#i left feeling horrible and worthless

[mettasing]

maybe it's linked with society in general. people need to brag and pull through, put on a "pulling yourself by your bootstraps" facade to justify their pain and pass as deserving of compassion and help (and it can backfire). still, this game is unfair. it makes you sick in the head, it makes you part of this world-view where ordinary people with chronic illnesses and neurodivergencies who cannot "make up" for their supposed "inadequacy" with savant-like shit, or who cannot just come through and show unmatched resilience, are seen as unworthy, as weak, as whiny.

i myself cannot even start to explain my shortcomings in this world not accommodated for me to other people, because from the get-go i know that they will put on this dreaded facade of successful, wise, unbothered, fuckass annoying bootstrappers, and i will "bother" them with "excuses". my classmate needs to take their pills debilitating them, making them skip lessons, but managing their condition that won't go away. i get that uni teachers aren't your wise mentors, and bureaucracy is a vile beast, but my classmate is not being treated nicely at all because of this fact (i know that "uni" part may make me sound like a fucking hypocrite, but higher education seems like almost a must in my country; it goes away slowly, but i saw abled people getting panic attacks and needing help there). if the person is deemed "annoying", "flawed" then they can't be empathised with at all and they don't deserve understanding and accomodations. when you try to advocate for yourself, you are annoying. when you're just experiencing shit and god forbid if it's not private, you are annoying. when people cannot find anything worthy in you, be it your intelligence, beauty, charisma or some fucking sort of "quirkiness" i guess – and be it in a reasonable amount, you are annoying. and if you are annoying, no one cares. you're annoying them with your stupidity, with your weirdness, with your excuses, you're bothering them, you're abusing their emotional resources by being someone who's having a hard time in any way and could really use some compassion and help, by being your struggling self. to them, you're ignoring their asinine advices that, also to them, are wise just because they said it, you don't want to be good.

and – voilà – you're not a person anymore.

Kinda fucked up that we all coo and sympathize with "former gifted kids" but never talk about the students who had to stay late after school or over the summer for remedial classes/clubs, who struggled to get above a C, who were given up on or punished. Who tried so hard to understand or just couldn't. Who were grouped with the "stupid kids" (a classmate called us that in remedial math btw)

Autistic kids and adhders who can't relate to their gifted peers and are constantly alienated by them. Kids who struggled in school due to dealing with a chronic or mental illness or physical/learning/developmental disability. Those of us who have had to drop out of highschool or college. Kids who worked so hard and wanted to be seen as smart, but never were. Who watched as their peers seem to fly by them in school, while they were left behind. Who were bullied and put down by those in the gifted and honors classes. Whose confidence was absolutely destroyed by education.

I love you all and I'm so sorry the school system failed you. I'm sorry you weren't properly accommodated and given the education you deserved. I'm sorry people put you down for something that they never had to fight for.

[cavity-collector]

i genuinely need to be put down like a dog i cant do this anymore man holy shit

[giveme-allofthat-ultraviolence]

I was thinking about killing myself again last night and I was gonna go on this whole ass vent trauma dump thing but I was like oh I’m being a bitch again I’ll just try and suck it up and sleep it off

[3knecrotic]

I miss hym. I miss those Good memories. I miss it so much right now. God I want to fucking die over it.

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Fuck Me Like You Hate Me

“That’s right. Cry, you fucking whore. That’s what I want to see,” his voice is guttural and unforgiving as he drives the vibrator harder against my clit.

I stare up at him, eyes glassy and mind dazed as he forces unrelenting pleasure over my body. It’s been hours and countless orgasms since he’d tied me down and pressed the vibrator to me. I didn’t even realize I was crying until he mentioned it. I’m too far gone to even protest or struggle.

I feel another orgasm start to build and a high, keening whine breaks free from me as the pain-tinged pleasure makes more tears fall from my eyes. “Good fucking whore, give me another one,” he smirks at me, sliding two fingers into my sopping cunt and curling them just right.

I tremble as the orgasm washes over me, my pussy clenching desperately around his fingers and my clit burning with painful overstimulation.

“You deserve this, don’t you? This is what you get for being a worthless whore who’s only good for cumming, isn’t that right?” He mocks me as his fingers continue to slam into me, the sound of my dripping, brutalized pussy barely audible over the sound of the vibrator.

I’m wordless at this point, I’d given up begging several orgasms ago when it became clear that he didn’t care about my sensitivity. My eyes are unseeing as he continues to work my body into a broken shell.

“You’re nothing more than a worthless whore, cumming your brains out for me. Not a single thought left in that pretty head of yours. Come on, whore, I want to see you break,” he clicks up the vibrator, pulling his fingers out of my cunt to pull back my clit hood to force the torturous stimulation to ravage my clit with no mercy.

My eyes roll up into my head as my next orgasm slams into me, my pussy squirting my release all over the bed beneath us. The stimulation doesn’t stop and he laughs cruelly as he watches my body and mind struggle to cope with the pleasure he’s putting me through.

I can’t get enough air into my lungs as the vibrator continues to decimate the most sensitive part of my body. His fingers keep me splayed open, leaving my clit with no protection from the bulb of the vibrator.

“We’re not stopping until you pass out today. And maybe even then, I’ll keep pulling orgasm after orgasm out from your worthless little body just so you know who you belong to,” his eyes are alight with a maniacal gleam as he continues to force the horrible pleasure onto me.

Before my last orgasm fully faded, another rose up inside of me, the feeling overwhelming every single sense and rushing at me. I feel every muscle tense and the pleasure rips through me, so hard I can feel it in my bones.

It broke me as the world around me faded to black, my mind cracking under the assault of pleasure and pain.

—

I wake up to the feeling of a warm towel pressed against my sensitive core. I whimper softly, shifting slightly, registering that I’m unbound now. His shushes me softly as I peer up at him with bleary eyes. “I’ve got you, sweetie, it’s okay,” his voice is soft and reassuring as he finishes wiping me down and kisses the top of my head. I smile up at him and watch as he sets the towel down before crawling into bed with me, pulling me close and surrounding me with his scent and warmth. I close my eyes and feel myself drift away, safe and sound.

[daughter-of-sapph0]

I said it before in a previous rant, but I feel like this story needs repeating for no particular reason whatsoever.

my middle school was very small. there was only one class of 18 kids in the entire 6th grade. we had to deal with each other every single day. I only started this school in 6th grade, but some of these kids have known each other since pre-k. so when I joined, I was a stranger, an outcast, someone different. and having undiagnosed autism did not help at all.

one of my classmates was named Jacob. he was the only kid shorter than me. but he was an aggressive bully. every day, he'd grab me, slap me, pull my hair. he'd torment me physically, call me names, the whole shebang. typical bully stuff. there was never a reason for this, other than I was a new kid. I was a faggot. I was a downey. I was a retard. I was a sissy. I was a pussy. I was "the other". I think Jacob somehow knew I was trans and queer about five years before I did, and treated me as you'd expect.

every single day, I'd complain to my teachers and the principal. "Jacob is bullying me. he's hitting me, calling me names, harassing me, even after I tell him to leave me alone". and the responses I got did not help.

"just leave. walk away" gee, thanks. I'd love to. unfortunately I'm stuck in a classroom with him all day. unless you're gonna let me go home early, your advice is worthless.

"stop being a tattletale" and just let him continue to bully me? wow, thanks for being a supportive adult figure in my life...

and I'll never forget what my hardcore conservative catholic principal said to me. "if you don't want him to call you a faggot, then stop being a faggot".

in all of these situations of begging for help, not once did Jacob ever face consequences for his actions. even when I showed them the bruises and horrible notes he gave me. even when the harassment happened right in front of the teachers. the most he would ever receive is "hey, both of you, stop fighting!" even though it was always one sided and I never fought back.

until one day on the bus. he was in the seat behind me, poking my head, slapping me, trying to get my attention. I was already pissed that day, and Jacob was only making things worse. I told him to stop. repeatedly. to just leave me alone. but he didn't.

without thinking about it, I tried to swat away his hands. but I ended up brushing my hand against his face. he interpreted this as a slap. he immediately got off the bus at his stop and ran home crying.

that afternoon, my mom got a phone call saying that I was at risk of being expelled. apparently, Jacob had told his parents that I had beat him up, and his parents called the school.

in the end, because of my accidental unintentional "slap" that I had only done because I was angry and wanted to be left alone and stop being bullied, I was suspended for a week, forced to write a handwritten apology note to Jacob, and fell behind in my classes.

