#maybe. maybe I should do that at some point. as a treat.

[pikahlua]

Oh? Please, Madam

What Izuku rejects is the opportunity to be Katsuki's SIDEKICK. He doesn't reject being a hero or competing with Katsuki. He rejects working FOR/UNDER Katsuki. Which is hilarious because Katsuki accepts (apparently multiple times) showing up as a guest lecturer to help out Izuku's class. Katsuki tells Izuku that "If everyone is special, no one is special," which has the potential for SO MUCH DOUBLE MEANING. But what there is no ambiguity about to me is he's basically telling Izuku "Hey, notice this. I'm treating you special. You're special to me. NOTICE."

It's also implied that Izuku sees Katsuki more regularly than he sees most others from their class, which is emphasized by the previous chapter when Aizawa complains to him about Katsuki's behavior in public affecting his ranking. Katsuki basically tells Izuku he needs to start thinking about himself more, and he also ends their final interaction with a "See ya [later]." Katsuki is NOT talking about Ochako, but Izuku takes some of his advice as the impetus for going to talk to Ochako (specifically they just wanna talk more after the dinner since the dinner is now over and they didn't get to talk). So what was Katsuki thinking of? I personally read his "See ya later" as "You'll figure it out, just go handle what you gotta right now and you can catch up to me later."

Hilariously, Izuku calls Katsuki out for being the one to say "If you don't start thinking a little more highly of yourself, you won't notice the things you should." Izuku's response is basically, "Look who's talking." Again, the potential for double meaning here is painfully obvious. He could be referring to SO MANY THINGS and we're meant to infer what that is. WE GET TO GUESS. Izuku could be saying "You did stuff just as bad as what you're saying," or "You're STILL not noticing something, Kacchan."

And Izuku taking inspiration from Katsuki's words to go talk to Ochako is meaningful in another way--IT MEANS IZUKU LISTENED TO HIM. Katsuki is having an influence on Izuku in a way to improve who he is just like Izuku did for him in high school. Izuku takes Katsuki's advice seriously. NO ONE HAS EVER GOTTEN HIM TO UNDERSTAND THIS LESSON BEFORE NOW. It ends with Izuku and Ochako deciding to talk more, but what it shows us is the beginning of Izuku considering himself more. If Izuku follows Katsuki's advice long enough, he'll end up back in the competition with Katsuki just like Katsuki expects him to. That is just as easy of a conclusion to make from the theme of "inevitability" that Shouto gives us (and that Izuku also takes to heart).

This ending implies that inevitably Izuku's gonna catch up again, basically. Things will continue to change. So yeah, we get a beginning where he and Ochako meet up to talk, but it's just a beginning. It's one night of chatting. They're seeing if something's there now (which kind of implies that there wasn't much there before), but it's left open-ended. And I think it's left open-ended what happens with Ochako on purpose because anyone can read how that ends up however they like. You just have to decide as a reader what's "inevitable" for Izuku Midoriya from this point on. Me? I've decided Izuku is taking Katsuki's advice to treat people who mean more to him better. Ochako is just the beginning. Izuku has other people in his life he needs to show love to as well (because that's what this is, Izuku is learning to show people that they're important to him, that he loves them, because saving people doesn't do that--he saves EVERYONE). And then maybe he'll start to see how the people who love him treat him special too, like guest SPECIAL (same kanji) LECTURER KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

tl;dr there is a lot left open to interpretation and it's probably on purpose, read the chapter however you like, just like we did with the last chapter.

...and my interpretation which is the correct one is that Katsuki tells Izuku, "Here let me show you how to love people, damnit!" to give him the character development everyone has been begging for him to have for years, to realize that saving people doesn't mean they're special to him if he's known for saving everyone ever, so like, maybe go show them you care in OTHER ways, Izuku, and also I'll be waiting right here for you to come show you love me you jackass (and he does, he does come show him that)

[delulupunk]

Backwards romance tropes for the bat boys!

Some of the relationships depicted are not aspirational. Warnings for Jason’s, Tim’s and Duke’s for toxic behaviour.

Dick Grayson- Fake breakup

It’s on the front page of the papers, this was your hour of need.

Wayne son dumps partner

Dick Grayson another one bites the dust

Dick Grayson the man who just can’t seem to keep them

Mysterious new partner? Wrong just another dud for Dick Grayson

The tabloids made you both sick, that’s why he told you that the relationship had to be private.

The pair of you had reached breaking point when you’d spotted a paparazzi. You were on the other side of the World on holiday for goodness sake. You’d panicked, because how dedicated they were to snapping a picture of you with your boyfriend. The worst part was they had.

