#like literally perish that was so ugly

[t4tvglow]

fucking transmisogynistic coworker ruining my morning lmfao

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Seven — Azriel x Reader

Note: I hope you enjoy this part because I’m not overly happy with how it’s written, I don’t know why 😭probably just me being a DUMBASS. Also, it’s still not letting me tag some of you 😩anyone know why?

Summary: The Bat Boys are worried about reader. Cassian’s getting a little suspicious of Kaeda. Azriel is really, really missing his friend.

Word count: 7k.

Warnings: Some injury detail.

“He cannot do this. Surely, he cannot fucking do this.”

Azriel slams his fist on the table so hard that ale sloshes over the lip of a mug. The atmosphere in the mead hall is unusually calm tonight. There’s more laughter than arguing, and some dickhead with a lute is even providing the attendants with music. But at the centre table, a cloud of doom darkens the mood.

Everyone has wisely given Rhys, Cassian and Azriel a wide berth.

Tensions are high. Something’s got to give.

“His role in this camp is to oversee our training.” Az balls his fists. “Not to get involved with how we spend our time outside of it.” He eyes Cass and Rhys opposite him. “Right?”

“Technically, yes.” Rhys confirms. “But as the overseer of said training, he also has the authority to remove any distractions as he sees fit.”

“Distractions? She’s our friend, not a fucking toy—”

“I’m just putting it to you straight, Az. It’s the typical Illyrian attitude rearing its ugly head. All four of us made the decision to go to Fenlaros, and yet it’s the female who shoulders the blame.”

“It’s fucking ridiculous.” Cassian finally speaks up.

He hasn’t said much. Too busy thinking about last night.

Nobody knows a thing about that wild, impulsive fuck except him and Y/N. He plans to keep it that way. Not out of any sense of regret, but…he doesn’t know. His brain is ticking over.

He can’t help wondering something that’s never occurred to him before.

Is Y/N branded a certain way by Illyrian ideologies because the closest people to her are males? Has she unfairly gained a reputation — one that would be made worse if what she and Cassian had done became common knowledge?

He doesn’t want to be the reason she gets more shit thrown her way. He’s starting to think he should think harder before he acts. Maybe last night was a mistake. He can’t even see Y/N to talk it through with her.

“So what do we do?” Az is asking as Cass zones back in. “There’s got to be something. Do we take the matter to your father?”

Rhys cocks an eyebrow. “Be real for a second, Az. My father would laugh us out of Velaris. He doesn’t concern himself with trivial camp matters.”

“Y/N having to choose between an abusive household or perishing in the snow is not a trivial matter.”

“To him, it is. He’d tell Devlon to lead and do what he believes is right. Which, he already has, even if we don’t agree with it.”

“Well that’s bullshit. We can’t just lie down and do nothing—”

“I’m not saying that, Az—”

“What about your mother? She adores Y/N. Surely she could appeal to your father—”

“No. She’s pregnant. She stays out of this.”

“Then what do you suggest, Rhysand?”

“How about you start by explaining to Cass and I what’s gotten into you recently?”

Finally, Az has nothing to say. He goes silent. Still.

He stares back at his two friends like he can’t imagine why they would wonder such a thing.

And then he purses his lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Cassian scoffs. “Please. Even I think you starting fights left and right has been extreme.”

“Fuck you. You’re totally exaggerating.”

Rhysand raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“We’re just worried that your behaviour has changed since Kaeda came into the picture—”

“You know what I’m worried about?” Az snaps. “Our friend who is literally homeless as of this morning. That’s a little more important, don’t you think?”

Yes…and no. It’s not that Cassian and Rhys don’t agree. It’s just that…that all roads lead back to Kaeda. And that’s becoming a problem.

“We’re not just going to leave Y/N to deal with this alone, Az.” Rhys tells him. “We just need to be careful about how we deal with it. Devlon isn’t messing around. I don’t want us to cause her more trouble.”

As folds his arms. “So what do you suggest?”

“I’ll talk to Y/N’s friend — Vegha. I’m sure she can open her home to Y/N while we figure things out. Just don’t do anything impulsive or stupid.”

That seems to appease Az a little. He sits back in his chair — allows himself to be a bit more open.

Until Cass totally fucking ruins it and says, “And don’t go starting any more fights just to impress Kaeda.”

Az says again, “Fuck you.”

Cass returns a withering look. “Fuck you right back.”

“Productive.” Rhys comments, shaking his head. He pushes to his feet, and both his friends look round.

“Where are you going?” Az asks.

“To speak with Vegha.” Rhys tells him. “And don’t follow me. You two idiots will only make things worse.”

He has no idea how right he is.

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It starts with the fire going out. Always.

The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall, and freezing air envelops the place. Your father tracks snow into the house, and he smells so strongly of booze that it permeates the room and spreads like a sickness.

You are five years old. You like to draw things in the soot that coats the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. The house always feels untidy since mama stole away in the dead of night a year ago. You try to keep on top of the cleaning, but the damp and the cold makes your hands sore, your bones ache.

Every night, you sit with your hands in your lap and wait for your father to return home. If he’s coming back from the forge, he’s tired and in a bad mood. If he’s coming back from the mead hall or a tavern, he’s drunk and in a really bad mood.

Tonight is the latter. But not only is he drunk and in a bad mood — he’s also brought company.

Four other males. They’re all huge — too huge to fit into the house, you think. If they’ve come for food, there isn’t any. If they’ve come for comfort, there isn’t any of that, either.

But they’re looking at you, all four of them. And in some way, you know that it’s you they’ve come for.

“This is the one?” A male with reddish-brown hair asks.

“I have only one.” Your father answers, and he jerks a chin in your direction. “That is it.”

It.

“Scrawny. There’s barely anything of her.” A second male comments. “This won’t be difficult.”

“I always think that,” reddish-brown answers, “and then they start fighting back. Kicking and scratching.”

You may only be five, but you are not foolish. Something is very, very wrong. A sinister wave has swept your already-miserable home, and you are about to be swallowed up in it. You eye the four males with wide eyes and scoot back a little.

Reddish-brown is the leader. He folds his arms with an authoritative air and announces, “Pathorn and Yevmael can hold her down,” he turns to the second male, “you take one wing, and I’ll take the other.”

The male that steps towards you from the back has eyes as black as the soot in the hearth. His lips twitch up on one side, and he says, “Come here, then, little pup.”

You do not move.

“Come.” He repeats. “It won’t hurt…much.”

They laugh at that.

You tuck your dirty, bruised knees tightly into your chest and rest your chin atop of them. You say nothing, make no move.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” His friend at the back says, stalking over to you. “Just pick her up.”

He does exactly that — by the scruff of your neck. You yelp as he yanks you into the air, and on instinct, your arms are flailing, legs kicking, tiny wings flaring.

“Look at that.” Charcoal eyes sneers at those very wings. “It’s a fucking abomination.”

If this is a game, you don’t like it. You twist in the male’s grasp, try to wriggle free, and he growls a curse at you. You growl back — a fierce, fierce noise, you think. It makes the males laugh again.

“On the table.” Reddish-brown says. “Face-down.”

“Papa,” you fight, “papa, papa, papa.”

There comes no response. It’s then that you realise he’s removed himself from the room. Left you with these monsters.

“Quiet now, pup.” Charcoal eyes says. “This won’t take long.”

You want to scratch him, and you try, even though your nails are chewed and bitten, despite mama always telling you not to do that. But mama isn’t here now and neither is papa. It’s just strangers with angry faces. Strangers who want to hurt you.

You’re slammed down onto the table, and you let out a cry. Someone holds your legs down. Another person holds your arms.

You are five years old. You like to draw pictures in the soot that covers the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. You are utterly and totally alone.

“I hope you never thought about flying.” Reddish-brown steps up to you. “That day will never come.”

And then they begin hacking at your wings.

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Your father takes you to a healer only when it’s almost too late. A fever scorches you head to toe. You think that mama returns to sit by your bedside, but that isn’t real. It’s a dream.

You’re too weak. You sleep fitfully on your front, because trembles wrack your body that continuously wake you up. You jerk every time the pain at your back gets too much.

The door opens, and you wonder if mama is returning again. You like that dream. But it’s your father, accompanied by the male who has been leaning over your weakened body for days.

“Will she live?” Your father asks.

“She will.” The healer tells him. “If she can fight off the infection.”

“Can’t you just give her a tonic, or something?”

“This is the worst wing clipping I have ever seen. There are ample healers in Illyria who are qualified to carry out the practice. What possessed you to instead leave her in the hands of a group of soldiers?”

“I will do with my child as I see fit.”

“You may no longer have a child, if she cannot fight this. Her life hangs in the balance.”

Your father makes a noise that sounds like a growl. He does that when you’re in his way, and he just wants to sit quietly without you lingering around him. “Give her a fucking tonic—”

“If she survives this,” the healer tells him, “she will be scarred and in pain for the rest of her life. You did not merely clip her wings. You butchered them. This is precisely why a healer should be the one to perform the procedure—”

Your body jerks with a fresh wave of pain, and you whimper. Both your father and the healer look over at you.

Your father’s lip curls, and he turns to the male once more. “Fix her.” He commands. “Because if you can’t, you’re helping me bury the body.”

No. The males will come back and put their hands on you again. They’ll bury a body. They’ll bury your body. They’re going to bury you. Soil will fall on your ruined wings, and when mama truly does come back, she’ll have only an unmarked grave to greet you at.

You try to move, but you’re strapped down. You whimper again.

Bury the body.

Bury the body.

Bury the—

Your body lurches up.

Sweat slicks your skin. You press a hand to your forehead, but it’s cool, not burdened by fever. You’ve awoken like this every morning for the past week.

The dreams are burdening you a lot right now. The memories.