Jacob was never punished. he never faced consequences for his actions. he was always seen as the victim by adults. I was the aggressor since I was mad and complained about being bullied.

soon after this, I attempted suicide. I backed out, thankfully. but I can't stop thinking about how my life almost ended because no one cared about the harassment I faced.

being harassed, and having no one do anything about it, which causes you to get angry until you act a tiny bit irrational and upset, and suddenly you're punished much harder than your attackers ever were and ever will be.

I'm saying this for no reason at all. it totally doesn't apply to any real life situations happening right now on tumblr.

[persephryne]

Making Aegon a rapist was straight up bad and lazy writing.

Let me elaborate.

In the show, the first thing we learn about Aegon as an adult is that he is a rapist. We haven’t seen him yet but still we already know that he is an horrible despicable rapist, especially since Dyana is so young, which pretty much makes him a pedophile too. How could anyone root for a man like that ? And that’s where the problem begins.

Rhaenyra had already been established many times as the rightful heir to the throne in season 1. It has been made obvious that she would make a decent Queen too. In the meantime, it had already been shown that Aegon is not even a good person. He’s selfish, inconsiderate, a bully, and does not act like a prince at all. To put it plainly, he sucks big time and we as viewers already know it. Add what we saw in season 2, how reckless he gets, how he’s an alcoholic immature asshole, how he obviously knows nothing about strategics nor how to rule efficiently, or even how bad he is at high valyrian, and you can’t have anyone tell you in good faith that he would’ve been a better ruler than Rhaenyra.

However, had Aegon not been made a rapist, you would still feel for him even though he is not cut out to rule. Because he knows it too and tried to escape it and he was forced to attend his own coronation . Because this crown that he did not want does not fit him, even though he really tries to show that he is not as worthless as everyone seems to think and he just keeps failing. You would feel for him because the war ,that he has started when he was made an usurper by the people around him, has cost him his son’s life. Because the brother, who is partially responsible for his son’s death has now betrayed him and tried to kill him with dragonfire. Because the injuries he suffered make him look more and more like his father who never cared for him, never loved him and that he definitely hates. Which also probably why he tries so hard to make his mother proud of him and love him but he can’t and his main attempt has left him half-dead, half-burn. Not only that but his dragon, with whom he has the strongest bond known in Targaryen’s, history probably died during this futile attempt to prove himself. The only thing about his Targaryen’s heritage that he seems to care about has been destroyed all because he wanted to prove himself. Because he truly resents his Targaryen’s, his father’s heritage, it’s obvious, just as it is obvious that he didn’t want to marry his own sister but was forced to. It’s completely legitimate of him to want to distance himself as much as possible from everything that is Targaryen related. He is indeed more of an Hightower than a Targaryen, but can you really blame him for that ? Would you not try to fit somewhere else too, if you were in his place ? It’s all absolutely and undeniably tragic.

I wholeheartdely believe that, even if you would’ve root for Rheanyra to be Queen, you woud’ve probably still thought that Aegon, as bad as he is, did not deserves this much pain.

But because he is a rapist, well, he honestly does.

By not trusting the audience to see that Aegon is not a good person, nor a good a king, without having him comitting a literal crime, by making Aegon a rapist, the writers have annihilated any possibilities for an internal conflict regarding Aegon and Rhaenyra. The whole concept of « teams » just goes down the drain because of this lazy, manichaean, writing. And that, my friends, is bad writing at its peak.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for threatening to become a girl's step dad to troll her into blocking me and stop dragging me in a group chat ? Jenny (23F) blew up because I (24NB) said she'd be a shitty social worker bc of her specific autism symptoms + class bg. My gf (45F) said it was warranted because of how  overwhelmed i got by the wall of text with triggering details of my abuse. I never told my GF that the fight started because Jenny called me a gold digger. I also never mentioned that I ended it an hour later by posting pics of Jenny's mom in the chat, ignoring her ranting and discussing the vacancy left by her dead dad*, and how i could fill said vacancy. 😬😬😬 Might of gone too far with this one.

Backstory: I lived with Jenny when I was houseless indefinitely. She only let me stay for two weeks because it would be too "distracting" to her studies. Jenny was incredibly rich, didn't work, and her parents paid her rent for a 2 bedroom. She admitted she got rejected from every grad school she applied to except for the one her mom was in charge of. Her mom bought her a condo in the city the school was in. She kept asking me how she should decorate it, completely ignorant to how uncomfortable this made me and my other friends. Jenny was oblivious constantly to how she made others feel. She was actually the most incompetent person I've ever met in terms of comforting other, always tone deaf and completely absorbed with her own, single traumatic event. She made constant jokes about the abuser I was fleeing and even compared this stalked to a /serial killer/ documentary she watched, but never EVER showed any signs of internalizing how I almost lost my life to another person, how that might affect me or even just bum me out. Seriously, I've never met someone else who was so incapable of even being sensitive to issues that were /EXTREMELY SERIOUS/. Forget comforting, the stuff she routinely said to me and my other friends to try to cheer us up was beyond degrading. It was wearing on me a lot.

Jenny herself was neurodivergent. She often said her autism prevented her from understanding the feelings others had, reading their expressions, and tolerating crying or loud noise-- she forbid her musician roommate from doing both. None of those mean shes a worthless person, but all of those things would make someone a horrible therapist or social worker. Oh my God, literally every time I talked about my recent trauma, she would talk about herself and then blame her autism when I told her it just wasn't helping.

The final piece of this was I had a nervous breakdown and screamed at her over discord that she was a shit friend and needed to give up on social work, for like an hour. NOT MY PROUDEST, but I ALMOST DIED. I was living with her because SOMEONE WAS STALKING ME. and I would have liked to not have my abuse JOKED about. HOW DID JENNY RESPOND!? She began dragging me, through the mud, in the group chat, for, dating, an, older, woman, who, paid, for, my, air bnb, because, !!!she!!! wouldn't let me live with her for more than a week. I was HOMELESS. It became all about "OP you are such a b*tch, you are with a woman twice your age and she pays for everything now but you are still a miserable and angry person. You are so blah blah blah you are an ableist, you said I can't become a social worker bc of autism blah blah blah you have major major issues, Go back your rich granny and leech off of her you useless, fucked up little gold digger."

U_U Then, she started graphically describing how I deserved my abuse, so I shrimply began to troll. And yes, I pulled out my magnum oppus like fucking playing blue eyes white dragon, oh yeah I slipped her a pristine Jenny's mom facebook photo and said "Hey you never said your mom was so cute. Maybe, I could leech off her next and become your new dad." Yes, her dad died.* She blocked me immediately. Its OK. It was knives out for Jenny as soon as my GF gifted me a pair of $700 Isabel Marant shoes** , the most EXPENSIVE thing ive ever owned in my whole life, and Jenny saw me excited and called her mom to buy her a pair. It's, absolutely OK, if I am the asshole. I wear my crown of thorns, judas that I am, but I really, really think Jenny was being cruel. *he died 18 years ago ** the shoes are no more because i fell into my gf's rich friend's koi pond

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim AU: Mermay Special

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: mer/vampire whumper, mer/vampire whumpee, whumper-turned-whumpee, dehydration, claustrophobia, starvation, torture, brief death wish, recovery, caretaking

have something special for mermay :) inspired by this fanart my friend lostie drew 2 years ago!!

