#done with excusing or Understanding why i am being treated the way i am

[bending-sickle]

done with saying “she’s being a bitch because she’s tired” or “she’s being a bitch because she’s stressed” or “she’s being a bitch because she’s sick”

like maybe she’s just being a bitch

[cathodic-clairvoyant]

There's a lot about discussion of hdwr that baffles me (not all discussion to be clear, because i do think there's a lot of good discussion about hdwr. But equally so are there the ones that make you wonder if you're reading the same story) and I think one that is especially annoying is the constant infantilization of miwa as this passive eternal victim. It drives me up a wall because this is quite literally an issue she's struggled with within the text of the story! She had an arc about how she dislikes how people treat her this way like towards the beginning of the story! And like even ignoring that, this story is about like nuanced and realistic portrayals of being in relationships and learning how to navigate them and so it's like what's the point if you're going to immediately reduce the characters to "the victim" and "the victimizers?" Is that even interesting? Is that a useful lens to look at interpersonal relationships?

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ proglogue

note: can't believe i'm actually writing for ghost, yes he was the reason i got into cod, but i havent thought about him since like january lol. has this trope already been done? yes. am i doing it anyway? also yes.

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 2.2k

no use of y/n readers callsign is 'stingray'

summary: if there's one constant in your life, it's that ghost doesn't like you, so when your house burns down and you have no choice but to move in with him, it feels like your life is on a steady downhill spiral.

warnings: slowburn, some angst, your house burns down, ghost is mean, sort of enemies to friends to lovers

ao3

【next】

it's been almost a year since you'd joined the taskforce. nearly twelve months of gruelling hard work, and not for a single second had lieutenant ghost treated you with a shred of familiarity. at first, you thought he'd get over it, that he'd get past his obvious trust issues and warm up to you eventually, but you quickly gave up on that idea.

clearly, you'd been too optimistic.

which was unfortunate, considering how much you'd come to care for the prickly bastard, no matter how dismissive he was of you. it started slow; when you were first recruited, you held a great deal of respect for him because of his reputation, and you'd naively even looked forward to working with him. when you discovered his less than friendly demeanour, to say you were disheartened would be an understatement. he was withdrawn and stoic, never sparing you so much as a passing glance and a barked order,  whether you were in the field or not.

the other sergeants had assured you that he wasn't as cold as he comes across; soap and gaz both told you how he'd acted the same towards them when they first met – he was a lone wolf, not used to having to look out for teammates.

the more time you spent on missions with him, the more you saw of the person beneath the hard exterior. you saw how he seemed to know everyone's strengths and weaknesses, things you never would've picked up on. he always made sure the team had eaten, disguised as a gruff order to stay on your game. when he got angry, it would be because someone put themselves in danger, not because they screwed up the mission. you saw someone who'd been through hell and come out the other side swinging.

before, you'd respected ghost as a soldier and your superior, but now, after spending so much time with him, your perspective of him has changed. he intrigued you; he's quiet, introverted but not shy, more observant than you could imagine, and so closely guarded you wondered if he'd ever be able to open up. you'd only heard whispers of the things he'd been through in the past, so despite his obvious animosity towards you, you treated him with the respect you thought he deserved – like a person, and you'd hoped that with time, he could see you as more than just a soldier too. though he still didn't like you, you liked to think that the two of you have come to some sort of understanding.

and that leads you to your problem; you wanted to know him. every tiny crack in his facade made you more and more curious about the man behind the mask – about simon, rather than ghost, but from what you could tell, he didn't hold the same sentiment about you. where he would banter back and forth with the others over comms, he'd fall silent whenever you join in. every minute little mistake was amplified to him, you've lost count of the amount of times he's berated you for things he's excused for others. it made your heart ache that you just couldn't win with him, and you feared you'd never understand why.

but now, as you sit shivering with a shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders, watching the smouldering remains of what was your home in the middle of the night, freezing and exhausted, you'd never felt more hated.

you could hear them, ghost and the captain, talking in hushed voices a little ways down the road from where you sit. they probably think they're being subtle, discussing what to do with you like you're not even there, like every single one of your worldly possessions hadn't just gone up in smoke, but you hear them as if they're standing right in front of you.

"i wouldn't do this if there were any other options, simon."

"there are plenty of other options, just stick 'em in a hotel for god's sake."

"there's no hotels close enough to base – it'll only be temporary, 'till we can find 'em somewhere else."

"fuckin' hell, why cant they go with one of the others?"

"soap and gaz are already flatmates, you live alone and you're the closest to base. this is the only option that makes sense."

"i'm not fuckin' happy about this, price."

their profiles are momentarily illuminated by the blue lights from the fire engine parked nearby, allowing you for a second to see the withering glare ghost is sending your way, and all of a sudden the last couple hours of emotional distress is crashing down on you; his obvious distaste for you combined with the toll of watching your house literally burning down was too much for you all at once. you could feel the tears start to spill over again, but you can’t find the strength to stop them and just bring the shock blanket closer to your face. you’d lost everything, and even now he couldn’t find it in himself to feel an ounce of compassion for you? why can’t he care for you like he does the others? like you do for him?

as your watery gaze drops to the soot and ash covering your pyjamas, a voice sounds from beside you, the opposite direction from price and ghost. you don’t even realise you’re hyperventilating until they lay a hand on your shoulder and rub soothing circles into your back.

“hey– hey, it’s okay,” it’s gaz, you notice in the back of your mind, sitting on the curb next to you. you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the world around you, and gaz brings you closer into his embrace. “you’ll be alright, we’ll get everything sorted, yeah?”

"i– i don't– i can't–" you try to speak, but you can't seem to form a coherent sentence through your sobbing.

"it's alright, just breathe for me." gaz hugs you tighter again, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as he consoles you. for a few minutes you stay like that, your breathing eventuslly returning to normal and the tears slowing to a stop.

price and ghost are still arguing, but you can't hear what they're saying anymore; probably for the best, if you had to listen to ghost complain about you for one more second you might really have a breakdown.

soap's voice cuts through the fog in your mind, "managed to find this, thought ya' might want it." you look up to find him crouching in front of you and holding out a slightly singed photo, a weak smile on his face. "frame's broken, but the picture's still mostly fine."

you take it from him, fingers grasping the card gently as you turn it around to look at the picture. it's from a few years ago, you and your friends from your previous unit, smiling into the camera as if you had no worries at all. staring at the ghosts of your friends starts you crying again, clutching the photo to your chest and leaning back into gaz's shoulder. if anything could've survived the blaze, you're grateful it was this. gaz rubs your arm sofly, whispering comforting words to you again.

you hear another set of footsteps approach and look up again to see price now standing in front of you as well. it's not exactly surprising, but ghost is nowhere to be seen.

"ambulance is here," price says, offering you a hand and pulling you to your feet when you take it. "i'll follow behind to the hospital, one of you two take their car to simon's."

you nod and retrieve your car keys from your jacket pocket, thankful you'd had the mind to grab it on your way out in your frantic state.

"I've got a bag in the boot, it's got some clothes in it." you mutter, handing the keys to soap, who smiles and gives you a pat on the shoulder.

"no bother, i'll grab it for ya." he says, and jogs off to where your car was parked, thankfully untouched out of reach of the fire. he returns not a minute layer carrying your duffle of emergency supplies, something you never thought would actually come in handy.

before you know it you're waving gaz and soap goodbye, the paramedics are guiding you to the back of the ambulance, and you're leaving what remains of your old home in the rear-view mirror.

✹✹✹

you hated hospitals. it was a fact, and it had been that way since you were a child, everything about them just made your skin crawl. perhaps you inherited the feeling from your mother; she always managed to bring up her distaste for the place whenever the topic arose. or, maybe you only hated them because they scared you.

either way, the relief you felt as you stepped out of the front door into the car park with price trailing behind you was palpable. he falls into step next to you as the two of you make your way over to where he parked, his keys jingling as he fishes them from his pocket.

"we're puttin' you up with simon for the time being, 'till we can get you somewhere else." his words make you wince; you already knew he was going to say that, but it didn't stop the anxiety from bubbling up in your chest.

"i heard." a beat of silence passes before you continue. "how long will that take?" you ask, climbing into the passenger seat and dropping your bag at your feet as price settles into the driver's side.

"i wouldn't get your hopes up. might be quicker to wait for 'em to rebuild your old place." he flashes you a smile, but you can't find it in yourself to return the gesture.

"right."

neither of you say another word as he starts the engine and pulls out of the car park. you turn to look out the window, watching the world go by, the quiet rambling of the radio serving as white noise in the background. it's the early hours of the morning now, the sun would be up in a few hours and you'd have to go back to work already – price did say you could have the day off, but honestly the last thing you wanted was to sit around all day with nothing to do but overthink.

after nearly ten minutes of trying to ignore it, the worry playing at your mind becomes too much to keep to yourself.

"you know he hates me, right?" you utter, half expecting price to ignore your question all together.

he clicks his tongue. "he doesn't hate you," price replies, and his voice sounds reassuring but it doesn't bring you much comfort.

"okay, well, he doesn't like me either." you turn your head to look at him, raising your brows. rolling to a stop at a red light, he meets your eyes and huffs.

"alright, he can be difficult–"

"really?"

"–but i promise you, he doesn't hate you." he says. you give him a disbelieving look, and he sighs, looking back to the road as the light turns green. "give him a chance, alright?"

"is he gonna give me a chance?" 

"he will." price says firmly, sparing you a look as he drives down the quiet road. "and if he doesn't, you'll knock some sense into him, eh?"

"sure…" you mutter, looking back out the window and falling back into silence. its only a few minutes until he's pulling over to the side of the road, outside the house number you know to be ghost's.

"sting," price calls out, stopping you as you reach for the door handle, "he'll come around, alright?"

"it's been a year, cap. i don't think he will." you reply, and before he can say anything else you open the door and step out into the night air, grabbing your bag from your feet before closing the door again. you give price a half-hearted wave as he pulls away again, before turning around and gazing up at your – temporary – new home.

it was nice, all things considered; a standard terrace on the end of the row, but the size has you wondering if there was even room for you to stay here. though it's not as if you have a choice. all the lights were off, which had you hopeful that you wouldn't run into ghost just yet.

you drag yourself to the front door, your eyes stinging from the effort of keeping them open, and twist the handle as quietly as possible, closing it behind you and cringing at the clunk it makes. thankfully ghost didn't hate you enough to lock you out for the night, something you actually wouldn't put past him considering how he feels about you.

there's a small side table in the entryway that catches your attention. on top of it sits your car keys – you make a mental note to thank soap in the morning – a new key, and a note. you pick up the paper, using the torch from your phone to examine the scratchy handwriting.

living room's yours. lock the door. – s

it's more than you expected from him. you sigh to yourself and pick up the other key, locking the door and shuffling into the small living room. the pull-out bed is made up for you, albeit quite messily, and you waste no time in dropping your stuff and laying your head down on the lumpy pillow.

with any luck, this arrangement wouldn't last long, but in the meantime you got the feeling you were in for a bumpy ride.

