#i actually think it would make them so much worse

[mycroftrh]

There’s a post floating around about how Zuko not telling the Gaang how he got his scar reflects him “taking accountability” for his actions, instead of manipulating them by guilt-tripping them and placing responsibility onto Ozai, his adult abuser.

There are some replies to it pointing out that in general Zuko tends to not be manipulative (or lie) even when it would serve him, and explanations offered for this ranging from the Watsonian (largely “he’s autistic” and variants thereupon) to the Doylist (“he’s being narratively contrasted with very manipulative Azula”). Some other comments about him not wanting to share private trauma with people he doesn’t know well.

But in this particular case I don’t actually think it’s any of that, really, from Zuko’s point of view, because the most fundamental thing of it is that he’s an abused kid.

People don’t tend to appreciate how much growing up surrounded by the language of abuse, and/or in a culture of abuse (as Zuko was - dozens of people saw Ozai burn him, and none objected), affects you. It’s not just about the trauma directly. It’s about being forcibly taught that this is normal and deserved to the degree that you genuinely don’t realize most of the world doesn’t.

It’s about casually mentioning things about your childhood and everyone responding with shock and horror, and you being confused, because you had no idea that was yet another thing about your life that wasn’t normal. It’s about how you eventually realize you just can’t talk about the first couple decades of your life at all without being accused of trauma-dumping and guilt-tripping and manipulation, being punished again for failing to protect others from the discomfort of hearing second-hand about something you had to live through with a child’s body.

And the thing is? Zuko isn’t at that last sentence’s point yet, when we see him with the Gaang. He’s before that, at the “does not yet realize this isn’t normal” point. We know this, because of how he responds to Iroh at the end: kneeling in front of him waiting for punishment. He doesn’t think abuse is abnormal; he thinks it’s a natural and deserved response to his poor behavior, so thoroughly that he believes even Iroh would do it. All the way to the end of the show! (After he’s had any opportunity to say anything to the Gaang!)

Whether he would choose to explain his scar to the Gaang if he knew it would make them like/forgive him is a moot point. He had no idea that it would. With his frame of reference, he assumed their reactions would be somewhere in the range of “yeah, why are you whining about something that normal and mundane, I don’t bore you with stories of how Gyatso used airbending to punish me” to “dang, how badly did you fuck up to deserve that? you must be even worse a person than we realized” to “he went easy on you and should’ve done worse”.

It would never occur to him to share the scar story to get the Gaang to like/forgive him, because he has no way to know that they would react with shock and horror instead of dismissal or putting even more blame on him.

[theladyregret]

I think people underestimate how many things we consider just normal aspects of life that this will affect the same way.

I saw a report on a bicycle manufacturer who said if they had to make them from parts only created in the U.S. it would raise the price of your average bike from $100 to $1,000. That they can’t even imagine trying to run a business that way because it would never work.

ALL manufacturing is dependent on the exploitation of labor workers without labor protections at this point. Not just fancy tech. The tariffs are making it so companies can’t order parts from…anywhere really. They order from another country and they have to absorb ALL the combined fees, they don’t import and the parts are so expensive they’d be forced to operate at huge losses that are even worse.

Potential buyers aren’t being paid to match this huge jump in inflation so they’re not going to be able to buy even if they wanted to. So it’s basically telling businesses to go bankrupt with no means of avoiding it.

It’s a lose lose situation with no clear solution with the way things have been designed to work.

Though obviously not his intent it is interesting to me that Trumps actions has put such a spotlight on how very dependent the world economy has become on the exploitation of slave labor.

…but also…very much why people being “deported” are actually just being sent to prisons…the only place where slavery is legal in the USA.

Coincidence? I think not.

It seems that your cheap phones are not a god given right but actually a luxury sustained by imperialist inequality after all. Mirá vos.

[mallory524]

Oh oh, can I request a sort of alternate ending to the kidnapping headcanons with each of the Thunderbolts where, when they are about to break into the building reader is trapped in, reader appears behind them all bloody and bruised, making them jump and her saying, “Did you guys come to save me? Aww, that’s so sweet, I feel so loved right now!!”

(OMG YES This is sweet and fun I love it)

the thunderbolts come to save you, but you've already handled it yourself

pictures from pinterest

tags- she/her used, mostly just silly and fluffy, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of blood and fighting and minor injuries, some language

Yelena

Yelena knows that you’re tough, but she doesn’t expect you to be able to get yourself out of this one. The group gets to where you’re being held, and you’re just sitting on the ground, with your back up against the doorway. You look like hell, but you’re free. This is not what Yelena had imagined. She thought she’d have to free you herself and toss you over her shoulder or something. She couldn’t be more happy to see that she was wrong about your state. “Oh, hey, guys! This is awfully sweet of you to all come out here. This is a long ways away from the city,” you say as you manage to get back up on your feet. Yelena looks at you, amazed, and runs up to hug you and kiss your temple. Walker mutters to Ava, “At this point we could’ve just called her an Uber.”

Bucky

Bucky did not want to think about what could be happening to you. He’s seen a lot of pain and hurt in his day, so he knows firsthand how ugly these situations can get. Luckily, it never got as bad as it could’ve, because you actually broke yourself out. Bucky did not expect to find you already fighting off your captors on your own when he arrived with the whole team. Bucky wants to help, of course. He gets one punch in. You thank him, like you haven’t just knocked out every other person on your own. “I was just about to look for where they hid my phone so I could call you to give me a ride home, but it looks like I didn’t even need to call! You guys are the best,” you say, as if you’d just been stranded at the airport. Bucky’s never been so proud.

Ava

The fact that the search for you was dragging on for days was only making Ava’s nerves worse. Leaving you in danger for so long made her feel so horrible, and sometimes she’d wonder if it was possible that you’d escaped on your own. She figured it was too much to hope for, but it made her feel a little better. Besides, it wasn’t too far out of the realm of possibility. She’d imagine finally reaching your location, and the people who were supposed to be guarding you would all be just as clueless about your whereabouts as she was. She never considered that they’d all be unconscious on the ground when she got there. “Ava!!” she hears you yell from behind. She spins around and sees you jogging (with a slight limp) down the hall to reach her. She’s astonished. “Aww you guys! Thanks for coming. That means a lot.” After that remarkably chill response, Ava looks at you like you’ve never been so beautiful and cool in her eyes before, and that’s saying something.

John

John was terrified the whole time you were missing. All day long, he panicked and thought about all the horrible things that could be happening to you at any given moment. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he led the whole search, and he was ready to do whatever to took to get to you. You can only imagine his surprise when you run out and cut his destructive rampage short. He keeps standing there and looking at you because this is not computing. You're just standing there with your hands on your hips, your clothes all tattered, with bruises and cuts all over you. You're clearly exhausted, but you manage a little smirk. "Awww, Walker! Were you worried about me?" He just tosses his silly folded shield to the ground and pulls you into a tight hug. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." He doesn't even put up a fight when you reach out to affectionately ruffle his hair or pinch his cheek like a grandma. He's just so happy you're safe.

Alexei

When Alexei gets there and realizes you’ve already broken yourself out, he is so shocked. Then he thinks about it for a moment, and he doesn’t know why he’s even surprised. Of course you solved this on your own! You’re such a badass. You always have been. It’s one of the first things he noticed about you, and it’s what initially drew him to you. He feels like he should’ve had more faith in you, but now’s not the time for that. Now’s the time to celebrate the fact that you’re safe. He lets out a loud, jovial laugh and wraps his arms around you, telling you over and over again how proud he is of you while wiping some blood from your forehead. Somehow, you always manage to surprise him. Everyone is thrilled that you’re back, but Alexei is absolutely beaming with pride and relief for the rest of the night.

Bob

Part of why the team originally didn’t want Bob to go on the rescue mission, besides the Void stuff, was because they didn’t know what kind of state you’d be in. Bob’s very new to this line of work, and they know how much you mean to him, so they thought it might be too much for him to handle if he ended up having to see you seriously hurt. Luckily that didn’t happen. Before they have the chance to break the door down, you walk out from the other side of the building, waving your arms. “Hey! I’m right here!” Bob rushes to hug you, and it’s so tight that all your words are kind of muffled. “Guys I got the whole search party? This is actually really flattering.” Bob pulls away after a while and he’s immediately worried again when he sees the bruising all over you. You make a “You should see the other guy” joke, but everyone knows you’re not kidding. They really don’t want to see the other guy.

[writtendaydreamm]

Three Nights Ago

Summary: Langdon has had enough of the silent treatment and confronts Y/n about it

Author’s Note: Based on this submission. I don’t think I’ve really written much angst, but I tried my best lol. Working on a part two, hopefully a resolution between them, but we’ll see! Let me know your thoughts!

Y/n hadn’t spoken to Langdon since that night.

At first, he thought maybe she just needed some space, some time to think. Then she came in to work this morning without so much as a glance in his direction, and he knew it was more than that.

She was purposefully avoiding him.

He could only assume it was because of what he said.

Part of him regretted saying it. After all, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it, right? And what he and Y/n had wasn’t broke at all. Quite the opposite. The no-labels, friends-with-benefits, situationship they had going on worked for them. He couldn’t complain. Things were good the way they were.

And still, the thought that things could be better than just good constantly lingered in the back of his mind. It would be a lie to say he didn’t want more. He’d wanted more for a while. Out of fear he’d fuck things up, he never voiced those thoughts out loud, keeping them strcitly to himself.

At least up until that night, that is.

Utterly content, limbs tangled with hers under the sheets, drunk off the feeling of finishing inside of her slick warmth, the thought slipped past his lips before he had a chance to stop himself.

“We should give this another shot.”

It’s not like they were far off from being a couple as it was. He still had a copy of a key to her place, she still had one to his. A half-used bottle of that expensive shampoo she used sat in his bathroom cabinet. A few bottles of his favorite beer were stocked in the back of her fridge.

They’d been doing this dance on-and-off for years now. Never able to call it quits but never able to commit to making it work either. The first time they tried, they had jumped in too passionately, too hastily, too early on in their careers. Like a meteor, they burnt out and crashed at a devastating speed. Then she had met someone else. And then so had he. Needless to say, neither of those exploits lasted very long — none of them ever did. Anyone they tried to see or sleep with was only ever a fleeting moment of sobriety from their all-consuming addiction to one another.

Things were different now though. They were older. More mature. Nearly done with residency. It could work this time. He really believed that.

Of course, she didn’t give him a clear answer that night. Not that he expected one right then. It was a loaded suggestion. He knew that.

He did expect them to talk about it at some point though. It wasn’t his intention to open that door, but it was open now and he needed to know if she was going to walk through it with him or close it in his face.

Three days have passed. Not only had they not discussed that particular topic again, but they hadn’t discussed anything at all since then.

Leaving his texts on read. Not returning his calls. She’d even gone as far as trading shifts with one of the mid-shift residents the last two days all to avoid being around him.

It was worse than outright rejection and he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Tempted to show up to her apartment last night and confront her, he talked himself out of it. It wouldn’t have done anything more than push her further away from him. And that was the last thing he wanted.

