and Buffy Summers -- who is afraid of hospitals, who blames herself for every death in Sunnydale, who has been trying to protect her mother from the supernatural for years, who hates the very thought of there being problems in the world she can't solve, who loves her mother more than she can say -- doesn't know what to do about it.

"I don't know how to live in the world [...] if everything just gets stripped away. I don't see the point. I just wish my mom was here," she tells Giles in The Gift. It's Buffy who turns to the door to let the shadow of her mother back inside in Forever, and Dawn who has to break the spell that brought her back. In Season 6, Buffy is trapped by a demon in a fantasy world where she was never the Slayer and her mother is still alive, and it's that image of her mother, telling her that she's strong and urging her not to give up which allows her to break free. When Giles comes back to England that season, and offers Buffy a temporary reprieve from all her new financial worries, the highest praise Buffy has for him is that this uncharacteristic generosity on his part is "a little like having Mom back".

There are people in the world Buffy cares about as much as her mother (but not as many as some of you think), and there are perhaps a dozen characters who appear in the show more or get more speaking time than Joyce Summers, and there are certainly lots of characters the writers obviously care much more about as people in their own right. (Like many of you, the writers seem pretty dubious about the idea that middle-aged women could ever be interesting.)

But there is nobody in the world who means more to Buffy than her mother, and I think trying to analyze the show as if there were is going to give you a very strange impression of what's actually going on. Ideas like, well, maybe Giles should have adopted Buffy.

[thesovereignsring-if]

Major Update: To move forward is to take a step back.

Hello everyone, it's been a while. I hope you're all doing well. I'd ask that you read this to the end because some major changes will be in the upcoming update.

TLDR: You will need to start a new save file for new update (this weekend) otherwise there will be very noticable issues down the line.

I can't recall the last time I made a post or an update like this and frankly i'm scared to check . I've been struggling with writers block with the end of Chapter 1 and my small bouts of depression did not help one bit, so I had to take a step back and re-examine the narrative. If you ask me what the problem was, i'd say that perhaps I rushed too quickly into the main story, when I needed a little more foundation to stand on. After a few months of deliberation, a solution has been found. And I think everyone will like it. There will be no major rewrite of any sort, I think I would cry if that were the case.

Instead we going going to have a second prologue. This means that Chapter 1 will be inaccessible until the second prologue is complete. I'm very sorry that things have to be this way, but I do no see any other option for the story to continue forward in a satisfying way.

The second prologue will take place a few months after the first prologue during the Grand Festival of Eostre. This will be the first year you'll celebrate without your mother, at the very least you will have your friends and family with you at the time.

What to expect in the first half of Prologue 2:

Up to 13k words of new content.

Spend some time with your family.

Looooreeee & tea.

Meet Lior the Grand Cardinal of the Church of Eostre. The leading religion in Nibelheim.

Choose how to spend your free time at the festival in 2/4 possible routes. Route A: Alberich & Finny, Route B: Sieghardt & Thea.

(The last two routes will be added in the next update: Route C: Lynnette, Erik & Daria/Darius, and Route D: The Empress, King Lugh & Duchess Neaera)

Erik has a younger bastard half-sibling named Daria(f)/Darius(m). ( I will address them as Dara for short.) The final romantic interest, gender selectable. Even if you do not choose Route C, you will meet them later on in the second half of the update.

Fixes + Updates:

Character Creation has been updated and streamlined. (Gender/Pronouns and Sex are separate categories for both adult and child character creations. Attributes chosen during Child Character Creation will be stored as different variables in the event I choose to do anymore flashbacks later on in the story.)

Please note, that choosing after your sex (as an adult) I will assume your character will have the corresponding equipment down there.

Music Credits have been updated.

Minor adjustments to the colour of the UI, if people have any sort of colour theme they wish to see, I'll be more than happy to add them.

That is all for now. I hope the year has been kind to everyone so far. I haven't gone through my inbox yet, but I've seen glimpse of people's support it goes a long way. I sincerely do no think I'd come back if it weren't for the fact that I'd feel like I'd let everyone down. I will be making a patreon post after the first update goes live to talk about the new update and exclusives later.

Thank you for reading and enjoying TSR over the past year. It's means a lot to me and let's hope things will be better moving forward.