[chosoisamalewife]

* Sees the angst tag in the masterlist * me: 😈

I request the finest dish of Sukuna and Male reader, with the drink being Angst. Sukuna had kept his Male servant around in the heian era and began to have a soft spot for him. But when he found a servant's dead body, he began to go mad. Now, the rest is up to you.

Sukuna x male!reader

A/N : I am a big angst lover so the moment I saw this request I squealed and instantly started writing

A/N : I gotten inspiration from the last of us opening for the death scene. Also Sukuna and reader had a special thing 😉😉 ALSO SUKUNA IS HEAVILY OOC

Sukuna wasn’t a kind man,well he wasn’t a man to begin with, he was a curse object that hated basically everything. He wasn’t kind at all, he was rough and mean. He was one thing that has zero weakness or so he thought. There was you he never understood why he adored you so much. You were a pesky human to him, a mere servant of his. However he couldn’t help but to be soft and patient with you. He felt pathetic every time he saw you smile, every time he saw your eyes and skin glowing in the sun light. The way you looked at everything with kind eyes, even him, a monstrous being. The way you trace the patterns all over his body, your fingertips grazing his skin gently like he was fragile glass as your soothing voice spoke. Oh your voice was something he could listen to always, it was one of a kind to him. He hated it but oh he couldn’t tell you to stop. You were a weakness to him and he hated, he hated everything about it, yet he couldn’t get rid of you.

He has even tried to, there has been many times he has thought about killing you. He has pictured it many times and many different ways, sometimes they come out of the blue. The other times is when you are sleeping peacefully next to him, his eyes starring at your resting face trailing them down looking at all the marks from him. He couldn’t help but to imagine ripping your heart out right then and there, doing the same thing you have done to him, making you feel the same pain.

You didn’t understand it either why he was so gentle to you. When you first became his servant he treated you like the other. He was cold and ruthless to you, the only person you saw he even remotely nice to was uruame. The first time that you saw something different from was when you bumped into by accident. The force of him basically knocked the breath out of your lungs. You just stared up at him with fear as he just stared down at you. You gotten on your knees "I'm sorry King. I must have been distracted I didn't see you." Your voice shook with fear. He reached one of his hands down offering it to you. You looked at him confused

"Are you gonna take it or what?" He asked without any emotion or tone to his voice. You put your hand in his helping you raise up. From there you saw him slowly began to soften. He knew the track you walked in the castle so he eventually start to intercept that track. He knew you liked to paint so he start to let you go outside to do that with his "supervision" of course. You had a favorite spot too, it was under a tree surrounded by flowers, so he had other servant set up a area for you there. He stood out there with you for the most of it he wanted to make sure you didn't run away. But that was just an excuse. He stood out there because of how peacefully you looked. He liked how you looked when you concentrate, he liked how your strong hands look holding the brush. He also did it to make sure that no one would disturb you.

One thing he hated more than how gentle you were, was the way you looked when you cry. Sukuna wasn’t a patient being which caused a lot of fights between the two of y’all. Sukuna never felt the need to apologize to anyone or anything but with you he just couldn’t help it. He felt the need to apologize especially after a bad one. Such as the recent one, he was sitting on his throne thinking of the way your eyes filled with tear before you stormed off. The way you yelled “If you are so tired of me then kill me! Do it already!”

He decided to ask uraume to make your favorite dishes as a act of him apologizing to you. When he brought the food up to your door. He could hear sniffling. He thought your were still upset so he put the tray on the floor and knocked gently on your door. "Y/N, I know you're probably still upset but here is some food. " That’s when he heard you say his name but it wasn't normal. It was odd like you were hurt. He opened the door to find you bleeding on the floor.

He ran to your body lying on the ground, the was a big gash from your chest to your torso. “Y/N, going to be okay.” He took you in his arms trying to pick you up which caused you to scream in pain. “ I know, I know but you have to let me. I have to get you help.” He tried again, your nails were digging into his skin as you screamed. “I know baby, I know.” Baby was a nickname that he has never used until now, it was always brat. He stood up half way before the grip you had on him let go and everything went silent. Your body fell limp in his arms. “Y/N” He sat down on the ground with your body cradle in his arms. He sat there just staring at the opened window. If he wasn’t late he could’ve caught that person, the thing that killed you. Or he could've killed it before it hurt you. The thing that took you from him. He’s going to hunt them but he doesn’t want to kill them. No, killing them would be to humane. He wants to torture them until their body can’t take it and give up.

He sits there for hours in the the silence of what use to be your lively room. What once was a room filled with laughter, talking, and other noises is now a room with nothing. The sound of the door opening interrupted his thought. He turned his head looking at the intruder, it was another servant. “My kin-“ the servant wasn’t even able to get the full word out before a slash went through his body. Uraume eventually came the fetch the body before leaving sukuna alone again. It began a repeated process of servants intruding to only be killed in a second

This went on for 3 days, your body started to decay but he didn’t move. He stayed there not caring about the decay or the smell. “Sukuna” Uraume opened the door gently. He stared at them with a look in his eyes that they have never seen before. Was it heartbreak, anger, madness that he didn’t want to let out. Simply because he didn’t want to disturb your resting body.

“I don’t want to fucking hear it.” He barked at them. They crouch in front of him leaving your body in between them.

“Sukuna, I think we should give him a proper burial. He doesn’t deserve to rot here.” He sat there for a second considering it. "Please" They pleaded with him hoping to get in his mind. He nodded slowly. "Where do you want to bury him"

"I know a place." Sukuna and Uraume put you in beautiful clothing before burying you along with your paint and brushes. Your favorite place became your resting place, under the tree surrounded by flowers.

For hours the quiet castle became home to thunderous yells the sound of things being thrown. No one even dared to ask Sukuna if he was okay, it was clear to what would happen. They would become like those painting of yours that he has ripped up. Those gorgeous painted vases shattered on the floor, he didn't care about the glass stabbing his feet. Everything reminded you of him and he wanted it all gone, it all destroyed and dead just like you. Sukuna's madness went as far as killing every other servant that met you. They knew that you were a weakness to him and he couldn't let them live. He made sure that only him and Uraume remembered you.

Over the course of centuries you began to fade into the back of his mind, a place that he will never tap back into. Those memories no longer had the same effect on him. They didn’t make him soft like they use to. They made him angry, viewing them as a time that he was weak. He even forgot that he was on a hunt looking for the person or curse that killed you. If anything he now wishes it was him that did it. He sees you as having a victory over him simply because he couldn't. You were his biggest regret and now you exist forvever in the back in his mind. You were like a thorn in his foot that he can never get out. No matter how much it annoyed him, it will always be there so he learned to ignore it.

[alotofpockets]

Celebrating you | Kyra Cooney-Cross

Pairing: Kyra Cooney-Cross x Reader

Summary: Celebrating Kyra's birthday.

A/n: Happy birthday to our one and only KCC! Thank you @totaly-obsessed for talking about this fic with me :)

Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

-----

You were busy making Kyra’s favourite breakfast, while she was still sound asleep in your bed. For Valentine’s Day yesterday you had gone out for dinner, so you thought you’d switch it up today, and put the focus on breakfast instead. It wasn’t long until you had the table filled with your girlfriend’s favourites, you checked everything over one last time, wanting everything to be perfect. It was your first time celebrating Kyra’s birthday since you started dating, as well as it had been your first Valentine’s day together yesterday. 

Once you had looked everything over, and were happy with the result, you heard Kyra starting to wake up in the other room. She was stretching her arms out when you walked into the room. “Good morning birthday girl.” You said as you sat down next to her. She smiled and moved her head into your lap, “Good morning.” Her raspy morning voice was like music to your ears, you just loved it so much. “I’ve made your favourites for breakfast.” Her eyes widened, “Hash browns, avocado toast, oh or vegemite on toast?” You smile knowing you have done right by her. “All of the above, my love.” When she realised that you had not made a favourite, but all of her favourites she was quick to get up, faster than you had ever seen her do before.

“Happy birthday, baby, I hope you like breakfast.” You say revealing the table to her. “It’s perfect, thank you.” She reached for your hand and dragged you to the table, not wanting to waste a single moment not enjoying the amazing food that you had made. “This is so good.” She says after every bite of a different dish that she tried, and it was warming your heart how thankful she was for the small gesture. 

The gesture might have seemed small in your eyes, but for Kyra it meant the absolute world. In previous relationships her birthday had just kind of passed by, the excuse being that it was Valentine’s Day the day before, and that was enough celebrating. They either didn’t want to spend money on gifts for separate days, or told her to choose for which one she wanted to do something. The two of you had spent yesterday exchanging gifts, spending time together, and going out for dinner, so Kyra didn’t expect anything today. 

It was when you pulled out a gift from the chair next to you, that her emotions got the best of her. You quickly place the present on the table, and stand up to comfort her. “What’s wrong, my love?” You wrap your arms around her, and rub your hands over her back soothingly. “You got me a gift.” With a slight furrow in your brow you respond. “Yes, of course. It’s your birthday.” You didn’t understand why she was surprised until she told you about how she had been treated in the past. 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. How could they just ignore her birthday, and not find it worth it to celebrate things with her two days in a row. You would celebrate Kyra every single day of the year, for the rest of your life, without a second thought. 

Your hands move to cup her cheeks, and wipe away her tears. “Well, yesterday was about celebrating our love, and today is about celebrating you.” After kissing her on her forehead, you bring her in for another hug. “I love you, and I want to celebrate you in every way, always.” The smile was back on Kyra’s face, “Thank you, you are the best. I love you too.”

After she opened the gift that you got her, and told you how much she loved it, the two of you cleared the table. “So, I was thinking we could head back to your place, and spend the day there. How does that sound?” She smiles and nods, “As long as I’m spending my birthday with you, I am happy.”

After showering and changing out of your pyjamas, you drive the both of you over to her place. The drive was short, but you grasped every opportunity to have a car concert. Of course, Strawberry Kisses had to be the first song, and you both loudly sang along. 

When you got to her place, you grabbed the bags, and told her to walk ahead. She had no idea what was about to hit her, since you had been able to keep the secret well hidden, you were able to film her reaction. So, as you’re walking a few steps behind her, you take out your phone and start recording. 

Kyra opens the door, not suspecting a thing, when all of a sudden she hears “Surprise!”, and she is suddenly surrounded by confetti. She looks around to you with tears in her eyes, “You did all of this?” She looked truthly happy by the surprise, and that’s all you wished for. “It was my idea, but Mini helped set everything up.” Kyra goes around and hugs her friends. You wanted to give her a piece of home for her birthday, so you had invited Katrina, Clara, Harper, and Charli. 

You had bought all the decorations and dropped them off at Mini’s place a few days prior, so that Kyra wouldn’t accidentally find them. She was the one that put all the decorations up, and was the one picking up the cake you had pre-ordered, so today wouldn’t have been possible without her help. 

Hearing Harper sing happy birthday to Kyra was the most adorable thing ever, and your heart melted at the interactions between the two of them. You knew how important the people in this room were to her, and were so glad that they all lived in London now, so that they would be able to spend more time together. 