-

It hadn’t rained in a week, Jim’s freshwater had run out the day before, and he was going to die.

He knew he was going to die. Kane would come back to feed, and his body wouldn’t be able to hold up anymore, and he would die. Either with Kane’s jaws clamped around him, or later, alone in the damp cold sand.

He wasn’t thirsty enough to be desperate yet, not desperate enough to drink the abundant saltwater taunting him from his prison’s little beach. He knew it would only make him die faster. It was poison.

It hardly mattered at this point. Months with no rescue likely meant no rescue at all, and this was hardly a life. Still, something cried out in him, wanting to live.

Jim scrambled against the rock as he saw that telltale fin start to poke out of the water, more and more until the vampire revealed himself in full, the head and torso of a man and the tail-end of a shark. Not that there was anywhere for Jim to use his worthless legs to run to.

“Food.” Kane slung half a seal onto the surface, raw yet unbloodied.

Jim cautiously crept forward. “I need water.”

Kane raised an eyebrow at him, then splashed him, leaving him soaked.

“Fresh water,” he pressed, pointing up to the clear sky. “Rainwater. I need it or I’ll die. Please, just take me back to the beach, any beach where there’s humans. I won’t be any use to you dead. You’re not some animal, you know this isn’t right, please!”

“Human mine,” Kane dismissed firmly.

Jim sobbed drily. “I can’t. I can’t. You’re going to kill me.”

“Eat.” Kane shoved the meat toward him, making him flinch back. “Then I eat.”

Jim looked to the sky, Kane’s hungry eyes never leaving him as he devoured the vampire’s leftovers. If it didn’t rain tomorrow, he wouldn’t make it another day.

“Human.” Kane gestured him forward as soon as he finished.

“No, no, I don’t want to!” Jim backed up to the rock again, even knowing it was useless.

Kane huffed, climbing up onto the sand. “Food,” he called him now, a warning tone to his voice, piercing red eyes growing angry.

“Stop,” Jim insisted, squeezing his eyes shut. “No!”

A clawed hand grabbed his leg, any attempt to kick him away futile. He couldn’t match a vampire’s strength on his best day, and this was not his best day.

He cried out as sharp teeth dug into flesh once again, feeling much like the seal in his stomach.

-

Kane whined softly, squirming against the glass.

The fishers had put him in a smaller tank again. He couldn’t be sure–though he learned more of their language every awful day, there were still gaps–but he was near-certain it was a game to them, at this point, how small of a space they could force him to live in. He didn’t need to know their language to see their smirks.

He hadn’t even meant to break the last one. He had been trying so hard this time, and he’d been asleep when it happened. Even so, the fishers left him gasping on the floor in a pile of broken glass for hours. Even the tiny tank was better than none at all. How far he’d fallen, that he could consider this lucky.

Kane wished he could go back to complaining about not having room to swim. He would do anything to go back to the first tank. This one hardly afforded him room to move, to breathe. No matter how he tried to position himself, he always ended up touching the walls, his tail bunched up uncomfortably.

The water was too salty, burning his gills with every breath. He didn’t dare complain about that again. Last time, they left him in that horrible freshwater humans love so much until he screamed and bled to the point where any other fish would die.

But he was a vampire, and there was no driftwood here.

Every time a fisher walked past, Kane tensed. Some carried cruel metal tools, meant for fish already dead, though he’d already known their sting far more than he’d like. Some carried cruel metal tools and looked at him, making him wish he had anywhere to hide.

“Comfy?” a fisher mocked, tapping the glass with the end of his fishing stick, the unavoidable vibrations reverberating wherever he touched it.

Kane shook his head, hoping the answer was acceptable.

“Good. �̴̢̛̙̃̎̀̏͌�̶͙̪̉̃̐͋̈̈́̉͝�̵̛̹̪̳̾́̏̂̏̊͊�̴̤̬͖͖̬̹̣̏�̴̧̹͓͒̋͝�̸͎̝̂̅͋�̴̧͚͍̼̠͌�̵̤̜̻̦̬̄͒̏̃ little display case, leech. �̸͖̞̩̳̒̿͐̚͝ͅ�̴̢̫̺̟̺̬̯͔̋̄�̶̧̺̯͚̳͎͉̆͆̀̉̍�̵͚͈͛̌̑̚�̷̰͝͝�̴̢̡̯̗̖̥̈́̑̄̅̃̀̎̕ feed you this week.”

He perked up at the mention of food, whining louder this time.

The fisher laughed, flicking one of those foul little ash-and-paper cylinders into his tank. “Eat it.”

It would make him sick, but far worse would come of disobeying orders. Maybe the fisher would allow him some food if he obeyed. Kane wriggled until he could position himself enough to reach the bottom of the tank, scooped it up, and swallowed it down.

Another fisher joined him, saying something he couldn’t understand and nodding at his tank before approaching.

Nothing good ever happened when he was taken from his tank.

“No, no, no!” he wailed as his head breached the surface, his salt-lined gills burning all the more against unforgiving air.

-

Jim didn’t go to the beach anymore.

After months stranded and years after living in fear, he never thought he’d get even ten miles near a coastline. Not even twenty. Yet here he was, getting within two, just to see the damn vampire. Just to confirm it’s him.

The scars on his arms and legs floated the vague line between hurt and not, leaving him unsure if it was in his head.

The smell of distant saltwater made him want to vomit.

Jim greeted the fishers in a daze, letting them lead him to the vampire that might be his.

And there he was.

Kane looked worse for wear. He was littered with more scars than Jim was, trapped in a tank barely wider than his body, and even his body looked near-emaciated. His wide eyes locked onto Jim with sudden, harsh terror, and he squirmed as if to try to get away.

“Why’s he… in there?” he asked dumbly.

“Gotta keep a vampire reeeal secure, you of all people know you can’t trust the fuckers. Give ‘em an inch and they’ll take a mile. Can’t move around, don’t have the energy to fight, knows it’s got hurt coming if it tries, that’s the safe way to keep ‘em,” the fisher explained.

Jim couldn’t look him in the eyes after that, so he looked at the tank instead.

“Kane?”

Kane whimpered, pressed against the back of the tank, though that only left him what looked like a couple inches away from the front of it. Jim felt claustrophobic just looking at it.

“So?” the fisher prompted.

“This is him.” Jim took a step forward, hesitantly pressing a hand to the glass. He was really here, powerless to hurt him again.

But Kane was hurt, and terrified, and trapped somewhere small and uncomfortable. There was no way he could leave him here.

“Do you think… I could take him?”

-

Every day, humans came to the aquarium in droves. As an unending mercy, Kane’s tank here was large, with ample places to hide. He never came out while the humans were visiting.

No one hurt him at the aquarium. He always had enough to eat at the aquarium. The workers always smiled at him when he surfaced for his meals. Not the malicious smiles of the fishers, but real ones, like they were friends. They talked to him like he was a person, and he was getting better at talking back, and they didn’t even get mad at him when he wouldn’t come out for the guests. Bellamy slipped him an extra fish and told him he deserved it for being a trooper. He didn’t know what a trooper was, but it sounded good when he said it.

Maybe he would start showing himself, one day, just to make them happy. Maybe if it ever stopped being scary.

As it stood, there was only one guest Kane would leave his hidey-hole for. Thankfully, they allowed him to come just after closing, away from the crowds.

“Hey,” Jim greeted. “Just came to, uh, check up on you. Make sure you’re still doing alright.”

Kane couldn’t speak underwater, and Jim was nowhere close to the top of the roomy tank, so he nodded. He looked at his hand, trying to remember the sign for a second, before making a ‘thumbs-up’.

“You’re okay? You’re happy? No one’s hurting you? They’re feeding you good? Helping you with medical stuff?” Jim asked.

Kane nodded again, smiling this time. He tried not to show his teeth.

Jim sat by the tank. “That’s good. I’m happy for you, man. You know how long ‘til the doc clears you to go home?”