They remind you, at least, why you will not return to your father’s home. Even if you end up hunching yourself up in doorways and exhausting any other dire options.

You hear a noise from the doorway, and you rub the bleariness from your eyes. Illuminated by the dim light in the hall, a male leans against the doorframe. He watches you nonchalantly, biting into an apple. Green, not red.

“You were shouting in your sleep again.”

You heave a deep, slow sigh and rake your fingers through your hair. Sweat soaks the strands.

“You dream often about burying bodies, don’t you?” The male steps into the room. He flares his wings, and you try not to look at them. “You’re quite odd. I think I like it.”

“Get out, Markis.” You sigh again. “Stop watching me sleep. It’s strange.”

“Is it more or less strange than chanting about burying a body?” He smirks. “And you’re in my house, remember? You can’t tell me to get out.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my house, too, and I can.” Suddenly, Vegha is appearing. She swats her younger brother, and a slither of relief settles into you. “Stop bugging her, Markis. Go to the training rings, or something.”

Markis so clearly doesn’t want to leave. He eyes you, his gaze falling from your neck, down to the old, threadbare sweater that you’ve been sleeping in. It’s Azriel’s — still smells like him.

The intensity of the male’s gaze is uncomfortable. And after a week of tolerating it, you’re not sure you can any longer.

“Fine.” He swallows down a bite of apple. He sends you a leering smirk. “I’ll tell your friends you said hello.”

Vegha rolls her eyes. “Markis, just leave before I boil your entire head—

“I’m going, I’m going.”

The male strides out of the room, shooting you one last look over his shoulder. You should ignore it, because the idiot is just basking in the novelty of having a female under his roof that he’s not related to, but the discomfort has sunk itself under your skin, and you’re not sure you can live with it.

Which is a bit of a problem, considering there are no other avenues for you to explore, and have nowhere else to go.

Vegha shuts the door behind her brother and turns to you. “You slept fitfully again.”

“Yes.” You feel a little bad admitting it. It’s not her, nor her family home, nor the bed that’s the problem. It’s you. All you. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Of course, you do. I wish there was more I could do to help.”

“You’ve done more than enough, Vegha.”

She doesn’t look convinced. The worried streak in her eyes is an indicator of how terrible you look. And you know she’s just caring for you as your friend, but you can’t stand it. One more pitying glance may push you over the edge.

“I have to get to the crèche.” She tells you. “Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“No—thank you.” You sit up. “Listen…I won’t be here when you return home. I’m getting out of your hair today.”

She pauses. Studies you. “You’re not in my hair. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. Ignore Markis — he’s a cock.”

You breathe a soft laugh. But you can’t ignore Markis — not any longer. Just as you haven’t been able to ignore any of the males who have made the past week even more difficult than it already was.

Illyrian males are…are a sickness. They’re bred in violence and depravity. So few of them are good.

And if the past week without Azriel, Rhys and Cassian has taught you anything, it’s that to some degree, your exposure to such behaviours has always been muted, thanks to their protection. They’ve been a strong unit around you since you were eleven years old. Most males have been wise enough to steer clear and escape the wrath that would come down on them for messing with you.

But now you’re forbidden from seeing them, and you’re free game for any fucking male in this gods-forsaken place.

You need to be away from them. To be on your own.

“I know.” You answer Vegha. “And I appreciate you opening your home to me, I really do. But it’s fine — I’ve made other arrangements.”

The look she gives you is dubious. She doesn’t believe you, and rightfully so — it’s total bullshit. “You have?”

“I have.” You dip your chin. “I’ll be just fine.”

“…well I’m glad to hear it. You’ll come right back here if those plans fall through, right?”

“Of course I will.” No.

She hesitates at the door. She’s been nothing but kind and accommodating to you — a real friend.

But it’s bad enough not being able to escape the males that haunt your dreams. There’s a damn good reason for you staunchly refusing to return to your father. You will not swap one monster for another.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” Vegha studies you. There’s a sadness in her brown eyes. She genuinely cares. “Take care, Y/N.”

“I will.” You force a breezing smile. “And you, also.”

She inclines her head, and then she’s slipping out of the room. The silence only gives way for your too-near dreams to dig their claws in. You scrub your hands harshly over your face and push to your feet.

You don’t know where you’ll go. It’s tempting to ignore Lord Devlon’s warning and race back to the cottage. Drama may await you there — a total mess that you somewhat made for yourself — but at least you’d be warm and safe while facing it.

You can’t — you know you can’t. You don’t want Az or Cass or Rhys to face any consequences.

So after you get yourself ready and gather what little stuff you have, you head out into the snow and hope you won’t be sleeping in it that night.

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Azriel strikes at the sparring dummy as if it fucked his wife and stole his seat at the dinner table.

The damn things are supposed to be bolted to the ground, but a couple of bolts are no match against the fearsome shadowsinger.

He strikes and strikes until the object is more or less obliterated, because fuck the sparring dummy, that’s why. Fuck the sparring dummy, and fuck Lord Devlon, and fuck—

“I think you made your point.” A trilling voice cuts through his red mist of rage. “How about you set the sword down and have some water?”

Perhaps it’s just Azriel’s anger thinking for him, but he doesn’t feel that Kaeda has been particularly helpful from where she’s perched atop a smooth rock. She cleans her nails with the tip of a dagger and stretches her wings out around her.

Across the ring, Cassian watches and turns to Rhysand. “Why is she allowed to be here, but Y/N isn’t?”

Rhys shrugs his tense shoulders. He doesn’t know the answer.

The two of them step closer to where their brother is trying to breathe through his fury. He’s not coping so well.

See, Azriel has experience with missing things. He misses his mother all the time. Sometimes it’s a dull ache, manageable amongst the mundane comings and goings of life. Other times, it hurts so bad that he doesn’t think clawing his chest open would be too extreme a reaction. Missing a person is a sensation that knits itself under his skin and seeps into the marrow of his bones. It’s relentless and hideous.

Missing Y/N is a new kind of torture he never contemplated having to face.

It’s not just that he’s worried about where she is, whether or not she’s safe and well. It’s that he misses the silliest, tiniest things about her that he didn’t even know he’d ever noticed in the first damn place. The rapt determination with which she cuts the crusts off her bread because that’s a little too much bread for her. The way she gestures wildly with her hands whilst passionately talking about things. That ruined, tattered journal she carries around in which she scrawls blunt, one-sentenced, sometimes unintelligible thoughts. And her scent — gods, her scent.

It has been one week — an amount of time he’s spent away from her before. But it’s different this time. This isn’t like being away on a training exercise and knowing he’ll soon be coming home. He knows nothing. Doesn’t even know what to think, what to feel.

Other than an overt urge to murder the camp lord. Violently.

“How about we get done here and head to the mead hall?” Kaeda breaks through his warring thoughts. “I’m starved.”

Az grabs a nearby rag, wiping the sweat from his face. “Not really hungry.”

There’s a pause. And then a soft sigh leaves the female. She sheathes her blade and pushes to her feet, just as Rhys and Cassian are approaching. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, Azriel, but you can’t be visiting my father with this attitude.”

At once, this grabs the other two males’ interests, and Azriel wants to groan. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

“What’s this?” Rhys frowns, staring between Az and Kaeda. “You’re returning to Fenlaros?”

“My father invited Azriel to dine with us, that’s all.” Kaeda answers for him.

It had genuinely slipped Azriel’s mind. Amongst everything else waging war in his thoughts, a dinner with Kaeda’s family in Fenlaros had sunk right to the bottom.

But he knows immediately how it looks. That he’s being secretive.

Rhys studies Azriel closely. “And you’ve cleared this with Devlon?”

No, no he hadn’t. Quite simply, he’s not sure he can be within twenty feet of the bastard, right now, without throttling him.

He hates himself for it — he really, truly does. But for the sake of sparing himself a lecture, he shrugs. “I have.”

He does not lie to his brothers. And they can smell that lie on him right away.

Cassian stares at Kaeda for a long moment, before turning towards Az. “That is a fucking terrible idea, and you know it.”

“It’s dinner.” Kaeda shoots back.

Cass grits his teeth. “I’m talking to Azriel.”

“Listen, Cassian—”

“Excuse me—I’m sorry to interrupt.”

All four of them turn in the direction of the intrusion —and they stop short.

All three of the males know Vegha, of course. Rhys was grateful that she’d so willingly opened her home to Y/N when he’d asked. But other than that, they’ve only spoken to her in passing — she’s never had reason to seek them out before.

But what adds a slither of urgency to her rare appearance at the training rings is the even rarer appearance of the two little girls who hold her hands. They’re not supposed to be here, and Vegha knows this well.

She obviously deemed whatever this is urgent enough to bypass that rule.

“Vegha.” Azriel steps forward, studying her closely. “Is all well?”

Vegha shifts on her feet, clutching tighter onto the girls’ hands. She’s never comfortable here, around all these males, but it’s a different unwanted attention that makes her want to turn and leave.

Kaeda eyes her head to toe with a look of distaste. Of mistrust. She folds her arms and flares her wings — a gesture that has the little girls gasping.

“Settle down.” Vegha squeezes their hands. She directs her attention back to the males. Strange, that she feels more comfortable with them than she does with the only other female present. “Honestly, Azriel, I’m not at all sure.”

Rhys steps forward. “Is it Y/N?”

Cassian swears — swears — that a small sigh comes from behind him. From Kaeda.

“I know you’ve been instructed to stay away, and I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.” Vegha tells them. “It’s just…well, she was staying at my home this past week, as you asked, Rhysand. I told her she was welcome for as long as she needs — that she mustn’t return to her father’s house. But just this morning, she suddenly announced that she was leaving…that she’d found somewhere else to stay.”

“And?” The word slips from Kaeda’s lips.

Yeah, Cass definitely isn’t in the mood for this today.