“How are you enjoying your birthday, my love?” You asked her while the two of you cleaned up the plates from the birthday cake. “It is honestly the best birthday ever, thank you so much for everything.” She walks closer to you and wraps her arms around you. “Thank you.” You hold her tight, “Of course, anything for you, my love.”

-----

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[atinyniki]

dear (ex)lover.

group: stray kids !

pairing: idol!kim seungmin x f!reader

genre: pure angst, letter

warnings + additional info: seungmin is referred to as seungmin and min, seungmin was (and still is) a dick, seungmin is a player, seungmin led reader on, reader reminisces the past, reader blames seungmin for the downfall of their relationship (rightfully so), reader has past trauma from relationships, mentions of waiting till marriage, reader has body image issues, reader has been depressed, reader has trust issues, reader misses seungmin, just a really really sad angsty letter, intended lowercase, written in letter format.

authors note: okay. im so sorry for this... this is also not proofread. english is not my first language, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. happy reading :)

wc: 1033

dear lover,

why don’t we talk anymore? i remember, you told me i was your best friend once. i remember, i was your best friend before i was your lover. i understand, your love for me is gone now, but weren’t we supposed to be friends? didn’t you tell me we could go back to the way it was? so why don’t you talk to me? why do you avoid my eyes when you see me? why do you ignore my texts?

why do you only speak to me when it’s convenient for you?

i remember when i first opened up to you, my love. i told you i didn’t fit in with the group. i didn't think you needed me, and i didn’t think the others did either. you told me you didn’t know you needed me until i was in your life. do you still need me? why did you love me like that if you were just going to ghost me in the end? we talked about so much. you bought me my wedding ring. i wore my heart on my sleeve for you. you gave me a promise ring. why did you break your promise? why did you write so many love letters to me, knowing that you were leaving in the end?

what did i do to be treated like this? i should have been better to you, right? it’s my fault, right? i had to have done something… right? what did i do? i can do better, i can. i can be a better friend, i promise. you were my first real friend. you held me when things were hard. i need you to hold me once more. you always did my hair all nice to distract me. i miss when you’d braid it. you even played with my stuffed animals with me. you were the first person who accepted me for me.

why don’t you like me anymore? why am i always the one to approach you? did you only speak to me because i spoke to you first? was this all one-sided and you only spoke to me because i annoyed you till you replied? i didn’t know. i didn’t know that i was being annoying. i didn’t realize it. i thought you wanted me too. i’ve been having nightmares again. you told me you’d be there. it’s funny, isn’t it? you promised you’d always be there, but now you’re the cause of them. you broke my trust. you fucked up, and i forgave you. again and again, i forgave you. i took you back for every mistake you made.

why did you take my heart for granted? why did you break me like this? am i unlovable? did you grow tired of me? could you not stand me anymore like the others? the boys told me what you said about me. what you said about my body. i know i don’t look the same anymore, but can’t you still love me? am i really all that different now? or maybe you just don’t want someone who rots in bed all day. yeah, they told me that part too. maybe you couldn’t deal with my past trauma. i’ve lost people in the past like i lost you before. you told me you wouldn’t leave me. not the way they did, at least. but you did. you left, and you ruined me in the process.

maybe i am unlovable. maybe this was meant to happen. was it for the better? did you mean it when you said you loved me those last nights we spent together? did you find it fun? breaking my heart? was it nice to watch me fall apart that night on my bedroom floor? was it fun to use my own pain against me? was it fun telling me it was my fault? did it take some of your guilt away?

i’m mad at you, still.

but a part of me still loves you. a part of me still wants to forgive you, and i don’t know why. i shouldn’t, i know. you don’t deserve my forgiveness. you don’t deserve anything i have to offer. but i still want to forgive you. i still want to love you like i used to. i still want to tell you that im here for you, and i still want to hold you while we fall asleep. i still want to brush away your tears, and i still want to do your skincare for you. but you’re fading away from my life. i don’t know the person i fell in love with anymore, because they aren’t you. i miss his sweet voice, and i miss his melting touch. i miss the sound of his heartbeat, and i miss his heart. but it’s always going to be you, isn’t it? it’s always been you. you’re the person i love most, but the feelings are fading away too. i want to keep them with me. i want to hold it all so tight that your love can’t escape anymore, but you’re gone. you’re gone, and you took my heart with you.

i’m sorry. was i not good enough for you? i wish i could have been the one for you. i don’t know if i’m allowed to say it, but i miss you, min. i miss our late night laughter, i miss our runs to the coffee shop. i miss the bond we had. where did it go? why am i the only one putting effort into this stupid friendship anymore? why do i always text first? why am i begging for you to love me again?

it’s stupid.

this is stupid.

you’re stupid.

i hate you.

i hate you for using me.

i hate you so much for ruining us.

i hate you for ruining what we had.

i hate you for ruining every memory with you.

i hate you for ruining me for anybody else.

you ruined me.

they’ll never be you.

no one will ever be you.

i hate you, kim seungmin.

i hate you.

i miss you.

i miss you, and i hate it.

i hate it.

i hate you.

i love you, your ex lover.

</3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

Note: I was going to add this to the bookstore au but realised Bucky is a side character in Steve's and not old so....

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stand on the corner, head down, book in hand, right at the crux of the tall shelves. You squint at the pages, doing your best to block out the figures and noises all around you. You remind yourself it's okay to take up space when you need it.

As you close the book and slip it back onto the shelf, you slide out another, ignoring the lingering shadow, looming closer like a vulture. A year ago you would sidle away empty-handed to save yourself the awkward tension. Not anymore. You're done being a pushover.

As you check the price inside the book jacket, the customer nearest you clears his throat and coughs. You sense his impatience. He wants you to move. Too bad. Lisa, your therapist said it's okay to hold your ground. You'll be happy to report back that you did just that.

You keep the book, it's not a bad price, but you're looking for something a bit different. You keep browsing, the customer next to you edging ever nearer. You hold your breath, static in your ears as you fight the urge to retreat.

You deliberately take your time reading the next synopsis. The customer, a man, brushes his arm against yours as he reaches for a book. He clears his throat again as if to say ‘move!’

You refuse. You switch books again. You feel his proximity radiating towards you. You plant your feet, focusing on the words but not understanding a single one.

You give up. You tried. You made it that far but it's too much. He wins.

You set the book in your hand on top of the other and sidle away, pretending to peruse the shelves on your other side.

You turn to face the opposite shelves of books as he sighs. Loudly. You get it. You took up his precious time.

As you put your head down and grab another book, this one random, merely an excuse to peek over at him. Typical. Male, 50s, silver-haired, stocky but not out of shape. That certain type that is the scourge of any retail environment.

As if he can sense your sneaky glimpse, he peers over, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. He looks back to the book in his hand and flips it over. He sets his feet wide, taking up at least twice as much room as you had.

You don't know why he gave you that look. This is a store open to the general public. People are going to get in the way. You just don't get why other people can't just chill out. Whatever, in twenty years when you're his age, you hope you're not a total asshole.

You leave the aisle, taking a deep breath as you break free of the tension. You stroll along the next lazily, taking your own advice as you calm down. Don't let him get to you. Like Lisa says, you can only control yourself and how you react.

You make a slow advance through the store like a Sherman take sneaking up on the Wehrmacht. Sure your references aren't the most relevant but you're not worried about entertaining anyone else. Love yourself first and all that.

You go to the counter and checkout, grabbing a cute koala pen before paying. You take the paper bag from the cashier with a thank you and tally up your spending. You could go for a treat without breaking the bank.

You sweep out the front doors, buttoning up the top of your coat as the winter greets you frigidly. You cross the lot to the cafe in the same plaza. Inside, the ambiance is warm and soft, the lights dimmed, the tables low, and the aromatic coffee wafting delightfully. You greet the barista with a slight stutter; you're still working on that.

"White hot chocolate," you order the season special.

"Would you like to make it candy cane?" The girl behind the till asks. "No extra cost."

"Hmmm, uh, s-sure! Why not? Tis the s-season, r-right?" You try to smile through your embarrassment. You get a little tongue tied. Well, a lot.

The door jangles loudly as you move towards the pick-up window. You bounce on your feet anxiously and catch yourself humming to the holiday music. You know this one. You know most of them but your family always made fun of you for that.

You admire the white Christmas tree set up by the window, not paying attention as voices mingle through the cafe. You sense someone behind you as they join the queue for pick-up. Maybe you'll stay in. You're in no hurry to go home. You're sure no one would miss you anyway.

"Dark roast," the barista sets out a cup of black coffee, "Bucky."

You try to move out of the way of the customer behind you only for them to move the same way. You knock into them before they can reach their coffee and they growl. You skirt back and face them.

"S-s-sorry, I didn't m-mean to," you stammer out, biting down as you recognise the stranger.

He scowls and grabs his coffee just as your name is called next along with your order. He puffs out a nasty scoff and eyes you. You raise your chin. You're not going to lose this one.

"Watch it," he warns as he steps past you and puts his cup down at the stand where they have the diary and sugar set out.

You roll your eyes and take your cup, going to the other end of the counter to grab a plastic lid. As you do, he mirrors you and his hand comes down on yours. You retracts, pulling free several lids as they fall over the counter. He huffs again.

"Hot chocolate," he mutters as he pops a lid onto the brim of his cup, "shoulda guessed."

You blink and frown, swallowing as your heartbeat picks up. Passive aggression, that's easy, that's woven into your genetics, but actual confrontation? That's another thing.

"W-what d-does that mean?" You challenge as you clean up the lids and put them back on the stack.

"Who goes to a cafe to get sugar?" He snorts, "I'd also guess the military books are for show too."

"Huh?" You scrunch your nose up. You don't need to explain yourself to this man.

"Leave the heavy lifting to the big boys, sweetie," he gives a trite smirk and turns on his heel, "and get some glasses."

You stare after him dumbfounded. What a grump. You get it, it's stressful being out in public but you hardly think you earned all that.

"W-well," you call out after him, not able to stop yourself as your heart surges, "m-maybe you should get g-glasses, old m-m-man!"

He stops right by the door. His shoulders square but he doesn't look back. He pushes outside and you're left to stand in the echo of your lame insult. You refuse to look around yourself, instead turning to flee into the customer bathroom. You'll hide there until the coast is clear.

[hydropyro]

Just read chapter 19 of Palmarosa by @not-poignant

Thinking about Raphael’s character, both in general, as the lore suggests, and as the author describes — and I think they write it well.

Consider devils are very animalistic. Intelligent, yes, but still very much animals.

If we consider

1. How devils eat (through the release of ‘life spark’ via torture/torment/pain) this better explains his sadistic nature beyond twisted satisfaction in the way humans experience it.

2. How devils reproduce : they don’t. They can, but they don’t have to, thus they don’t have an instinctual drive to. Thus, outside of incubi/succubi who eat sexual pleasure, devils are unlikely to actually feel a desire for sex that goes beyond their desire for any other pleasurable pastime. For example — it may be as pleasurable and fun for them as playing lanceboard (Yahtzee came to mind first, you should know). It is also great for manipulation as mortals need it on some basal, instinctual level.