It wouldn’t be long, now. He was gaining the weight back, his injuries had healed, and the exercises he’d been given were helping him learn to swim normally again. Soon, he would be able to survive in the ocean, just like before any of this nightmare had ever happened.

Bellamy said they could do a program together, if he wanted, where guests would come to learn about vampires and ask him questions. He said Kane didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, but winked and promised him some of his blood if he gave it a try.

No fisher could catch him again if he stayed at the aquarium. People would protect him at the aquarium.

Kane shrugged, not sure he would ever leave.

-

sorry all i can write are AUs lol <3 they're warming me up for the main series i prommy

taglist in reblogs!

[binsito]

tired

pairing: lee felix x fem reader

genre: bff!felix, pining, angst

word count: 2.4k

rating: mature, includes: unprotected sex, mentions of fingering and f receiving oral, it's pretty vanilla just kinda angsty, petnames like "baby", "pretty boy", and "princess" are used, felix is ur bff that's in love with you and you have horrible dating experiences with shitty people

felix was tired of having to wipe your tears.

was tired of having to listen to you talk in extensive detail over how shitty the guys you've dated have been.

how they hurt you, how they toss you aside and make you feel little.

was tired of having to pick up the pieces of your broken heart, patching them back into place only for you to go and get it torn right out of your chest all over again.

he was absolutely sick of it.

but most of all he was sick of you telling him how your lovers always fell short.

how the sex was mediocre, how they left you high and dry, chasing their own pleasure and leaving you hanging - utterly unfulfilled and upset.

he was sick of you telling him how many orgasms you've faked, how many times you've lied about how big their cock was in hopes that maybe that would push them to fuck you harder.

how they never knew where your clit was, always rubbing the skin next to it painfully hard or rubbing your folds - never where you needed them the most.

felix would never do you like that.

he wouldn't dream of giving you frustrating, god awful, pathetic sex.

felix wanted nothing more than to pull orgasm after orgasm from you, lapping your sweet cream with his tongue, dying to taste you, to have you shake under him.

he wanted to let you use him, he wanted to be a toy for you, for you to mount him and get off on him. he wanted to be good for you, to take whatever you gave him, to have you cum around his cock while he looked up at you with bleary eyes.

was that too much to ask for?

it was all he ever wanted..

he would never hurt you, would never leave you, would never make you feel worthless.

he wanted you to be his princess, he wanted you to only look at him and not those lazy excuses of a partner.

but he was just your best friend.

and you would never look at him that way.

"thank you for picking me up lix.." you said softly, breaking him out of his thoughts

you had called him to come pick you up from some guy's house, felix already knew that the guy had disappointed you in one way or another but he didn't say anything.

this was routine.

"i-i'm sorry for calling you so late.. he just didn't seem like he wanted me to stay the night so.. i felt weird asking if i could.." he just nodded, not wanting to say anything for fear of saying something brash.

"is it.. alright if you just take me back to yours? i would feel so bad if you drove all the way back to my apartment.." "s'fine yeah? you know i'd never say no to you.." he mumbled

and that was true.

he was physically incapable of telling you no, no matter how hard he tried. you could ask him to wrestle a bear for you and he would do it, no questions asked.

the rest of the ride back to his place was quiet, he didn't even bother turning the radio on. he just wanted to lay in bed, hoping you would spare him the details of your encounter because he feared he would go ballistic, could potentially show up at that guys place and fuck him up if he had done anything to you.

you took the right side of the bed, that was your spot. felix was very particular about what side was whose, you always thought it was funny. you didn't care much for sides, especially if you were drunk or super exhausted, any side was a good side.

he laid there, back towards you while you stared up at the ceiling. he could tell you were going to have trouble sleeping tonight. you barely slept if you had a mind full of racing thoughts. normally he would curl up into your sides or have you fall asleep on his chest but he was also spent.

tired.

tired of the constant back and forth. of always being the one waiting for you at the end of the tunnel.

tired of having to be strong for you, so you had someone to lean on when things went to shit.

"i-is there.. something wrong with me?"

oh god.

he could hear the tears in your voice.

shit.

"what? no, fuck no." he's quick to answer. "why would there be anything wrong with you?.." "then why does this always happen?.."

"because shitty guys tend to take advantage of sweet and beautiful girls like you.."

"i-im not-" "yes, you are.. you're the prettiest girl i know and trust me, i fucking hate seeing you like this.." his voice was soft yet stern, hoping the words would stick with you.

you were pretty.

prettier than any flower he's every picked, prettier than any sunset he's ever seen, prettier than any star he's ever counted.

and he's counted a lot.

trying hard to find you in a galaxy far away but never coming close.

always just too out of reach.

maybe he'd be a little more lucky in a different lifetime.

"i-i'm sorry lix.. i must be so annoying.. always asking you for help whenever i do something stupid.." "i love you.. that's what i'm here for.." he loved you.

his body was screaming for you to realize the weight of his words.

i love you, i love you, i love you!

"i love you too lix.."

but not in the way i love you, right?

of course not.

you both fall quiet but the room felt so loud, so unbearably loud. like the walls were laughing at you both, pointing and mocking.

felix shut his eyes, not wanting to feel anything anymore and hoping to fall asleep right away.

he was hoping you'd follow suit, that you would just go to bed after this and you two could carry on like you always did.

"i just wish i could find someone like you.. i wish i could just date you instead of wasting my time over and over again.."

felix wished you never said that.

that you had just let this go and had just gone to bed.

and part of him was so angry because couldn't you see how hard he tried for you? how incredibly lovesick he was?

"you should just go to bed." he spoke, not meaning to sound so cold. you obviously picked up on his tone.

"lix i'm sorry that was weird right?-"

"no, but it pissed me off because yeah.. wouldn't it have saved you all the trouble if you just dated me?" "lixie i didn't mean to-" "didn't mean to upset me, i get it. but i'm gonna be upset regardless because i've been going through this with you for far too long and i am just so.. fucking.. tired.

when i say i love you, i'm not just saying it because i feel like it or because you're my best friend.. i'm saying it because i fucking love you and i'm dying for you to just pick me for once.."

you felt so little at this moment.

so, so stupid.

the crazy thing was, you knew how he felt but you always just pushed it aside as nothing. that maybe you were reading into the way he liked holding your hand too much. that you were crazy to ever think your best friend could feel something more for you than just platonic friendship.

you opened your mouth to speak but ultimately fell silent.

how would you even answer? what could you even possibly say?

he figured he fucked up, about to turn away again and pretend he didn't just say the craziest shit ever. god, he wished he could just vanish.

"lix.. please don't be mad at me.. i-i'm sorry.."

if there was something you hated more than the guys you've slept with, it's feeling like you hurt felix.

"just stop apologizing please-"

"no.. you can't just say you love me and then try pushing me away.." you spoke, trying to keep your voice from faltering or sounding weak.

"i don't want to complicate things.."

"but you already did, felix."

he decided it would be best if he just slept on the couch tonight, sitting up and scooting towards the edge of the bed. your hand quickly coming over to grab his arm

"felix, please. don't leave.. we both need to stop being reckless.. you can't keep hiding your feelings and i can't keep making bad choices.. it's so bad for us." you spoke softly, your touch burning through him.

he couldn't resist you, he always sought out your warmth and soft skin.

"wouldn't dating your best friend be a bad choice?"

you couldn't help but let out a soft laugh at that.

"no.. because i know you're a good person.. you've been patient with me and i know that this might be the only good choice i'll ever make."

now he was the one trying to find words and failing to come up with a response.

but there didn't need to be any more words exchanged, you tugged him towards you and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

both of your hearts thumping nervously in your chest. it felt different but right. it was like learning to swim, you were afraid of drowning but felix was there to hold you up, kissing you back once he realized he didn't give a fuck anymore.

he loved you and he wasn't going to miss an opportunity to show you that he could love you just as you deserved.