Two hours into their shift now and she’s still somehow managed to keep her distance from him. Standing as far as possible from him during rounds. Spending more time in the waiting room doing triage with interns than she’s done in the last couple of years. The closest they’d come to an actual interaction was brushing shoulders as she zoomed past him helping push a gurney into Trauma bay 2.

He figured he’d have to wait till their shift ended to confront her, but luck was on his side today. They both stopped at the nurses station at the same time. They couldn’t have been further apart, standing at opposite ends, but it was better than nothing. He stared at her shamelessly hoping she’d look up and acknowledge him in some way, give him something other than this undeserved cold shoulder. Y/n remained unphased however, typing away on the keyboard in front of her as if he wasn't actively burning a hole through her head with the heat of his stare.

Never one to shy away from telling him like it was, this was unlike her. If she didn’t want things to change that’s all she had to say. While it was true he wanted more, he’d rather things stay as they were than lose her. As inconsistent as their relationship was, she had remained one of the only consistencies in his life. He needed her. She was his crutch. Even just a few days without seeing her, hearing her, feeling her, left him totally crippled.

Watching her walk away from the nurses station, he took his chance. It was unfair to corner her while they were both supposed to be working but he couldn't let this go on any longer.

—

Feeling someone come up behind her, Y/n didn’t have to turn around to know exactly who it was. Maybe it was his cologne, or the familiar sound of his footsteps, or just his presence that she was so attune to. Whatever it was, she knew it was Langdon.

With a heavy sigh, she allowed him to drag her by the arm into an empty examination room. She could have fought his hold if she really tried. Run off and delay the inevitable for another day. Maybe even two if Collins was willing to switch days off with her. But it wouldn’t do much. She couldn’t avoid him forever. They worked in the same hospital, in the same department, on the same shift. It was surprising to have dodged him at all these past few days.

She had every intention to have a conversation with him about that night…eventually. Once she finally knew what she was going to say to him.

However, in the three days she bought herself to think it over, the only things she had put together was the fact that the right words would never come to her, and that even if they did it wouldn’t make a difference. This conversation was going to be hard and painful no matter how she worded it.

If it were up to her alone, she wasn’t sure when she’d gather the nerve to finally speak to him. In a way, Y/n was relieved he was forcing her to rip the band aid off and tell him what’s been on her chest these last three days. This was a conversation they needed to have sooner rather than later and she had put it off for too long as it was.

With the door locked shut, and the curtain pulled close, there was no escaping for either of them now. No turning back.

Standing on either end they were only just a few feet away from each other, but it felt like they were an ocean apart. This was the first time they’d been in the same room since that night. The familiar comfort and intimacy they shared in his dimly lit apartment then was quite the contrast to the awkward tension between them now under the unsettling fluorescent lights.

Silence filled the small, sterile gray examination room, drowning them. They sized each other up, waiting to see who would break and gasp for air first.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Langdon said finally. It wasn’t clear from his tone whether he was asking or telling her this. It was clear however that this had been weighing on him heavily these past few days. She could hear the strain in his voice, see the burden behind his eyes.

It killed her to see him hurt this way and all because of her. For a second she debated sparing his feelings. She could say she traded shifts because of a last minute appointment, or a family emergency that came up. Say she was just too busy and never got to reply to his messages. But he knew her too well and would know she was lying.

Besides, she wouldn’t want him to lie to her. If she wanted his honesty, then she would need to be honest as well.

“You’re right. I have been avoiding you,” she said, owning up to her odd behavior.

He didn’t know what the right thing to say next was, but he did know he was willing to say and do whatever he needed to make things right between them again.

“I know it’s about the other night. And before you say anything, just forget I brought it up. Okay? Things between us are good the way they are, we don’t need change what we’re doing or try-”

The sound of her laugh cut him off. It was a dry, humorless laugh but a laugh nonetheless. Langdon narrowed his eyes at her in confusion and disbelief. Here she was laughing in his face while he was being vulnerable and open about his feelings.

“Glad you find this funny, Y/n.”

“It’s not funny, it’s just — I mean you really thought that’s why I haven’t been speaking to you? Because you said we should get back together? No, Frank,” she shook her head. Her expression stiffened like stone, bracing herself before she continued, “I found your pills.”

She watched his reaction carefully, checking for his ticks and tells. But his poker face was impressive. If he was feeling any sort of pressure it wasn’t showing. He feigned ignorance so well she would’ve bought it had she not seen with her own two eyes the plastic bag of pills stuffed lazily between a pile of shirts in his drawer.

“What are you talking about? What pills?” he asked, brows furrowed convincingly.

“Your bag of benzos. Or the hospital’s benzos I should say. Right? Cause that’s where you stole them from?”

That pulled the rug straight from under him. His face fell instantly and his heart followed falling what felt like a hundred feet down to the pit of his stomach. There was nowhere else to turn, no other way out of this than to deflect and deny.

“Woah — stole? Benzos? Really, Y/n. Are you actually accusing me of what I think you are?”

“Of diverting drugs? Yes, that’s exactly what I’m accusing you of.”

“Don’t be ridiculous-”

“Frank, spare me. Please. I ran an audit,” she said before he could continue to dismiss what she already knew to be true.

Langdon’s demeanor changed completely at the mention of the audit. His composure faltered, the innocent, ignorant act dropped. He stood before her now guarded and defensive.

With a heavy-heart, Y/n released the last sliver of hope she held onto that this was all just some big misunderstanding. It was obvious now, written all across his face, that this was exactly what it seemed, what she feared.

When she found those pills she wanted so badly to find a logical explanation. There had to be. She thought and thought of every possible reason he would have those pills. As hard as she thought, only one thing came to mind — drug diversion.

Walking into work the morning after, it hung over her head like a dark cloud and the pills she hid in her bag weighed like a ton of bricks. If what she suspected turned out to be true, she risked the safety of their patients and the future of her own career if she didn’t do her due diligence. The guilt of running a medication dispensing report behind Langdon’s back was severely outweighed by the need to ease her own conscience. Upon examining the report, she hoped to find her worries dispelled. But rather than the dark cloud lifting up and away, it poured down on her instead in a heavy rain that washed away any possibility of Langdon’s innocence.

The discrepancies were undeniable. He prescribed and “wasted” more painkillers than any other doctor in their department. That, paired with the pills she found all but confirmed it.

Arms crossed, Langdon doubled down, refusing to admit to it. “That audit doesn’t prove anything.”

“I think Robby would beg to differ.”

All the color drained from his face hearing her bring up their attending. “Please tell me you haven’t told him about this bullshit?”

“No, not yet.”

Though she should’ve. When she found that bag of pills in his drawer that night, the right thing to do would’ve been to take them straight to Robby the very next day. Instead, against the feeling of her gut turning in on itself, screaming at her that something was wrong, she gave Langdon the benefit of the doubt. The pills were yet to see the light of day again, still tucked in the bottom of her purse since that night. Rather than blindside him, she felt it was only fair she spoke with him first, to give him a chance to explain himself before taking any serious action.

Thank God, he thought. As long as this stays between them and doesn't leave the room, things will be fine. He’ll be fine.

“I’m telling you, whatever you think is going on, is not what it looks like. Okay? It’s me, you know me, you know who I am,” he pleaded, lowering himself to her eye level.

“I’m not so sure I do,” she admitted woefully, searching his eyes looking for the Langdon she knew, the Langdon she loved. But the man before her wasn’t him.

Her Langdon was not a thief and definitely not an addict. Sure, he was a bit of an adrenaline junkie always seeking a rush. Jumping out of planes, bungee jumping, hang gliding — risk taking behavior wasn’t out of character. But she could never have imagined he was capable of this level of self destruction. That he would risk throwing away everything he’s worked so hard for.

The words hit him like a slap to the face. “How can you say that?”

“Because I know, Langdon. The pills I took from your apartment? I haven’t had them traced back to who distributed them yet because I really don’t want to see your name there. But I know it will be,” she cried out.

Among all the words she said, took from your apartment, repeated in his head. It had just dawned on him now — she’s had the pills this whole time. He had been looking everywhere for them. Retracing his steps, turning his apartment inside out, searching through every nook and cranny of his car, clearing out his locker. He’d been on edge these past couple days wondering where they went. If they fell into the wrong hands he was fucked. At least now he knew where they were. The relief that brought was only momentary though as irritation quickly took its place. He ran his hands through his hair trying to keep a lid on it.

“What are you doing going through my stuff in the first place?” he practically sneered at her.

Unbelievable, she thought snorting at his audacity. The nerve he had to turn things on her and make her out to be the bad guy for finding the pills in his drawer as if him having those pills in the first place wasn’t the more pressing matter here.

“I wasn’t going through your stuff asshole,” she spat back snidely. Not like it would’ve taken much to find those stupid pills anyway. She had been looking for that worn out blue t-shirt of his she loved sleeping in and there they were, practically begging to be seen.

“Where are they?” he demanded.

“Why? Are you trying to get your fix?”

“Oh, fuck off. I’m not a drug addict, Y/n,” he snapped, her comment really hitting a nerve.

“Is that right?” she scoffed mockingly. “So then please explain to me why the fuck you have a plastic baggie of prescription pay killers hiding in your drawer?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he said, voice rising in his frustration.

“You’re right, you don’t,” she agreed, much to his surprise. “But you do have to explain yourself to Robby once I bring him what I found.”

With nothing left to say, she brushed past him making her way to the door. Before she could turn the handle, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her from behind. Langdon held her tightly, dragging her back and away from the door. She used all her strength, fighting against his hold. But he was too strong for her.

“Get your hands off me. Let go,” Y/n cried out. “You’re being an asshole, Frank. Let go of me.”

Mindful that the walls weren’t soundproof, Langdon released her but ensured to block the door with his body. Hoping to reason with her, to explain himself, and talk her out of telling Robby, he approached her. It wasn’t intended to be aggressive, or intimidating, but he must’ve been too worked up to realize he was coming across that way.

After one step towards her, Y/n immediately backed away from him, eyeing him warningly like she was afraid of him or what he might do next.

It was like a dagger to the gut seeing the way she recoiled from him like he was some sort of threat when just days ago she was begging for his touch. He stepped back dejectedly, giving her the space to feel comfortable. With a deep breath to calm himself, he explained earnestly the pills were simply a means to an end.

“I’m just weaning myself off, okay?”

“And how long have you been weaning yourself off, Frank?” y/n challenged.

He was quiet. If he answered it would give away how far off the deep end he’d fallen. But she didn’t need to hear him say anything to figure that out for herself. His hesitancy and agitation, the way he averted her gaze, his shifty body language, was all the answer she needed. He hadn’t just fallen off the deep end, he was sinking to the bottom of it.

How had no one noticed? How had she not noticed? There had to have been signs. Then again maybe the signs were there and she was just blinded by her bias, by her feelings for him, by her trust in him.

She wouldn’t allow that bias to affect her now. Not that he was making it easy for her. His usually vibrant blue eyes were dulled by despair as he looked into hers begging her to believe and trust him now.

“You need help,” she urged softly, taking a tentative step closer to him.

It was Langdon who backed away from her now. He didn’t need any help. He was handling this his way. Like he said, he was just using whatever was left of his patients’ medications that would’ve been dumped anyway to tide him over as he worked through the withdrawals. He knew what he was doing. He knew these drugs and how they worked.