“And…and I’m not sure I believe her.” Vegha shrugs slowly. “My brother wasn’t exactly making it a pleasant stay, and I think she was desperate to get out of there. But I can’t imagine where she’d go. I just…thought I should tell you. You know her better than I do.”

True — except her three closest friends can’t imagine where she’d go, either, if not back to her father’s house. And they can’t imagine her resorting to that.

She has no money for a room at an inn. She doesn’t have a long list of friends who will open their homes up to her. And she most certainly can’t go back to Rhys’s mother’s cottage.

So…where? Will she pitch up in one of the abandoned tents across the camp? Will she spend her nights shivering in doorways and wondering where her next meal is coming from?

This is fucking ridiculous.

She can’t be left to live like this.

“You did the right thing, telling us.” Rhys reassures Vegha. He offers a gentle, soft smile to the girls at her sides. “How about you take these two back into the warm? We’ll deal with it.”

Gods, he’s already a High Lord through and through. Calm in the face of turmoil. Not letting on to his inner panic.

Vegha dips her chin. “Sorry, again, for interrupting.” She tugs gently at the children’s’ hands. “Come, girls.”

Rhysand’s brow furrows. Vegha is perhaps the only other good friend Y/N has in this place. There’s no way she’s made other arrangements — Rhys knows it. Cassian knows it. Azriel knows it.

“We’ve got to do something.” Azriel voices what they’re all thinking, a feral panic colouring his tone. “We can’t just leave her to face this on her own. Fuck what Devlon says. I’m not sitting back and letting her freeze or starve to death.”

Rhys chews his lip. “…I can try to speak with my father. But I’m not hopeful where he’s concerned. This falls under Devlon’s jurisdiction.”

“All Y/N needs is a roof over her head and some food in her belly until we can work out what to do next.” Cassian crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s got to be some way we can help. Is there not any clue of where she might go?”

The two males are looking at Az expectantly. If anyone knows, it’s him.

But he’s just…he’s not had his eye on the ball recently. His thoughts are all over the place. Perhaps he’s neglected his friendships a little — because he could swear he knows Y/N inside and out, and yet his mind is blank. Utterly fucking blank.

“I—I need to think.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning — he stops at the flash of red hair that meets him. He’d forgotten Kaeda was even there.

She stares between them, saying nothing, her face pinched and arms crossed. What she’s thinking, Az isn’t sure. But a thought suddenly strikes him.

“Kaeda.” He faces her properly. “Can’t you house Y/N in Fenlaros for the time being? Until this is sorted?”

Kaeda stops short. Blinks at him. “…What?”

“It doesn’t have to be your home, or…or even anything extravagant. Just somewhere she can sleep. There are surely more options in Fenlaros than there are here.”

Kaeda does not like this one bit. A negative reaction is rippling off her in waves, and it hits Cassian like a blast of cold air. Rhys, too.

But Az seems oblivious.

“Azriel…” The female keeps her voice calm, measured. “You know it isn’t that easy. A person can’t just…defect to another camp.”

“She wouldn’t—”

“So what’s your excuse?” The words are falling from Cassian’s lips before he can stop himself. He’s not sure he cares.

Kaeda pauses. Her face is a sheet of wide-eyed innocence as she turns to him. “Pardon me?”

Cass shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve been buzzing around here for months like a fly. What’s your excuse, if that’s not allowed? Because your father may be Lord of Fenlaros, sweetheart, and he may let you do whatever you want, but look around you. This is Windhaven. His word doesn’t mean shit here.”

Azriel takes a step towards him. “Cassian—”

“Either help our friend, or stay the fuck out of it—”

“Cassian, that is enough—”

“It’s fine, Azriel.” Kaeda’s voice is so deceptively warm, you could melt butter on it. She steps towards Cassian, face open, hands held up in a placating manner. “It’s fine. You’re right. I understand you’re upset, and I…I apologise if my presence here has been burdensome. Of course I’ll help any way that I can. I’ll talk to my father right away.”

Cass doesn’t feel particularly satisfied by that. Doesn’t believe a fucking word, to be honest. His eyes communicate that as he stares the female up and down.

“Cass, I think you should apologise.” Azriel says.

He barks a laugh. “No chance.”

“Kaeda just said she’d help—”

“Enough.” Rhys finally jumps in. His tone is laced with authority — just a smidgen of an idea of what he might one day be like as High Lord. He crosses his arms and glares the three of them down as though they’re bickering younglings. “Arguing back and forth will do nothing to help Y/N. We need to act. I will speak to my father. Kaeda will speak to hers. Az, you should see if you can find out where Y/N might have gone. Cass, I want you making sure she doesn’t go anywhere near her fucking father’s house. By the end of the day, we should have at least sorted something. Understood?”

Cass doesn’t look away from Kaeda. He can see her eye twitching — the way she so desperately wants to push back against being ordered. Gods, how Az can’t see right through her, he has no clue—

“Understood.” Azriel answers without hesitation. “I’ll get right on it.”

Rhys inclines his head. “As will I.”

“And I’ll head back to Fenlaros.” Kaeda adds.

Cassian merely shrugs. “Fine.”

Without goodbyes, Azriel is shooting into the skies — probably hoping to get an aerial view of a sodden, freezing Y/N traipsing through the snow.

Rhys looks between Cassian and Kaeda for a beat longer before he disappears, winnowing — Cass assumes — straight to Velaris.

And then there were two.

Kaeda turns back to Cass. The doe-eyed look on her face is instantly gone. There’s a hint of a damn smirk.

“Whatever game you’re playing at,” Cassian clenches his jaw. “You will not win.”

A soft hiccup of a laugh escapes the redhead. “Oh, yes I will.” She steps closer. Close enough for her cotton-and-powder scent to envelop the male. “See, I always get what I want. Always.”

“Not this time. Azriel may not see you for the viper that you are, but I do.” He grits his teeth. “And I will fucking destroy you before you cause any damage.”

Green eyes glitter back at him. The female is unperturbed by the threat — and she knows he means it. There’s even a change in her scent that makes Cassian’s nostrils flare. A darker one. A muskier one.

“Oh, Cassian, I do hope so.” She says, and pushes up so her lips are at his ear. Her full breasts brush his chest. “I love a male who’s willing to punish me.”

She winnows away before the snarl has a chance to claw up Cassian’s throat.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

This is starting to feel like a bad idea.

It was easy, from the warmth and comfort of Vegha’s home, to convince yourself you’d be fine out amongst the wilds of the camp. But the old armoury is dark, dingy and cold, and within hours, you’re not sure you have the resolve for a single night there. Let alone however many you have ahead of you.

This used to be a place of mischief, when you and your friends were children. This far end of the camp has sat abandoned and unused for years, after newer, more effective training rings were installed where the hub of activity now lays. The four of you would spend days here, playing pretend with the old, wooden practice swords that were left behind. You’d make up stories of the area being haunted by the ghost of an ancient, disgruntled Camp Lord. And as you got older, it became a place to come and get drunk, to speak words and secrets that remained there, never to be carried away with you.

You won’t be bothered here, you know — nobody ventures this way. But that, and the fact that the old armoury affords you a roof over your head, are about the only positives. You’re so cold that it hurts. You’re hungry and miserable and tired in a way that has nothing to do with nightmare-filled sleeps.

And gods, you miss your friends. You miss them so much, it‘s a gnawing ache. All those nights you took for granted, tucked up warm in the cottage, Cassian making you all laugh with his antics. Those times seem so distant, now. Is this how it will be, from now on? Never did you think you’d be separated from your friends. And you don’t even know if this is a permanent thing. Will you have to wait and wait until Rhysand is High Lord and able to make decisions, before you can see them again?

These thoughts will do you no good. They’ll only make you colder and drive you to shed tears that you’re not sure you have the energy to shed.

You bundle in your blanket, squeezing your eyes shut as though that fruitless act will shield you from the cold. You were tempted to build a fire, but the last thing you want is to draw attention from anyone flying above. Being found in here will just bring you more trouble you don’t need.

You’re already hunched as it is, gloved hands buried under your armpits — but you somehow manage to tense even more when you hear the distinct sound of boots traipsing through the snow outside.

No.

You can’t do this — not right now. Nobody fucking comes here. Is the Mother laughing at you from above and sprinkling more misfortune into your already-dire existence? You can’t handle a confrontation, can’t handle being told you can’t stay here—

But the door creaks open, and it’s Azriel’s face that peers around cautiously. You almost sob with relief.

“Thank fuck.” He breathes. He’s slipping inside, shutting the door behind him. In a few great strides, he’s in front of you and dropping to his knees. “Are you alright?”

If you speak, you might crack. You risk it all the same. “How did you find me?”

“Took me a while to think of this place, I must admit. It’s been a long while since we were last here.”

But find you, he did. And fuck, his scent and natural warmth are swarming you. It feels like nothing else matters right then. Just you and him, like it’s always been. He yanks you into a hug, and you don’t stop him.

“You’re frozen.” He whispers, squeezing you. His gloved hands rub at your arms, your back, your shoulders. He pulls away to cup your face, and he studies every inch of it. You’re not sure what for.

But you stare back. You don’t know what to do or say. That could be the cold making it difficult to think, or it could be this weird wedge between you that feels like it’s only growing.

Az leans closer, and he presses his forehead against yours. “I miss you.” His gloves brush over your cheeks. “Gods, I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” You shudder. The words are weighty and truthful, not just referring to this past week apart, but to whatever has been going on for a while, now. You didn’t mean for it to be like this. You just want to go back to how it was.

“I’ve thought about nothing else—” His nose bumps against yours, and one of his hands slides to the nape of your neck, kneading the skin there. “I just—just need you close to me, Y/N. Always.”

You attempt a breathy laugh. “I don’t think Devlon would agree with that.”