See you <3

Lili

[twsted-outro]

LIFE

PAIRING: Yandere!Arlecchino x Female!Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, murder, yandere themes, Arlecchino is heartless, she's an asshole ngl, not proofread i wrote this on mobile google docs, if you hate dying don't read this, I'm serious. written during 2023 (pre-fontaine and pre-release of arlecchino).

THERE IS fundamentally something about humans that makes their nature so fickle and insignificant. A human baby is born, destined to live life the way many others have done before; they live, perhaps fall in love, and die. It's a tale spun again and again, getting repetitive without any breaks. A cycle doomed until the end of time.

Hundreds, thousands, and millions of mortals have fallen victim to the inescapable loom of death.

But that's how humans are, they fulfil the purpose of living in their own ways. Some take up art, science, magic, or something as simple as farming. Through their small, limited time in Teyvat, there's a small percentage that create breakthroughs in their respective fields and are remembered for centuries to come. Immortalised, in a way, to history.

The world of Teyvat turns and time flows without pause, not giving a chance for anyone to catch up - leaves no room for those who regret and grieve.

Perhaps, in a few millennia, the world of Teyvat will cease to exist. The memories kept in pictures taken from a Kamera will be nothing but dust, statues honouring great heroes will be eroded, the lively lands will be barren and reeking of death, and the population will cease to exist - leaving behind nothing but loneliness. Nothing and no one to remember of what was the history that plagued the world.

Through that logic, in a way, life is meaningless. A nihilistic view, but one that stands true. All of the people are living for nothing - they laugh, cry, love, spend their wealth, pray to be blessed with visions, overcome hardship just to amount to absolutely nothing.

Life is nothing but one obstacle to another.

But perhaps, life can also be a blessing.

Because out of all the ages and time that scopes through space and history, out of all the reigns of Archons - by chance, out of pure luck and coincidence, Celestia blessed Arlecchino with the opportunity of you living in the same century as her.

Indeed, life is nothing but a hindrance and humans all live the same fate of dying, but there is still joy to be found - to experience.

And a miniscule amount of joy is more than enough to live through hell and back.

Arlecchino, a harbinger of the Fatui, does not believe in love. In her long life and the centuries she's lived, loving another has never crossed her mind. Even after meeting you under a streetlamp in Fontaine, what she feels for you can not be described as love.

Because she does not love, never has and never will.

Even now, laying in your apartelle's bed with and absentmindedly looking around your dim lit room, the word love doesn't suffice.

Both of your bodies are bare with only a measly blanket covering the lower half, her arm loosely wraps around your waist. The smell of sweat and bodily fluids linger in the air, a light reminder of what happened prior.

The world is quiet and it feels like all of Fontaine are asleep save for the two of you.

You're tracing shapes and words on her back, sweet words that bleed with affection falling from your lips seamlessly. You tell her you love her, repeatedly. You talk as if you can't live without her. You look at her adoringly and smitten, as if she's the one your world revolves around.

Briefly, you stop tracing on her back. "I love you," Then you smile, hand reaching out to tenderly hold hers. "So much."

She doesn't say it back, opting to stay quiet.

Briefly, your face falls at her lack of reciprocation but you smile once more, choosing to ignore what happened.

You aimlessly play with her hand, interlocking and separating your fingers from hers, then repeating. You press a kiss on the back of her hand, and profess again, "I love you."

"But I don't expect you to say it back, ever." You finish, a sense of melancholy coming over you. You stare into her eyes, searching for something - anything. "And I suppose that's okay. I'll still love you all the same."

"Nothing can ever stop me from loving you."

Arlecchino merely nods, and the conversation dies out into silence just like that. Soon enough, you succumb to slumber, your grip on her hand loosens and Arlecchino is left to simply staring at you.

When she knows there is nothing to lose, she risks it all and lets her fingers trace featherlight touches on your skin - each touch gentle and delicate, unbefitting for someone of her prestige. Unbefitting of someone such as Arlecchino.

It's bizarre - how Arlecchino wreaks havoc and leaves the battlefield with blood stained hands and for those same hands to touch another human being as if you're made from fine glass.

She sighs, light and airy.

Arlecchino knows.

She knows that you think she doesn't love you back - an unrequited love. She knows that you think she only sees you as a means to an end, a connection to get closer to obtaining the Hydro Archon's Gnosis. She knows that once her business is done in Fontaine, she'll have to leave you.