“I have this under control,” he maintained. “I’m not some tweaker off the street.”

“Are you really so far up your own ass you can’t see that you have a problem.”

“I don’t have a problem,” he insisted tensely, through gritted teeth.

Too stubborn for his own good, she cared about him too much to let him sink any further. She already failed him once missing the signs. There was no way she’d turn a blind eye now.

He’d probably hate her for what she was about to say next. But he left her no choice.

“If you don’t tell Robby by the end of the day, I will.”

Frozen in his spot, his mind raced with the implications of what she’d just said.

The ultimatum was the final nail on the coffin of their conversation. Whether he had more to say or not, she wasn’t sticking around for it. Brushing past him quickly, afraid he might try to stop her from leaving again, she managed to get on the other side of the door.

The sound of the door shutting pulled him out of his thoughts. Turning over his shoulder, he caught her eye through the door’s glass panel as she too spared one last glance back at him.

The last time their eyes locked so intensely had been that night. The night he suggested they give their relationship another shot. The night she found those pills. The night that would turn out to be the catalyst, setting off a series of events that would change his life as he knew it.

She turned away first having seen something in his eyes she’d never seen before, at least not directed toward her — contempt.

Standing in the room alone, the walls closing in on him, her last words ringing in his ears, he slammed his fists against the counter.

Fuck.

[hillbillyoracle]

This post got me thinking. Like really churning. I just started working through Momento Mori by Joanna Ebenstein and this post kicked up some realizations for me.

Most of my major experiences with death happened before the age of like 25. Some were the ones you "expect" like grandparents and others were friends in my scene who either OD'd or straight up disappeared. My more recent experiences were supporting my partner through 3 deaths in the family in 3 months - one a cousin that was a few years younger than her that accidentally OD's leaving behind her children. Another was the grandmother who was her rock growing up in a chaotic household and who steadfastly included me at family gatherings when my partner's mom and sister would ice me out. All passed suddenly.

I think the only thing that is universally true about grief is that everyone goes through it differently.

Because so much of what these replies held up as "this is what you say" and "this is what you do" - I fucking hate that stuff (even though I admit I default to it) as much as or more than so many people here hate the religious comments (which I usually don't tend to mind personally).

To me:

"I'm sorry for your loss" = "I am having the correct feeling about this."

"I can't imagine what you're going through" = "I can't relate to you and I'm putting distance between us to feel better about it."

"How are you doing?" = "Share something vulnerable with me so I feel like I helped you."

And you could say I'm hearing that wrong, and I get that I likely am, but that's what those words mean to me. And when I'm grieving I've learned I can't really access that part of my brain that better attunes me the "proper responses".

I also do not want someone to feel angry with, I do not want my anger fed at all. I want help dissolving it because if I don't it'll fully consume me and that's even worse than the grief for me, to have all the good in me burnt up while I'm still alive because that's my personal experience of anger.

Which is all just to say, it has nothing to do with religiosity in my experience - there's simply no "correct" response you can rely on for all people. In words or in deed.

And that is what makes experiencing grief so hard - everyone gives you what they got and often it's a reflection of their own stunted relationship with death, yes even the atheists, and it often sucks.

And trying to comfort someone in grief sucks - how do you use words and actions to reach them when communication of any kind is so highly individual and this individual might not be able to tell you what they need and want to hear/have done?

If you go "no actually they're using the wrong words/actions, these are the correct ones", you wind up doing the very same things as the people who've pissed you off.

Or at least, that's what I found when I dug into it.

I try to be forgiving when I'm grieving but I fall short. I don't expect someone grieving to be forgiving if I miss the mark, but I appreciate it immensely when they're able.

My favorite things to hear when I'm grieving are ones I know some other people hate:

"I miss them so much."

"Remember when they..."

"I thought about them today."

"I wonder what they'd say about..."

"They would have loved this."

"I had a dream about them."

Releasing the idea that there was a correct thing people could say to me and I would feel a little better (or ensure I wouldn't feel worse) let me grieve how I needed to grieve. It let me support in ways I could better sustain over the long term (because boy howdy if grief isn't long term).

Anywho, a heartfelt hug and virtual cup of tea to anyone else reading this and going through it. On other side. Solidarity friends.

it's been a year so i feel more comfortable talking about it..

when you're atheist and you lose someone, religious people don't really know how to interact with you. it's fine, we have different worldviews.

'He's in a better place, now.'

Sorry auntie, but I don't believe that. I believe that his brain stopped working at 5h55pm on december 11th 2022, and that's it. Nothing after that.

It makes grief very difficult, because not believing in god or the afterlife also means accepting that you will never, ever see that person again. That's it. The end. Nada mas.

But, back to the aunties and other faceless people gravitating in the grey blurry waters of your awareness.

They tell you 'He's with god now' and you tell them 'Yeah I don't believe that' and.

they. get. annoyed.

Here I am, gutted open, the worst day of my life, barely holding myself together, and they! Get annoyed that I won't smile and entertain their point of view!

Another faceless person tried to heal me with cristals. She also got annoyed when I told her I didn't believe in that.

I usually don't really mind religious people. It's fine, we have different worldviews. I think I'm right but so do they. As long as they're good people, I don't judge them for their faith.

I'll even be grateful for them trying to console me. I get that you're trying to give me strength and love. Thank you.

But I'm going to be true to myself, yes even when I'm mad with shock and grief. And I still can't believe they got annoyed that I didn't play along to placate them, on the worst day of my life.

(I wanted to share because I've never heard anyone talk about atheism and grief, and the loneliness that comes out of it.)

[coniferouspines]

Another snippet inspired by @babyblankyerror ’s Dr. Pinington AU.

“Stanley, are you—?” Stanford stopped dead upon entering his brother’s office, standing in the doorway dumbstruck as he took in the sight before him.

Stanley was sitting on the floor, leaning over one of those life-sized anatomy models one would normally find in a university biology classroom. He was dressed in his favourite lab coat, the one that was too big for him with the sleeves that would slip down past his hands. Surrounding both him and the anatomy model was a large array of stuffed animals, all posed in different positions. Some were set up to hold various medical instruments, while others were holding fake plastic organs. A few more seemed to simply be observers.

Mr. Rabid was right on top of the model’s open chest cavity, sitting on the fake lungs. It wore a little nurses’ cap on its head and a mini lab coat that Stanley had clearly sewn together himself. It looked to be watching Stanley as he rooted about in the model’s body, seeming very intent with… whatever his task was.

“What are you doing?” Stanford asked, thoroughly dumbfounded.

He’d watched Stanley poke around in actual dead bodies before and remove their organs, and that had been less confusing than this. At least those bodies had been real and something could be done with their parts. This was a plastic model.

Stanley turned at the sound of his voice and cracked one of those eerie smiles (Stanford refused to think about how they were starting to become more endearing than creepy at this point). “Hey, Sixer!” Stanley said cheerfully. He waved a hand in greeting, the long sleeve of his lab coat flapping about.

“Hi, Stanley,” Stanford said patiently. “Again, what are you doing? What’s with all the—” He gestured wordlessly to all the plushies.

“Well, we haven’t had a patient or even a body to… have fun with… for a while and I’m bored. And if I’m bored… then my friends are probably bored too! So I figured I should include them… because no one likes feeling left out.” Stan beamed like he was proud of himself, looking at Stanford with those big, mismatched eyes.

Stanford blinked as the puzzle pieces clicked together in his brain. “Wait, Stanley, are you—You’re playing?”

“Uh-huh!” Stanley tapped his misspelt name badge. “The doctor is… in session! Or something. Whatever they say.”

He stuck his tongue out at Stanford in a goofy manner, and for a brief moment, Stanford’s mind overlaid the image of the man before him with a much younger version, with a boy in a white and red striped shirt. He had the same look on his face: giddy, innocent in the way only a child could be, yet mischievous and bold.

Stanford didn’t know what to say. His brother was playing make-believe surgery with his stuffed animals and a plastic anatomy model. There was something almost sweet about it, if one ignored how odd it was for a grown man to be doing so. Then again, Stanley had gained a lot of new…oddities…since his incident. Most of them Stanford wrote off as being from brain damage that the botched lobotomy had done to him.

So this was fine. Stanford could accept this. Even if it was a little unsettling, Stanley wasn’t hurting anyone by doing this. There were worse things he could do than play pretend in his free time.

“Did you… want to join me?” Stanley had cocked his head to the side, staring at Stanford with hopeful eyes.

“Actually, I was coming to ask if you wanted to join me,” Stanford said. “I was going to go get lunch. Did you want to come?”

Stanley jumped to his feet, nearly tripped over the hem of his too-large lab coat, pin wheeled his arms wildly to keep his balance, then bounced over to Stanford excitedly. “Yes!”

“Calm down,” Stanford chided, though a smile tugged at his lips at the overeager display. “It’s just lunch.”

He led the way down the hall, Stanley practically skipping behind him.

[rosenclaws]

Alright Rose, can I ask for my own Logan head cannon?

How each Logan would act to the news that you’re pregnant and when they meet your baby for the first time.

hi Lub!! I got this as an anon ask too so I'll combine them into these headcanons

Origins Logan -

Oh man he'd need to sit the fuck down for a second. He'd be worried first and happy second. Don't get me wrong he's not going to leave or anything but Logan has lived a very long life up to this point, about 100 years or more. I think this is the case for most Logan's but the first thing his mind goes to is his mutation. Will he pass it on? He knows what it's like to live with a mutation. How hard it can be. So he's scared. Plus the threat of stryker looms over his head. He'd do anything to protect you and his now unborn child. He's there every step of the way but the worries never leave his mind.

The protectiveness gets ramped up to 11 once your child is actually born. Oh man he's just melting. Holding them in his arms and watching for a long time. You're fast asleep and it's just him and his baby. He doesn't really speak, literally just watching your baby breathe. He makes a promise to himself that he won't let anything happen. Ever.

(Oh man side note this reminds me of a fic idea I had where Logan goes with Stryker and leaves the you and his child to protect you with every intention of coming back just to lose his memories and disappear for 15 years only to regain them and then search for you guys.)

Trilogy Logan -

He thinks you're joking at first. Cracking a smile and telling you that you really got him. Then he sees your face and he realizes you aren't joking and things become serious real quick. Look I know Logan is great with kids and he won’t admit it but I don’t know if ever wants his own because he is unsure if he wants to bring a possible mutant child into a world that hates your kind. He hugs you and maybe a cracks a joke but deep down he’s afraid.

Its late into the night. You’re fast asleep and he’s sitting outside nursing a root beer. He hears footsteps and thinks that they’re yours but then he catches a whiff of a different scent. It’s Marie. He doesnt do heart to hearts but he spills some of what’s going on. I think that Marie would be the best person to reassure him. I mean she was a kid when he found her and whether or not he wants to admit it he was there for her. Made her feels safe.

The day he actually gets to hold his child is where all those fears melt away and get replaced by new ones. Like what happens if his kid gets hurt or what if he accidentally drops them? What if he fucks up? Oh man its terrifying but he can’t help but smile when he hears the little baby noises his kid is making. He also shows them off like crazy. Smirking as he brags about them to anyone who would listen.