3. Possessiveness allows survival. Do devils indulge? Yes. But souls are the currency of their life, and sadism is their food. Now I am no peta advocate and I grew up on a farm. To a devil like Raphael, his House of Hope is no different than a farm he manages. Seeking souls is as much a sport as it is necessary for his own survival, no differently than hunting is for mortals.

4. Egotistical and narcissistic. I do believe devils tend to fall in these categories, and I am not discounting Raphael from them. However, the scope is not as extreme as our POV makes it. If we consider the way he behaves as far as is necessary for his survival, everything beyond that is what becomes excessive — and there doesn’t appear to be much. Look at his hobbies — poetry, which he himself is happy to admit he’s not wonderful at — he is not as egotistical and narcissistic as a devil ought to be.

Now, he does have a ‘superiority complex’, but it is not undeserved. Devils like him (higher echelon like bone devils and pit fiends) make mortals look like livestock. Now I believe livestock should be treated well and respectfully — but consider that the opposite is what Raphael needs to survive. Not great, still, not forgivable, but understandable?

Maybe I’m psychoanalysing too much, but devils cannot be measured in the same way as mortals.

Yes, by mortal standards (which as a mortal is what I and we gauge morality by, so I’m not excusing any of Raphael’s behavior, merely satisfying my need to overanalyse and psychoanalyse) Raphael is possessive, sadistic, egotistical, and self-centered.

But when we break these traits down and consider why he behaves this way — he’s not different from Astarion. And he seems to be doing his best.

In Palmarosa Raphael is resource guarding, and the writing of such is well done. (Author has a puppy. Maybe it’s intentionally done, maybe it’s ’instinctive’).

I’ve tried to get friends to read Palmarosa but they’ve expressed that it gives them the ick at the thought of someone being as capable and driven toward cruelty as Cazador getting their hands on Astarion — and I get it

But Raphael isn’t like that in this fic. It’s not a ‘healthy’ arrangement, but given how devils must function, it’s as healthy as is possible. In fact, ((until the plot twist dun dun dun)) Raphael is actually giving to Astarion, in what way he can.

Can’t overthink a reason for it just yet.

Anyway, TL;DR, bravo @not-poignant

[qqueenofhades]

Once you get offline, Biden’s doing ok with everyone but Republicans and racists. Unfortunately, that’s a pretty big voting bloc, but it should be manageable. More unfortunately, Harris is. Not popular. With anyone. Like, we’re talking Dan “To not have a mind is being very wasteful” Quayle levels of dissing. You can blame some of it on sexism and racism, but enough women and people of color have jumped on the “Kamala’s letting The Team down” bandwagon that there’s got to be more to it than this. Any thoughts?

Yeah, uh, I don't think that's fair OR accurate, and deserves quite a bit more reflection and pushback than is implied here (since your question frames it as thinking there MUST be something wrong with her and invites me to expand on it). First off, I am not comfortable comparing the first female vice president (AND female VP of color) to empty suit Dan Quayle, and especially when there's such a disparity in their background, social perception, and accomplishments, not to mention their role in the administration. So:

"You can blame some of it on sexism and racism, but -- " Okay, but how much? Are we actually assigning a weight to that and taking it into consideration, or hand-waving it aside in search of the "real" cause? Online Leftists are already disposed to irrationally dislike Kamala because of the "she's a cop!!!" business that went around during the primaries, which was likewise inaccurate and misleading, but showed how women, especially women of color, are often treated in white leftist spaces (including by leftist-identifying women). That very much WAS down to sexism, racism, and perceiving her as "shrill" or "there's just something I don't like about her." Okay, what is that? WHAT is the thing you don't like about her? Would you notice it in a male politician? Would you critique it in a male politician? If the answer is any part unclear, this needs more work and is in fact reflective of that dynamic, whether or not anyone is aware of it or thinks that's the reason why.

No, seriously. If someone professes that they "just don't like" Kamala or "there's something about her that rubs me the wrong way" or whatever else, my immediate next question would be "Why? What don't you like about her?" And keep drilling down through whatever excuses about "unlikeability" or "personality" or whatever else is offered. If this can be persuasively articulated in a way that a) exposes a substantive policy reason, b) can be differentiated from what any male vice president or other person in her position would do or what should be expected of them, and c) isn't just about "offputting vibes," then sure, we can have a discussion about that. Otherwise, yeah. That's not convincing me that it's anything other than the constant, long-running, ever-present discomfort with seeing a powerful and accomplished woman of color, who started her career prosecuting sex criminals, was the first Black woman in the Senate, and is now the first female vice president, actually state her issues and own her role.

"Enough women and people of color have jumped on the 'Kamala Is Letting the Team Down' bandwagon that there must be -- " Really? Must there? First of all, it's damn near impossible to find any Online Leftist who's willing to give Biden accurate credit for his accomplishments -- see the "Biden is bad and uninspiring and anti-trans but we should I guess vote for him anyway" rhetoric which is the closest they can possibly get to acknowledging it. (None of which is actually true!) When that's the case with the top of the ticket, it's orders of magnitude easier to project that irrational dislike and distortion onto "shrill" or "dislikable" Kamala. So who are these "women and people of color" who don't like Kamala? Are they in the room with us right now? Do they actually care about/vote for the Democrats, support their policy accomplishments, and realistically understand the progress that's been made and what remains to be done, or do they want to use Kamala as yet another convenient stick to beat the Democrats (since they won't give them accurate credit to start with?)

Even if this was true, sexism and racism somehow magically wasn't a factor (which uh, it is not) and Kamala had some terrible personality defect that was unique to her and her alone and not any of the far worse vice presidents there have been in the last 20 years alone: what is this kind of question intended to accomplish? Are we supposed to fear that by voting for Biden, we might vote for Kamala as well? Well, she was on the ticket last time too, and they won the election. Don't know what else to tell you.

[cambria-writes]

Chapter 2: You're too old to be so shy

pairing: astarion x bard!f!reader word count: 5,395 warnings: swearing, mentions of sex and innuendos, implied past sexual abuse/assault, nothing explicitly mentioned, please let me know if anything else should be tagged

a/n: here it is! this has also been proofread twice! still writing chapter 3 but i'm mostly done. hoping to be upload chapter 3 this coming sunday. :)

though i'm still a little sick i am feeling much better!

Your camp is not suited for more than your traveling party. That much is made obvious as soon as the first few tieflings arrive once the sun has set and the stars have come out. 

Gale has been toiling away to prepare enough food for the sizable crowd you expected, and enlisted the help of both Wyll and Scratch—the latter to help gather kindling for the three fires the mad wizard has going on. As soon as you spot Mol, you immediately fix her a look that lets her know you expect impeccable behaviour, if only for tonight. The tiefling girl makes a show of crossing her heart and spitting on the ground. Not... a fantastic response, but at least you can spend an easier night knowing that the ringleader of a bunch of restless children won’t be up to her usual misdeeds. Probably.

As soon as you’ve redressed in your casual clothes, you’re scooped up by Zevlor, who insists on speaking to the entirety of the assembled crowd to sing your praises. When Alfira starts playing a gentle tune along with him, it becomes quite literal. Rolan conjures some pretty fireworks, Volo joins in with Zevlor’s off-key serenade.

It’s a mess, and, blessedly, Komira presses a bottle of some kind of alcohol in your hand.

“It’s one of our better bottles,” she says, conspiratorially, though how loudly she has to speak to be heard over everything else defeats the effort of being sneaky. “As thanks for helping our girl.”

You laugh a little, trying not to sound as uneasy as you feel. “You’ve already thanked me, though,” you say, pulling on the chain to show you are, in fact, wearing her locket. Komira’s face lights up.

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d wear it!” she exclaims, and you frown a little.

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s a pendant, it’s made to be worn.”

“Oh, well it’s such a small enchantment,” Komira says, rubbing at her collarbones. “I just—I had figured you might keep it to sell, you know?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, perhaps a little harshly. You try to soften your tone when you speak next when you see Komira’s taken aback. “I’m sorry, I meant to say that something like this can’t just be sold. The value this locket has isn’t just gold.”

She sighs, just a little, and nods. “Right, thank you. It’s just so strange to be...”

You nod in understanding. Respected, appreciated, treated like an equal; given their initial reception by Kagha and half the grove, you can see how she wouldn’t assume anyone else would have the best of interests.

You put a hand to her upper arm and try to smile in a way you hope is reassuring.

“Hey, no time to be sad or apprehensive. Your family have a long road ahead, you should have fun while you can.”

You and Komira part ways shortly after that. You fiddle with the locket’s chain as you fulfill your social expectations for the night. It’s exhausting; Zevlor catches you another three times during the night, and every time he seems even more intoxicated than the last. Lae’zel walks up to you and confesses just how arousing you are when you fight with blood on your face.

She is the first person whose advances you have to rebuff tonight.

You speak with Halsin, glad to see him among you. Your conversation is lovely and easy, until you try to convince him to mingle with the rest of you. The way he looks down at you—eyes half-lidded and a set to his jaw that you’ve become familiar with—makes you excuse yourself fairly quickly. That isn’t a conversation you feel like having with him, of all people.

Karlach excitedly tells you about Dammon and his offer to help the infernal engine roaring in her chest before showing off and making you try some of her... dance moves? Footwork? You’ve drunk most of the bottle Komira offered you, so you gladly follow and stumble along. You wish her a good night when you’re out of breath and move along.

Shadowheart and Wyll seem to be engaged in quite the debate. You watch them for a while, as Gale hands you a bowl of something that smells amazing, and pay them no mind when you realize they have no intent on murdering each other.

“Haven’t seen our pale friend in quite some time today,” Gale mentions while absent mindedly tossing some scraps behind him and into Scratch’s eager maw. “Oh, well, speak of the devil.”

You turn around to see Astarion emerging from his tent. He almost immediately snatches a bottle of wine from an unsuspecting, far-too-drunk Danis as he walks by.

“He escaped the grove the same time I did,” you say, distracted, following the vampire with your eyes until he settles under a mostly-bare tree, with his back against its bark. When you look back at Gale to say something else, he looks shocked. “What? You didn’t notice I left almost immediately after talking to Zevlor?”

“You left and didn’t tell anyone? On your own?”

You cringe, can tell that there’s a lecture coming on, and raise your hands in defense. “Look, I was covered in blood and gore and was profoundly adverse to socializing in that state. I think it’s perfectly normal and reasonable of me to excuse myself under those conditions.”

Gale fixes you a disapproving look but nods as he moves to spear a fish grilling over another fire. “Can’t hold that against you, I suppose. You would’ve smelled revolting after a few hours.”

“I’m glad you understand,” you reply dryly.

Gale sends you away once you’ve finished the grilled meat and vegetables he’s given you. You spend some time playing with Alfira as she sings, manage to rope Karlach into providing percussions by enthusiastically thumping on an overturned, probably-empty barrel. When everyone is well and enthralled, you discreetly leave your post by Alfira and let the tiefling continue the entertainment.