“Fuck, Devlon. We’re going to get around this. Rhys is going to talk to his father, and even if that fails, Kaeda is talking to hers. I reckon they’ll be able to offer you sanctuary in Fenlaros until this is sorted—”

You pull back to blink at him. Study him. “What?”

“I asked Kaeda to speak with her father on your behalf. To see if they can find somewhere for you to stay. I’m sure they can—”

“Azriel, I’m not going to Fenlaros.”

He pauses. “…If they’ll have you, Y/N, yes you are. It means you’ll be safe and warm and fed—”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“Besides the fact that I’m already in enough trouble thanks to that place?” You pull away from him, easing to your feet. “I don’t know anyone there. And if Devlon were to find out—”

“Stop worrying about Devlon and start worrying about your safety.” Azriel, too, stands. “It’s the most logical thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not going further away from you than I already am, and I’m especially not going to start playing house with your lover, Azriel, it’s odd—”

“That’s what this is about?” He cocks an eyebrow. Folds his arms. “Because you don’t want to accept help from Kaeda?”

You shrug. And just…just to give your body something to do, you begin pacing. “I’m not sure it would be very helpful at all.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You just don’t like her, do you?” He snaps. The sound is harsh, and it makes you grit your teeth. “You’re not willing to accept help that you so clearly fucking need, because you don’t like Kaeda.”

“I don’t trust Kaeda.” You whirl around to face him. “Not one fucking bit, and you shouldn’t, either.”

“Why?”

“Because none of it makes sense! Why is she here in Windhaven, Azriel? What is it she actually wants?”

It’s dangerous — the way your voices are rising in volume and echoing around the armoury. But it’s as though weeks of emotional buildup are floating to the surface, and you can’t stop them, and they’re stoking an anger that actually warms you and feels better than being cold and hungry.

Azriel shakes his head. “You’re fucking impossible sometimes, you know that? You don’t want to help yourself. It’s like you’re determined to make your life as difficult as possible, and when you’re offered help, you don’t take it. You’re impossible!”

“Yeah, Azriel, maybe I am.” You snap back. “But at least I’m not lying through my teeth like Kaeda is, and at least I don’t break my damn promises.”

Azriel stops short. Stares at you.

You and he both know you’re referring to Solstice Night. You should have confronted it before, but…but you buried it.

You’re not sure you can do that anymore.

Azriel purses his lips. And then has the nerve to state, “Things are different between you and I these days.”

“Yes.” You stare back at him. “They are.”

Your eyes are trying to communicate so much. Things are different, and it might be the boundaries you crossed, but you’re more certain than anything that it’s Kaeda’s influence. You just don’t understand why Azriel can’t see it.

You wonder what he might say yet. So much anger and pent-up frustration zips between you. Mixed with longing and missing each other. Loving each other. Wanting to scream at each other, and for each other.

And part of you wants him to spit vicious words and fight back, just for you to feel something — even though you know that’s not Azriel’s style. But you stare and stare, and neither of you speak, and then Az is shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“I’m not arguing with you here.” He says. “It’ll only draw attention to us.”

You fold your arms. “Fine.”

“I’m going to speak to Rhys, find out what his father said. And I’ll speak to Kaeda—”

“Go right ahead. I’m still not stepping foot back in Fenlaros—”

“And I’ll bring you some blankets and food. Or Cassian will. Or…whatever.” He stops still for a second, swallowing. “But we need to fix this shit between us.”

You know that. But you’re so fucking stubborn, your own worst enemy. And right then, you want to scream. Cry. Hurt him how he hurt you.

So you say nothing. You just shrug again.

He stares, as if waiting for a better reaction. And then he shakes his head once more and turns, striding back to the door. You wonder if it’s a bad thing to let him go, like this. When will you see him again? How will things be when you see him again? You’re making it worse for yourself, for him, for both of you.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure. But you’re stopped by Az pausing with his hand on the doorknob. With his back to you, his shoulders tense. He’s frozen in place.

And then he speaks — growls — two words. “Fuck this.”

He turns, marching back over to you so fast, you don’t have time to react.

And then he’s grabbing your face, and his mouth is on yours.

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

[atrociousgargamelitis]

Not what I usually do here, but I have to. The new helluva episode. It broke me. It tore my heart apart and stomped on it. I can genuinely feel my soul hemorrhaging. A little part of me perished today. I legitimately got a headache.

Here's the thing. Blitzø's feelings are completely valid. I recently rewatched the show while I waited for the full moon to come out and he is right. Stolas, especially in the first season, was pretty classist. Blitzø did have a point when he said that Stolas treated him like one of his butler imps. He literally called him "my impish little plaything".

Stolas has had TREMENDOUS character development. He understood that the transactional deal was not in fact ideal or something to look forward to and he stepped up. He made a truly selfless move and acknowledged his feelings. But here's the thing. He also didn't give Blitzø a chance. He got in his own head so much that when Blitzø failed to understand his feelings at once, he gave up. He thought that all of his worst fears became true and because he overthought it SO much, he just gave up.

But Blitzø. Blitzø didn't shut Stolas off because he didn't have any feelings. He shut him off because he wholeheartedly could not believe that someone loves him and wants to be with him regardless of any physical or material gain. And you know what. He did try. He told Stolas how he felt. Everything. How he thought Stolas only viewed him as a measly imp that fucked him raw. And Stolas had NO FUCKING CLUE Blitzø felt like that.

This episode broke me. I ugly cried. That's not to say I didn't like it, of course. This episode was a masterpiece from every single view point. The voice acting, the visuals, the dialogues.

I think so highly of you. I didn't realize you thought so lowly of me.

[mondaymelon]

MERRY CHRISTMAS !!! gifts ensue.

he really went. blep. hi user @ilyuu. im proud of this one so congrats wanderer takes home first gift wooo

lmao id like to apologise in advance as this was brought on because of me but I got super burnt out drawing like 20 of these over the course of 2 days... if you see the quality of the drawings declining ( which you will ) please don't mind it!! thank you.

@anonbinaryweirdo. sigh. i get whiplash whenever you're super nice and then in the span of the next three seconds immediately do something vile

@soleillunne. we don't talk much but from what I know you are such a sweet person omg !! and your works??? dies inside (in a good way). the way you write xiao maks me so. puddle like

@realkavehgf. we agree on one things (amongst others) and that is that kaveh is. kAVEH IS. MALFUNCTIONS PERISHES.

@emphasisondrvgs. you scare me. please take your ranpo and quietly see yourself out LMAO /j

@pjsk-writin. AMIMI ONE OF MY FIRST EVER MOOTS !!! im so proud of mikoto. sighs. straitjackets are smth else to draw .. BUT HES SO. MMMMMM !!!!

@circyexistforcontent AAAHHH HI PRECIOUS. I LIKE YOU BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE DILUC SO. TAKE THIS... quietly throws up

@whats-it-mean. puka puka. head empty. puka puka. please stop your affairs with my mother.

@falors. UGLY SOBS. UGLY CRIES. I LOVE YOU /P SM. WAAHHHH TEARS TEARS TEARS you are the most talented person ever I S T G gRAAAHHH YOU BETTER GET 18412409128410948 FOLLOWERS THIS YEAR OR I WILL RIOT. mwah.

@dustofthedailylife. omg. hi dust... tbh ive been so concerned for you recently with how much life is running you over with a pickup truck so wishing for your improved health soon !! alhaith is a smort guy what can I say

@the-white-void. DEAREST. literally one of the first people I ever interacted with on this platform and you're actually. like. literally one of the sweetest people I have ever met. KLEE IS SUCH A CUTIE FJSFJDK

@kaeffeinee. OMG. m..my kitten- woah WHO just said that. wild shit right there. have something you don't like?? have something that's been pestering you for far too long?? no worries. its the official nag seal of mendokusai !!!!

@lillonvia. sobs. I didn't do the man justice.loud sobs. DFSDDSF YOUR ART MAKES ME WANT TO LIKE DISENTAGRAT INTO GLOWING BALLS oF FUZZ AND FLOAT INTO THE HEAVENS I DONT KNOW HOW ELSE TO DESCRIBE IT. WE ARE SO DELULU oVER XIAO. FOAMS AT THE MOUTH

@absolutelyobsessedkiya. HELP WHY IS MINORI SO BRIGHT.... she's literally shining what. we need to talk more pspsspsp I just now found out that you're a fan of milgram!! remember like last year I was all 'whose that pretty pink person on their pfp??' AND NOW I FINALLY KNOW THATS ITS MUU RAHHHH

@auroratumbles. meow. cat. what a sweetie. I don't even know what my art style is doing here anymore Istg what even. what even BYE LETS TALK ABOUT XIAO LATER !!

@papiliotao. mwah. a kith for you. mWAH. ANOTHER KITH. SJFKSDJFLS GRAHHH YOU ARE THE SW E. E T E ST AND YOUR THE SWEETEST AND YOUR CAT IS THE SWEETEST AND YOUR VOICE IS MAKING ME WANT TO ELEVATE INTO THE CLOUDS AND YOURE SO SILLY EVEN THOUGH YOU DONT LIKE AKITIO SHINONOME

@yinyinggie. hihihi ying !! it honestly amazes me how you're able to juggle so many events and servers at once. im actually in awe. always look at xiao he's so emo and short

@solxima. GRAHHH HI. I DONT LIKE HOW JINGYUAN LOOKS IN THIS BUT. DLJFLSDJ DIES> I CANT DO THIS AN Y M O RE. your honor. hes so cat coded hes so cat coded he's so PERISHS

@yelshin. WAIIIIT NO YOUR NAME GOT CUT OFF> iM SORRY. I don't know why he looks... so r e g a l in this but its definitely giving off oRAtRice MecAnIquE DAnAlySe CARdiNAle .