DOFP Logan -

Now just like trilogy logan he thinks you’re joking. His reaction is a little different. He’s hesitant to bring a child into the world but I think he’d be a little more open to it. He never dreamed about being a dad but shit it happened and well, he’s getting older and he doesn’t hate the idea lf raising a child with you. He jokes that the best case is your kid gets 99% of you and 1% of him. That 1% being his shining personality of course. A part of him hopes that your kid isn’t a mutant. He doesn’t know how the whole x gene thing works but keeping his kid out of this world is better even if things aren't as bad as he remembers.

He’s so protective when your kid is born. Oh my good luck to those doctors who try to get within 5 feet of his kid or you. He says he’s a new dad but his students would beg to differ. He’s got years of practice under his belt now. He holds them close and promises to be there for the rest of their fucking life. You don’t appreciate the swearing but still.

Old Man Logan -

I think he has the worst reaction of all of them. By worse I mean he just doesn’t react well. He’s not happy and celebrating as much as you wanted him to be. Realistically you knew it was going to be a tough announcement. I mean Logan isn’t built to be a dad and with Laura. He’s overwhelmed trying to make ends meet now. He’s not a good father. At least thats what he thinks. Laura would beg to differ. He has a temper and he’s drunk and gets mean but he she feels safe and protected by him. He saved her. You both did. Logan is terrified of this big change because things are fine so why add something that had the potential to disrupt everything? And man did your new baby disrupt everything. But not in a bad way. Logan is a fucking mess the whole time. He panics every other day about this and you tell him to knock it off because if anyone should be panicking it's you. To which he says fuck no that could hurt the baby (he read it in some parenting magazine he might have stole from a gas station). Theres a natural instinct to protect deep in him and when your baby is born his whole world just shatters. This small innocent little. thing. It’s his child. He has two kids. He has a family. I think he cries. Not when anyone can see or hear him. But he sheds a few tears. Wondering what he could have done to deserve this. If his sins have finally been repaid. His old grinch heart grew three sizes, just enough to fit you, Laura, and his new baby in there.

Worst Logan -

He reacts a lot like Old man logan. Fear that turns to anger. I wrote something like this but the idea of having his own child is fucking terrifying. He believes that he was never meant for the family life. Even with Laura, that was the other him. He and Laura get along but this is a whole other thing. This is a newborn baby. A child that he will look after and take care of for the rest of his life.

I think his instincts kick in and he runs. Not for long. He doesn’t actually go far. Just down stairs to Laura’s apartment. She chews him out for leaving you alone and threatens to stick her claws into him and drag him back upstairs. But she does understand. Just a little. Logan spills his insecurity and to his bewilderment she just agrees. “Yeah you are old and you are mean and you drink way too fucking much” she would tell him. But she tells him that hes an idiot to think he won’t be good for this. If he’s waiting for the day he’s the perfect father then he’s going to be waiting forever. Logan is far from perfect but deep down, he’s a good man. A man who has a second chance laid in front of him on a silver platter. So fucking take it.

The day his baby is born is when he just. It feels like everything clicks. Its funny really, watching him hold her for the first time. He keeps looking back at you to make sure he’s not doing anything wrong. She cries and Logan feels this gut punch. A horrible twisting just knowing his baby is upset. As you sleep he holds her. Whispering promises of being the man you both deserve.

[crispy-art-on-fire]

coughing and crawling on my hands and knees

I'm very curious how u think sg blitzop would start. granted u have made a comic about mainline blitzop origin + talking about sg Optimus seeing blitzwing more as a challenge than an actual partner so I'm soooo interested in how you think they started. smiles. ummm okay byebye crawls away

also I'm not sure if you plan for them to be in the same continuity as your sg shockdad au but I am picturing soo vividly in my head goldbug trying to beat the shit out of Optimus because of his relations with blitzwing, something only made worse after shockwaves passing. I don't know if that makes sense I just could see goldbug thinking it's extremely unfair Optimus gets a decepticon he literally plays with whereas the one who raised goldbug and took care of him had to die. goldbug loves being envious it's his favorite thing which is why he does it all the time

Was unsure if you were asking if how Optimus and Wings started dating or something else so here's how the dynamic started <3 Optimus likes calling Blitzwing many variations of soft as an insult and accidentally learns that Wings really likes that, also that having that type of control over someone's emotions is thrilling. Que flirting until Wings snaps and is like "IF I DON'T KISS YOU RIGHT NOW I WILL GO EVEN MORE INSANE."

And yeah they're in the same continuity as evil Bumbleson au it's just different time periods because if I have to world build 2 different versions of Shattered Glass Animated my head will explode. It's very much not secret about Optimus and Blitzwing's relationship with Optimus being the leader and the others being threatened into silence with their complains while Blitzwing is very open about it in an effort to get someone to stop them.

Bumblebee's feelings about it goes from very irritated to outright hostile after Longarm is revealed as a spy. He thinks of Decepticons as a corrupting force which means that Optimus barely get any respect from him. It's part the reason he breaks away with Ratchet after Shockwave's death.

[siri-ike]

"Hey,"

The guy startled and looked at Tim like he wasn't sure if he was real. Did he really not hear him drive up? Or is he in worse shape than he looks?

The stranger reached out for the passenger seat door but then suddenly appeared in the back seat. Looking back, this should have been clue number 4 or 5, but it was the first thing Tim found odd. The stranger fell asleep with his head on his backpack almost immediately. Only his upper body was shaded by the cars roof. That was the part that seemed to be oozing a thick green liquid. While his lower half was bleeding red.

Tim couldn't see the guys face no matter how he turned the mirror. It was always just out of view.

Then came the whispering. The guy was lying in the back seat. So why, in the name of all that is good and sane, does it sound like he's whispering right in Tim's ear? Some ot the things he whispered were mundane, such as "where am I?", "who are you?", and a long monotone "OooOoOooOoo." Some things revealed useful information like "I am real." Which was a huge relief to Tim. But most of it was concerning.

Tim swerved off the road when his ghost friend suddenly woke up and started yelling. "[{NO! STOP! LET ME GO!}]" Or it would be more accurate to say he started yelling and then woke up because he immediately switched gears to "Hi, I'm Danny. Where're we headed?" Tim finaly cought his reflection in the rear view mirror. Weren't his eyes green before?

It was jarring, to say the least. More concerned arose when Tim offered Danny to sit in the passenger seat and was met with a casual "I can't sit in the front. They'll find me." He didn't say who "they" were, and he refused to elaborate. Honestly, it was probably the least suspect thing about him, but Danny's up to 17-19 red flags depending on how you count.

Tim rounded up to 20 when he stopped at a gas station, and instead of following him inside, Danny just appeared in the snack aisle. Tim looked out to the car, and there Danny was, waving back at him. And in the store, dropping multiple cards, none of which had his name. Several of them were just perfectly white key cards, like the ones used in government facilities. Another oddity was when he picked out 7 bottles of mountain dew, asked how much radiation it contained, and was disappointed with the answer.

"We're about an hour from the edge of the desert. Where do you need to go?" Tim asked as he got back in the car. Neither of them carried anything in, yet the car was full of supplies. More than what Tim saw him pay for.

"Anywhere, really. Wherever you're going should be fine."

"I mean, where do you live?"

"I don't."

He's homeless? Well, that makes sense.

"Did you say we were in a desert?" He sounded so surprised.

Tim simply gestured to their environment. Evidently, it's a desert.

"What state are we in?"

"Colorado. Where did you think we were?" Tim turned on the car.

"Pennsylvania. Or at least close. Colorado is like..." Danny roughly outlined the USA with his hands and vaguely gestured to where Pennsylvania and Colorado were on it. "... really far away."

"It's about a 25-hour drive."

Suddenly, the radio turned on by itself.

"The authorities warn of a dangerous individual in the area. He's described as being 5 foot 4, with black hair and-" *click*

Tim turned to Danny, now in the passenger seat. His left pointer finger on the power button, and his right hand adjusted the sunglasses he had just bought.

"Which direction are we going?"

"Kansas, Keystone city. My grandma lives there." An entire fleet of speedsters live there. "We're about ten hours away." Tim lied.

"Where's Keystone?"

"Missouri. Same direction as Pennsylvania."

Danny looked away, then down at his lap, then forward. Signs of secrecy or distress. He pulled the cards he used before and hid them under the floor mat. "Can we make a stop in the next city?" He reached into the backseat for a tube of Pringles and offered some to Tim. "I'll make it worth your while."

What, the actual fuck, does that mean?!!?

DpxDc #3

Catch a ghost ride?

In the USA, picking up a ghost in your car, often happened when hitchhiking was still legal, but that doesn’t mean it’s no longer a thing.

Getting a ghost in your backseat, looking at your rearview mirror, and finding out they are no longer there.

Then why THE FUCK won’t this ghost leave him alone?!

Tim found himself on the outskirts of Colorado (for a mission) on a mild spring evening when he spotted a teenage guy at the side of the road with a backpack on his shoulder, looking like he had just come out of a shredder.

He didn’t even think about it, his foot pressing automatically on the brakes and letting the guy on, receiving a quick “thanks.”

After about half an hour, his eyes glanced at the mirror, and the guy looked passed out and... transparent?

After several hours of driving, the guy woke up, looked over himself, looked at Tim, and decided it was a wonderful time to start a friendly conversation.

Yup. He was giving a ghost a ride.

A chatty one at that.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Hello! I have a couple bed/mattress stories/anecdotes for you, I think your stories are quite fun and I'm curious what you think of these two.

The first one is kinda a horror story. One of my roommates, the one with the most stable job and best income, has a mattress on the floor as his bed. It's been that way for all the five or so years I've lived with him. Worse, he doesn't seem to use sheets or a protector of any kind. It's gross and unsanitary but I don't care about him enough to try to convince him of that. (He's that worst kind of stubborn and frugal.)

The second story is moreso silly, and a two parter.

My (now ex) partner and I had just moved into an apartment from college dorms, and while we had some furnishings gifted/foisted upon us by family, a bed was not one of those things. My experience with buying beds at that point was taking trips to IKEA with my parents, and I don't know if my partner had ever gotten a new bed before, so we just searched Google maps for 'mattress store'. I think there was only one hit, and the store required you to make an appointment, which we did with some trepidation. When the time of the appointment approached we drove to the location of the store, which, given our limited knowledge of the area and the lack of light (sunset having been over an hour ago), seemed rather sketchy. I tend to be of an optimistic nature, so leading the way I took us to the door. It was locked but the incredibly friendly sales guy rushed over to let us in. We chatted a little about what we liked in a bed, and I think we ended up deciding on the very first one we tested. The price made us both wince a bit, but we still had a parental safety net so we signed for a mattress and box spring, and at my insistence also got a (crappy) frame. (At the time I just wanted to have space under the bed for storage, now after reading all your stories I'm really glad I insisted.) We set a time for everything to be delivered, and I figured there was probably someone else in the company that would deliver it. But no, it was the sales guy. I have mad respect for him though, because we lived on the 4th floor at the time and he managed to get the stuff up mostly by himself. I left him a glowing review, because what else could I do?