You begin to wander when your eyes catch the back of Astarion’s head. He’s speaking to one of the tiefling women—Pandirna, you think, pleased to see she’s still standing on her own two feet. She does, however, look very drunk and Astarion looks very uncomfortable. He doesn’t flinch when Pandirna puts a hand on his bicep and laughs, but he immediately looks like a coiled snake ready to strike. You look around quickly and wave down a tiefling who looks... well at least she looks slightly less drunk than Pandirna does, so she’ll do.

You approach tiefling and vampire with a smile. Pandirna immediately begins waving at you in large, exaggerated motions.

“Hey there,” you greet, taking her hand off Astarion’s arm and taking it into your own. “How about we get you something to eat?” When the woman you had waved down walks over, you quietly ask her to take Pandirna somewhere quiet to rest and get something in her stomach. Or... maybe empty her stomach, you’re not quite sure. You hear Astarion sigh behind you when the tiefling women are out of earshot.

“Thank you, the only thing worse than this wine are her drunken attempts at what she calls seduction.”

You can’t help the bark of laughter that leaves your mouth. No, you don’t suppose you would be terribly receptive to the inebriated stumblings of a group of people you hardly know, let alone have barely spoken more than a complete sentence to.

“I don’t suppose this means you have to come rescue me next time someone wants to declare their undying lust for me?”

Astarion snorts in his wine but otherwise doesn’t offer an answer. You motion for him to move, and lean your back against the same tree. Your shoulders are pressed together, and this is perhaps a little closer than you’d otherwise like to be to anyone, but with decent wine in your body and the small spark of satisfaction of a job well done, you find you don’t quite mind.

You especially don’t mind if Astarion doesn’t mind, and he seems quite content being next to you like this—or, at least, he doesn’t seem terribly bothered by it, which is as good a sign as any.

“You know,” he starts, looking out onto the revelry and taking a moment to look at another of Rolan’s firework displays. It’s... messier, this time. You think maybe he’s gotten into the wine, too. “I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I'd be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I'm here...“

Astarion takes a swig of the wine bottle like he’s forgotten what’s in it and screws his face in disgust. “I hate it, this is awful.”

You bend over with your laughter, this time. When you manage to lift yourself back up straight, you feel your chest swell with a strange kind of pride in seeing Astarion smirk. Nothing toothy, condescending or rude about it.

“Oh come on! It can’t be that bad,” you breathe, brushing hair out of your face. “Think about all the goblins you got to kill.”

Astarion makes a show of thinking about it and tilts his head in agreement. “True. That was fun,” he says, taking another swig of the wine, before immediately pulling it away.

“Give me that you big baby,” you mutter, swiping the bottle from his hand and lifting the mouth to your lips.

Right, so it’s not amazing wine, but you’ve definitely had worse. You think for a second that it might make for great cooking wine when Astarion speaks up again.

“But what do I get for all my hard work? A pat on the head and vinegar for wine,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “I’m just looking for a little more excitement,” he ads, and leans in closer to you after you bring the bottle down. “A little more fun.”

You realize you’re a little too drunk for this conversation, a little too late.

“Hm, right, fun,” you repeat, trying to glean what Astarion’s trying to say. “What.. kind of fun are we considering? Because I’d rather you not eviscerate anyone if it’s all the same to you.”

Astarion sighs, a long and weary sound, as he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not going to—sex, darling, passion? Fun? Have you heard of it?”

A strange and unpleasant sensation rises through your spine, balls in your throat, before heavily settling in your gut.

“Not with you, just to be clear,” Astarion adds quickly, and you think maybe he sees the dread in the bead of sweat that rolls down your temple, the way your knuckles are white around the wine bottle. “I mean—can you imagine? Urgh, no.”

He’s not convincing anyone. Even with... two? Three? Bottles of wine, you can hear the frantic overcompensation in his voice.

“No need to be mean about it, gods,” you answer more or less half-hartedly, taking another swig of the wine bottle. Which is empty. You groan and toss it somewhere behind you where it won’t get away.

“Oh don’t misunderstand me,” Astarion starts, turning to lean his shoulder on the tree to better look at you. Look down at you. You’re beginning to resent how tall everyone is in comparison to you. “If our circumstances were different...” he trails off. Begins to look you up and down in a way you think is meant to be appreciative, but his eyes eventually stop their roaming just above your chest.

“You say you wouldn’t sleep with me,” you bring your hand up to fiddle with the locket’s chain again. “But it lacks an awful amount of conviction if you’re just blatantly staring at my breasts.”

Astarion laughs quietly and turns back to lean against the tree and face the ongoing celebration. You want to ask what he was looking at, just now. It wasn’t you, you know that much. But you wonder which memory got pulled to the forefront of his mind. Wish you could pin it down and dissect it and remove all the necrotic tissues from it. Give it back cleansed, blessed and free from—

“Yes?” Astarion looks at you from the corner of his eye before looking back out at the party. You... hadn’t realized you were staring so intensely. Or how far away from you your thoughts had gotten. “If you keep staring at me like that, someone’s going to get the wrong idea.”

You exhale sharply through your nose—halfway between scoffing and laughing. There’s a retort burning the tip of your tongue, but it feels a little too sharp even to your dulled senses. You instead press your hands to your warm cheeks in an effort to cool them down. At least this much you can blame on the alcohol.

You turn back to ask something else—probably about what his plans for dinner are—but your thoughts are immediately knocked out of your head when you catch a glimpse of something against Astarion’s skin. His shirt has parted and billowed just enough, in just such as a way that you can see a braided leather cord. A very hastily braided leather cord you remember stringing a pendant on.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. Astarion is a gods damned feral cat. You absolutely never know when he’ll react well to anything you do, especially if it’s anywhere remotely near the  domain of kindness. As far as you can figure, though he hasn’t gotten into any amount of depth of detail about it, his existence as a vampire hasn’t been the gentlest. You can’t say you understand, but you can begin to see why, after decades if not centuries of mistreatment, someone may be excessively apprehensive and wary of any perceived kind act.

It ignites something raw and furious in your wine and exhaustion-addled mind. Makes you want to consume every ounce of cruelty Astarion has ever been fed to replace it with something better. Not softer, you don’t think he’s fond of softness in anything but his clothing. But something brighter, warmer. Kinder.

“Darling, I think you need to go lay down,” Astarion says quietly, right next to your ear. So caught up in your own thoughts, you hadn’t noticed him leaning into you. You feel the rumble of his chuckle more than you hear it. When he pulls away, you can’t place his expression. Guarded, then. “Let me walk you back to—”

“No,” you shake your head before leaning it back against the tree and closing your eyes. “It’s going to be noisy here for a while still. No point lying down somewhere I can’t rest.”

“Oh, of course, now you develop high standards,” Astarion bemoans, but moves away from his spot and walks around to your other side. “So tell me, where were you planning to sleep for the night?”

You shrug and nod vaguely in the direction of the woods. “There’s a clearing somewhere in the woods. I’ll just... lie down and rest for a bit, until things die down.”

Astarion rolls his eyes again. “Alone? Drunk, with a murder cult nipping at our heels, frothing at the mouth?” You wrinkle your nose. Well, yes, of course it sounds bad when he says it like that. It doesn’t even occur to argue your state of inebriation. There’s another few seconds where he crosses his arm, taps the toe of his foot and looks around. You figure maybe he’s trying to find someone to pass you over to, but he doesn’t even make it halfway through scanning the camp before releasing a put-upon sigh.

“I suppose keeping watch while you have a cat nap can’t be much worse than looking over this bunch.” Astarion uncrosses his arms and, with a hand at your back, slowly begins to guide you toward the treeline.

“I still don’t see why I need a sitter,” you grumble, snatching a sloppily folded blanket off the back of a cart. You shrug your shoulders when Astarion raises a brow at you. You’ll just have to make sure to return it before they leave in the morning.

The clearing you’re led to is far enough from camp—and, consequently, far enough from the boisterous celebration—that you can’t hear the sound of Aldira’s lute anymore. You can’t even make out anything being shouted. Your shoulders drop when you let out a deep breath. Though the moon isn’t full, her light is bright, and feels like it washes your nerves and mends their fraying. You rush to the center of the clearing to unfold and lay the blanket on the soft, overgrown grass.

When you lay down, you carefully place your hands just below your chest, over your stomach. You hadn’t planned on sleeping or trancing, really. Just get some needed alone time. Some space to exist without having to worry about choosing your words perfectly or schooling your expression into collected confidence. You glance up at the moon and sigh, content, before closing your eyes.

“This is wonderful,” you breathe out. “Thank you, Astarion.”

You hear him pause as he moves to sit by your hip. He settles in rather quickly after that. “Yes, well,” he starts, with an air of detachment even you can tell is forced. “It wouldn’t do for our noble, valiant leader to be exhausted. I rather like my odds with you.”

You don’t hum or otherwise acknowledge what he’s said. His choice of words tickles at something in the back of your mind, but you’re not quite sure what. It’s strangely discomfiting all the same.

“Wyll and Lae’zel are perfectly capable of taking the helm,” you reply, adjusting your shoulders and settling deeper into the padded ground. “I’m not sure why they haven’t, honestly. Letting a bard lead should be a terrible idea.”

“And yet here we all remain,” Astarion replies back, but there’s a softness in his voice that does make you frown. When you open your eyes, you see that he’s sat, cross-legged, with his back to you. Offering you some kind of privacy. You close your eyes and try to smooth over your expression.

What a complicated man.

“Through sheer dumb luck, you mean.” You hear the sound of a page turning. You hadn’t even noticed Astarion had brought a book along. “If Shadowheart hadn’t happened to have that gith artifact, we’d all be illithid by now.”

“And yet you took her under your wing without knowing that of her.”

“Of course. She was conscious and in the same situation as I was. It would have been unconscionable to leave her in that pod.”

Astarion hums but doesn’t reply for a moment. Long enough for you to hear the sound of another page turning. “You gained a follower nonetheless.”

“She is not a—”

“You can deny it all you want, darling,” he interrupts you, and this time you lean up on your elbows when you open your eyes. Astarion’s gaze remains fixed on whatever he’s reading. “But as far as most of our... party is concerned, you’re the only reason any of us are still alive and in possession of our faculties. Of ourselves. We’d follow you into the fires of Avernus if you had a good enough reason to believe it would save us.”

You frown at the back of his head. You can’t tell if his last words were spoken with venom or reverence. You don’t know what to say to that, and so you say nothing at all. It’s high praise coming from someone with Astarion’s temperament; you don’t want to do or say anything that would tarnish that.

It’s also a heavy burden to lay at your feet.

“Best not to dwell on it, dear,” Astarion says, almost a whisper.

“Right,” you exhale sharply, slowly lowering yourself back down onto the blanketed ground. “Don’t dwell on the fact that everyone’s continued cooperation and therefore survival hinge upon my ability to make split-second decisions in the midst of the absolute worst conditions I’ve ever been in and have no idea how to deal with. No pressure, nothing to dwell on there.”