@vennnnn-diagram. LOUD SCREAMING N O . YOUR NAME GOT CUT OFF TOOOODJSKFLSD JGAIJFAD JKLJFD:LFS. anyways. I need to see nahida smiling more she deserves everything and then some. aranaras are so silly giggles

@lume-nosity. I hold the slightest bit of guilt for putting your angsty ish drawing right next to happy lil nahida buT AHAHAH IT MAKES IT HURT MORE IG. took some inspo from your blog title... mwah ily lume. I WAS SO SCARED TO TALK TO YOU AT FIRST WHEN I SENT YOU THAT MOOT ASK BUT I AM EVER SO HAPPY THAT I DID !!!

th end. im actually so dead lmao my fingers actually were starting to bleed afklsdjfaskdjfklsdjflkasdjflksjflkjowejtoij enjoy your Christmas gifts mooties !! if anyone asks why I haven't been posting fics as promised. this is why. ill be in a coffin for a while please let my soul rest

OH AND FORGOT TO MENTION I DREW THESE BASD ON THE MOOTIES THAT COMMNTED ON MY THINGY LIKE LAST WEEK WHICH ASKED WHICH CHARACTER THY WANTD I LOVE YOU ALL PSPS I PROMIS

[u-adskinaesthetic]

LOL, imagine: Twisted Wonderland mini fanfics.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ok, but can you imagine dating Floyd and him not being chosen to attend the masquerade event, but you are. There are only two outcomes I can think of that would happen.

Scenario 1# Crybaby

Floyd: Why can't I go?!! It's not fair Shrimpy is going and not me!!!

(Y/n): *Literally can't breathe being crushed to death in Floyd's arms*

Azul: Go ahead, cry about it. You're just throwing a tantrum because (Y/n) is going and you are not.

Floyd: *Squeezing the absolute life out of (Y/n)* But I want to go!! It's not fair!!!

Jade: *Amused. This little piece of sh*t won't help you* Floyd, your suffocating (Y/n).

(Y/n): *Can't plead for life with your mouth covered. You pass out due to suffocation*

When you wake up, you'll have a very clingy Floyd following you around before your departure. It takes the whole staff and more to pry him off you before you can travel through the mirror. Floyd would cry even when he is pinned to the ground trying to join your group. You promise him lots of cuddles and kisses when you get back.

Scenario 2# Threatens Crowley. Period.

*Just before everyone departs on their trip, Floyd rushes in at mock speed tackling you into a hug*

(Y/n): *Absolutely squished in Floyd's arms* Floyd, what are you doing here?

Floyd: Isn't this great Shrimpy? I get to come with you! We're going to have so much fun together! *Happy eel noises as he twirls you both*

Crowley: *Coming up from behind with that dumbass smile of his* I have decided it would be best if another exemplary student like Mr. Leech helps represent our school. Why, he was so full of energy and so pushy.....ahem...I mean excited, I couldn't say no. I am most gracious!

(Y/n): *Smiles* Floyd threatened you, didn't he?

Floyd: Yay, Shrimpy!!!

*Everyone, mostly Azul who is already getting a headache, worried about how things will play out*

You are genuinely happy Floyd gets to come with you. Man is attached to your hip everywhere you go. There was never a dull moment with him, and the memories you shared will never perish. Nor the hundreds of hugs or kisses you received every second of the day. Rollo was disgusted. He's just mad because he gets no women with that ugly *ss bowl cut on his head.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Imagine Aemond...

Imagine Aemond... Finding you crying in your room, the first time your father mentioned betrothing you to someone.

Imagine Aemond... Being absolutely heartbroken, thinking you, the person he adored so much, the only person who looked at him as if he was worthy, being promised to another.

Imagine Aemond... Whose heart only ever beat for you, being absolutely shattered to see you so desperate and clearly frightened by the prospect of marrying, so he falls to the ground and cradles you tightly to his chest, rocking you back and forth, stroking your hair and trying to calm you down, so you would tell him all your fears.

Imagine Aemond’s... Realisation, once you tell him how horrified you are of childbirth, since so many women, including your mother, died while giving birth, and nobody cared that they died, they only cared about the lost heirs.

“I’d rather die a dragonrider’s death than have to die to the agony bestowed by this cruel fate... Just because I lost the gender lottery at birth! The pain I feel every blood moon is almost unbearable, even with medication... I cannot even begin to imagine what it would be like to... To... I can’t... It was not my decision...! I don’t want this! I don’t want this at all! To hell with being a woman! To hell with being a noble! To hell with these duties! What IS the point of being such a promising dragonrider if all I’m fated to do is dying such a pointless, miserable, torturous death?! I... I’m going to have my dragon kill me! Fuck it! I will not have anything but dragon fire be my demise!” you tried to struggle out of his arms, absolutely desperate at the sheer notion of suffering the way your mother did, with the maester using the way of the blade on her, without as much as numbing her... Yet both her and the child perished.

Imagine Aemond’s... Mind blanking entirely, only to strengthen his grip on you, and get ahold of your head so he would force you to look him in the eye, though his composure was lost as he saw your gleamings eyes, pooled with helplessness and hopelessness, like a deer awaiting to be feasted on by the predators of the forest.

“My Lady... I would never allow anything bad to happen to you. You needn’t act so rashly. If you will have me as your husband, I shall make an oath to you to always put your happiness and well-being above all else. I am no heir to the throne and I have even less of a claim. For me, heirs matter little, but the happiness of mine own heart, and yours, is what drives me to keep on going forward. I vow to you, no matter what, I shall not force you through the torture that you did not choose, and if it pleasure that you seek from me, I shall gladly provide.” he reassured you, followed by a kiss on the top of your head.

Imagine Aemond’s... Relief once you stopped struggling and wishing a dragonrider’s imminent death, but instead of hopelessness, you were... Calm. You seemed to be at peace with his absolute promise. You knew him, you knew he was a man of his words, and if he promised you something, he always followed his word like a creed.

Imagine Aemond’s... Shock, however, once you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a deep kiss, before whispering in his ear “Thank you, My Lord Husband”

You may or may not consummate your marriage before the wedding.

----

Imagine Aemond... (Aemond is afraid My Lady will find him ugly) Imagine Aemond... (Aemond is frustrated with the court and My Lady spoils him) Imagine Aemond... (Aemond discovers you pampering Vhagar, the Matchmaker) Imagine Aemond... (My Lady is afraid of the concept of childbirth and pregnancy) Imagine Aemond... (Engaging in a romantic, literal Dance of Dragons in the air ) Imagine Daemon... (Being smitten over an adventurous Lady who flies Balerion)

[megan0013]

week 1 - dystopia

Arcadia’s defense systems are some of the best in the country. The walls around the town are high and sturdy, their arsenal of weapons well-stocked and diverse thanks to a successful raid on Area 49-B, and, oh yeah, they have advanced technology only aliens have ever seen before. Because there are aliens in Arcadia. And a coven of very capable witches and wizards. And a legion of gnomes that have sworn absolute fealty to The Town Council after some incredibly difficult negotiations involving dream houses, nougat nummies, and a full-time hat maker.

And there’s the Trollhunter

His warnings are the reason the citizens of Arcadia were able to defend themselves after Gunmar’s hoards had taken the east coast and started making their way west from New Jersey. Without him, they never would have built the wall in time or stockpiled munitions and non-perishable food. They wouldn’t have known anything about weak spots in gumm-gumm armor and how to take advantage of them, or the typical battle strategies the troll army employed. And they certainly couldn’t have designed the vast, complex system of tunnels and traps that had been used to obliterate whole legions in one fell swoop.

Of course, that’s probably because he’d once been a very prominent tactician in the Skullcrusher’s army.

Not that many Arcadians know this about him. His wife and stepson do, obviously, and a handful of close family friends, but to everyone else he’s just Walter – the guy who loves puns and used to teach history at the high school before everything went to hell. They don’t know he’s one of those scummy changelings or that his armor isn’t the real reason he can switch forms. And why should they? Most people have only ever seen him become a troll when Daylight is in his hand. If they want to believe his stone skin is just a byproduct of being named the Trollhunter, then so be it.

The trolls in Trollmarket, though... Well, they know exactly what he is.

It was a tough sell at first, being accepted, but gaining Vendel’s approval and introducing his small family had gone a long way in earning their respect. Draal loudly declaring he’d only had Jim for a day and half but if anything happened to him he would kill everyone in the room and then himself hadn’t hurt, either.

The few who remained wary of him eventually left for what they thought were greener pastures, or quickly changed their tune in the aftermath of Gunmar’s escape from the Darklands.

And now, after three years of successfully leading trolls and humans alike, the Trollhunter’s judgement has been called into question by his own wife.

At least, that’s what it feels like to him.

“Stalklings aren’t pets, Barbara! They are killing machines.”

Barbara, however, doesn’t look the least bit impressed by her husband’s outburst as she continues strolling through the stable of what was once a petting zoo but is now home to a clutch of brand new stalkling pups and their mother. “Just because you’ve had a few unfortunate encounters with them, doesn’t mean they’re all bad. I mean, seriously. Look at that cute little face.”

The stalkling in question does not have a cute little face. Not at all. In fact, she’s got blood-red eyes and an ugly gray head and terrifyingly large teeth.

“It literally tried to eat you at the supermarket,” Walter says, watching incredulously as Barbara takes the great winged beast’s beak into her hands for a scratch. “You still have the scar on your leg from where it bit you.”

“We surprised her, that’s all. Persephone would never hurt me on purpose. Would you, my sweet girl?”

“Persephone? You named it?” Walter huffs out a sigh, fingers going to pinch the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration. “Darling, you can’t name them. Now we’ll never be rid of it.”

Barbara raises a brow. “That’s sorta the point, Walt.”

Persephone snorts in agreement.