Dick had to pay a lot of money to buy that photo and make sure it never saw the light of day.

The pair of you decided to pretend to break it off, the paps never bothered you anymore and for some reason they seemed less interested in Dick too.

You both made it work though, despite everything because the break up had only been fake.

“Hey you gonna let me in?”

It felt like teenage lovers seeking behind their controlling parents backs. The relationship wasn’t forbidden by any means, it was just that if you wanted your privacy to be respected you had to hide. Which was a disgusting notion but not one you could fix.

It definitely strengthened the relationship however and there’s something so special about secrets. It sends a thrill up Dicks spine every time he sees and touches you, because he knows one silly mistake could end it. While that thought scares him, it also exhilarates him.

He’s going to do everything for you, till death does you apart.

Jason Todd- Wrong person right time

You’d been there for Jason when he’d been at his lowest point. He was fresh out of his latest break up and everyone was telling him he was too violent.

So naturally when he met you, this beauty who enabled his every single action he instantly thought you were the one.

“They say I should reconcile with Batman.” He’ll confide in you bitterly.

“Well you should do whatever you want, who are they to know what you really need.” Is your reply and it’s so similar to all the other ones you give him.

At first it was a breath of fresh air, it was like you two were puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together.

But Jason’s a detective, he doesn’t like being played for the fool.

Isn’t it so convenient that you like the same sports so you can both watch it together?

Well he mentioned it once to your friend and they looked at him confused, but you lied so smoothly and sweetly.

“Well I don’t want them to know, they’ll just make fun of me.”

Right you lie to your friend of ten years, who you trust and consider to be a sibling.

Why do you agree to everything? Why are you so scared of him?

You never argue back, it’s the same monotony. Everything for you was him, the food, the clothes, the opinions. Same, same, same he’s losing his mind.

Because the girl right in front of him is so incredibly boring.

When he breaks it off, you don’t even cry. It’s not eerie, it’s not depressing and it’s certainly not as heartbreaking for you as it was for him.

Maybe he’s just a boy toy for you, but you genuinely meant something to him- even if you acted like a robot in the end.

When he sees you twos weeks afterwards, walking past your university because he can’t get the routine out of his head, he sees you.

With your latest victim.

Wow… you look nothing like yourself with bright red lipstick and a black chocker that screams goth he can tell, you’re just trying to impress and please another boy.

That boy smiles at you and Jason chuckles mirthlessly, another poor soul falling for your beautiful facade.

Tim Drake- Lovers to academic rivals

Tim had met you at school and having you with him everyday was such a treat. Hell it even seemed like the teachers were on your side with the relationship- every single class the pair of you shared the seating plan miraculously had you two together, alone.

The study dates you had were precious and the knowledge shared made you two excel to levels of intellect that neither of you thought capable. You were the dream team.

You’d both get the same scores on tests, the projects you’d both make were jaw dropping, the presentations were practiced and flawless.

It could be argued you two were the perfect couple.

Then you got two percent more than him on a quiz, he didn’t mind he really didn’t. He asked you for tips and everything was sorted. The dates still went as planned, you two ate lunch together and he walked you home.

Next he got five percent more than you on a quiz. Ok… it’s nothing to be concerned about you just had to up your game. The date wasn’t as comfortably silent as usual instead it was slightly empty, you two ate lunch together and he walked you home.

This continued you both swapping between who’s better. Conversations were awkward and stunted, you both glared at each other on occasion. You talked less. You’d spend hours agonising over projects just to beat his. He’d use his influence to make himself more popular because now that’s a competition too. So you needed to volunteer for everything in school, do it before he does so your better. Suddenly nothing else mattered, this is war.

Suddenly the dates were nonexistent, you two didn’t eat lunch together, and he didn’t walk you home.

What could you say? The love just fizzled out. To think you’d even dated him…. Everything was a competition now and you’re not a loser.

Damian Wayne- Love at last sight

There you were getting on that plane, smiling as you turned back one last time and finally Damian’s breath caught in his throat, a blush flooded his neck, and he stared.

Damian Wayne had finally fallen in love with you.

Every single moment flashed by him and suddenly all he could think about was the colour of your eyes, the shape of your body, the sound of your voice. There was only one word to describe you- perfection. The word echoed around his mind as nothing seemed to work the same.

Time was slow and silence crashed into his ears. No, no don’t go! DON’T GO. His mind screamed his mouth didn’t. Instead his lips slightly parted and you turned back walking onto your plane.

Gone forever, no longer for him. He had so many chances all those times you’d been so close and now he couldn’t even see your face. What was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he fallen for you before?