And when that happens, she'll leave you heartbroken and alone, heart shattered into a million smithereens. Perhaps her experience with you will scar your perception of love, or maybe not. But one thing she's sure of is that you'll find someone else down the line, and as fate has foretold, you'll fall in love and when you die, it's them in your heart - not her.

Arlecchino can't have that. She loathes the idea of someone else replacing her standing in your life, as selfish as it may be.

No, Arlecchino does not believe in love, what she feels for you isn't love. It's something far, far greater.

Her feelings transcend what it means to be human, for no sane person in love would do what she's about to do.

Inside a room in an Apartelle in Fontaine, Arlecchino rises up from the covers of your bed, still naked, and retrieves her items.

She comes back with the distinct sound of metal dragging across the ground, her sword, and you're still sleeping with lovely dreams plaguing your little mind.

You're peacefully asleep, that's good.

When she raises the sword, the metal glinting against the moonlight menacingly, you're still asleep.

When Arlecchino, a cold blooded killer, ends your life - it's peaceful. There is no struggle, your eyes are closed so there's no betrayal to be found in them. Your breathing cuts off like plucking out a fruit from a tree, and you're stuck in an eternal dream - never to wake up again.

She snuffs out the blessing given to her by Celestia like it's nothing.

Arlecchino can't love you, she doesn't love you. It's much more than love, it's the carnal want for you to the point she'd rather be the one to end your life than watch you fall in love with someone else. A truly maddening mindset to possess.

Selfish, unfair, cold-hearted Arlecchino.

Perhaps, had the circumstances been different, she'd be able to 'love' you in her own way. Had the circumstances been different, she'd say 'I love you' back.

Life is meaningless, even more so without you.

Life is meaningless and the world will end.

But, should there be an afterlife, a possibility of reincarnation, Arlecchino hopes to spend it with you once more.

[nabi-unveiled]

Flipping the Characters in Futtara Doshaburi

This show is a vibe, and I'm vibing with it. I'm loving everything about these two lonely people desperately seeking intimacy. Watching episode four in the car while the rain poured around me only added to the vibe. That said, being in the car means I can't do my normal screenshot process so semi-relevant gifs it is.

We start with Hagiwara descending into the depths. I mentioned after episode 3 that he still had a more positive outlook on his circumstances. But he's now on his way into the hole where he won't be able to gloss over his unhappiness. Sei is already in the hole. He has been there for a while, he knows he's there, and he's somewhat resigned himself to it.

This change in Hagiwara's attitude is reflected in our aesthetics too. While Hagiwara's home had bright and warm elements last episode, the door to his house is cold and dark after their dinner. It's no longer welcoming. The restaurant is where the warm colors resided.

However, the truly interesting thing to me about this show is in how much this show has flipped the character expectations.

It's flipped the idea of "good guys" and "bad guys" - particularly in a drama that's definitely leading towards cheating. It's pretty standard fair in a cheating drama for the partners to be painted as not caring or evil. But as Hiragawa and Sei make clear in their exchange after the meal, nobody really is in the wrong (yet). It's really unfair to all of them. I actually think Sei's partner has the shortest end of this stick thus far, but that's a different discussion.

The partners of our leads are caring. They cook for our leads. They clean up for our leads. They are kind. But they offer companionship, not sex. This makes them "cruel". It's cruel to be kind.

Our leads actually have only shown minimal considerations towards their partner. Sei sprayed perfume and Hiragawa goes to his girlfriend's social events, but they aren't the ones doing the major acts of service. The have mainly shown care to each other, not their partners. And they mainly want sex (and intimacy, but...the dialogue keeps saying sex) from their partners. In most other shows, our leads would be the "bad guy". The boyfriend who is obsessed with sex and has you do all of the work. But this show is clearly demonstrating that while romance may be in the little things, the little things cannot fill the empty hole. And it's okay to want that hole to be filled.

The characterization of our main leads has flipped as well. The initial setup in episode one depicted Hagiwara as a bit of a bumbling oaf. He sent an email to the wrong address. He forgot to pick up his ID card. Sei, on the other hand, was initially portrayed as the fastidious one handling a business need and admonishing Hagiwara for wearing an id tag that wasn't company issued.

But we have learned that those were false impressions. Hagiwara is good at his job. It's made clear that he's good at planning the company outings. He's good at sales. He's the responsible one gathering and returning the umbrellas. He's the "picky" one at the grill making sure the grilling is done correctly. Sei is the one who stands in the rain and acts a mess. We now know he likely reacted to the id tag because of his complex feelings about who designed it, not because he actually cared about the rules. It's an interesting switch up.