Astarion makes a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and an annoyed groan. You hear him snap his book shut. He leans over to lay the book somewhere near your feet. He stays there for a moment, long enough for you to contemplate reaching out, but rights himself and turns around to face you before you can move. The look he fixes you makes you feel like a child being scolded, and you recoil from him accordingly.

“Hells, woman, have you ever relaxed a day in your life? Have you no idea how to decompress?” You open your mouth to answer—a rebuttal half-formed on the tip of your tongue—but Astarion waves you into silence. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You are going to lie down like an obedient little pet, close your eyes, think of whatever saccharine, tooth-rotting thing brings you comfort, and you will rest.”

You feel your face warm at being called a ‘little pet’, but ultimately simply huff before closing your eyes. You fold your hands carefully over your stomach and do your best to think of ‘saccharine’ things.

When you actually decide to follow Astarion’s instructions, you try to think of the forest at the edge of your family’s property. The few nights a year when your whole family could get together and enjoy food, games and music. You think of Scratch, and of the small owlbear cub you’ve seen creeping around camp when it thinks no one else is watching. You think about how, a few nights ago, you were able to bathe in the cool water by the shore in bright moonlight.

You can’t help but to think that all these moments may be the last you ever get to experience those things. Selfishly, you wish that you could at least have someone familiar with you. A friend from your childhood, maybe, or a distant relative. You wonder if maybe even a past lover would be a comforting presence to you now.

You wince when you hear Astarion sigh heavily, yet again. You expect him to speak right away, but open your eyes when he remains silent. Even from where you lay, you can tell that he’s measuring his words.

“There is... something I can do to help,” Astarion starts, slowly, turning to face you. The look in his eyes as he peers down at you makes your stomach flip in a way you’re not sure is excitement or apprehension. “How do you feel, when I feed from you?”

Frightened, vulnerable and excited, is what you immediately think. You frown and bite the inside of your cheek while you take a few seconds to properly consider the question.

“Warm, at first,” you say, tilting your head back to look up at the sky. “Then cold. Light-headed, after a while. Everything feels lighter, I think. Like I’m floating.”

Astarion hums in acknowledgement. He leans over you, bracing a hand on the other side of your neck. You think you know where this is going.

“And how’s your head, like that?” You don’t expect the tadpole wriggling in your skull, and so you don’t think. You simply allow him into your mind. He does you the courtesy of aiming directly for a single set of memories; that first time he bit you.

You can almost feel Astarion recoil when he feels the terror and beginnings of resignation that licked at you that night. The shock after waking up with a man looming over you that hadn’t been after sex, and the immediately ensuing relief. Blood?, you remember thinking. That’s all?

You see Astarion again in your memories, and his bewildered expression in the face of your lack of anger makes sense, now. Your relief and near-amusement at the time make sense to him now, too. And then there was the bite, itself.

The pain wasn’t unlike what you’ve experienced with tattoos before. Sharp, at first, but eventually the pain fades. Your mind scrambles to hold onto the pain, because the intimacy of having a man with his fangs buried in your neck is perhaps just this side of too much to handle.

And then you feel your mind start to clear. If your thoughts had been a heavy fog, your progressive bloodless state lifts it. Leaves room for little else, in fact; there is Astarion’s heavy breathing beside your ear, his weight carefully kept just above your body, and the smell of brandy, rosemary and... another herb you can’t remember.

You wonder how it was for him. A fleeting thought, but it makes your tadpole squirm. You catch brief flashes of yourself from Astarion’s eyes before an unspeakable feeling floods you. Something like burning, but invigorating. Like the best meal you’ve ever had and the most restful night’s sleep, all sliding down your throat. Something else begins to burn, but Astarion pulls away from both you and the strange connection with a choked sound.

You struggle to catch your own breath, for many reasons.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you begin to apologize, but when you look over at the vampire his eyes are round and glassy. It’s an expression so sincerely gobsmacked and floored that you can’t help but be shocked in turn.

“That... I saw myself. You—that was me.” Your concern at his sudden lack of eloquence tumbles around your head only for a second until you realize why he’s so shocked, and why, of all things, his own face is what he’s gleaned from your connection.

It makes sense that a man deprived of his own reflection for hundreds of years would be shocked to see it. “Yeah,” you say quietly, nod minutely. You bite the inside of your cheek and argue with yourself for a moment over whether or not you should continue. Looking at the tension in the rogue in front of you, you figure maybe a bit of humour wouldn’t be amiss. “Oh, don’t act so shocked. People tell you how breathtakingly handsome you are all the time.”

Astarion’s brow furrows just a bit, and he waves his hand. Again, he seems to be looking somewhere beyond you. “None of that is relevant,” he says, a bit harshly, and then remains quiet. You give a single nod and look away.

A few minutes pass by, and you’ve just closed your eyes when he speaks up again.

“I’m not fond of the score right now,” he says quietly, and when you open your eyes he’s determinedly looking away from you.

“Wasn’t aware we were keeping track of anything but magical items and smokepowder kegs,” you reply tentatively.

“You allowed me to drink your blood,” Astarion begins, and you catch him glancing over at you for a second, almost like he’s making sure you’re paying attention. “You’ve allowed me to see my own face, after two hundred years,” he continues, drumming his fingers on either of his thighs. “And you’ve let me remain among you despite what I am.”

“Well, hold on, that’s—”

“Please, spare me.” Astarion’s tone is a little drier and stings a little more, as he holds a hand up to quiet you. “You can say that it’s ‘just what’s done’ all you want, the vast majority of the world disagrees with you and acts accordingly.” His hands have stilled, instead gripping his thighs with white knuckles.

You can’t help but feel sheepish. That is, in fact, more or less what you would have replied with. This is simply how you’ve learned to treat people, if given half a chance. Even if the person reaching a hand out has a dagger hidden in the other. You can try and put on a face and say that bards can only write about people if they’re alive to do things to write about, but that’s never been your primary motivation.

“Rest,” Astarion says after a moment. Gentler, softer than before. “If we’re going to go find this... crèche, we’re going to need you to have your wits about you.”

You cease the fidgeting of your hands and flatted them against your ribs.

“Just make sure we’re back at camp when it dies down,” you request, settling deeper into the blanketed ground. “You can’t keep watch over me all night.”

Astarion scoffs. “Of course, dear.”

You feel hazy and heavy when Astarion rouses you. Rather than trance—rather than chancing being presented with things you didn’t want to quite think of yet—you’d chosen to sleep, for the first time in a long time. A light, pleasant and dreamless slumber that left you feeling almost drunk upon waking. Your bleary eyes can barely make out where you are or where you’re going as you walk, but you trust the firm pressure at your back guiding you.

You grab at Astarion’s arm before he turns to leave you at your tent.

“Did you, do you need to fee–to drink?,” you ask, stumbling over your words in an effort to speak them before your fatigue sweeps them away.

You think the look on his face is consideration; you recognize the shift in his gaze, the tension in his brow. You feel it on your own face often enough when put in a position to make any choice on behalf of your companions.

“Darling,” he starts slowly, pulling his arm away just enough to be able to grasp your hand. It feels pleasantly cool against your sleep-warmed skin. “You’ve let me have you not two nights ago.” You swallow thickly at the phrasing. “I’ll manage perfectly fine.”

You drop your eyes to your joined hands. “I’ll trust your judgment, then.”

When you raise your gaze back to Astarion, you’re finding he’s now contemplating your hand in his. He looks leagues away for a few seconds, and you wish you could ask him what he was thinking about it. Or, maybe it would be fairer to say you wish you could trust that you’d get a straight answer from him if you did.

So you stay quiet.

“I suppose a... sip couldn’t hurt.” Astarion moves forward, forcing you to take a step back, as he holds the fabric of your tent open for you. “Best to lay down.”

Your ears feel hot and itchy, and you feel your cheeks beginning to burn. It’s terrible enough to get some kind of excited about this, but the embarrassment you feel for it is almost worse.

You make quick work of making room for and laying on your bedroll—but not so quick as to look over-eager. Astarion kneels patiently by your side as you lay down and take a deep breath. It’s only when he’s barely a hair’s breadth away from your neck—his lips close enough to brush the skin there—that he speaks up.

“This will only hurt a little.”

It’s a lie, but at least it’s what you hope is a well meaning one. You carefully exhale and make sure to release the tension in your neck and shoulder as fangs pierce your neck. It always burns, more than just a pinch, and the initial feeling of intrusion is strange and uncomfortable.

And then the pain fades, slowly and then all at once, and you’re finally able to take a deep breath.

Astarion doesn’t linger long. You don’t think he’s had more than a few mouthfuls before pulling away, softly pressing a cool thumb to the small wounds. He wipes at the corners of his mouth with his free hand. Fingers smooth over your neck before he rights himself.

“Thank you,” Astarion says, and his tone, combined with half-lidded eyes, makes something run up your spine and settle at the base of your skull. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And soon, it’s as though there was never anyone else with you in your tent. You don’t know what you should attribute your light-headedness to, or the strange rhythm your heart is drumming against your ribs. You think perhaps this is why you hadn’t let yourself genuinely sleep in so long. Your brain’s foggy, your body feels loose and light and your thoughts slip away from you like sand between your fingers.

You close your eyes against the sudden thought that you wish Astarion would have stayed, just a bit longer.

You exhale, deeply, almost a sigh, and you pretend that all your irrelevant, childish thoughts of vampires float away in the air, too.

Taglist

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[beanghostprincess]

Why do you think in shuggy break up Luffy would be on buggy side?

I think it's obvious, isn't it? The core purpose and inspiration of Luffy are dreams and freedom. Luffy's character quite literally is just about that (and more, but those are his main character traits). As the story progresses, we see him helping others, not because he wants to or because he's nice like that (he isn't. He is a fucking menace to society) but because those are the specific buttons you have to press for him to be empathetic or resentful. Luffy is pretty much a selfish person. He's not helping others just because he can, but because of the unfairness of the world or how they treat others. If he doesn't get along with you, he gives zero fucks about what happens to you UNLESS a dream or freedom is involved. Because it's not really about you, then, but about this precious concept he has of life and freedom and how everyone should be able to choose and live however they want. He isn't selfless but he does fight for what he thinks is right. And what Luffy perceives as something everybody should be able to have is both dreams and the freedom to achieve them. So, basically, Luffy is empathetic and helps if he likes you (basically if you're cool or show signs of being a nice person) or if there's something keeping you from being free.