Your form disappears as someone else blocks his view and pure primal rage overtakes him for a second. His hands curl into fists, how dare- It’s too late…. It’s too late.

You the love of his life had just boarded a plane with a one way ticket to the place furthest place away from him.

Love wasn’t foolish, it was just idiots who ruined it. Idiots like him.

Duke Thomas- Really nice guy who only hates you

When you were younger and running in the playground there was a boy so sweet, so kind. The teachers adored him and he’d beam back at them with a toothy grin. He had all the friends and he was adored. So pulling your hair wasn’t something you considered in character for him.

The king of the playground could do no wrong though, so no one believed you when you talked of his crimes. No one believed you now when you said he was always scowling at you until they saw it with their very own eyes.

People always assumed you had history, but you did not. Once he was assigned with you to do a project, an hour later your teacher called you back into the classroom to inform you that you had a new partner. Being such a kind soul had its benefits for Duke. Clearly you weren’t allowed such privileges.

He seemed filled to the brim with hatred for you. Once you tried confronting him and he went pale, his bones shook and you could have sworn you heard him gritting his teeth.

It was jarring to see him laugh with his friends some time later on. It didn’t make any sense to you, why did he even hate you so much? It wasn’t evening bullying. Except for the time he pulled your hair he’d had no physical manifestations of his anger. He’d never done anything online to harm you, and he allegedly never said a bad word against you.

His anger seemed to be contained in a very strong box. You guess everyone’s allowed to have someone they hate, no one’s perfect especially not Duke Thomas.

[k-yurieee]

'ALMOST ALWAYS' CHAPTER 4 IS HERE!! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! 🎉🎉

(Edit 3 : I started writing this post/reblog last week Monday. Don't worry about what day it is today. I just kept nitpicking at it and having more thoughts that I wanted to add everytime I came back to this, and time kept getting away from me because of irl events, sooo yeah. Stuff happens.)

Edit 1 : My usual yapping will be under the cut for this one, cause I might ramble on for bit longer than usual today. Yeah, I've got some things to say. They might not be particularly intelligible, but is anything I ever say on this app comprehensible? Probably not. Soooooo buckle up I guess 🤷‍♀️

Edit 2 : (also please ignore that I'm posting this like wayyyy after I've read this chapter, I had this saved and edited as a draft and thought I had posted it after editing it, before I decided to take a nap, but... Guess I was mistaken lol. And sleep deprived, but that's besides the point. Also I guess the draft didn't even save properly earlier??? Because I'm rereading the whole thing now and I'm pretty sure there's stuff I added earlier that seems to be missing now so.... That's sooo fun haha 🙃 I'll try to re-add anything I can remember 🫡)

Edit 1 (continued) : ohhhhh my gosh, this chapter was another ✨emotional rollercoaster✨ (which isn't anything new with this series, and honestly I should've expected it but mannnn, it just gets me every. single. time 😭😭😔)

Let me just quickly gush about this part first because EEEEEEEEhEEhEEEeeeee I can never NOT giggle and kick my feet over sweet moments like this, are you KIDDING me, I'm an absolute sucker for fluff, and I will die on that hill (also I just need to let myself simmer in this fluffy warmth before I divulge into my slightly more serious thoughts, I'll get to those in a second but firsttttt LOOK AT THIS ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEEEEEE👇👇👇😭😭😭😭)

'You deserve to cuddle up next to someone who truly values your presence and genuinely just wants you to be there with them for a little while.

You deserve the soft tickling fingertips that delicately dance across your hairline, lingering there for far longer than ‘just a second’.

You deserve the barely whispered, super soft “Love you.” spoken so tenderly and punctuated with a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head, it makes you tighten your arms around him.'

When I tell you this made me wanna scream (wouldn't be the first time this fic affected me this way lolll) into my hands and jump up and down 😭😭😭 like girl can you PLEASE be normal (and by 'you', I mean 'I', as in ME. I need to relax lmaoooo 🙃)

This chapter... This chapter was so much. I truly am not sure how to put into proper words everything it made me feel, but I will try. Honestly I feel (and have felt) more than a bit conflicted about them (Joe & R, obvs). And I mean, that's kind of expected, right?

I want to support them but I also low-key want to smack them both upside their head sometimes (but like, in an affectionate 'why did you do that, you flippin idiot, I believe in you and know you can act better than this' kind of way)

It made me remember this quote I heard a while back that went something like "sometimes we dislike other people because we see the parts of ourselves that we dislike, in them". And it irked me because it reminded me of how I'd treated certain people in my life before, in ways that I'm not proud to admit. In one of the previous chapters, Joe had a thought somewhere along the lines of "I can't control my feelings, but I can control how I treat others", and I thought 'this is great, he knows how he should move forward, good for him, he's learned his lesson.' And I hoped it would be the same for the Reader character as well, and that both of them would implement this afterward.