“And, anyway,” his wife continues with a gentle peck to Persephone’s beak, “Jim wants a vespa or a puppy for his birthday, so…”

Walter blinks.

Barbara bats her eyelashes.

Walter frowns. “That’s not a vespa, nor is it a dog.”

“Oh, no, babe. Of course, not. But since all the scooters have been stripped for parts and I’m allergic to dog hair, I thought, well,” she grins and gestures to the five pups chirping away in the corner of the stall, “these little guys might be the perfect gift.”

The Trollhunter whimpers, knowing deep down in his heart that he’s already lost this particular battle and he's about to become the proud grandfather of not one, but five baby stalklings.

“Besides,” Barbara pats his cheek before pressing a kiss to it, “he can’t have Persephone. She’s my pet.”

[sillyfriendssharingablog]

Bloody Tiger iceberg with explanations

If you don't know what an iceberg is: an iceberg is a type of template, where in the highest levels you put light fact or theories about something, and the more you go down more dark and sick the things become.

I did this with my Az, with all the facts from the fic until the latest chapter. TW: VERY heavy theames:

Level 1 (very soft and easy things, most People that follow our blog know)

Azedi's norturing nature: Azedi had to take care of her siblings since she was young, so she has developed a norturing nature for anything that is smal

Azedi's bi

Azedi's dream: to live a normal life, away from war, away from chains.

Azedi's love for music

Azedi's eyes: key element of the fic

Azedi is a cat person

Azedi and Ocelot: their iconic mutual hate

Lay laya: Azedi's grandmother's lullaby

Level 2 (still kinda soft but not so much)

Azedi has adhd (even though Im not really sure that Ive portrayed it right in her :( )

Azedi has sensorial sensibility

Azedi and Eli's breakup: literally the whole point of my main fic

Afghan civil war (and Azedi's infancy during it)

Akam: Azedi's brother that she rencounters in her adulthood in chapter 13

Azedi (as a character) is a metaphor for anarchism

Level 3 (surface level angst)

Azedi's coma in chapter 19

Azedi's toxic relationship in prison: Azedi had an older girlfriend when she was in prison that was very toxic towards her, even though Azedi only loved her to cope with the loss of Eli in her life

Azedi was forced to be an adult even before she knew what the word "child" meant

Azedi and Eli are kinda toxic: he is very sticky with her, and he is kinda the cause of her becoming a professional killer (and other stuff that happens post fic)

Azedi loosing her eye in chapter 19

Level 4 (not Just angsty, straight up very sad stuff)

Azedi's relationship with her body: from the abuse of he rmother, Azedi in her teen years mostly but also in her early 20s had a twisted vision of her body, finding it unproportionated and ugly. Especially since in her teens she was underweight, she would put on several baggy clothes not only because their texture gave her comfort, but also to hide herself

unaliving herself attempts: most notable is when she was in the jungle and tried to drown herself. She delevolep talassophobia afterwards.

her father: he was literally the cause of everything in her life

sh: Azedi used to c*t herself

her prison

her mother

Azedi's substances addiction: she in her adulthood was addicted to many drugs, that caused her to waste all the money she had

Azedi has worked for mafias: since she is an hitwoman, it's logical that some of her clients where members of local gangs or mafias.

PTSD

Level 5: (traumatic experiences and fucked up stuff)

her abduction and her forced to become a childsoldier: after running away from home, she was found by some XOF soldiers, and forced to join them.

her homelessness life: in New York, after the kingdom of the flies, she lived most of her years homeless, in the dirty streets of the Bronx

Azedi was forced to become an hired killer out of poverty

Azedi's panic episodes

Chapter 10: I don't need to explain. Just read it and you'll know.

running away from her home and living in a forest unprotected for months

Level 6: (very fucked up stuff)

Azedi's mother attempting to unalive her

the torture she perished during her child soldier years (12 to 13 years old): the soldiers that had took her in treated her like a little toy for 2 whole years, abusing of her in all ways, damaging permentely her mental health

Azedi killed all of her rapists

SA (Sexual Abuse)

child marriege

Level 7: (hell)

just read it yourself. I'm too disgusted to write it down again...

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls-Season 2, Episode 12, Part 2 ("Richard In Stars Hollow")

Part 1 and all other episodes here

"You built me a car?" "I built you a car." Version 2.0:

Yes it has already been established that a car has been built.

Sorry Lorelai, he's not gonna build you a plane for you to fuck him in. #SexPlane

Let's see how Lorelai takes this completely factual observation.

If your grandfather had pulled out your father wouldn't exist and I wouldn't be here listening to "you built me a car" again and having to hear about Lorelai's Sex With Dean Plane. What does your father and grandfather being good with cars have to do with anything? How does that make you a mechanic? Where's that motorcycle you supposedly had in season 1? Why is your scarf so ugly? I bet that coat you're wearing smells. That haircut is so stupid. It's that time again! Time for "Dean proceeds to get a very snippy attitude with an adult and Lorelai doesn't care because he's not Jess and she wants to fuck him on their Sex Plane."

You're a certified Butthead, that's all you are.

Gotta love Lorelai jeopardizing her daughter's life by letting her drive some death trap built by a 17 year old butthead with zero automotive experience because "it's a nice thing he did." It's not a fucking ceramic mug he made for her in a pottery class, it's a car. He built her a car (did you catch that yet?) Lorelai just gets more and more insufferable and we're only at the halfway mark of season 2. It will continue to go downhill from here. *straps in* Isn't this the car that Jess totals in Teach Me Tonight? That's the only good thing to come out of that wretched episode.

Rory, you gotta stop with that sad puppy face, you're breaking my heart. If he's so fucking good at bulding cars why didn't he do that for a living after high school instead of just being a career butthead? Why didn't he go to automotive school or something and keep himself busy and do something to contribute to society instead of trapping poor Lindsay into making his meatloaf? (#JusticeForLindsay) Why is his face so god damn punchable? I hate everything about you, sir. I wish you would perish. Truly. He claims Gypsy inspected the car (I think this is the first time she's mentioned on the show?) but literally 30 seconds ago Richard asked him "have you even driven it past a mechanic?" and he said no, but now all of a sudden all of these people have inspected the car. Butthead continues to snip at, make sarcastic comments to, and raise his voice at Richard. Rory and Lorelai just stand there. I'm not convinced Butthead can even read no less build a complicated piece of machinery. Richard and Dean mosey on over to Gypsy's in their respective cawrs so Butthead can prove to Richard that his Death Trap is safe. Gypsy inspects Dean's Metal Box of Death and declares there is absolutely nothing wrong with Dean's handiwork. He did a perfect job. We are to believe this 17 year old butthead who had to fake knowing how to read to impress Rory and is not in the automotive trade made aboslutely zero mistakes building a car from a scratch. Mmmkay.

Really? Great! That was the plan all along.

...should have pulled out. We learn a little more about Butthead's family history besides the fact that his father's pullout game is weak. His father has a shop where he sells and installs stereos. His mother transcribes medical records. And that was your peek into the exciting World of Butthead.

While it feels like every breath and eye blink exchanged between R&J has had a PHd thesis written about it at some point, there are some scenes that nobody seems to care about, like this one? It got to a point that I never saw it on Twitter and Instagram and between viewings of the show I would start to think I must have imagined it. Why, I don't know. Because it's cute as heck and it's one his more clever pranks. Certainly better than the chalk outline.

You gotta love Jess putting dirty movies into G-rated movie boxes. Unlike the chalk outline prank, he did it purely to get back at the people who had screwed Rory over. My sweet baby.

How utterly depressing that this is not even a joke anymore and a completely true statement in the year 2023.

No. No bye. You stay right here. *holds him hostage* Let's enjoy a few screen shots of pure unadulterated joy.

HE'SS JUST A BABY.

PURE JOY.

[gojonanami]

I feel like there's so much potential when it comes to Kenjaku because their whole backstory is sort of a blank slate, so you can invent anything you want (which also makes it a little difficult to tackle...). 

I've been deliberating over what could constitute a Kenjaku-driven narrative, and I've come to the following ones:

(1) Kenjaku's original life. In this life, Kenjaku is in their original body. And in this life, they had a lover that is almost a bit like a soulmate—someone who tolerates their ramblings and someone who is the apple of their eye. That lover dies. (Reasons unknown–lover could be a sorcerer, e.g. from the Gojo Clan, or not.) And, in a desperate attempt to cling to their lover, they takeover their body. So they feel and touch the body that they used to feel, touch, admire, adore and make love to, and get to literally experience it. Adjacent to this could be like a smaller ficlet idea of Kenjaku retaining memories of their lover centuries on. Like, for instance, while walking as Kaori, coming across something, say, a piece of jewellery, a brooch or a hairpin, that reminds them of their lover, and buying it, and then crying about it alone. (I was inspired by 'See You in My 19th Life' for this idea.)

(2) Kenjaku reincarnates their lover's body during the Culling Game only to find her to take Satoru and co's side. Conflict ensues. Would Kenjaku prioritise the merger over their one true love? (Sort of feeds into (1) and could pair with one perhaps?)

(3) Kenjaku takes interest in a modern day (powerful?) sorcerer (perhaps with the intent of finding a perfect host for the merger?). Brash, rough, clever, snappy, and a little isolated from society, Reader is rude, sarcastic, and perpetually amused with Kenjaku. This just eggs Kenjaku on. As someone who stresses the idea of enjoying life, Kenjaku finds themselves truly enjoying life while spending his time with her, Reader, who calls him an "ancient old fuck" and "a good-for-nothing brain with ugly teeth". And besides, Kenjaku needs to entertain themselves somehow in their everyday life while devising the Culling Game, no? It's only a shame Kenjaku starts to feel conflicted about Reader potentially perishing in the aftermath of the merger. 