--

it felt like the whole world was fast asleep while the two of you hastily took your clothes off. all of it strewn on the floor, bodies bare, radiating heat and harboring so many new feelings.

felix lived alone so there was no need for you to be as quiet as you were but it almost felt better this way.

you couldn't quite remember how it had escalated to this point.

maybe it was when felix let out a needy whimper against your lips or when you pulled him in close by his hair. he was so pliant, so ready to give.

you both knew you wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight anyways, so once it had gotten to this point, you both welcomed it.

"lix it's okay.." you whispered, you could see him contemplating going any further, like he was guilty about doing this.

you cupped his face and kissed his forehead softly

"i trust you..it's okay lixie.."

you trust him.

his heart felt like it could burst.

you trust him.

you trust him enough to let him have you like this, to make you feel good, to treat you well.

he wasn't going to disappoint.

he didn't care if he got to finish after this or not, his one goal in mind is to finally do all the things he'd dreamt of doing to you.

he was more worried about making sure you'd cum and were left satisfied. he let you know in advanced that he wasn't one to get embarrassed if you guided his hand or told him how to touch. he wanted to know, was eager to learn what made your toes curl.

two fingers deep inside you while his pretty lips worked diligently on your clit. your breathy moans would be engraved in his memory after this.

"oh god.. lixie.. just like that baby.." hands tangled in his long hair.

baby.

it's like you knew exactly what to say to make him crazy.

"shit.. lixie.. can't anymore.. gotta have you.." you sighed out, eyes shut tightly, your stomach coiling at the arising orgasm he was pulling from you. he pulled back and looked down at your cunt, it was basically screaming his name, fluttering around nothing, begging him to just finally breach your hole and make it his.

you wanted to cum on him, wanted to have him inside and hold him close.

he knew he was a dead man as soon as he lined up and pressed in, holding your hands gently and letting out a relieved exhale. it felt so much better than he had ever imagined, sucking him in like your cunt was made for him.

"g-god i'm not sure i'll last very long.." he chuckled

you smiled up at him and he kissed you just as he started to move gently, pacing himself in hopes of drawing this out as long as he could but in all honesty, he was dying to rut into you with all the force he could muster.

your arms wrapping around him as his forehead pressed against yours.

it was perfect.

he was perfect.

gentle and sweet, asking you if you were alright, telling you how much he loved you, how good you were taking his cock.

you could get used to this.

making love with felix.

you hated yourself for how long it took you to get here, how many heartaches and horrible exes you went through only to fall back into felix's arms time and time again.

this time you hoped to stay.

"i'm close lixie.. right there.." you whimpered, legs coming around his hips to cage him in.

he kept hitting your spot, pushing you to your peak, intensity bubbling in your tummy until it was just too much - snapping within you, your orgasm taking over all your senses.

felix cooed and sweet talked you through it, helping you ride it out as he let himself go as well, filling you with his own cum.

post nut clarity hitting him because he was so fucking worried this would ruin everything he's ever known.

he'd rather throw himself into ongoing traffic than to lose you, his best friend.

"lix.." you grabbed his face

"pretty boy.. you need to stop worrying so much.." pecking his lips gently to bring his attention back towards you.

"i promise i wanna try this with you.. i really do.. i want us to both be happy together.." he nodded and laid down on your chest, holding you close and shutting his eyes.

"i'll make you happy.. i won't let you cry anymore. i waited so long for you, princess.."

you smiled softly to yourself, playing with his hair and massaging his scalp.

you knew things would be alright for a change.

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

[yannaryartside]

This is still all about Donna

The cyclical aspect of abuse ft Chef David

So, I wanted to add to the discussion why Carmy pursued the star so intensely, to the point of inflicting self-punishment and isolation. Why would he focus his whole identity on the evil chef after all those other beautiful experiences he also got to live?

I am going to talk on broad terms because I don’t have any studies in psychology, so you can take it all with a grain of salt; I am talking just from personal experience/instrospection. I am also not saying this applies to all victims of abuse or all types of abuse. I am talking mainly about domestic/psychological abuse.

WHY IT ALL STARTED

On the opening night, a particular set of chemicals created an explosion in Carmy's mind. He saw a man who resembled the chef who tortured him psychologically and abused him. So he goes back and starts a fight with Syd. She calms him down, but he feels lost and needs a pause, so he goes to the freezer but finds himself trapped. Then, the turmoil of flashbacks comes in of Donna and Chef David, while he thinks he failed his team and confirms the belief that he is indeed worthless, no good, and a waste of space. Donna installed this belief in Carmy, and Chef David revived it.

So he blames Claire, a relationship that (regardless of not being particularly deep or healthy) was bringing him happiness, and he decides to commit to the lie that he needs to sacrifice things that make him happy to be good (chef). At this point, Carmy has equated his worth as a human with his ability to produce a certain quality of work as a chef.

THE CYCLE

Maybe the most vile thing about abuse is its cyclical nature. If you have been abused, particularly since childhood, even if you manage to leave the environment where the abuse took place, there is a high chance you will end up in another abusive relationship/situation.

Abuse breaks your perception of self and the world around you; because of that, every relationship you have, or situation you establish will be defined by that broken perception.

Carmy grew up in an abusive household, believing there was something wrong with him that made his mother reject him and prefer his older brother. From what we can gather, none of Carmy's interests and personality traits were appreciated or encouraged in that house (besides cooking), so he was a child "terrified of speaking." He didn't have friends who could help him understand or accept himself; he missed that in very formative years. Michael (the brother he compared himself to) ended up being the real parental figure in his life (Michael divides himself between teasing him and encouraging him).

Carmy learns to love cooking because of his connection with Michael. Then Michael makes him feel rejected by casting him out. Carmy goes abroad and has really amazing experiences that allow him to know and accept himself. He gets to feel like a child again, finding and cultivating the things that he loves.

Then he finds a chef boss who is also abusive. Donna comes to life in the face of Chef David, and Carmy (who has become almost the best at this point and could have just left this place) accepts the abuse because he is afraid that both Donna and David are right, that there is something fundamentally wrong with him no matter how hard he tries.

So he goes into this season in freeze response, screaming at others because he can hear the evil chef in his head telling him how much of a waste of space he is; he needs to fight it, so he screams at everyone to have the same standard he has to obey or get killed. He is acting entirely out of fear that they are going to get him killed because they are “not perfect” or “too slow.” Because he can still feel the threat of the ghost of Chef David saying horrible things to him as he cooks. This is about self-preservation.

Also, isolation is a form of self-punishment, and he believes he needs to resolve this on his own.

THE CLAIRE PART-SELF PUNISHMENT

He tells himself that he cannot be with Claire because that is who he is and that he doesn't deserve such a good thing if it endangers the only thing that brings him value, cooking. He doesn't deserve this love that, for the first time, doesn't seem to require a big amount of sacrifice on his part. He spent most of the season reminiscent of that affection. He said she brought her peace, but I think he just meant she didn't feel worthless for once. It looks like not having girlfriends or friends (lack of meaningful connections that accept him for who he is) is a big source of insecurity for him.

The relationship was empty and superficial but was the best he had ever felt; Claire made him feel like there was nothing wrong with him, (to the point of being an enabler, yes), but it was still better for him than feeling rejected most of his life.

His most significant relationships (Mickey and Donna and sometimes Nat and Richie) were based on a push-and-pull mechanic that created an emotional distance, and he has spent most of his life trying to earn his mother's love, while he felt he didn't have to make an effort to earn Claire's love, even the most basic emotional responsibility (never apologize). The show even showed you that the relationship between Claire and Carmel would have happened if she hadn't done most of the work, emotional or otherwise.

Case in point: Sydney, a person with whom he has a lot in common, an unspoken telepathy, and a bond that can get him out of panic attacks (his previous unhealthy beliefs), is the person with whom he has the most trouble establishing a relationship because of the plot (based on his mental health), even after three seasons.