And then... Then this chapter happened, and yeah, maybe they weren't in a completely committed relationship with the people who were sleeping in their beds, and maybe they 'weren't doing anything illegal', and all that, but... They could still be hurting someone else's feelings. Again. Low-key I had my face in my hands like "guys please, I know y'all can't stay away from each other, and I want you guys to end up together too but likeee there's got to be a better way to do this, pleaseeee" 🛐 😭

And maybe that's the point. They're human. They make mistakes. Sometimes they learn and grow from their past mistakes, and sometimes they continue doing the same stupid thing a million times over even if they know it won't end well for them. And it was when they made those questionable choices, when they tried to pretend that their problems didn't exist, when they constantly made excuses and kept repeating the same regrettable cycle over and over – it was during of all those moments that I looked at these characters, and I saw a part of myself. Parts of myself that I didn't like, but acknowledged was there nonetheless. It was these aspects that I could personally relate to.

This is why they feel so fucking REAL to me.

I just really hope things will end well for everyone in the last chapter because mannnn 🥲🥲😭

'But he wants you to stay. It doesn’t have to be like before. Things can be different. Better.'

This part hurt me more than it should 😭😭😭😭

(I know I wrote more about my personal feelings than about the actual fic, but like I said before, I had written more about it - over a week ago - in this draft that didn't save properly, and my memory is generally not that great, sooo yeah. I at least know that I had some thoughts about Emily's response to the whole situation and stuff but I can't recall anything specific I'd written rn. I want to reread this chapter at some point to see if it re-sparks any of those thoughts I had last time but... we'll see lol.)

Anywayssss I can't believe there is just ONE more chapter left to this series omggggg this fic has been an experience for sure

(I'm gonna need to lie down again aren't I 🥲🙃)

Almost, Always

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: -

Wordcount: 6.5K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“I didn’t say he doesn’t… I just said, he has never actually said it.”

Emily’s jaw dropped, and you immediately regretted saying what you just said.

“No, stop. He has said it. Forget I said anything. It’s fine.”

You knew exactly what she was going to say.

She’d alluded to it from the start. Rolled her eyes at him. Made faces of outrageous confusion that told you, how can someone behave like that, without having to say the words aloud. Without making you hear them.

“I’m just saying…” Emily started, and showed you a facial expression that made you feel stupid for even bringing it up.

“It’d be better for you to leave him.”

You laughed, like she made a joke, yet so aware that she absolutely wasn’t.

But listen, if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry, because you knew, you knew somewhere in the back of your mind that it probably was better for you to leave him.

Not a truth you wanted to face though.

There were still too many easy excuses for you to make.

So... you made them.

But Emily’s face remained quite serious.

“Emily. You don’t mean that.” You said on the back-end of a giggle.

“Are you joking? My God, it’d be so much better if you left him. Better for you, better for, well, me. Can’t even tell you he loves you? What is he on?!”

You shushed her, and looked over your shoulder in the general direction of your bathroom and listened for a few seconds. The shower was still going. He couldn’t have heard her.

Good.

Not that Emily’s general opinion was a huge secret. But still. It was nice if the peace could be kept for the night.

“He does tell me that.” you argued, much softer. “Just...”

“Just does it when he’s about to hang up the phone? Just a quick, casual, love ya, when he’s saying goodbye?”

“Well, he–”

“Or does he only say it when he’s about to come?”

“Emily.”

“Oh, God. You’re so beyond help, I don’t even know what to tell you anymore.”

For a moment, you avoided eye-contact. Pressed your lips together and looked around the room whilst your friend tried her best to get it into your head that Joe really just wasn’t it.

“You know you’re in second place.” Emily said, suddenly much more earnestly. “You don’t deserve to be in second place.”

Which was a nice sentiment. A thing a best friend was meant to tell you. A bit like a parent calling their baby a genius because they accidentally made a bit of babbling sound like a real string of words.

“Well,” you said, taking a deep breath in and giving Emily your best smile. “So is he, so I guess we’re even.”

He wasn’t.

These were two different leagues.

But suggesting that Emily was in first place with you was the quickest way to make her feel appreciated even though her advice went untaken.

It always did.

Emily was a good friend and always gave excellent advice. And you were a good friend because you always listened to what she had to say. Or, you thought you did. Would tell yourself you did.

But then you simply wouldn’t follow any of it.

You hadn’t taken her advice when she’d told you to stop fucking around in a fourteen month situationship.