(4) Kenjaku is a pathetic loser who was in love with a girl who didn't love them back. And despite that, for centuries onwards, they never moved on. Either could be a journey of Kenjaku trying to move on from them, or just countless memories strewn together of pure angst and unrequited feelings, and Kenjaku feeling sad and alone, and being driven to find something fun, or do something so impressive—like orchestrate the Culling Game—just to impress a girl they like.

omg I love ‘see you in my 19th life’ I binged it hard — and I don’t know how I feel about occupying their lover’s body — i wouldn’t know how to go from there

I really love (2), (3), and (4) — omg I’m gonna have to mull these over because honestly kenjaku is such a blank slate there’s so many directions to go with him omg.

you are so creative — I love all of these 😭💕

[aimee-maroux]

It's #NationalBirdDay so I want to talk about birds in mythology. There are many stories from ancient Greece about mythological birds and half-bird creatures.

Birds of Ares

The Birds of Ares (Ornithes Areioi in ancient Greek) were a flock of arrow-feathered birds which the god had set to guard his sacred shrine on the Black Sea island of Dia, also called Ares' Island. It had been built by the Amazons, his daughters. The birds were encountered by the Argonauts in their quest for the Golden Fleece. The heroes raised their shields as a defence against the birds' deadly volleys of arrows and with a clash of shield and spear scared them away.

The Birds of Ares were sometimes identified with the Stymphalian Birds driven off by Herakles (see below).

Griffins

The Griphoi or Griffins is a hybrid creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. They guard a treasure of gold by the border to Hyperborea. Griffins were popular decorations in ancient Greek art, for example the helm of the statue of Athena Piraeus:

Source: Athens, Archaeological Museum of Piraeus © 2014. Photo: Ilya Shurygin.

Harpies

The Harpyiai or Harpies were depicted as winged women, sometimes with ugly faces, or with the lower bodies of birds. They were the spirits of sudden, dangerous gusts of wind and were sent by the gods to snatch up people and things from the dark earth. A missing person was said to have been snatched by the Harpies.

Hippalektryon

The Hippalektryon, literally "horse-cock" or "horse-rooster" (hippos = horse, alektryôn = cock) is a hybrid creature with the head and sometimes forelegs of a horse and the wings, tail and back-legs of a male chicken. @sigeel drew them most beautifully, tended to by Demeter and Persephone.

Phoenix

This bird is still well-known today through the saying "rising like a Phoenix from the ashes". It was said to resemble an eagle, with feathers partly red and partly golden. The Phoenix flies from Arabia to the Temple of the Sun (Ra) in Heliopolis in Egypt every 500 years to bury its father encased in myrrh. And there only is a father because the Phoenix begets itself. The tale of the Phoenix actually rising from its own ashes is related in a 4th century CE Roman text called "The Phoenix":

...the pyre conceives the new life; Nature takes care that the deathless bird perish not, and calls upon the sun, mindful of his promise, to restore its immortal glory to the world. Straightway the life spirit surges through his scattered limbs; the renovated blood floods his veins. The ashes show signs of life; they begin to move though there is none to move them, and feathers clothe the mass of cinders. He who was but now the sire comes forth from the pyre the son and successor; between life and life lay but that brief space wherein the pyre burned. His first delight is to consecrate his father's spirit by the banks of the Nile and to carry to the land of Aegyptus (Egypt) the burned mass from which he was born.

Sirens

The Seirenes or Sirens were depicted as birds with either the heads or entire upper bodies of women. They are well-known from the Odyssey for their enchanting song.

Lovely Terpsichore, one of the Muses, had borne them [the Sirens] to Akheloos, and at one time they had been handmaids to Demeter's gallant Daughter [Persephone], before she was married, and sung to her in chorus. But now, half human and half bird in form, they spent their time watching for ships from a height that overlooked their excellent harbour; and many a traveller, reduced by them to skin and bones, had forfeited the happiness of reaching home. Apollonios Rhodios, Argonautika 4.892

The shape of the Sirens, a bird with a woman's head, was popular as a vessel for perfumes and cosmetics.

Stymphalian Birds

The Stymphalian Birds were a flock of man-eating birds of prey which lived around Lake Stymphalis in Arkadia on the Peloponnese. Herakles had to deal with them for the sixth of his twelve labours:

Herakles was stumped by the problem of driving the birds out of the woods, but Athena got some bronze noise-makers from Hephaistos and gave them to him, and by shaking these from a mountain adjacent to the lake frightened the birds. Not enduring the racket, they flew up in fear, and in this manner Herakles reached them with his arrows. Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 2.92

The Stymphalian Birds were sometimes identified with the arrow-shooting Birds of Ares that were encountered by the Argonauts (see above).

According to Pausanias' Description of Greece there was also an old sanctuary of Stymphalian Artemis in Stymphalos and near the roof of her temple the Stymphalian birds had been carved.

Which is your favourite birb story from mythology?

[quietpeaceablelife]

23 August 2022

My response to a beautiful Filipina woman who was riddled with self hatred and insecurity:

Hi my dear. It hurts me that you hate our race but I understand how you feel as a fellow Filipina.

Think about it like this… the more time we spend caring about what others think, they will become idols that bring us far from God and then there is less time we have to honour God, spread His gospel, serve others.

Our bodies can perish at any given moment! But what we do in our lives will be remembered and judged!

Inner beauty, the beauty of kindness, helping and serving others cannot be traded by outer appearance. God looks at our hearts. God is all that matters.

Being loved by someone so perfect is already so flattering that the approval of men don’t stand a chance to God’s divine validation because He is the Almighty Creator, (He literally made this world and you) who loves you no matter what grades or degree you got, no matter how you look, no matter how much money you have, He doesn’t care about those mundane things!!!

People will abandon you and forsake you but by God’s promise if you believe in Jesus, if you love Him and you trust in Him only, He will never leave you nor forsake you and That’s every reason to put Him first. Why put people who will measure and value your worth based on your looks, grades and what you can bring to the world when you can have God who loves you no matter what???

Nothing else compares!! Nothing else matters!!!

This why the First commandment for a reason.

People will see how beautiful you are through your true works and fruits; how kind you are, how strong you are, how brave you are, how wise you are, how generous you are, and man, how it feels so nice to be around someone who is like that!

When I encounter a nice person, my heart feels so at peace and I can’t forget them.

Too much worrying about ‘self’, will lead you to destruction. I love you. ❤️God loves you and He never did a bad job with you. Filipinos and all races are equally beautiful, it’s the enemy that has brainwashed us to believe we are ugly or uglier than others and he has alot of fun watching us compare ourselves with others, wasting our time. The devil is a scammer!

God made you so that you may glorify Him.

Once you realise this and embrace your beauty, you will shine bright and you will thank Him one day. 💖✨

If I have one advice to give you, it would be watch Desiring God - How to stop obsession over appearance, and avoid all mirrors. Don’t waste your precious time on worrying about ‘self’ and become self ‘less’. God will shine through you. Pleasing God will become your new strength and life source. You won’t want to stop! And when you please God, it’ll feel like your on top of the world.

Imagine being worthy of praise from the Almighty and ever living God. We are already so so so blessed to be worthy of life, sacrifice and attention given by Him. Can you imagine that???❤️❤️❤️✝️

Lastly, try to see others through the Spirit.

We are all spirits, bound by flesh.

This one’s a bit hard but, try not to view others by the flesh/outer appearance but by their spirit! ☺️

[jellysnail-draws]

Hi, sorry If I bother you but... I'm not feeling so great, mentally, lately...and I really like your art... I wanted to ask if you can maybe draw Nefarious literally ugly crying and Qwark comforting him? Either saying something sweet or just listening to him. I would really appreciate it. (I saw your situation btw. and I'm terribly sorry this happened to you, such people make me sick.)

Aw, I’m sorry you’re not feeling good :( I’m not super good at coming up with comforting convos but I was able to doodle a little something something for ya. I hope things get better ❤️‍🩹 in the meantime pls take my offering of art. (And no no, perish the thought, chip. You are never a bother. I love getting your asks in my inbox!!)

[episodicnostalgia]

Spider-man: The Animated Series, 102 (Feb. 4, 1995) - “The Spider Slayer”

The Breakdown

Hoo boy, lots going on with this one! Let’s dig in.

Spider-man gets attacked by explosive drones with the most 90’s paint job I have ever seen.  Spidey manages to evade his animatronic pursuers, but without any evidence he’s left to wonder what that was all about.  We discover that the drones are run and operated Spencer Smythe, a brilliant scientist/inventor who was testing Spidey’s abilities.  Why?  He’s building a giant robot-spider to capture Spider-man (because of course) for his mysterious benefactor, mega-rich Norman Osborn (of Oscorp Industries), who wants Spider-man out of the picture.  Why? Because he is being coerced by the EVEN MORE Mega-Rich Wilson Fisk aka The KINGPIN OF CRIME! *Gasp* Why? Because we need to introduce Spidey’s Boss villain!  Now on to the good stuff!

Meanwhile Peter Parker has been assigned to a charity ball where he is CRUSHING IT with total-babe Felicia Hardy.  Sick of being thoroughly cock-blocked, ass-hat Flash Thompson enacts a flawless plan to make Peter look the fool. Dressed AS Spider-man (who is obviously not Peter Parker), Flash intends to threaten physical violence on Peter, in front of numerous witnesses, as a hilarious prank!  Unfortunately Smythe (with the aid of his Paraplegic son Allistair) crashes the party with his Robot-Spider mistaking Flash as the real Spider-man!  What a conundrum!

Anyways, Spidey has to go save Flash and destroy the Black Widow-bot, upsetting Osborn & Fisk’s schemes in the process.  Sadly Spencer Smythe perishes in a climactic explosion, which really pisses Allistair off. And since he’s newly motivated to seek out revenge against Spider-man (literally the one dude in all of this who never wronged him), Allistair agrees to join and serve The Kingpin; setting events in motion that will span across multiple seasons…

Thankfully it’s safe to say this is the last we’ll see of the Spider Slayers…

NEXT EPISODE: Return of the Spider Slayers!