The bed was pretty nice, but I'd grown up with memory foam mattresses so when some acquaintances mentioned they had a full size memory foam mattress that had been shipped to them instead of the queen size one they ordered that they had to get rid of, I begged my (ex) partner to drive me over so we could get it. They reluctantly agreed and so we went and got a box of memory foam mattress that we shoved in their back seat and took home. We wrangled it up the 4 flights of stairs and then opened it up so it could air out and decompress from having been rolled. After that was done we just, kinda, stacked it on top of the spring mattress. It was actually super comfortable. And tall. Unfortunately though, mattresses aren't really designed to stack so the top mattress kept trying to slide off the lower one. We tried getting a mattress protector to go around both mattresses, but - idk if we just got a cheap protector or what - it was super plastic-y even through sheets and neither of us could handle the texture so that ended up being a bust. I'm pretty sure we also tried a rug grip, one of those funky rubbery sheets you put between rugs and the floor so the rug doesn't slide all over, but it didn't help much either. Pretty sure the final solution was just some cardboard wedged in the corners of the cheap frame and pushing the mattress back into place any time we got off the bed.

That relationship ended somewhat as a dumpster fire, and we moved out very shortly after, and my ex got frame/spring mattress/box spring, while I got the memory foam mattress and an IKEA bed frame that my parents had but were no longer using. It's been about 5 years and the memory foam mattress doesn't seem to have nearly as much support anymore, so maybe I should be looking into getting a new one. Maybe once my current partner gets back from working a few counties away. I know they can sleep on just about anything, probably including a rock, but they deserve nice things so I want to include them.

This- This is… Don’t. Please don’t do that. You took a boxed bed (evil, no support) and put it on top of more bed (even less support).

It’s not surprising your boxed bed is giving out, they tend to only have a modicum of back support for 4-5 years. Treat yourself to a good adult bed with back support, go with your partner. Don’t get a boxed bed.

[snowseasonmademe]

Screaming like a bad dream

warning ‼️: smut

word count: 3,758

pairing: aurelien x black female reader

summary: a heated argument erupts into an intensely physical, emotionally charged encounter that leaves you completely wrecked, aching, and unwilling to even pick up your shoes afterward.

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt

@btslover117 @kennaskorner

@leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

@jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas @amirawrah @simplementemeencantafutbol @kjlovesbigwilo

note: here’s a fic for my fellow sister wives! i tried to make this long because i like them 4,000+ words but my eyes were getting tired lol. it’s still good though😚! as always, enjoyed and tell me what you think. also if i forgot you in the tag list can you comment please, i think k i got everyone but idk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aurélien brought something out of you that most never got to see. He didn’t just bring out the freak in you—he unlocked her. That side of you, hidden beneath layers of polish, control, and perfectly curated social media posts, only ever came out for him. You never said it, but deep down you liked the twisted rhythm you two had. It was almost toxic… in the way cigarettes taste good to someone trying to quit.

You didn’t kiss unless you were fucking. That was the rule. Safety protocol. A barrier you both silently agreed to so you wouldn’t fall too deep. The only time he held your hand was when it was pinned to the bed. The only time he dropped the slick, teasing tone was when he was deep inside you, saying things that made your heart want things your mind couldn’t afford. Because if he ever talked to you like that in the daylight, you both knew… there’d be no turning back.

And now here you were, standing in your apartment already irritated, brushing gloss onto your lips while arguing with him over the phone.

“Just come get me. You asked me to come out and you don’t even fucking pick me up?!” you snapped, pacing slightly.

“I said come see me. I didn’t say I would come get you,” he replied, calm like he always was—too calm, and that made it worse.

You sucked your teeth. “You’re actually so fucking annoying, bro. You piss me off every day.”

There was a pause, and then a low chuckle through the speaker. “I must not piss you off that much. I was inside you two days ago.”

You stared at your screen like it insulted your whole bloodline before muttering, “Boy, get off my phone,” and hung up.

You exhaled slowly, trying not to throw your phone or your pride out the window. Rolling your eyes, you headed back to your closet. You grabbed the black sweatpants and the fitted black long-sleeve dress—the one that always made your ass sit right without screaming look at me. You never wore anything too extra around him. You hated being too dressed up when you knew you’d be too tired—or too fucked out—to undress yourself later. Thankfully, Aurélien had no problem handling that for you.

Your phone buzzed with a message:

Don’t get an uber. I will send someone for you.

You didn’t reply. You just narrowed your eyes at the screen like it owed you answers. How he gonna tell me to come to him, then send his driver? you thought. He’s so… difficult.

You checked your reflection. Your hair was tied into a low, messy bun—intentional, but not too perfect. You weren’t trying to make it last. You already knew it’d be ruined by the end of the night. A few tendrils framed your face, softening your look just enough. You sat on your couch, arms folded, feeling that familiar thrill start to build in your stomach.

You weren’t supposed to be doing this. That was half the point.

Your life had never been your own. Growing up as the daughter of an NBA Hall of Famer meant the spotlight had always followed you, uninvited. Then you built a name for yourself as a stylist to the stars—young, Black, powerful. You were your own brand. You’d mastered control, privacy, distance. But with Aurélien, it was the opposite. With him, you gave in. Not completely. Just enough to feel like you were still in charge. Just enough to taste freedom.

You liked him more than you admitted. But to be with him for real? That would require him to be… softer. Submissive, even. And that would never happen. He liked control just as much as you did. He liked your fire, your sharp tongue. He liked telling you to shut up and bend over. He liked seeing the challenge in your eyes before you let him win.

He’d been with girls before, sure. The kind that folded with a glance. You didn’t. You made him wait. You made him chase. And once he got you, he earned it. And he knew it. That’s what kept him coming back. That’s why this little “situation” worked. You both got what you needed: a friend who knew your body, a confidant who didn’t ask questions, and a secret you didn’t want to let go of.

Even if it was a bad dream. Even if you both knew there was no looking back once it went too far.

You got another text:

He’s outside. See you soon.

You scoffed at how dry he was being. No punctuation, no emoji, not even a goddamn “hey.” Just cold. You could practically hear the nonchalance in his tone, feel the shrug behind the words. He always got like this when you were mad at him—when you raised your voice, when you didn’t play it sweet. That little phone argument earlier must’ve really gotten under his skin.

You muttered a curse under your breath as you grabbed your spend-the-night bag—small, sleek, black leather with gold accents. You weren’t planning to actually spend the night, but you brought it every time just in case. Just in case you changed your mind. Just in case he asked you to stay. You blew out all the candles one by one, their soft light disappearing into the faint smoke trails curling toward the ceiling. The room smelled like the mix of sandalwood and vanilla you always lit when you were getting ready to see him. Familiar. Intimate. Almost too intimate.

Your sneakers echoed across the floor as you walked to the door, the cool metal of the handle biting into your palm as you swung it open. The black SUV sat idling in your driveway like a silent, brooding shadow. Its tinted windows made it impossible to see inside, but you felt the weight of being watched—always watched. The city night reflected off its polished surface like ink, broken only by the slow blink of turn signals.

You pulled the door open and slid in. The interior smelled like new leather and money—rich and sterile. The temperature was perfect: warm enough to relax you, cool enough to keep you from sinking too far into sleep. The darkness inside was comfortable, almost luxurious.

“Good evening, ma’am,” the driver said in a thick Spanish accent, glancing back at you through the rearview mirror. His voice was deep and polite.

“Would you like some music?”

“Yeah, actually, I would.”

He tapped something on the dash, and the speakers hummed to life with the low, gritty voice of a French rapper you didn’t recognize. It sounded like Bobby Shmurda if he’d been born in Paris—rough, melodic, moody. The bass rolled through the car like a lullaby. You melted into the seat, arms crossed, head tilted back. The engine purred beneath you, and before you could stop yourself, your eyes drifted shut.

You only stirred when you felt a familiar touch. Fingers, large and warm, skating down your forearm with an unhurried softness.

“Y/N,” Aurélien’s voice said close to your ear, accented and low, like he didn’t want to wake you too suddenly. “You’re here. Wake up.”

Your eyes fluttered open. The first thing you saw was his torso—tight black shirt clinging to muscle and warmth. He looked down at you, no smirk, no playfulness. Just… him. Still. Waiting.

You stretched, just a little, and let your hand slide into his. Your fingers found his without thinking, and the way he held you was steady but casual. Like he wasn’t trying to be sweet but couldn’t help it. You leaned into his side as he guided you out of the SUV, one hand still holding yours, the other gripping your bag. You didn’t even try to stand up straight—you let him support you, let your cheek rest against his chest.

His scent hit you full force—clean skin, faint cologne, the trace of something spicy and masculine. It cleared the fog from your head instantly.

“You want to go back home?” he asked, genuine concern hiding under his usual detachment. “You seem tired.”

He wasn’t offering to let you stay. That wasn’t what you two did.

“No,” you said quickly, sharper than you meant to. You straightened up and looked at him, suddenly annoyed again. Remembering the shit he pulled earlier. The way he made you call him, then argued about who should pick who up like it was your privilege to come to him.

You followed him inside, through the wide glass doors and into the living room. You kicked off your shoes at the edge of the carpet, out of respect. No shoes in the house—always. You hated that you still respected the little rules, even when you were mad.

The place looked different. Sleeker. Cleaner. No more tacky bachelor pad vibes. Thank God. The cold, empty luxury was replaced by softer lighting, darker wood tones, thicker rugs. You noticed the piano in the corner behind you. He ate you out on that once—your back arched on the keys, the sound of moaning and music colliding. The glass doors led to the pool outside. He fucked you against the edge months ago, the water barely muffling your cries. Right in front of you—the floor—he had your legs so far apart you walked like a newborn deer for three days.

The thunk of your bag hitting the floor snapped you out of your daze.

“If you’re gonna be a bitch all night, can you at least be gentle with my bag?” you said without turning around. “There’s expensive shit in there.”

“I can buy fifty more of whatever have in there,” he muttered as he circled the couch and dropped into the seat next to you.

He reached for your foot to pull it into his lap like he always did, but you snatched it away before he could. “Don’t touch me.”

He sucked his teeth, rolled his eyes, and stood up without a word. Walked straight to his room and didn’t look back.

You blinked. What the fuck?

You weren’t having it.

You got up, your steps quick and heavy, and followed him down the hall. He was on his bed already, laid out across it like a painting, phone in hand, ignoring your presence completely.

“What the hell did you bring me here for?” you snapped. “I could’ve stayed home.”

“You should’ve,” he said calmly, eyes glued to the screen. “If you were going to come just to act like that.”

You stared at him, stunned. He knew you hated when people didn’t look you in the eye. You reached over and grabbed his phone, tossing it toward the foot of the bed with a controlled aggression that said you were one second from losing it.

He looked at you. Unamused.

“Come on, Y/N. Don’t do that.”

“No. YOU don’t do that.” Your voice rose as you poked his chest. “I didn’t have to come here. You wanted to see me. You practically begged me. Now you’re acting like you don’t miss me? I know you do. You know what I came here for. So stop playing.”

“You said not to touch you. So I won’t. That’s what you want, right?”