“I like how this just… works, don’t you?” Joe had said one evening when you were wrapped up on his sofa together. You’d made a comment that someone had flirted with you and had asked if you were single. You hadn’t known what to tell them.

Joe had just shrugged then.

“Let’s not push for something if it doesn’t need it. Something not broken doesn’t need a fix, does it?”

And you’d disagreed then. Had hoped that he’d grow a little protective and would’ve gone, um what do you mean of course you’re not single. For a while you also hadn’t wanted to define anything, because fuck commitment, right? But it had been over a year and Emily said that you should ask him to just fucking label it already.

You hadn’t.

You also hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy wasn’t going to make you happy.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy was ultimately just there for a bit of fun, but not really much else.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you to just leave him already when you told her he had never sincerely told you that he loves you.

“I know you’re smart enough to know that it’s absolutely wild that he’s not said–”  

“It’s because you just hear all the bad things, I’m sorry. I should also tell you about the good shit.”

“Oh, yea? Like what?” Emily challenged, and in the silence that followed, you heard the shower turn off.

“Like... look! Look what he got me!” you said, picking up a bag from a dining table chair.

Your friend looked at it for a moment, blank faced, and then narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“Got you? Like, he went out and bought that for you? Or, was that sent to him by the brand, and he just passed it on?”

You looked at the bag you were still holding, then gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. He still gave it to me.”

It was a nice bag.

“Not exactly the same is it.”

No, it wasn’t. But... you know. You could pretend it was.

“Still counts.”

“Okay. If you think so.”

You didn’t think so, not after what Emily had just said, but you were willing to accept it for the nice gesture, and that was all you cared about. Or, what you told yourself was all you cared about.

“I think so.” You definitively told Emily, breaking into a smile to really sell it.

Just when she was about to roll her eyes at you and maybe try her hand at talking a little more sense into you, Joe called you from the bathroom.

You left Emily on her own for about a minute before joining her again.

“Okay. Let’s go. He’s not coming.” You grabbed your coat and found your bag. The one Joe had given to you, but hadn’t spent a penny on.

“He’s– what?”

“He thought of something that still needs doing. He’s not coming.”

Emily stared at you from where she was sat, watching you hurriedly wrestle your arms into the sleeves of your coat as she slowly caught up to speed.

“So, I’m sorry, but have we just waited for him for ages for fucking nothing then?”

You ignored her tone, finding your phone, your keys, and then Emily’s coat as well.

“Let’s go. If we hurry, we might beat the rain.”

You chucked Emily her coat, and she almost didn’t move her arms in time to catch it. With the front door already open, you gestured for Emily to make her way through, calling, “Bye! We’re off!” into the flat.

Emily, under her breath, very mockingly sing-songed, “Love you!” in that same tone as she walked past you, making her point once more.

You didn’t repeat her, but instead rolled your eyes at what you decided was a joke, and then loudly said, “Don’t wait up!”

You didn’t wait for Joe to answer before you slammed the door shut.

It’s been weeks.

Months, technically, although it doesn’t feel it.

“Please be home, please be home, please be home,” you mutter to yourself as you rush your way down his street. “Please be in the fucking country, for just this fucking once…”

You’d texted and had gotten no coloured ticks from him. So then you’d called, but it just rang for ages before you were eventually sent to voicemail, and that’s something you don’t do. Especially not now. Not about this. Hell would have to freeze over before you’d leave a voicemail message. You could delete a text thread, or a voice note. But, a voicemail? Once a voicemail sends out, there is no undoing that.

Maybe you’re crazy, but what you’re doing now feels safer.

It’s after midnight, dark, the streets wet from earlier rainfall, but you feel wide awake. You’ve got Emily’s words ringing in your ears still, and you’ve not been able to shake them yet.

Her advice.

Or, well, it was more just her opinion. She had expertly dressed it up as a fact, though, which is probably why that one sentence still held you in a vice grip.  

Telling her about how you’d had a few… moments, with Joe, since you’d broken up with him, turns out, was the wrong thing to do.

You just really wanted to tell her about the wine.

The expensive bottle you’d satisfyingly dunked into his kitchen sink.

It’s been weeks by now, but you still think about that all the time. And every time that you do, you feel pure glee spark inside of you.

You thought she’d be the same.

You thought she’d absolutely love it.

But then, after you had told her all about that night, she’d just looked at you with so much disdain and disappointment, it startled you into rambling excuses, none of which sounded true to your own ears, let alone hers. She then had shook her head, and sort of muttered something to herself that you asked her to repeat.

It’s those words that haven’t left the forefront of your mind since.

You didn’t ask Emily to clarify herself. You hadn’t gotten into an argument, either. You had just… moved onto a different topic. A lighter, easier to digest thing to talk about.