That was a lot, thank you for reading.

[cuubism]

Physical Therapy, Part 8

--

A few days later, Hob goes to Dream’s old flat. He wanted to go immediately, but he needed time to calm himself. If he went to confront Dream’s ex immediately, he’d be too likely to do something inadvisable out of anger.

Truthfully, he’s still so angry.

He can control himself, though. So he knocks on the door, instead of taking it off its hinges.

Dream’s ex-boyfriend opens the door with an annoyed look on his face. But jumps back, startled, at the sight of Hob. He recognizes Hob, then. Good.

“I’m here for Dream’s things,” he says. No need to prolong this with pleasantries.

“His things?” says the ex, with disdain, like Dream’s possessions mean nothing to him. “Why? He’ll come back anyway. Eventually.”

“No, he won’t.”

Ex-boyfriend leans against the door frame, smirking. Maybe Hob should have just punched him. “You going to stop him?”

Hob takes a deep, long breath. No. He actually wouldn’t try to stop him. He’s not going to force Dream to do anything. He’d try to convince him otherwise, though. And if he can be a good enough boyfriend, then maybe Dream will never feel the need to go back to some horrible place, looking for love.

“I don’t try to make people stay in my house,” he snaps. “His things. Now. You think I won’t punch you again?”

So much for being calm.

For the first time, that smirking look slips. “It’s all worthless anyway,” he says.

Hob grits his teeth. The stupidest thing is, even for someone who doesn’t care about Dream himself, Dream’s art is objectively not worthless. Hob had looked it up once. Dream’s paintings sell for thousands of pounds. Sometimes tens of thousands. It’s not just Dream’s passion that he’s so jealous and disparaging about, but his livelihood, his basic ability to support himself.

“Are you going to let me take it?” he says. “Or are we going to have a problem?”

Ex-boyfriend looks annoyed—and uncomfortable?—but finally just gestures Hob in. “Fine. Whatever.”

Inside, the flat is… kind of cold. It’s not homey. He can’t imagine Dream living here; he can barely imagine Dream living in his own flat, which is likewise utterly empty of decoration. But there are spots on the wall, here, that are empty in a more conspicuous way. Like Dream’s art might once have hung there.

Hob doesn’t know the entirety of what he’s looking for, but he thinks he’ll be able to identify most of Dream’s things by sight. And indeed—with Dream’s ex trailing him like an irritable ghost—he finds some of what must be Dream’s clothes in the closet, and Dream’s sketchbooks and books and paperwork all stacked in boxes. Like they’d been on their way out.

So much for “he’s definitely coming back.”

Dream’s ex doesn’t stop him as he packs stuff up and gathers it by the door. But as Hob looks at what he’s managed to collect, there’s obviously something missing. Pieces that were still drying and pieces that were too large to carry, Dream had said, when speaking of what he'd left behind.

“Where’s the rest of his art?”

Now ex-boyfriend does look uncomfortable. A sinking feeling settles in Hob’s stomach. “Why would I keep that shit, anyway? I told you, it’s worthless."

“It’s not worthless,” Hob snaps, but this time his voice breaks. He scrubs a hand through his hair. Looks at the empty spaces on the wall.

He tries to imagine what happened. Did he just toss it all? Coldly? Methodically? No, Hob doesn’t think so. If he had he would have just gotten rid of the rest of Dream’s stuff, too.

What he can imagine is a fit of rage, with his real target, Dream, having fled, and only the supposed distraction, his life’s work, left behind.

Dream's ex-boyfriend is watching him warily. He seems nervous about what Hob might do, like Hob is an unpredictable animal. Good. Maybe he'll understand how Dream's felt. “You got what you came for,” he says. “Just go.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to decide if I'm going to kill you first.”

Dream’s ex takes a startled step back. And Hob really, really wants to just fucking bash this guy’s head in. But he has to restrain himself. Not just because he doesn’t want to get arrested for assault, though that’s also better avoided.

No. It’s really that he doesn’t want to be another violent man in Dream’s life.

As satisfying as it was to throw that first punch in Dream’s defense, making it physical now would be a different matter. If he shows that he’s capable of resorting to real violence to get what he wants, or to punish someone for something, Dream is always going to have that in the back of his head when he looks at him. There will always be a tiny corner of his brain harboring the fear that that impulse could turn on him.

He’s already kind of pushing boundaries by being here at all, and only getting away with it because Dream didn’t actually tell him not to go, just that he himself didn’t want to. God his blood is heated and this asshole definitely deserves to be taught a lesson but it’s not worth putting a crack in Dream’s trust in him.

“You’re lucky I care more about what he thinks of me,” he finally says. Then he gathers all of Dream’s stuff, and makes himself leave. Dream’s ex, wisely, doesn’t say anything else as he goes.

—

Dream is in the middle of trying to paint when Hob arrives. Or rather, in the middle of staring at a canvas, wishing he could paint. He’d bought a large canvas in the hopes that he might try to do something in his old style, something more detailed and precise. But he’s been too intimidated by the prospect to even begin mixing colors.

He keeps finding himself staring at all the empty space in his flat, at walls that should be hung with art. But he doesn’t have any of his large pieces left. They were all sold prior to… the incident… or left behind. He only has the smaller ones that were in his portfolio.

He’s been finding himself regretting selling those pieces. He had never been bothered by it before, but now he wants to track down the buyers and beg for them back. But he won't. Some of those paintings had sold for tidy sums, which is the reason he can afford this flat despite not having a steady job. And he has no guarantee of being able to sell something at that rate again.

He at least has photographs of everything he’s ever sold. The same can’t be said of what he’d kept for himself, or left unfinished.

He startles at the knock on the door, but remembers: Hob said he would come over today.

He still hasn’t been able to shake the need to block the door whenever he’s home, so he has to shove aside a bookcase before he can let Hob in. When he opens the door, Hob is carrying a box, and wearing a pained smile. “Here,” he says, giving it to Dream. “I have more in the car.”

He disappears back down the stairs before Dream can question him, and Dream sets the heavy box down on the kitchen island.

It’s full of his sketchbooks.

For several moments he just stares at them, not daring to touch. How did Hob— did he go to Dream’s flat?

Hob comes back with another two boxes, precariously balanced, while Dream is still staring at the first one. These, it seems, are full of documents, and personal effects, and some of his favorite books.

“How—?” he tries to ask, nearly struck dumb.

“I went to your house,” Hob says. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have. But you deserve to have your things.”

At first, he is only shocked to think that someone would go to such lengths for him. Then, Dream feels a surge of hope. Perhaps—

But. No. Of all things, Hob would have known to grab his artwork. He would have lead with that.

“…Oh,” Dream says quietly, looking down.

“Yeah,” Hob says, face falling. “I’m so sorry, Dream, that’s all that was there— I mean I still have some of your clothes in the car, but—”

“I love you,” Dream says, tearing up. Hob actually went back. To get his things. Even when Dream said it wasn’t worth doing.

When he looks up again, Hob looks stunned. And only then does Dream realize what he’s said. He swallows nervously, but he doesn’t want to take it back. It doesn’t matter if he truly meant that he’s in love with Hob. Because either way, he loves Hob. And no one has ever loved him like this, like it was easy. And without question.

“I—” Hob stammers. “I mean it’s really not—”

Dream takes his hands and squeezes them, and Hob stops talking. “It is,” Dream says. “It is a big deal. To me.”

“Well,” Hob finally manages, voice still tight. “I want you to be happy, Dream. You deserve that.”

It’s not a sentiment Dream is used to hearing directed towards him. But hearing it from Hob makes him feel like… maybe it can be. Maybe it should be.

Dream kisses him, still holding his hands. He feels himself smile into the kiss. Another thing he’s not used to doing, but it feels good.

Hob smiles too, as he cradles Dream’s face between his hands. And even though Hob wasn’t able to recover his art, even though his ex probably destroyed it—which is agonizing to think about—in this one moment, Dream is… happy.