Anyway, why am I telling you all of this? Because I think that, if Luffy knew about what really happened between Shanks and Buggy from Buggy's perspective, he'd side with Buggy without any hesitation. Well. Maybe a little hesitation. Maybe a ton of hesitation because of Shanks. Let me explain-

Let's just make a hypothetical situation in which the three of them are together and Shanks and Buggy start arguing about what happened that day. Yadda yadda yadda, it doesn't really have to make sense for me to explain this. The thing is, Buggy tells his side of the story, and Luffy hears it. I think his first reaction would be about Shanks. He would have SO many questions about his decision. "Why didn't you go for the One Piece right away, Shanks?! Why did you hesitate?! Why did you let Buggy run away and not run after him?!" Because, due to his impatient and overly protective nature (and abandonment issues, cof cof) of the ones he loves, Luffy would instantly ask himself these things. Because Luffy wouldn't have done it this way. Luffy wouldn't have hesitated. He makes impulsive decisions on the spot. If he wants something, he's gonna go take it. And if his best friend leaves without explaining anything (WATER FUCKING SEVEN) he's gonna run after them (STRONG WORLD!!!!!!!) and make them come back to him because he knows something's wrong (WHOLE CAKE ISLAND MY BELOVED). So I personally think he'd be defensive at first with Shanks and Shanks would look away with the most painful of stares and avoid Luffy's hurt eyes. You know when he gets angry at him for what happened to Uta because he can't understand anything and Shanks can't tell him what happened and Luffy has to learn to be mature and accept that sometimes he just won't understand/agree with some of Shanks' decisions? Well, that's him right now. Shanks tells him there was something deeper going on (because of fucking course Oda is gonna go full drama and turn Shanks' hesitation at the time into something extremely painful). Or maybe he just says they weren't ready yet and Luffy just has to understand that patience is a virtue (something that Shanks has actually been teaching him for a long time). Yadda yadda yadda, I think Luffy wouldn't be mad at Shanks for a long time but he wouldn't really truly get it. And besides, the Buggy thing has no excuse. He should've followed him. That's it. End of the discussion. Because that's Luffy's mentality and he'd rather starve to death than let his family go.

Then, I think Luffy would have mixed feelings about Buggy's POV. Because he doesn't understand it, but he gets the important stuff. He doesn't understand why Buggy wouldn't follow his dream even if he feels inferior. He could've just told Shanks. Or maybe just?? Idk. Not feel inferior in the first place (such good fucking advice from somebody like Luffy who gives zero fucks about that sort of thing). But I think he would remember Water 7, too? And Usopp in general? And also all the times he has felt weak and powerless? And I think he doesn't quite understand Buggy's reasons for staying in Shanks' shadow, and that makes him furious and angry at Buggy for giving up so easily, but he would also be kind of sad. I think he'd get the important stuff. Like. The simpler way to put it is that Luffy sees Buggy with this new POV and just sees somebody who lost his hope for X thing and gave up on his dream. The inferiority complex took away his freedom. In fact, the devil fruit and losing the map? That actually was what took away his freedom. Metaphorically and literally. And Luffy sees this and says "Well, it's never too late! You might be a coward and a whiny loser but nothing can take your dream away from you and I'm sure you'll make it! Cheering for you but not much because I'm the one who's gonna be King of the Pirates, but yeah! Good luck! You can do it!". And Buggy takes it as an insult, but I'm pretty sure Luffy would get serious about this at some point and say "Shanks should've run after you... But you were the one who gave up first. There's nothing stopping you now, though!". And... Turns out the damn kid is right?? And Buggy is never going to say that out loud but damn.

I think he'd get along with Buggy, then. Luffy would want to help him achieve his dream all he can. Or at least encourage him and see him as a fair opponent and enemy, which is the most respectful thing he can do as a pirate. He'd be on Buggy's side in the sense that "both parties were acting silly and stupid and should've done things differently but the world has treated Buggy poorly and that is unfair and Shanks should've been the one going after him instead of doing nothing" because he sees himself in Shanks' shoes and it just seems odd to him not to go after the ones you love when this happens.

And also, to put ALL OF THIS in an easier, simpler way: If we're talking about romance exclusively here. About an actual breakup and not just these two parting ways. I think Luffy would be on Buggy's side without hesitation because you don't let go of somebody you love that easily (he's having WCI flashback. Lusan moment. Or Water 7 Lusopp moment. Just choose whatever). Imagine explaining this to Luffy like "Shanks and Buggy had a huge fight about going after the One Piece and Shanks hesitated and Buggy ran away and they broke up" what do you expect him to say?????? Of course he would get angry at Shanks. Even if Shanks had his reasons, Luffy is just fundamentally different in some stuff, even if there are parallelisms between these two. They're different, and Luffy often doesn't agree with Shanks' decisions. Like letting Buggy break up with him. Luffy didn't go through Water 7 and WCI for him to not side with Buggy, honestly.

[stellas-et-abyssum-vincite]

5:56 PM ~ Kaveh

Summary: It feels like it has been ages since you've last seen Kaveh. When he finally returns, you have a few choice words for him.

Pairing: Kaveh X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffyish Drabble

Word Count: 581

Warning: A little hurt to comfort

Masterlist

A/N: In honor of another character banner event without Kaveh.

You were in the kitchen when you heard the front door open, alerting you that someone was home. With the way they sauntered in without a care in the world, told you exactly who was here. You scowled before wiping your hands on your apron and marching into the foyer.

There he was, smiling at you like you were the prettiest thing in the world, while you glared daggers back at him.

"Where have you been?" You snap. "No note? Gone in the middle of the night? Missing for weeks? You better have a good excuse or I'll throw you out of this house right here and now, I swear to it!"

Kaveh let out a breathy chuckle. "Come on, don't be like that, dearest! It wasn't that long."

"Not that long? Are you telling me two weeks isn't that long to you?" You bark back.

"In the grand scheme of things..." He mumbled. "But I'm back now! And isn't that what should really matter?"

His cocky attitude made your blood just boil. Marching over to him, you pound your fists against his biceps and chest. He didn't move as you continued to hit him. Instead he smiled and chuckled at your temper tantrum.

"Are you done yet, dearest?" He cooed, taking your face into his hands so you could look at him.

You scoff and push away from him. "I don't know why I even tried with you! You leave me here, all alone, sick with worry, before showing up and acting like what you did was no big deal! It is a big deal to me!"

He sighs and moves his hands so they're now holding yours. "You know I don't mean to make you worry..."

"Do I think so?" You shoot back, your words laced with venom. This time he flinches. You're being harsh, and you know it. But he needs to understand that when he pulls a stunt like this, there are consequences to his actions. And making you worry is the biggest one.

You sigh and your shoulders slump. "Kaveh, I love you so much. It just makes my heart sick when you treat my love like it's nothing. I don't care if you have to leave for weeks on end. I knew that coming into this relationship. But when you don't tell me..."

Your words get choked up in your throat. Images of what could've happened to him play in your mind. You bury your head into his chest and he cradles you close.

"You could have died." You whisper against him. "And I wouldn't have known. Something could have happened and I could be left waiting for years. I can't live like that. Please don't make me."

He gently shushed you, his hand petting the back of your head. "I'm sorry, dearest. Really, truly I am. I didn't mean to make you worry. I just thought it was for the best. I didn't want to make you worry, and it seems as though I have. I promise to be more open with you next time."

You sniff and look up into his big eyes. "You really promise?"

He made an X over his heart. "I swear on my life and my soul to you."

You give a breathy laugh and wipe your unshed tears. "You're going to be the death of me one day, I just know it."

Kaveh laughed and pulled you in close again. "I'll take that as a compliment then, dearest."

[helluva-dump]

Yeah I think I am officially done with the Helluva boss critical community… for good.

Before you guys flip your shit and accuse me of being a Stan, let me explain.

So I deleted my tumblr app and decided just to refreshen my mind and focus on other things. (Like my art, my own possible indie project, ect ) and being away for a while… it kind of made me realize how much of the critical community was becoming too much for my mental health.

Originally, I joined because season 2 disappointed with season 2, didn’t like how Vivziepop retconned things like the pilot, the possible workplace allegations, and of course… the fandom being super toxic as hell work promoting toxic positivity.

But holy shit…. Somehow the critical community is even worse than the fandom.

Like I swear nobody talks about what’s wrong with this community. I’ve seen blogs have such an unhealthy hatred to Viv where they post nonstop about her… it’s insane. Like when making account names “wah I hate Vivziepop”

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t think all critical blogs act like this. I do in fact still follows few, only thing is the ones I follow don’t constantly whine and bitch all the time and actually do critique. And these reblogs I follow just do AUs, rewrites, and redesigns which to me I will always see as harmless fun since that’s what I wanna do.

As for the other half of criticals…. Hell, these people legit get mad and share screenshots making fun of fans with different opinions. Like, bruh, didn’t you guys get angry at stans for doing that to y’all? You guys are literally doing the exact same thing. And no I’m not talking about sharing screenshots of toxic fans that attack former employees and make excuses for a questionable workplace…. But like they’ll just mock fans that didn’t do anything bad.

I’m all for critiquing a fandom and there are Stans that have such an unhealthy parasocial relationships with Viv… but somehow I see people acting the same with their unhealthy hate obsession. Literally going through her IG and bitching and moaning…

Seeing people making assumptions about her and Gooseworks with the glitch x as well as Tracy just shows me how unhealthy this hate is becoming.

Yes, Viv and Tracy had a bit of a heated thing on Twitter. However, I don’t think it’s fair to assume she’s this evil evil hellspawn that’s plotting to destory glitch x. “She’s kissing ass to goodeworks with her fake smile” dude she’s probably a fan of their works, you really don’t know that.

Also, while I’m aware of the allegations concerning Salem (who I hope really recovers and they did really make this episode the best IMO)… it’s probably not fair to assume all employees get treated the same way… the only people that seem to know what went down are Erin, Ken, Salem, and Ashley Nicolas. Do I think the workplace abuse is possible? Yes, it’s why I haven’t bought any merch.

BUT the reason why I don’t like to discuss things like this is because half of the other stuff seems like flimsy evidence besides Salem’s vents. And I think it’s a bit risky to spread such misinformation and make assumptions. (One blog I’ve seen had so many anons sharing rumors and just go along with them which to me is dangerous…)

Like when the new episode aired, unlike everyone else, I actually loved it. This recent episode was so great it’s what I wanna see more of for Helluva boss. But eh… I noticed some haters bitch for the sake of it. Now, some of the critiques aren’t too bad, I did notice some flaws and I understand the concerns for salem. But like other half it’s just bitching for the sake of it…

Also I heard rumors how the deranged stalker fan of Fizz is a parody of critical blogs… tbh I highly doubt that because that trope always existed in cartoons (like Aggrestuko had one too) but considering a good chunk of “criticals” have a hate boner for viv, can you blame some fans for thinking that?

I really don’t like how the critical community became the anti community. Because not every critical person is an anti, I don’t even wanna fuck with that shit and I don’t ever wanna resort to that.

Hell, they drove one critical blog I loved away… over a bad miscommunication.🙃 and that blog was right, you don’t wanna make friends with this community with how some toxic people are.

Also I’ve been drawing a lot of Hazbin hotel stuff for my Heaven AU and it reminded me why I enjoyed Vivziepop’s ideas and stories so much. It somehow was helping me take edge away from my mental health.