The Verdict

SO MUCH happens in these episodes.  I’d forgotten how packed-to-the-seams the story telling is.  The downside is that certain emotional beats get rushed or glossed over, but it sure is fun.  Plots, schemes, secret enemies, and tons of other solid world building. This episode really leans into the promise of follow up, and that something more will come from the events of this story, which historically hadn’t been that common in kids cartoons.  I’d be lying if I said that I don’t find some of the plot lines much sillier than I remember as a kid, but one can’t let things like growing up ruin the fun.

3.5 stars (out of 5)

Additional Observations

Aunt May wants Peter to go on a date with her neighbour’s niece “Mary Jane”, but Pete’s not feeling it.  I bet when they finally meet a he’ll be ugly and boring.

With all due respect to Sam Raimi, one thing I always thought his Spidey films got wrong was how they depict Peter around women, where he always seems awkward and clueless. Meanwhile here we are two episodes in and Felicia’s picking up what Pete’s laying down. That was a full proper kiss right there, nothing coy about it.

More Eddie Brock. Spencer Smyth hires him to record his capture of Spider-man (because that would make it legally legitimate somehow). The whole thing backfires when Eddie unmasks Flash Thompson-in-the-costume, all on live television  (which Eddie apparently can do without informing Jonah first).  In turn, Jonah fires Eddie for making the Bugle look bad. I bet he’ll use this as a wake up call to clean up his life, and become a more ethical reporter, all thanks to Spider-man’s public example.

[heathersproship]

7.) Ship the antis in your fandom like, but you think is hella problematic?

and

8.) Ship that is (presented as) cute in canon/fanon, but you think is problematic anyway.

If you want ofc.

Holy shit I didn't think anyone would ask me anything, thank you so much!!

I'm... so sorry for the oncoming rants. Oh boy lol.

CW for mentions of coercion toward the end

7) Chansaw. Chansaw, Chansaw, Chansaw. Without a sliver of a shadow of a doubt.

Antis like it because WLW, and as we all know, WLW >>>>> HET ALWAYS. And also, WLW is never toxic because they say so, and if you disagree, you're an ugly pedo rape apologist! HET BAAAAAD, WLW GOOOOOOOD! uwu! Because, you see, when a boy pulls your pigtails because he likes you, it's problematic. But when a girl pulls your pigtails because she likes you, suddenly it's all right! Because it's different when it's a GIRL. She's not a BOY, so it's different, see? Because if it's a BOY, it's not gay. It's m/f, not f/f, and it's less valid if it's not f/f don't you know uwu I'm so progressive and if you don't like this specific ship UM you're homophobic 💀💀💀 l + ratio + bozo /S

Never mind the fact there's literally three other girls to choose from, so this is hardly the only wlw ship we have to work with or perish. 5/8 of the students are girls, and Ms. Flem is the only notable adult. Never mind that all Chandler and Veronica do is butt heads the entire time they're on screen together. At least when Veronica got together with J.D., she actually liked him. He had nothing to offer her, yet she still decided he was worth the trouble and only realized she dun goofed later on when he proves he's not exactly safe to be around. Whereas she got with the Heathers specifically for the benefits of popularity, not because she liked them (in the musical, her exact words were "They're solid Teflon - never bothered, never harassed / I would give anything to be like that." Not them. Like that), and she paid for it with her talent of forgery.

I've seen the argument Chansaw is better because Chandler was just a bully, whereas J.D. murdered people. OBVIOUSLY no one is doubting murder is worse than bullying. Right?? That's a given (I hope). But they seem to be forgetting bullying is also bad behavior. Plus, when that's not the question being asked, any attempt to insist that's still the answer just derails and distracts from the point. The question is NOT "whose actions are more bad/who can we deem the WORSER PERSON (and therefore who DESERVES to be HATED MORE)?" but "do their actions paint them as bad people?" Murdering is bad, yes, obviously, but so is being a cunt. Veronica didn't want to murder, but she ALSO didn't want to be an asshole to others, not for shits and giggles, and definitely not to Martha Dunnstock, who's done literally nothing to anyone. I don't see how that's so hard to understand. The scale of the offense doesn't matter because that’s not the point.

8) Again, Chansaw. None of the relationships in Heathers are without some level of problematic bs, but this one kickstarts it. The story wouldn't exist if this relationship was any better than it canonically is.

Heather Chandler treats everyone around her with the utmost contempt, including Veronica Sawyer, and the fact that antis love this ship so much is one of the fandom's biggest ironies. You can't wear the "Mythic Bitch" badge with pride but recoil and screech and desperately try to reframe it as something else when she actually and unapologetically behaves like a bitch. Passing off the toxicity as romantic also goes against anti beliefs since that's romanticizing toxicity, is it not? And insisting she's actually not a bitch because "well um uhm uhhhm ackshually see what happened was like their own personal headcanon dictates she's just mean because like misunderstood uwu and like daddy issues owo and if you don’t agree their interpretation is the only valid one despite blatantly contradicting canon then did you know you're the wrongest person in the whole wide world to ever wrong and also did you know deserve the death?" is like... first of all, headcanons are just headcanons, not canon-canon, and no one has to agree with ones they don’t like, and second of all, we clearly did not watch the same story because that girl has no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

(And no! Her high school junior ass getting coerced into blowing a uni guy in the movie doesn't make her misunderstood! Sympathetic, absolutely. But there's nothing to misunderstand. Adult man pressure girl at party. Girl hate this. Girl mad. Girl mad so girl mean to friend for not getting hurt too. Friend sick. Friend want go home. Girl not let sick friend go since sick friend not hurt like girl was. Sick friend vomit. Girl mad at sick friend more. Friend mad at girl. Girl drop friend. Friend try say sorry. Girl not say sorry back. Girl not care. Friend kill girl. Friend not mean to. Girl dead. What's not to get?

Also no! Her singing her "suicide" note in the musical doesn't mean jack because we all saw her "suicide" was murder (that's literally the premise), and her murderers are writing this note to cover their asses. All the stuff they're making her say is to make it look like she murdered herself so they don't get in trouble. It can't be more obvious than it's shown! I can't believe antis are so desperate to prove they only stan Good People they choose to blatantly ignore concrete evidence of shit going on and try to insist their pure viewing is the universal interpretation of events! There's headcanon and then there's whatever this is!)

[pondslime]

Ive never sent anon hate before but you’ve gotten on my last nerve ok? First of all how dare you continue to be a fantastic writer with the very best ideas. Your ability to curate the crumbs of peak level of nasty is unfair. Leave some for the rest of us!!!

I bet youre so gorgeous and i bet u throw that ass in a circle regularly too??? Ugh!??? Every fic u make has me wanting to chew my phone and phase thru walls and i am too poor to deal with the fallout of both.

I guess u hate the poor and horny!!! Ur taking advantage of my THIRST by continuing to make fantastic content because now i cant read anyone elses shit because its like dirty heroin compared to your pure black tar uncut supply. 🙄

U CAN'T JUST SEND PPL SUCH DISRESPECTFUL ASS SHIT????

I'm literally WOUNDED. these hateful anon asks speared me directly through the chest and now I'm bleedin out all over the fuckin floor. somebody call life alert bc the world is cruel. my cries fall on deaf ears. u have cut the phone line.

I can't take much more of this. if u keep sending bitches (me), this VILE ass shit I might have to do somethin drastic and just marry ur ass or smthn.

u wanna be in a forced arranged marriage??? w/me?? the pathetic cigarette munching harlettt??? is that ur end goal??? u wanna be posted up in a shack hobbled together w/washi tape and bubblegum?? drinking sweaty sock tea for eternity??? u evil creature. does mercy mean nothing to u??? I'm sobbing. I'm standing in a jared's w/tears in my eyes. spending my life's savings on a beautiful solitaire diamond ring. what cut would u like? u have beaten me down into a shell of a human. round? pear? cushion? emerald? heart, like the one in my CHEST that u BROKE???? whatever u want ig.

how dare u say that my precious pookie bear of pain n torment would not pass the fitnessgram 20-meter pacer test. how dare u imply that he would trip over his oversized pants and bust his geriatric hip on the ground. how COULD u. my world is crumbling. I can hear the sirens. the wind is wailing and the sky is churning above me. RED and COAGULATED w/the blood of a million screaming hicks. this isn't how it was supposed to go. but perhaps it's what I deserve.

I'm blowing the horn of the last rapture and ur there to whip me w/a rod made of marlboro boxes and the tattered remains of a busted fanbelt. what USE are fanbelts at the end of the world? the cars don't start anymore, their engines useless and dead in their metal shells. ur pitching me forward into a landfill and I'm fallin FACE FIRST into a slimy puddle of expired mayo and beer. I thought u loved me?? but love is lost on ppl like u. my ass bounces and ur transfixed. sigh. but have u ever thot abt the soul that lives within that phatness?? u haven't. u never would!!! I should've KNOWN.

I'm on my knees w/shaky hands placing the engagement ring on ur finger. why am I sticky? how did I get coated in mountain dew? oh no. u scoff @ me. it's the wrong cut. u will have 2 pawn this ugly ass engagement ring and idk how ur gonna do that bc there are no more pawn shops in the apocalypse. shit. I can't deal w/the shame. my strap game is flaccid and ur words are razor-sharp. u made me lose @ wii bowling and I never lose @ wii bowling. u have rerouted my brain and stomped my will into tiny pieces w/ur shoes. they are the color of sunshine, of butter, of happiness. I used to know of such things.

light the match in our gasoline-soaked pussy hell. we shall perish how we lived, throwin it back eternally. so it has been written, so it shall be done.