It's so strange that it almost hurts. But he thinks he’s actually happy.

[madwomansapologist]

gift exchange with baldur's gate 3 companions

Navigation | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: As the end of the year approaches, the group united by worms decides over starting a tradition: exchanging gifts!

warnings: i don't think there is any...? this can be seen as tavrem or just platonic. ASTARION FLIRTS. i use tav as a nickname for reader, so... i made the sortition on a site so this is really random. i swear. like y'all wont't believe me, but it's random. also, i love those weirdos. just thought i should said that. happy rest of 2023 for all of us!

After losing a bet, Gale was responsible for starting what soon will be a tradition among the almost honorable group.

Gale stood up from his place near the fire, an unopened package floating beside his body, making a little flourish. "When I found out who companion I would gift, an immense honor took over my chest. My virtuosic―"

"Chk," Lae'zel crossed her arms. The look on her face was clear: she was daring Gale to dare her. "Humanoid, use fewer words."

Gale breathe in, so close to losing it. One things is to be disrespected, an that he can bear, but to be interrupted? He prepared jokes, and it would even rhyme. Decided not to be the one that would ruin the night, he ignored her.

"To sum up," he smiled at Lae'zel. "What a honor to put a face to the name, Blade of Frontiers."

Wyll hugged Gale, patting his shoulder affectionately. "The honor is all mine to meet such a renowned wizarding prodig."

Gale handed over the package, and then sat back down by the fire. The wine goblet returned to the wizard's hand.

Wyll's smile gradually died. From the packaging, he took out a book. "General Theory of Contracts and Unilateral Acts?" He glared at Gale. "What should this mean?"

"I'm just helping my friend," Gale took a sip. "So in the future you won't sign any appealing contract."

Facing the book that soon will be burned, Wyll regret getting into debt with Tav just so he could buy the perfect gift.

Wyll picked up the bag left on the log, and ignored Shadowheart's giggles.

"In this year full of surprises, good ones and horrible ones, but meeting this person..." Wyll breathed. "Gale, you worthless cunt. Astarion, I hope you like this."

Astarion took the gift with his fingertips, excited to have guessed who had drawn him. He told Karlach that Wyll was acting strange lately. He didn't thanked Wyll, that is something he'll only do if his gift is good.

When he touched what was inside the bag, he knew that the fabric was of quality. And upon seeing the details of the black ensemble, Astarion's smile became real.

"Oh, darling," he purred. "You spoil me."

With a smug smile and a hesitation to provoke his companions, Astarion continued.

"To show that I am capable of doing the right thing from time to time," Astarion licked his fangs. "I spent arduous weeks collecting what I would need for tonight's best gift."

Everyone booed him.

Rolling his eyes, Astarion took the chest from his tent. "I smell the scent of jealousy coming from all of you," said Astarion. He stopped talking, just to play with everyone's feelings. "That one is to my sweet leader."

You cheered as you stood up. If there's one thing no one can say about Astarion, it's that he doesn't have good taste. After all, there is a reason for why he chose to bite you.

"Thank you, darling," you mirrored the way he talks to you. "That won't make me mad, will it?"

"Oh, Tav, you know me" your nickname flowed from his lips like honey. "I only play with your feelings when we have privacy."

When he handed you the trunk, you even stumbled under its weight. You placed it on one of the fallen trees. Opening it, a smile appeared on your face.

Potions. Lots of potions. Of all kinds. Speed, invisibility, healing. Poisons, coatings. From the most basic to the rarest.

Looking at Astarion, you pouted. "Thank you," you whispered.

Excited, you runned to your tent to take the hidden gift. Something on you told you the problems you got yourself into just to able to get that would be worth it.

"Oh gods," Gale murmured. Sarcams dripped from his tongue. "What is that? Can anyone tell?"

"On my defense," you pointed at him. No words made to your brain, so you breathed in. "How else would I pack an trident?"

"Not like that," said Shadowheart.

You chose not to discuss with them only because you knew that just wrapping it with red silk and a pink knot was a bad idea, but it still hurted to know that it was the best you could do. How can wrapping things be so difficult? Why no one told you that it would be so difficult?

"The person I gonna gift deserve the whole world, and one day I will sure that they get's it," you started. Surprised that Lae'zel didn't stopped you already, you continued. "I really wasn't expecting to like that person, but she won my heart so easily."

"Heart," Lae'zel murmured. "Is it Karlach?"

Karlach jumped from her place. "IS IT ME?!"

You showed your tongue to Lae'zel, then turned to Karlach. "Yes, it is!"

In a matter of seconds you were too far from the ground. Only when your breathing had already become a problem did Karlach carefully place you on the ground again.

Karlach tore open the wrapping, the trident glinting in her hands. She was already thanking you so happily. The only reason why she didn't hugged you again was because she didn't want to hurt you.

"This pretty girl in your hands is Nyrulna," you started. "Because of an spell, it'll return to your hand when thrown. Plus, no one can force you to drop it. It also creates an explosion. But the best part is that I found a way to make it red!"

Wyll sighed, and threw his book on the fire.

"Hey!" Gale yelled.

After a little dance to celebrate, Karlach tried to control her beaming smile. She didn't knew most of her companions felt their hearts getting warmer, but if she did it would have just worried her.

Karlach held onto the box she protected with her life to ensure no one would tamper with the gift. "This person deserves a fucking break and I―"

"Shadowheart," you yelled. "Is it Shadowheart?"

"You're fucking right!" Karlach pointed at the cleric. "Is it you, my girl! You're the one that deserve a break!"

"Well," Shadowheart forced a little smile. "Thank you. I guess."

Karlach handed over the small package, and without delay she pulled Shadowheart into a hug. The brunette had no option but to accept it. Carefully, Shadowheart opened the package and found a book with leather cover.

She threw the package on the floor to open it. "What is it about?" Shadowheart asked, flipping through the book.

"It's a collection of erotic stories," said Karlach.

Halsin took a sip from his goblet. Finally someone with taste.

Shadowheart ignored whatever wit comment Astarion made and took a deep breath. "Of course it is."

Shadowheart wasn't recovered from her gift, but the tiredness that overtook her members was also caused by the irony of what was about to happen.

"Lady of Sorrow guides us," Shadowheart whispered to herself. Instead of trying to make people guess who she's about to gift, Shadowheart just threw the box onto Lae'zel's lap. "There is no reason for me to delay this torture even more."

"Chk. Oh. This seems like it's you fate to deal with me." Lae'zel opened the box with one of her daggers. "Let's see if I will thank you, follower of Shar."

Inside the box, Lae'zel found several instruments for improving weapons. How she hated liking the gift. Lae'zel would like to do like Wyll and burn everything just to embarrass Shadowheart, but she couldn't damage such well-made instruments.

"Well done, cleric," Lae'zel hissed.

Lae'zel knew that her gift was the best, but there was a possibility that she did not thought about: maybe she had got the gift she would like to receive. Either way, it would be worth it.

"I share the cleric's interest for no unecessary fuss," Lae'zel was quickly to say. "Bear, I hope you enjoy this."

She handed over the box and walked away before Halsin could think about hugging her. Halsin undid the knot that kept the box closed, and everyone gasped at the sight of his gift.

You looked at Lae'zel. "How did you... Did you keep it all this time? How did you preserve it?"

In the glass above Halsin's hands was Minthara's head.

"You truly are..." Halsin sighed. He didn't knew what to say. "Civilized."

Before Halsin could recover, Gale approached the druid.

Unable to say anything, Halsin handed him the package. Gale didn't care, he just wanted to know what he had won. His smile didn't last a lot.

"Boots, Halsin?" He yelled. "Very mature of you. Very mature."