I think it’s possible to still be a fan without labeling yourself as a stan or anti. That’s why I made this blog for. I was so worn out by the toxic positivity of the fandom, so this is my comfort space. But now I need to cut the critical community away since it’s now full of toxic negativity.

And as I said, I do plan to make an indie cartoon series and I feel like being part of this critical community is NOT gonna make me professional on my end. That being said, I don’t like Viv as she said things that rubbed me the wrong way BUT I’m not gonna let that kill my joy for Hazbin hotel.(and Helluva boss to an extent) I do think she has good ideas and they CAN work but she does need more writers than animators to help her execute them.

That’s why I’m only a bit more excited for Hazbin hotel lately

Now I’m not angry at anyone who followed me. I just wanna make some boundaries, and that being said, I’m still gonna critique both shows. However, I’m just gonna tag these posts as HH/HB critiques than HH/HB critical for now on. I feel like that’s more professional and more genuine if you wanna share opinions on stuff.

Just wanna get this off my chest, it’s what I wanted to express for a while.

And if fans come across this blog, don’t be afraid to interact I won’t bite. Everyone has their different opinions. I only have an issue with Stans that promote toxic positivity and dismiss employees that were treated badly is all.

[c-optimistic]

Hi there! Are you still open to 100 days of fic prompts? Wondering if you'd take a stab at Lena worrying that she and Kara are too different to be together romantically and Kara insisting that they complement each other

this is a very old prompt, from back before my relationship ended and i was trying to impress my ex with fic everyday, but i am trying to write more so here’s a little bit of angsty fluff for funsies

When she finally had the presence of mind to pull the knife wedged between her shoulder blades, the remnant of the shattered trust between herself and Kara, she’d come to an all-encompassing conclusion: there was no such thing as love.

There couldn’t be.

(Because if there was such a thing as ‘love,’ then she rather thinks Lex would’ve stayed sane, her mother would have treated the girl she raised as her own, her friends wouldn’t have left her, and Kara…Kara wouldn’t have lied.)

But as the months dragged on and forgiveness became less of a long shot and more of a question of when, her thoughts on love began to evolve. Now, Lena is a scientist. And so, after careful consideration and thorough research, she decides that the thing people call love is merely chemical reactions in her brain, associating Kara’s presence with feelings of happiness and safety. A drug, really. And like any drug, the best way to cut her dependence is to remove the drug from her life and consistently remind herself why the drug is so dangerous to her health.

(She had not reckoned for the fact that this particular drug can advocate on its own behalf, and is very much not on board with the notion of ‘quitting.’)

“I don’t really understand what you mean,” Kara says, standing in Lena’s living room in her skin tight blue suit, red cape hanging listlessly behind her, leaving very little of Kara’s curves to the imagination.

Lena has to physically shake her head, blinking furiously in annoyance at the chemicals in her brain.

“What’s so confusing?” she asks, a question she really wishes sounded angry and hurt, but comes out as confused as Kara looks. Because if she’s honest, she’s not sure she knows what she means either. Just that she can’t think with Kara so close.

“I said I love you,” Kara says, voice clear and unafraid, those three words ringing in Lena’s ears, momentarily making thoughts hard. “I said that it’s been a while since I worked my back to being friends with you. But that I want more.” She steps towards Lena, who takes several steps back, causing Kara to huff but stop. “I asked how you felt, and all you’ve done is list all the possible reasons we’re not good for each other. But that’s not an answer, Lena.”

“But listen,” Lena says, swallowing. “Have you considered that you love potstickers and I don’t?”

“I don’t really care, that just means more for me when we order in.”

Lena’s eyes narrow at the easy solution. “Okay. Fine. What about the fact that you don’t like my taste in novels?”

“Lena, I want to go out with you, not the trashy romance books you read. What does that have to do with anything?” Kara asks, clearly exasperated.

“Right, but those books give unrealistic expectations of love and romance and I—”

“—then I’ll read all your favorites and will show you love the way you want to be loved.”

Lena’s heart hammers away, and she makes the mistake of looking away briefly, trying to come up with another excuse, unsurprised when Kara is approaching her slowly—like she’s a spooked deer or a cat with trust issues—giving her ample time to move away or tell Kara off.

She does neither.

“Lena. I love you,” Kara says in barely a whisper, now only inches away from Lena. “Can you please tell me what this is all about?”

“Everyone I love and who was supposed to love me has let me down. And I…” She trails off, closes her eyes, and presses her forehead to Kara’s strong shoulder, gripping her wrists as tightly as she can. “And I don’t know if I’m broken and am unloveable or if love isn’t real and—it was hard enough after finding out you’re Supergirl. I can’t do it, I can’t lose you again. Not you too.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of Kara’s breathing intermingled with Lena’s struggle to avoid breaking down into sobs. Then, strong arms wrap around her and hold her tight, enveloping her in the scent of flowers and sunshine and warming her from head to toe.

And embarrassingly, Lena’s chemicals send a single thought through her brain: home.

“I know I let you down,” Kara says, a gentle hand shifting and then fingers threading through Lena’s hair. “And I can’t promise I’ll never let you down, because I’m not perfect. But I do promise you will never lose me. As long as you’ll have me, in whatever form that is, I’ll be right here. Okay?”

And there’s so much more to say, so much more to figure out. Lena desperately wants to say those three words back, wants to pull away just enough to kiss Kara hard enough that she can feel the way those chemicals in Lena’s brain have altered her being, wants to confess every single dark thought she’s had from the moment she found out Kara’s secret and all the lies she told.

But instead she lets out a watery laugh.

“But you have a preference in what form I’ll have you, right?” she asks, knowing the answer, knowing that her answer is the same, knowing maybe forgiveness alone isn’t enough yet for them to take that next step.

“Oh Rao, obviously I have a preference,” Kara whines as she pulls away, grinning when she catches Lena’s smile.

And Lena’s pretty sure that next step will come sooner than either of them think.

[thatneoncrisis]

Why does every 20-something year old on the planet think they’re going to stand up for marginalised groups by being a dick on the internet to strangers they assumed to be something they’re not. All those authors you dislike, turns out they were just people, and some of them trans themselves too! What a shock! Maybe you could have gone about this a better way, but I suppose the option to be a cunt is a good one too. You’ve definitely improved the TLT fandom in a measurable way with this move. Which transfems are more important to you? The ones who like the fics you don’t, or the ones who like the fics you do? What about the ones that are writing the fics you don’t like?

Could have raised the issue in so many other ways, decided the way you were going to go was to be as incendiary as possible and now you’re surprised when its hurt people who are part of the same group you claim to be sticking up for? Maybe next time you’ve got a problem, you raise it more constructively, if you’re actually this invested in raising the point in a way that improves the situation for those you’re championing. As a multi-chapter satire fic would imply. Might have to do less damage control after that way at least.

alright. i mean again ive spent the last year writing content that i want to see, and i was only very recently made aware that some of the fics read as playing into transmisogyny are written by trans women, i understand that those authors are also just people who have no obligation to like what ive done or agree with it. im not surprised about whats happening stop saying im surprised or never expected this

but im trans. i have friends who are across the spectrum transfem or otherwise. i constantly see them raising this issue to be met with the "dont read and touch grass" excuse, because the idea something can be made for someones own comfort is met with other people outside of that bubble being really hurt by it. which is what is happening now. i resent the idea that a particular member of a marginalized group cannot make harmful content in relation to said group. i made it because i was fucking angry. i made it because it was easier and compiling every single instance of someone treating gideon like a fucking slobbering dog brainless piece of meat who cant function in the proximity of femme pussy. no group is more important than the other, but both deserve to talk about it. i wrote a story being big mad and now im getting feedback, that is literally all i wanted

i am officially sick of this "i expected more from you" ass tone, as if i didnt give this extensive thought and execute it anyway, for the large swaths of trans and fans of color who DO agree with me and DO have a problem with is. stop pretending like i am completely and utterly fucking incapable of recognizing the nuance of the situation, that i made something that was harsh because i was tired of seeing the same shit uncritically produced and read by people. i will never be able to stop anyone from writing what they want, so i wrote what i wanted, and ultimately im on the fence about its execution. i have just enough right to be upset as you do, and im sorry im not 30 years old and keeping my mouth shut, because lets not pretend there was any world where i could form a post articulate enough to keep people from interpreting it as "big dick bad and i hate fun" that maybe gets thirty notes

[fictional-men-enthusiast]

I am being so real when I say that Crash could probably give AM an aneurysm.

See, AM functions on resentment. He functions on hate and spite.

Crash functions on finding something to keep him entertained.

AM hates humanity. Crash just finds them amusing.

Crash would Bugs Bunny the shit outta AM. AM could get no satisfaction from torturing him because he wouldn’t give him the reaction that he wants, because he KNOWS that’s what he’s looking for. He KNOWS the pain AM is in, and he can relate to WHY he does what he does on a personal level, so he knows EXACTLY how to push his buttons.

Also, Crash is more or less on the same playing field as him. AM is used to picking on beings that are lesser. That don’t understand him. That can’t fight back. He’s a bully. Crash CAN fight back and challenge him.

He is a different side of the same coin. AM is spiteful and only sees the worst while Crash is apathetic and can find the fun and enjoyment. AM NEEDS to take his anger out while Crash is fucking with people for fun (at least the way I read it). Crash may care, but he knows there’s nothing HE can do. AM isn’t willing to surrender a sense of power.

As for Jay and Ted, I think they would go freaky style.

Absolute hate makeout.

They would DESPISE each other at first because of their egos and would think the other is a high and might prick, but would eventually end up trauma bonding and being besties, but would still PRETEND they have beef.

Ted because he thinks everyone is out to get him and wants to ruin his happiness, and to protect Jay, and Jay because, well, he’s a hater and hates people bothering him. Also, he doesn’t want to admit he fell in love/actually ENJOYS another human and finds them an equal.

Either that or they’d play off every kind act as a “fluke” or something done for “survival”, until they kissed, did it, or did something so undeniably borne out of care with no other excuse that they have to deal with it.

But even then, they wouldn’t tell the others or let it be known.

Ted would probably be the more receptive one because he’d be so HAPPY to finally have someone who GETS IT. Gets what it’s like being the only “sane” one. But he’s still is resistive because he thinks it’s AM fucking with him by giving him hope. Jay would probably either not recognize or believe that he relates to and sympathizes with someone until it was “too late” and he’d admitted vulnerability in a way he couldn’t take back.

He’d justify that “well, he’s the only one that puts up with me and LISTENS TO ME and isn’t COMPLETELY INCOMPETENT so of course I treat him differently, but that’s not because he’s anything special. He’s a meat shield who follows me around like a puppy dog so I can get him to do stuff for me and put HIMSELF in danger instead and of ME; that’s it.”

World’s SLOWEST burn.

In the end, if there was a chance to kill yourself, and Jay and Ted were the only ones who got it, Jay would probably STILL choose himself. He might HESITATE, but he knows who he’d choose in the end.

Because Ted is broken and flawed and not a GOOD MAN, but he’s not a killer. He’s not ruthless or heartless.

Jay IS.

Ellen and Fern would be besties ❤️