There's also some interesting flips in that Hagiwara is a gregarious guy who talks a lot (he's in sales after all). He not only goes to social events on the regular, he plans them. But he never says what he actually wants. That characterization is more common, but it's still an interesting dichotomy. He is tumblr - only saying his deepest thoughts when writing to a stranger.

Meanwhile, Sei says exactly what he wants. The man is crude and rude, but he's also open with his thoughts. Many taciturn, loner characters are blunt, but few are as open as Sei. He just lays it all out on the table. I wish I could catch the linguistics of Japanese to know if he's actually using rude speech patterns as well, but that's outside of my skillset.

Being a prickly porcupine, Sei is used to people being put off by him. He said earlier that he wasn't nice. And he's not. But we still LIKE him and we still FEEL for him. And that's incredibly difficult to pull off in a show that clocks episodes in at under 25 minutes.

Sei fully expected that Higawara would back off and only give him courtesy greetings once he found out his identity. His friend from college did just that this episode. A few courtesy greetings followed by "Oh you don't have LINE. Guess we won't talk then. Bye." Fujisawa is the only one that seems to have put up with his personality. But Higawara, as bad as he is at expressing his own thoughts, feels comfortable with Sei. He keeps reaching out. He reached out through e-mail. He reached out with an umbrella. He reached out with an invite to treat Sei for helping. He reached out with a dinner invite. And unlike his partner, Sei responds.

For Sei, whose desire to talk keeps getting shut down by his partner, this invitation explicitly to talk is a lifeline. He always responds, taking any hint of Hiragawa reaching out to initiate an entire, probably way-too-honest conversation. After all, the hole is deep.

By the end of the episode, Hagiwara has fully descended into the underground thanks to our pregnant friend spilling the tea. In a bright environment with a lot of light no less (enlightenment I dare say?). He's reaches out to his partner in a final attempt and gets shut down. So he reaches out to Sei. And, Sei does what he always does. He responds. He welcomes someone joining him in the underground. At the end of the day, they both crave the intimacy this connection is providing. But as the storm glass predicts....rain is coming.

How did they fit that much meaty stuff in a 25 minute episode?!

[sapphic-agent]

I'm still mad about this so I'm going to rip it apart by section now that I have the energy :)

This is probably the only part of the diagram that's kind of accurate. But it's actively ignoring one crucial detail: there are no "people" in this context. Most people just ignore Bakugou at this point. He's directly and deliberately harming one person: Izuku. It also feels like this understates that Bakugou doesn't just "suck," he's been targeting, harassing, and abusing a minority for the better part of a decade

Bakugou has always put more energy into his goals. That's the only thing that's stayed consistent about his character because it's the only thing he's ever cared about. He doesn't get brownie points for sucking a little less (which isn't even really true, his victim began to step out of a victim role and he didn't know how to deal with that) just because he's goal-oriented now. There's also something to be said about the people around him not being able to be spoken over or told what to do. While 1A doesn't stand up to Bakugou, he isn't able to really push them around. So of course his behavior lessened; it's not getting him what he wants anymore

This is literally one of the major problems with this arc. Bakugou only "changed" because everyone else made it easy for him. Everyone else had to put in work for him to become even halfway decent. Every lesson he's ever "learned" were good people having to either give him every concession OR- in Izuku's case- sacrifice their own well-being and agency to validate his insecurities. Not once did Bakugou ever have to put in the work himself, it's always been the people around him coddling him. Hell, it's to the point that All Might had to make Bakugou's goals align with protecting people to make him somewhat decent, the dumb idiot couldn't even realize that on his own. This is more like enabling than being a positive influence. An actual positive influence would be someone holding him accountable for his behavior and the only person who even attempts that is Best Jeanist

What's the difference between "flawed" and "still doing the same things only they're funny now?" Because you can't insist to me that Bakugou has changed when he continues to act the same way he always has. He still yells at, insults, and assaults Izuku. The only difference is that it's played for comedy instead of actually taken seriously. So he can still say and do what he wants with no repercussions. And even in the moments that the narrative tries to seriously develop him, it still falls flat because he's never forced to make actual changes to himself. For fuck's sake, we're in the last chapter and he still sucks to the point that he dropped in the hero rankings

How can you tell me that Bakugou's character arc amounts to anything with a straight face?