Wyll laughed at last.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[angelmichelangelo]

i feel like we don’t talk about how horrendous the wasteland arc of 2012 was. like, yeah the designs for the future turtles were a lil goofy but think about it. donnie’s body obliterated he’s left with a brain damaged raphael who can’t remember anything, unwillingly burdening him with not only looking after him but keep on the memory of their brothers alive. and at some point after the mutagen bomb went off, after probably endlessly searching for leo and mikey they left new york. donnie probably had to make that decision with the heaviest heart. leo, out of his mind from his second mutation probably fled the city whenever he came to, lost and confused, unsure if he was the only survivor, if there was anything left of the old leo in his mind imagine the guilt he carried when he thought his sacrifice had been worthless. mikey who probably was still sound of mind probably crawled out of that wreckage and realised for the first time in his life was alone. those brothers, usually inseparable had to at some point just accept fate that their brothers were dead/not coming back for them and move on with their lives. wasteland arc is horrible. it’s great, but it’s horrible.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Why not me?

Visiting the new PIDW canon altered Bingge's brain chemistry.

It haunted Luo Bingge for weeks - that version of Shen Qingqiu, that kind, loving smile, his soft, fond eyes, his tender touch, the plush of his lips and that indignant but pliant way in which he submitted to Luo Bingge's aggressive kiss...

It haunted him every moment of every day, even more so at night, ever since it happened - and neither of his many wives managed to entice him or distract him, their presence suddenly irritating him to the point that he forbade any of them to visit him, including his otherwise esteemed wife.

Seeing these women felt at best empty, at worst, repulsive. He couldn't bear anybody's touch on his skin, not after having felt the way that Shen Qingqiu had held and touched him. Not after having realized that it was only when he felt those loving hands on his body that he had ever felt any semblance of comfort.

How?

How had the cruel, abusive man that Luo Bingge had suffered much pain and humiliatin at the hands of, turned into someone so kind and sweet? What happened? What changed?

And what about himself then? That version of himself, that pathetic, glass-hearted creature, how had he not become like Luo Bingge at all? He had surely shared the same fate, Bingge could tell, his version of Shen Qingqiu threw him into the Abyss as well! So why was he not vengeful? Had he not wanted to seek retribution, revenge for his suffering?!

But above all of that, the question that plagued Luo Bingge more than anything was... why not me?

Why did I not get the kind version of shizun?

Why wasn't I treated kindly?

Why couldn't I have that?

Why did I not deserve that?

Sometimes, he replayed that kiss in his head - the simmering passion he had felt in Shen Qingqiu's lips, the way he melted against Luo Bingge as if he was someone he loved - that love and desire between them that Bingge could have had no problem pretending was his and not the other version's.

It made him feel something that no woman in his harem ever had, not even the one he had chosen as his wife.

It made him realize something that made him feel sick.

He had always loved Shen Qingqiu. He had all but screamed to him - love me, love me, why won't you love me? So many seem to find it so easy to love me, why not you? Why not me?! - but all he got in exchange was hatred and vitriol, anger and humiliation.

It hadn't been the abuse, the pain or even the Abyss that turned Luo Bingge dark - no. It had been something far simpler, far more pathetic than he wanted to admit it.

Heartbreak.

And though he thought he had avenged himself, with Shen Qingqiu rotting in the basement of his palace with nothing but his venomous tongue left, meeting that gentle version of his shizun had broken Luo Bingge's heart once again, perhaps even more than it had ever been before.

--

"Why not me?"

Shen Qingqiu glared at his former disciple, scoffing. He did not feel like replying, and did not care to find out what Bingge was on about either.

"Why were you never kind to me?"

Shen Qingqiu scoffed again. "Kind? To a beast?"

Bingge's fists clenched, veins popping on the back of his fists. A beast? Had that other version of himself not been a beast too? He was loved, why wasn't Bingge?

"There is no world in which I would have seen you as anything but worthless and repulsive!"

"There is." Bingge replies, eerily calm, even doning a small, derisive, knowing smile. "There is a world in which you're not a monster. And I am not either."

Shen Qingqiu nearly laughed, that bitter, horrible laugh of his. "As if you'd deserve a world like that."

Luo Bingge had grown used to this, to his former shizun's harsh tongue, to the words Bingge responded to with causing him so much pain that his screams echoed off the palace.

But somehow, it hurt more that day. Because out of all the filth and the insults Shen Qingqiu had hurled his way along the years, to hear those words had been the most painful to hear.

Because it was true. It was true, and Bingge knew it - even that kind, loving version of shizun wouldn't have loved him. He had known it even when he asked that Shen Qingqiu to come with him to his world.

He wouldn't have.

Bingge thought back to that other version of himself. The way he protected his shizun, the fierceness in his eyes as he stared at Bingge and the love in them every time he looked at his Shen Qingqiu, the enormity of his love that bordered obsession. Worship.

It was something Bingge understood without even needing proof - that version of himself loved Shen Qingqiu beyond understanding, beyond limit.

Perhaps even beyond death.

The Shen Qingqiu now staring at Bingge would not have known what to do with such a love.

"You wouldn't deserve it either."

I had it. Shen Qingqiu thought to himself, bitterly, but he didn't pursue the thought further.

[victorie552]

I headcannon that after 3rd Kinslaying, and especially after Elrond and Elros left them in whatever fashion, Maedhros was a total dick to Maglor.

You know how sometimes old or sick people are nice to neighbours/nurses/strangers, but are horrible to their primal caretakers? That's them.

People aren't dicks to their caretakers just to be dicks - it's because they are often frustrated with themselves or their situation and don't know how else to deal with it or they can't deal with it the usual way. It also happens because, paradoxally, they feel safe around their caretakers - you can be a dick because you know they won't leave just because of that.

And boy, did Maglor cast himself in a role of caretaker (let's not kid ourselves, he wasn't qualified, and with his own problems to boot), and BOY, did Maedhros resent him for it. He did not NEED help, he did not DESERVE help, he's not another kidnapped child MAGLOR, I'M the older brother, I should take care of YOU YOU WRECK, WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO BABYSIT YOU GROW UP ALREADY and leave me Nothing is EVER your fault, even when you left me to Angband as you should Why would you care now, it amounted to NOTHING before, it's WORTHLESS

And about half the time Maglor just takes it, actually likes it even. Mostly because of his guilt complex about how he deserves it, but also because Maedhros is only like this with him - he's trying his best to pretend to be fine and be a leader to few followers they have left, because they deserve better and that's the only thing he can give them now, and their brothers are all dead and would always be Too Little to act like that around them anyway. Maedhros would behave himself even around Fingon, to make him think rescuing him was worth something. So by being a dick to Maglor, Meadhros sees him as an equal, a safe haven. Maglor basks in that.

But obviously no one could just take such abuse like it's nothing, and Maglor is a Feanorian too, is prideful and stubborn, with his own laundry list of complains about Maedhros, and also unwell, and also thought of a new insult while lying awake at night and just wants to yell too. So half the time Maglor yells back and their yelling matches would bring orcs to tears, with hate and blame dripping from every word. I don't have enough imagination to picture it realistically, and actually I don't want to, it's too heartbreaking.

And sometimes, one or the other just starts crying. They don't talk about these times.

After some time, their arguments and insults are just a noise, something to repeat endlessly to the point of boredom.

By then, what actually hurts are the words that were not meant to harm.

Example 1:

Maedhros: 'did an all-night inspection of their stores cause he couldn't sleep' I found a herb you always liked to wash your hair with.

Maglor: 'doesn't remember last time he washed his hair, no less scented them'

Maglor: 'choked up' Appreciated.

Example 2:

Maedhros: 'feels like he's dragging Maglor to damnation with him' You could go with the twins, you know.

Maglor: 'doesn't want to upset Maedhros today so decides to pretend as if that was actually an option' Vanyar would probably like my singing but you know they would get mad at you for having better battle plans than them.

Maedhros: 'now KNOWS he's dragging Maglor to damnation with him'

Maedhros: 'dying inside' Of course they would.

When love hurts, it's easier to be a dick.