The calmness in his voice was infuriating. You laughed bitterly.

“You know what? I’m not doing this with you tonight. I’m gonna shower and go.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned and stormed back to the living room, grabbed your bag, and headed for the guest bathroom. The hallway was too quiet, your feet the only sound echoing through the space. You shut the door behind you, tossed your bag on the counter, and turned the water on hot.

The steam rose fast. You peeled your clothes off slowly, muttering under your breath.

“I could be in bed with my cats right now… he pisses me off with that sexy ass accent. Always trying to argue, like that shit’s foreplay.”

You stepped into the shower, careful to keep your hair dry. It wasn’t wash day and you weren’t about to ruin a fresh silk press over him. You let the water roll over your body, easing the tension out of your shoulders, your back, your thighs.

You stood there, breathing. Finally calm. Finally quiet.

Then you felt it—strong arms circling your waist from behind.

You gasped, startled. “What the fuck—”

Before you could finish the sentence, his mouth was on your neck, warm and possessive. His lips found that one spot that made your knees buckle, the one he always kissed when he was trying to say sorry without words.

You moaned—loud, guttural, like the sound had been yanked out of you with no warning. Your fingers, still wet and shaky from rinsing conditioner out of your hair, scrambled behind you until they found skin. Muscle. Him. You grabbed at whatever you could—his wrist, his forearm, the wide stretch of his thigh pressed against your backside like a brand. Your nails scraped down the hard slope of his abs, then latched onto his waist like you were trying to anchor yourself in the middle of a storm.

Your legs parted like they were wired to his pulse instead of your brain. You didn’t even realize you were doing it—didn’t feel the cold tile or the slippery floor beneath your feet. All you felt was him: the steady heat of his chest flush against your back, the steam curling between you like sweat, and the way his dick—hard and thick and angry—pressed against the small of your spine, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Not because you didn’t have something to say—you had plenty—but because the way he gripped your hips shut you up faster than any insult could. His palms were hot, fingers digging into your sides like they were molded to fit there, like they owned that part of you. You felt the first brush of his lips on your neck—light, taunting—before his teeth followed. He bit down just enough to make you gasp.

And it wasn’t just sex.

It was payback. For the way you rolled your eyes at him earlier. For that slick shit you said before storming into the bathroom. For daring to act like you weren’t about to let him fuck you stupid the second he touched you.

He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to. His silence roared. It throbbed. It clung to your skin louder than the water hitting your shoulders. The tension was animal. Ferocious. And then his hand slid down your body with a brutal kind of grace, like he’d been waiting for the perfect second to make you fall apart.

His middle finger found your clit like it lived there—zero hesitation. Just heat and friction and control. He didn’t tease. He didn’t check. He already knew. He made tight, hard circles like he was tuning you up—getting you ready to sing. Your moan hit the wall so hard it bounced back into your ears.

“Aurélien—fuck—” you gasped, hips jerking.

“Don’t speak,” he hissed, his voice a growl against the shell of your ear. His tone was sharp—mean. But his breath was hot, ragged. Desperate.

That voice—low and brutal and breathless—tore through your spine like it was dragging claws down your nerves. And God, it made you wetter. It was embarrassing how fast you soaked his hand, how quick your knees buckled the second his fingers pushed past your folds. You were already dripping down your thighs—dripping—and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.

He slid two fingers into you like he was angry at how easy it was. Like your body was the one betraying you. They went in all the way to the knuckle, stretching you open with that thick, perfect pressure that always made your eyes roll back. You moaned again—no words, just a sound dragged from the bottom of your gut.

Your hand shot out, slapped against the wall for balance. Your other hand reached back blindly to grab his wrist. You weren’t trying to stop him. You just needed something to hold onto before your legs gave out.

“F-fuck—wait—ugh—” you whimpered, voice cracking.

“I said don’t talk,” he snapped again, and this time, he grabbed your jaw with his free hand and shoved two wet fingers between your lips. You gagged slightly, but you took them anyway. You always did.

“Mmhmm, Elle est là” he said quietly (There she is)

You sucked, desperate and messy. Tasted yourself. Swallowed like it would keep you grounded. It didn’t. He had you teetering on the edge of consciousness—and all he was using were his fingers.

He moved them inside you like he was marking territory. Not slow and sweet—deep and deliberate. Curling. Stroking that spot that made your thighs shake and your eyes water. Your moans vibrated around his fingers, and he smirked behind you like he could hear every sound you tried to muffle.

Then—without warning—he pulled them out. Your pussy clenched at the sudden emptiness. You sobbed, not even realizing it.

He didn’t give you time to recover. He spun you around, eyes wild and unreadable, and shoved you up against the wall so fast your breath flew out of your chest. You barely managed to gasp before his mouth crashed into your nipple. Devoured it. Tongue flicking, teeth grazing, sucking like he was starved and you were the only thing left to eat.

Your legs lifted without him asking. Wrapped around his waist. Locked at the ankles like muscle memory. His hands slid under your ass, lifted you like you were nothing. Like you belonged there.

And then—then—he pushed in.

One long, thick, ruthless thrust. You screamed. Screamed. Not a cute little moan. Not a whimper. A scream that rattled out of your chest like it’d been clawing to escape. Your back arched hard. Your nails raked down his shoulders. Your whole body lit up like a live wire.

He groaned—deep and low and filthy—his breath hot on your neck. His dick felt like it was carved just for you. He filled you in a way that made no damn sense. Too much. Too perfect. Every time he bottomed out, it felt like he was fucking your soul loose.

He pulled back slow—teasingly slow—just to slam back in hard enough to make your vision flicker. Your head hit the wall. Your mouth dropped open. No sound came out. You were speechless. Useless. Just a vessel for his frustration. His hunger. His claim.

He was talking now. Low. Rough. Each word dropped like a hammer.

“Thought you were done with me?”

Thrust.

“Thought you could walk away?”

Thrust.

“Say one more word, I swear to God—”

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

You cried out, clawed at his back, gripped his shoulders like they were lifelines.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he snarled against your neck.

He angled his hips just slightly—and there it was. That perfect spot. That maddening, bliss-drenched, nerve-shattering spot that made your legs shake and your walls clamp down like a vise.

You broke.

You fucking broke.

Your orgasm hit like a brick through glass. No build-up. No warning. Just boom—your body locking up, your muscles convulsing, your voice cracking into a shattered, stuttering scream. You clenched around him so hard he grunted, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he chased his own release.

He kept going. Kept fucking you through it, like he was addicted to the way you broke down around him. Like he needed it to finish. And when he finally did—when he let out that last, ragged groan and flooded you with heat—you swore your heart stopped.

You didn’t remember the next few minutes. Maybe not even the next hour.

Everything after your release blurred—your body weightless, vision flickering between dark and light like your mind was struggling to stay in your skin. You remembered how your legs stopped working, trembling so hard beneath you that they gave out completely. You didn’t fall, though. His arms were already there, sliding under your thighs and across your back like instinct. Like muscle memory. He lifted you like he always did after—like you were his. Cradled you against his chest like something precious and messy all at once.

Your lips pressed to the slope of his neck, too dazed to kiss, too gone to hold back. You just stayed there, breathing him in. The sharp tang of his cologne clung to the steam, mixing with the clean sweat still cooling on his skin. You could taste salt on your tongue. Hear nothing but the faint gurgle of the water draining behind you and the wet squelch of his feet against the tile.

Then softness. A towel—thick, warm, pulled around your body as he settled you gently onto the edge of the counter. He rubbed the terry cloth against your skin with care, patting between your thighs, behind your neck, across your shoulders. His fingertips brushed over the welts and tremors he’d left behind, as if trying to soothe the very chaos he’d created. He didn’t speak. Neither did you.

The silence was a blanket. Heavy. Intimate. Almost holy.

Your cheek found his chest again, drawn to the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your skin. His heart beat slow and low in your ear, anchoring you. It made you want to cry. Or maybe come again.

Time disappeared inside that stillness.

And then: the sharp, cold brightness of your phone screen breaking through the dark like a slap.

You didn’t remember picking it up. Didn’t even realize it was in your hand until the glow seared your sore, half-closed eyes. You blinked at the message, your vision slow to focus.

Left your shoes here. Come get them if you don’t bring that attitude.

Your throat was raw. Like you’d screamed through fire. Your body ached like it had been worshipped and wrecked. Every limb buzzed and throbbed, your muscles sore in places you forgot could hurt. But your pussy—God. Your pussy ached in the best, filthiest way. Tender and swollen and satisfied in a way that was almost obscene. You felt the faintest pulse between your legs and had to close your eyes to keep from moaning.

You groaned out loud and let the phone fall to your stomach with a dull thud. Your fingers were too limp to grip it anymore, anyway.

Your head lolled back onto the pillow as you exhaled slow, deep, and sore.

There was no fucking way you were going back for those shoes anytime soon. He could keep them. Bronze them. Build a shrine around them for all you cared.

[ihaznoclue]

Hi there! I hope that you’re having a wonderful day and I hope you don’t mind me asking and wondering if you can do a Breadhead x fem reader who’s secretly a human/fallen angel who bleeds black blood and is keeping their identity a secret from Breadhead & The Smiling Dead for their own safety while disguising themselves as a rotling.

As while the reader clearly loves Breadhead, they don’t trust him to know the truth about their actual identity, so imagine the reader getting injured in front of Breadhead and just as Breadhead is checking out their wounds, his hand spots a couple of splatters of black blood and the reader is terrified upon Breadhead realizing the truth.

You can make this fluff to angst or angst to fluff or whatever, I don’t mind! Also my apologies if this is too detailed as well. I also don’t mind if you can do headcanons or a one shot about it as well.

Also I love your writing it’s so amazingly good!

Pairings -> Breadhead x Female Reader

Warnings -> Betrayal, Lying, Keeping secrets, Emotional?

Note -> Reader has kept a secret of being a fallen angel who bleeds black blood like Mel, keeping this as a secret from the smiling dead and breadhead for safety while disguising them as a rotling

Genre -> Angst to Fluff (I like to think that Breadhead wouldn't really care but is a little bit scared but he deserves a happy ending with you)

A/N - This request is perfect for me! Thank you and I don't mind how detailed the requests are going to be unless I know what I'm doing and this request was what I was thinking of writing about this with Breadhead or Ken

BREADHEAD

The alleys are dark and ominous with the smell of death and oil and dust mixed with fog, and something worse

The green neon lights from the streetlights flickering near by in the alley way, but somewhere in the alley, a pipe busted making you scream in fright

You were trying to move forward, one hand braced on the wall to guide you on your way back to somewhere you wouldn't be seen from anyone

Your other hand clutching onto your wound on your side, your rotlings disguise was now gone, half of your face was smeared slightly off your face

You had taken a rather big hit for Breadhead back there and you didn't know why though, knowing that he can easily heal back to full heal and not die but you on the other hand.. can't

One slip up and you will die and reveal your true identity

But right now you were trying to get away from all the chaos and madness before you were seen by any of the smiling dead, you knew that if Breadhead was going to figure out about this

He was sure to be mad at you for the rest of his life

You didn't know what the others reactions will be but you fully knew Mud or Ken would be the angered ones of the group once they know

In the distance you heard your name being called out, and you recognised that voice which caused you to have a shiver down your spine, you knew it was Breadhead by the sweet sound of his worried voice

But right now was such a bad timing on your part, you were so focused on your wound and your wings from coming out, you didn't even realised you didn't move that far from the crime

"Birdie! Where did you go?"