It left those words to rein freely, left those words at liberty to inflate themselves until they were all you could think about, and the feeling had clawed at your chest for the rest of the day. The rest of the night.

You hadn’t been able to answer the question, what’s wrong, that you were repeatedly asked until it made you upset.

“Nothing’s wrong! Stop asking me what’s wrong! God! You asking me what’s wrong a million times a minute is what’s wrong!”

Something is wrong though.

Obviously.

You just left someone in your bed for this.

Ringing Joe’s doorbell is a quick action, fingers pressing that familiar button before you can have any doubt of what you’re doing. It takes longer than a few seconds before you hear a small beep.

“Joe? I texted you, can you reply to my text?”

A silence follows, and for a moment you think maybe the intercom doesn’t work properly, or maybe he just hadn’t heard you.

“I– I sent you a message, check your phone–”

A loud click of the door unlocking and a loud shrill buzzing sound interrupts you.

“No you don’t have to– just text me back, will you?”

No answer follows, but the loud buzzing persists. After a few more seconds of it, you know Joe’s just holding down the button until you go inside.

That wasn’t the plan. 

With a frustrated grumbling sigh, swearing under your breath, you push yourself into Joe’s building and make your way to his front door.

In the lift you decide you won’t let the doors close properly when they’ll open on Joe’s floor. You’ll tell him from half inside the lift that he just needs to check his phone.

You just want an answer.

But then the lift doors open and one foot steps out as you lean into the hallway, expecting to see Joe waiting by his front door, yet he isn’t.

You make an angry face, nose pulling up and showing your clenched teeth with a frown. You’re in a building where people are asleep so you can’t make any noise, but you absolutely would have otherwise. Joe leaves you no other choice but to get out of the lift, and begrudgingly, you make your way over to his doormat.

When you get closer, you can see how the door’s been left open.

“Hey,” you whisper-yell into the flat, “Joe?”

You get no answer, and take a few careful steps inside to find him standing in his kitchen in a T-shirt and a pair of boxer-briefs. He’s got his back turned to you, and is seemingly busy cleaning up mess he’s left out from dinner.

It’s the fucking middle of the night.

It’s dark in Joe’s flat, the only light in the room coming from his under cabinet LEDs, and it’s weirdly warm for the time of night, you think.

“Hey, I–” you start, voice low because it’s late, but you quickly get cut off by Joe.

“Did you close the door?”

You blink a few times and watch Joe very carefully load some things into his dishwasher, making little to no noise at all. No plates softly clashing, no rattling cutlery.

“What? No. I–”

“Will you close the door, please?” Joe asks, but it sounds like a demand. Sort of cold, a little detached.

“All I’m here to say,” you try again. “Is that I want you to check your phone...”

Joe stands up straight and finally looks at you. Whilst maintaining eye-contact he slowly closes the dishwasher until it latches, machine clicking shut, and when he then just... keeps staring at you, you throw your head back like an annoyed teenager, and reluctantly do as you’re told.

You go to close his front door.

In the kitchen you hear the tap go, and when you join Joe there again, you can see how he’s filling up a glass with water.

Joe is about to take a sip when he suddenly decides against it and lowers the glass.

“Water?” he then asks, and holds it out to you with a stretched arm.

You’re slightly confused, but you take it, and then watch Joe reach for another glass from a cabinet and fill that one for himself.

“Thanks, but…” you place the glass on his counter and hold two hands up to Joe. “I’m just here because I need an answer to a text.”

Joe, with his mouth in his own glass, sort of looks at you a moment as he gulps water down.

He looks tired.

Which, yea, that checks out.

You fucking woke him up, didn’t you?

There’s so many reasons to declare yourself clinically insane right now, but you’re holding onto the notion that this is actually all totally normal with all of your might. If you pretend to believe it, you might just be able to trick Joe into it as well.

But Joe just looks at you like he’s waiting for you to give the real reason of why you’re there.

“So, if you could just, check that. Answer it. That’d be great.” You force a polite smile and step back. “That’ll be all.” And you turn to leave again.

“You’ve been crying.” Joe stops you in your tracks.

You turn back to him.

“No. Well, yea I was, but that’s not– I’m fine, that was about something else, not this. You don’t have to– stop, I’m going to go, please... respond to my message. I’ll read it when I get in, and that’ll be that.”

“Wait.”

Joe picks up the glass of water you’ve just put down and gives it back to you. When it’s in your hands, he even gives it a little push upward to ensure that you have a sip.

“I’ll go get my phone.”