Quickly you tried to cover up as much as possible but that was not until Breadhead eventually found you in the dark alley way

"Pretty Bird?"

You froze as you realised you have been caught, turning your face only to look at him but all he saw was your bright white eyes and your wicked smile trying to play cool

"Oh Breadhead you found me" You then nervously chuckled

That was until he took a step forward but jumped at the sound of your voice

"No! Don't come any closer, I don't want you to see me right now.."

"But I wanna check on you to see if your okay now" He asked, stepping more and more closer which to you begin to sweat a little

"But I'm fine, I guess I should've not got in the way, maybe that you can go back to the others and I can come later after I finish doing something" You tried to lie about that you were fine

But you weren't but you didn't want to make things worse and make him see of what you truly are

"Let me see" You could feel the ghost feeling of his large hand coming closer to you as you scooted back then gave out a hiss of the movement causing your wound to bleed a little bit more

"No.." The words came out fast, your blood was black, which was already soaking more and more through your bandages that disguised you as a rotling

But Breadhead didn't listen as he wanted to check up on you which was a sweet thing for him to o do but it the worse thing possible for him to do

Breadhead crouched down near you which made you realise that you were about to be found

Then you felt his hands on you with such care and gentleness that made you think he didn't care about this

Then you heard it.. a little cuss

"What the fuck..?" He gave out a little whispered once he was upon your wound

Black blood sticking to your bandages and to your skin that he could easily see that it was white, like a human

This made you froze, your breath was caught in your throat as it was hard to swallow, your eyes slightly darted to his.. wide, glowing red and horrified eyes

His hand slightly began to tremble near your skin, this made you scoot back a bit more to get away from him

"I'm sorry.. please don't tell the others.."

His eyes snapped back to yours, his bright red eyes glowing in the dark of the alley making you slightly shiver at the sight

"You lied to me.." He said, like he couldn't quite understand why you lied to him this whole time of being a fallen angel

"You're not even a rotling.. you're a fallen angel.."

You just wanted to disappear right then and there

"I was once an angel.. I fell.. they tried to rip my wings out but I bailed, so I hid down here hoping they would never find me, disguising myself as one of the rotlings down here"

"So you're one of them.." His voice cracked, hitting you hard in the chest 'one of them..'

"You've been lying to me this whole time"

"For mine and your safety Breadhead, I wouldn't want you to find out but.. If the others find out they will cement me like what they did to the others and I tried to keep it a secret from and I'm sorry.." You confessed

Tears started to form in your eyes as you didn't know what to do or say anymore

A long silence followed the air in between you two, Breadhead stared at your blood and your black wings that were displayed now, but then you saw his expression shifting.. from scared to something softer, more heavier

Sadness then... he reached out to you with his large hand being careful to not hurt you more than you were already

"Angel.." He stated "I can keep it a secret from the others If you like"

You blinked up at him a few times "Wait.. what?"

"I should be feeling something else but I can't be scared or mad at you Pretty Bird" Breadhead said

"I was just trying to protect you.."

"But what if I wanted the truth.."

"But I was afraid that you were not going to like me anymore and think of me as a monster.." You spoke up as you looked down

Breadhead tilted his head then lifted your head up "Pretty bird, you need patching up.. can't heal like me"

"Please don't tell the others... don't know what they will do"

"I won't.. but promise me one thing to never keep a secret from me again okay birdie?" Bread head then took off his leather brown jacket and covered you and then picked you up and started to carry you

"Promise.."

"Pretty bird needs rest, I'll get you somewhere safe and will patch you up, either way I think you're beautiful rotling or not"

"Thank you Breadhead.. for helping me"

GOD DAMN I did a a lot

-A<3

[cheerscafe]

adding onto this!!

lgts spoilers below

just wanted to echo this analysis and @halfgap ‘s tags

When sacrificed, each girl calls out someone different. Rozenmarine, who has only known Elise for a week, calls out to her Grandmother and says she’ll see her soon. Freya, who is close to her father, calls out to him to save her as she begs the demons for mercy. But not Lebkuchen. She calls out to you, her dearest friend.

Throughout their friendship Lebkuchen has forgiven Elise for various things, most of them small instances when they were younger such as sawing the heels off of Lebkuchen’s shoes, or breaking her window with a rock. But when Lebkuchen is being sacrificed, she says this:

With this betrayal, Lebkuchen is now severing their relationship. I loved you, past tense. I trusted you. I will never forgive you. Out of everything she has forgiven Elise for, this one act goes too far. This is the end of her life, and the end of their friendship. These are her last words.

And as if this ending weren’t heartbreaking enough, this is the following sequence that plays after Elise loses her children:

Elise is so regretful of her choice, the loss of her friend and beloved, Lebkuchen, as well as her daughter, that she enters a convent. She doesn’t pray for forgiveness, she prays that the rest of her days will be easy as she knows she will be thrown to hell or some other horrible afterlife punishment for her misdeeds. She spends her whole adult life resenting herself for her choices and mourning her loved ones.

And then Lebkuchen shows up, offering her forgiveness.

And that is somehow even worse than if she hadn’t shown up.

Because there are only so many interpretations and possibilities I can think of to explain Lebkuchen appearing here:

1) God, Walpurgia herself, or some other (benevolent?) supernatural entity saw Elise spend the rest of her life at the convent, decided to take pity on her, retrieved Lebkuchen’s soul from Ozzy, and then takes both of them up to heaven. Lebkuchen is no longer in Ozzy’s clutches, so she forgives Elise.

Considering how ‘God’ (as a character with agency) is more or less absent from the plot, and how Walpurgia only seems interested in her own means, I would not put much stock into this interpretation, though I can’t fault it for being so hopeful. But who knows? Maybe with Lebkuchen’s lifetime of serving the church and Elise’s time in the convent were enough of a show of faith to get God got pull some strings, leading both to a happier ending.

2) Lebkuchen and Elise are still bound to Ozzy as golden girls, but Lebkuchen has finally forgiven Elise and takes her upon her death to Ozzy, where they will inevitably spend eternity together.

Another aspect of this interpretation is that Lebkuchen here could be being truthful that she’s forgiven Elise, or she could be lying just to make her death more gentle/lure her more easily to Ozzy’s realm. And wouldn’t that hurt even more? Saying “I forgive you” to Elise, only to say she didn’t mean it when both she and Elise’s souls are trapped in Ozzy’s domain. Elise would continue to be mournful and regretful, even past her death. At least if Lebkuchen were being truthful here, she and Elise could spend eternity together, as friends or maybe more, even if it’s under less than ideal circumstances.

3) Elise is hallucinating or lucid dreaming this moment, maybe upon her death, or maybe she frequently has dreams like this.

To see your beloved forgiving you as you softly drift to eternal sleep, or to wake up the next morning knowing that it was just something your mind conjured up, knowing that there’s no way it could be real? I’m not sure which one would hurt more.

4) This Lebkuchen is actually just a illusion made by Ozzy, who is toying with Elise to make it hurt even more when he finally collects her soul.

We know from both Little Goody Two Shoes’ wish-fulfilled endings and Pocket Mirror that Ozzy doesn’t let Elise sleep peacefully, implying that he constantly haunts her dreams and drains her mental health. In Pocket Mirror Elise’s husband was seeking out doctors trying to explain and easy his wife’s symptoms, as found in Harpae’s library. I wouldn’t put this kind of trick past Ozzy.

So this ending not only has Elise sacrifice her beloved, her best friend that trusted her more than anyone else, a friend who forgave everything, screaming I will never forgive you as she died brutally; but also has Elise, after years of regret and pain, potentially dealing with that same beloved friend remaining angry with her as both their souls are trapped by the demon that destroyed their lives for all eternity.

God. What a game.

"she's... glaring at me..." lgts spoiler talk

in the bad ends with ozzy, the girls each call out to the people important to them. freya calls for her dad. rozenmarine calls to her grandma. but who does leb have to call out to? granny gretel? no, no matter the vague answers or strange actions, it was always her she could trust the most. or so she thought. i wonder if in that moment, she might even cling to the only thing she's ever known: her faith. the same one hung heavy over her head, but maybe, just maybe, it's worth something now. anyways leb's bad end messes me up!

[bunnyburrowsys]

you guys don't realize how badly i want to cover this fuckass thread arguing against every single claim against taco.

so i did :3

and it.

is

LONG.

so watch out. eat up :3

(also, if you find out or know who made the thread, for the love of starclan do NOT harass them. the most you should do is block them.)

(This is a description of the image above including inputs from me because i can :3) Fucked up shit Taco has done on this episode:

Force the contestants into talking about issues they still weren't ready to talk about. (Rubi: Mephone already was going to do that. He set it up. He made the challenge. He literally said "I can respect the whole therapy but twisted". Off to a great start. (sarcasm))

Immediately replaced Mic with Mepad, because well. She said it herself; having someone helps her think.(Rubi: Because she was isolated for years after season 1. Taco also stole Mepad for teleportation but having him as a companion is not "replacing" anyone.) Mepad was the closest and easiest to manipulate on doing that. After all... Mepad just left Mephone4's side(Rubi: Taco kidnapped Mepad. Mepad never "left" Mephone. Taco was only using Mepad for teleportation so Mic could win the challenge in EP 14, she didn't try to convince him she was a good person nor to quit his job). Of course Taco would use that against him.

Sang about "how much she regrets everything" while still purposefully, and consciously, wanting to make things worse for everyone. (Rubi: Taco's Tirade was Taco acknowledging her own flaws and insulting herself while also projecting on the contestants. it was not a self pitying song.)

Make fun of Suitcase's situation and messed with her(Rubi: which is false btw!), despite the fact Suitcase genuinely thought that Taco was a hallucination.

She practically forced Suitcase to talk about something she still wasn't ready to talk about (Rubi: False but also Mephone was going to do the same exact thing.). In front of everyone. Pushing someone to talk about her hallucinations is kind of messed up. (Rubi: No one, including Taco, knew Suitcase was suffering from hallucinations)

Kept feeling bad about herself but never did anything to actually try to be better. (Rubi: Taco is not self-pitying. She thinks she's a horrible person that is too far gone to be redeemed. She wants to improve but isn't confident it will be worth it.)

Used Mic's self elimination as a reason to why everyone should leave despite the fact that she was the reason as to why Mic left in the first place.(Rubi: accurate but this implies Taco doesn't know this already)

Kept pushing Knife to talk about Mic and expose her.(Rubi: inaccurate. Taco, at the very least, wanted everyone to know Knife knew of her presence in the game. From what I remember, she made no illusions to Knife protecting someone. Knife said that on his own Looked back at the episode. Taco did make references and implications about helping someone and Knife knowing. Still didn't name drop. In short, she wanted to ruin his reputation with everyone when they learned he knew she was there all along and that she was a potential danger.)

(Continued description)

(Rubi: This one is the worst) Died from stress because despite the fact that she willingly did all of that, she couldn't face Pickle. Not yet. (Rubi: Blaming someone for dying from stress or whatever, no matter if it was their fault, is the stupidest thing ever. Also, she didn't want to face anyone because her plans were gonna be foiled. If Mephone did these same exact things and almost short circuited from someone calling him out, everyone would've felt bad. but not Taco who is coincidentally the female character. Yes, I am pulling the misogyny card.)

Made it all about herself and completely disregarded how everyone felt under the excuse of "this is the best for all of you". (Rubi: Vague. What exactly was best for all of them? Interrogating them or telling them to leave the show that was ruining their relationships? Taco, while doing bad things, did bring up good points. The show -- the prize was what they were really after and Taco recognized that and learned that it was all for nothing. And mind you, Mephone was going to do the same thing except for his own enjoyment.)

Made Baseball and Suitcase end out on terrible terms when they were just reworking their relationship. (Rubi: False. All of this. In the episodes after Nickel's elimination, Baseball and Suitcase avoided eachother. They interacted once in Mine Your Own business where Baseball told Suitcase "Don't let me hold you back". They did not attempt to rework anything between them because what Suitcase had with the Armless Alliance wasn't what an alliance was to her. She wanted nothing to do with Baseball. Baseball left understanding how Suitcase felt, not hating or resenting her and definitely not vice versa.)

Essentially manipulated Mepad because of not showing him the full story aside from her regrets. (Rubi: Taco isn't going to rat out Mic's cheating like a Tattletail. Claiming Taco is dishonestly influencing Mepad into thinking she is innocent or good or whatever this claim is trying to say is so very wrong. Mepad didn't ask and since the cut of Mic leaving is still fresh, it wouldn't be easy for Taco to talk about. Additionally, Mepad is a free thinker. He was proven himself that the show is harmful. By Marsh and by Taco. Did Marsh manipulate him too?)

"No more hiding" despite the fact that she very well knows Pickle doesn't answer her letters for a reason, and that Mic left from how much pain she caused her. (Rubi: This is a blatant misunderstanding of what Taco said that it is laughable. Taco was saying "no more hiding" to herself. She was literally looking at the invisibow that she has been using to hide from others and she has also been hiding from the responsibility of apologizing to Pickle.)

Thats it! I hope all of the Taco likers like this and Taco haters cry to their mommies or whatever :3

If you have anything to play devil's advocate or add on, please do so! I like talking :3

Fronting: Raichu/Julius/Rubi - {He/They/Mew} & Lollipop {She/He}

[specialagentartemis]

Re. your post on AI with no sources (which I'm going to reblog; but I wanted to note this outside of the tags): I work in higher ed too, in administration. As it happens, my program is having a meeting next week, required by the office for undergrad education, to talk about "what we're going to do about Grade Inflation". *SCREAMING* I've been in this job for 24 years. I've seen past attempts to deal with grade inflation! I've seen past attempts to deal with honors inflation! They haven't figured out a solution YET. But what's especially NOT a solution is pushing it down on all of the individual depts. Because all you'll get in that case is inconsistent amounts of change (if any), and all that happens then is that those depts that DO try to address the issue find their enrollments plummeting. It absolutely HAS to be an across-the-university push all at the same time, or nothing is going to work. But yeah, sure, we'll sit around a table next week and talk about how we can grade more harshly. An idea that, as things stand, is basically asking the instructors to kill their enrollments and thus kill their student evaluations, which are examined by the administration when it comes time to renew their job appointment. I do NOT know the solution to all of this. Because there's all that on the one hand, and there's the "college as commodity" issue that you mentioned on the other hand. How do we get to a point where we can get the students to focus on the learning opportunity in front of them, rather than on the distant post-graduation job market? I just don't know, because the whole mindset is so foreign to me. And I think for a lot of teachers, too (which I am not), there's this same issue of... we weren't the ones in that mindset when we were IN college, so it's very hard to understand it now. It's not hard to understand the *fear*, or the pressure. It's just hard to understand the not-caring at all. Anyway. Just wanted to say: solidarity. This is such a big problem. AI is exacerbating it, making it worse, but the problem really was already there.

oooof yeah. Good luck and I’m really sorry about that :(

as one of the reblogs of my post said: the solution to this is UBI. Unfortunately, the solution to quite a lot of things is UBI.

Because that’s the problem, right? It’s not so much that AI exists, it’s that it makes it exponentially easier to just give up and fall into the attitude that is already pervasive anyway. I’ve never had to talk about great inflation but ugh yeah. If college is a commodity, and you need a good grades, and if college is a business, you need to keep coming and paying for those good grades… you have to revamp basically the entire economy to get out of the hole that’s been dug, both by us and for us!

Like, what, we need “college does not cost thousands of dollars” AND ALSO “4-year college is not a requirement for getting a ‘respectable’ job where you can support yourself and survive comfortably” AND ALSO “community college gets respect and support” AND ALSO “professors shouldn’t be expected to teach, research, and do administrative work all at once, all the time” AND ALSO “get rid of the publish or perish model for real” AND ALSO “teaching and public outreach are institutionally valued” AND ALSO “college professors actually get taught how to teach, like get taught education theory and pedagogy” AND ALSO “not have students’ housing or scholarship depend on their grades” AND ALSO “not have a grade school culture of teaching to the test and standardized tests that instills in you for your entire childhood that grades are everything” BUT THAT WOULD MEAN “not funding grade schools/high schools based on student test scores, just actually funding them all for real” AND ALSO “hiring more teachers” BUT THAT WOULD MEAN “making teaching at a school a task that isn’t horribly thankless and burns people out real fast” BUT THAT WOULD ALSO MEAN “making school not a miserable place to be a child” WITH A SIDE OF “make sure everyone is teaching phonics again for real so from a young age, students learn how to read well and don’t struggle with reading and writing in a way that encourages them to give up and use ChatGPT” AND ALSO “generally having a culture that values learning and knowledge rather than money”… it is all SO MUCH and it will be hard to do and also expensive so nobody with the power to fix it really wants to try that hard to do so!!

and yeah, I definitely think you’re right that because all the professors and TAs are the people who liked school enough to keep doing it forever it’s just, incredibly hard to grok the students who don’t care. But the mess of a culture we’re in makes it all so hard to challenge because it feels like we need to untangle EVERYTHING to fix ANYTHING.

UBI would be a great start though.

[imjustabeanie]

Flowers Exchange

For @tillichan

Dandelion— Are they protective? How would they protect you?

Xavier… protective? Well yes and no. While this man’s default setting is hovering like a very well-dressed, annoyingly handsome guardian angel who doesn’t know the meaning of personal space. He still sometimes bring danger home with him (I am talking about his cooking). You are safe from any enemy except his cooking and tendency to appear behind you. But the thing is, it’s not much in a suffocating way. I mean he doesn’t even tell you that he dealt with someone who targeted you because you’re his lover. But he will stand a little closer when someone’s giving you weird vibes in town. Or the way he always texts if you’re safe even when he left 30 mins ago cuz he got paranoid (spoiler alert he comes back in secret to check). But don’t blame him for this! When you sacrificed the throne, changed planets and waited who knows how long for your love then of course you’ll be protective.

Despite his aloof exterior (if I saw him outside I’d think he’s lost), he’s terrifying to his enemies. If someone actually dared to cross you? Xavier’s whole vibe would shift. That pretty-boy prince aura? Gone. Suddenly you’re looking at the man who’s fought wars across galaxies, and yeah, maybe it’s hot but also terrifying. He’s the kind to settle things with a calm, icy “I suggest you leave. Now.” And yet his hand is ready to take out his sword. Calm him down please. Or else he might do something bad.

But the cutest part? He protects you in ways you don’t even realize. Like learning your allergies so he can steer you away from danger without making a fuss. Or discreetly fixing something at your house and pretending it was “always like that.” (that’s when he knows how to fix it. He’s not as bad as Raf but let’s just say his skills sometimes make the matter worse) He protects your peace by trying to shoulder the hard things so your world stays a little gentler. And if you’re in fatal danger or worse, another mc situation? Then he’ll be this close to throwing hands with fate itself.

Jasmine — What is their biggest fear related to you? Are they insecure about something in your relationship? Do they share their fears/insecurities with you?

Well, with Xavier…his biggest fear? It’s losing you without knowing why. Like, not some big dramatic breakup. But you slowly drifting away, getting quieter, smiling less around him. He worries that one day you’ll wake up and realize you deserve someone simpler. Someone fully human. Someone who doesn’t come with cosmic baggage, weird alien quirks, and centuries of complicated history.

He’d never say it outright at first. He keeps it bottled up in that polite, prince-like smile. But you’d catch it in the little pauses. The way he sometimes double-checks if you’re really okay. The times he looks at you like you’re a fleeting dream he’s scared to hold too tightly. And when he does open up? It’s at night, when you’re curled up together under a blanket, his voice soft and a little hoarse:

“I know…I’m not easy. Sometimes I think you deserve someone less…complicated.”

And you’d have to kiss him quiet. Pull him closer. Remind him he’s not too much, he’s exactly right. He needs that reassurance sometimes—that no, you didn’t settle, you chose him. And every time you tell him? You swear he falls in love with you a little more. You make him believe that all his pain and suffering is worth it.

His other fear is that an mc situation happens again. That he finds himself in that same cycle. Only this time he doesn’t have anything to give (he already gave up his throne) so fate can offer you two another chance in another timeline. Sometimes he finds himself wishing to reincarnate as the same time as you cuz he knows it’ll be painful to see you age while he stays the same…

Daisy — How easy is it to embarrass them? What can you do to fluster them and make them melt?

Xavier? Embarrassed? Hell yeah. Have you seen the bunny card? This man can face down wanderers without blinking but call him by a pet name in public and he’s a tomato. He tries to hide it, to tease you back, but as long as it’s in public he will be flustered. In private it’s another story tho…we’ve seen in some cards how he can be when teased too much

Want to fluster him? One was is to praise him unexpectedly. Doesn’t matter what it’s for, he will immediately malfunction. He tries to play it off cool, runs a hand through his hair, maybe tease you back. But you can see the faint pink creeping up his neck. And one of his habits when flustered is to rub his neck and burry his face in your hair (even blowing raspberries) Bonus points if you say it while tracing his jaw or fixing his collar. He gets flustered when you touch him like that in public. And that’s from a man who insists on holding your hand and hugging you.

Next, use pet names. Especially sappy ones. Call him “my prince,” “darling,” or (if you’re feeling chaotic) “my E.T (you do this when you catch him eating reeses)” and watch him short-circuit. He’ll bury his face in your shoulder or pull you into a hug just to hide how flustered he is. And if you kiss his cheek out of nowhere, or worse, his lips? Congratulations, Xavier.exe has stopped working. Don’t do that while he’s in battle tho. He’d still win but will be very distracted.

Now, people might think he doesn’t like it cuz…He’s embarrassed, sure, but he also walks around the rest of the day glowing like he just won the cosmic lottery. He won’t even hide the marks you could possibly leave.

Now to finish this off…spoiler alert, he will get back at you once you two are home.