And he’s so calm and agreeable that it feels rude to do anything else but take a sip and wait for him. You watch Joe walk out of the room to go get his phone, and it’s a lot of opening and closing doors, everything done as quietly as humanly possible. Then, you suddenly notice how hot you feel in your coat. It’s really fucking warm in here.

That’s new.

That’s... weird.

When Joe comes back, he closes the door behind him again and looks at his phone as he unlocks it.

“Why did you call me?”

“Just–”

“I’ll read the text.”

In silence, you stand and watch Joe open his texts and read your message. Messages. There’s several. Then, he starts typing back, and, this is what you came here for, but now that you’re standing in Joe’s kitchen in the middle of the night, having pulled him out of bed for this, you almost want to tell him he’s being an idiot. He can just as easily answer your question in person.

His message sends, and your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Joe places his down and gives you a tired stare.

“Yea, okay. Th-thanks.”

“Read it.”

It startles you.

“No, that’s…” You’re so stupid. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Read your message.”

You feel like a fucking child that’s being scolded by a parent.

Guilt.

Regret.

Self-inflicted, which makes all of it so much worse.

Every feeling sits dark and sticky and bitterly uncomfortable in your gut, clinging to all the edges, stretching longer until the shadows overtake all of the previous excuses you had for being here.

You shouldn’t have come.

You shouldn’t have gone to wake up Joe over something so insignificant and, well, dumb. It’s embarrassing, and you want to leave.

“You’re here now. I’m up. Read your message.”

You inhale deeply. Hold it there for a moment.

He’s right.

The damage has been done.

You’ve dipped a toe into this strange pond, and now you might as well canon ball yourself right into this uncomfortable mess, no matter how cold the water might be.

The only way out seems through.

You pull your phone from your pocket with a clammy hand, and fucking damn it, you’re sweating underneath all of your layers.

“I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

Joe just lets his eyes drop to your phone before he looks right at you again, his very stance issuing the orders.

Read the fucking text.

You see the notification and open your phone with face ID. Your own messages to Joe catch your attention first, before you see his reply.

“Were we as good as we’re going to get?”

“What we were together”

“Was that really as good as it can get?”

“Ever?”

You didn’t have to send the same question in various different ways, but that’s what had happened.

Emily’s reaction to the stand alone get-togethers you’d participated in with Joe hadn’t been what you’d expected. You’d hoped for a level of girl power encouragement. For a loud get it girl, or a, yea babe get what you want.

Instead, you’d gotten a sigh and shake of her head, followed by a soberly mumbled, “You really do deserve each other…” that you’d asked her to repeat.

Before she’d always said that Joe didn’t deserve you. That was always the point she tried to get across. The idea she tried to sear into your brain. Joe was beneath you, and you were far above. Always.

And then suddenly, now you are no longer too good for him?

Suddenly you’re on equal footing, and you deserve each other.

What the fuck.

You look at your own messages and realise in that very second that you have no idea what kind of answer you are after from Joe. This isn’t a coin toss situation where you know what side you want that coin to land on the moment it get’s thrown into the air. Fear strikes you lightning fast. No matter what Joe is going to tell you, it’s going to be wrong.

What the fuck are you doing at Joe’s flat?

And why is it so fucking hot in here?

The only way out is through.

You read Joe’s text.

“Darling it’s late, let’s not do this over text”

A non-answer.

You look up at Joe, who is now leaning against his kitchen counter, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest. His head tilts to the side a little and neither of you speak.

It’s oddly unexpected that the guy in his underwear exudes more confidence than the girl bundled up in heavy layers of clothing.

You frown and read the message again.

For a second you debate what to do next. What to say. If this is going to be the end of this interaction, or if it’s going to be just the beginning.

It’s late, though.

You inhale deeply. Slowly.

Then, resign.

“Okay.”

Because honestly, what were you really even expecting from him?

Your soft little defeated okay isn’t what Joe expected though, you can see it in the minor change on his face. The eyebrows that quirk up slightly, his jaw that loosens, the eyes that round out...

“I’ll um...” you say softly, letting your phone sink back into a pocket before pulling at your sleeves to let them cover both hands.

Joe steps forward and bends to look at the clock on the oven behind him before he says, “Well. Since you’re here. Might as well.”

He gestures an arm at his dining table. At one of his chairs. It’s hard, but you do your best to ignore the memories of the last time you were there, sat in one of these chairs. Well, technically, you hadn’t sat in one of the chairs... Joe had sat on one of the chairs and you–

“Am I going to get an explanation of what’s going on?” Joe asks as he pulls out a chair for you.

Finally, you remove your coat.

“It’s a long story.” You say, then think for a moment and add, “No it’s not, actually. Emily said–”

“Ah. Emily.” Joe sits down in a chair opposite. “How is Emily doing?”

“Shut up. She’s fine.” You exclaim, voice a little raised in defense, and you’re immediately shushed by Joe. He holds up a hand as he perks up, and you get the message, lowering your tone as you add, “This isn’t about her.”

“It’s not?”

“No. She just said something. I…” you trail off for a second.

Your head’s a scrambled mess of doubt and insecurities and it doesn’t help that all you’ve done in the past few hours is overthink every single thought that’s popped into your brain. It’s a bit of a journey to retrace your steps and go back to the start of all of this.

“We were talking, and suddenly she... she said something and I’m just… I wanted to know if you think that… if you think what I texted you is true.”

“You just… wanted to know… if I think…” Joe narrows his eyes up at the ceiling as he thinks, slowly repeating your words.

It’s condescending.

Patronising.

Joe’s making fun of you.

“All right, be fucking honest or–”

“No, no. I’m sorry. Sorry. It’s nearly two in the fucking morning,” two already big eyes comically enlargen, but don’t make you laugh. Wrong audience. “But, yea, you’re right. Honest. I’ll be honest.”

You take a deep breath in preparation of what he’s about to say.

Were we as good as we’re going to get?

“Imposing question, though.”

Yea, you’re aware. It’s why you hadn’t been able to sleep and had eventually decided to just get up and out of bed, leave the boy you had in there on his own, and make your way over to Joe’s.

“I don’t know.”

Wild how you feel about five inches tall whilst simultaneously feeling like you’re taking up too much space in the room.

“You don’t know.”

Typical.

“Well. No, I… was it as good, wait, what was it?” Joe looks past you and sees that he’s left his phone on the counter. “Was it as good as it could be?”

You exhale through flared nostrils, frustration forcing your eyes shut for a moment.

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get for us?”

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get... I mean, I think so? I– But–... you tell me. Were we?”

And Joe’s right. It is late. You have spent hours thinking that question over, and you couldn’t answer it when you weren’t as tired as you are now, so it’s useless to even try at this hour.

You shrug, and for a moment, it’s quiet. You don’t know how to go about leaving now. You came here for something you aren’t going to get and so, fucking now what?

“Why um... why have you been crying?”

“Oh, I...” your fingers find your sleeve to rub. “I was asked why I couldn’t sleep, and I... well, I couldn’t really explain, so...”

Joe frowns in confusion, not understanding.

“I don’t know, you try listening to someone say shit like, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t help you, fifty times in a row, and try not to fucking snap.”

They’d been tears of angry frustration, mostly with yourself, and they’d actually surprised you. You hadn’t expected to cry, but, you felt hurt by words your best friend said to you, so you guess that does add up, actually.

Something slowly dawns on Joe before he then leans back in his chair and nods, scrunching his nose, and he whispers, “Jasper.”

“Jasper.” you confirm, and it makes you chuckle a little before a yawn breaks it up.

Joe watches you. Lets his eyes take you in. It’s the middle of the night and you’re very clearly going through something, but he hasn’t got the answers to the questions you’re asking him, and he hates it.

Wishes he could help.

Wishes the questions you wanted answers to weren’t so impossible.

Joe watches you yawn. Watches your eyes blink slowly as you stare into space for a moment. It’s so quiet, he can hear his clock tick on the other side of the room. Then suddenly, you smile.

“I told Emily about the wine... about how I was a complete bitch and poured that bottle right down your drain.”

And Joe can’t help but feel more amused at your smile than feel annoyed about his expensive wine being wasted. He won’t let his face show it though.

“Bet she enjoyed that.”

“Yea I thought she would, but... she just... she said that we deserve each other. Whatever that means.”

Joe watches your fingers rub along your sleeves. Knows what that means.

“That’s not true.” he suddenly says, voice low and sincere.

“Oh, right,” you huff a laugh and half-heartedly joke, “I don’t deserve you, of course.”

Joe doesn’t laugh.

“No, I mean... well, yes. Technically.” Before he continues, Joe shakes his head in an attempt get his thoughts in order. It’s late. “But not in the way you just said it. In that... you probably deserve better.”

“Probably?”

“Yea. And so do I. Probably.”

Hmm.

You silently mill that over for a second. Aren’t sure what to make of it. If there’s even anything to agree or disagree with there.

“But, who’s to say. All we know is that we weren’t the best before.”

Joe stresses that last word and then lets the words float in the air for you to draw your own conclusions from. It’s certainly true that you weren’t the best together - hence the break up that eventually happened. But Joe’s expertly sharing the blame, which is not a fun truth to face.

The before saves it, a little.

The before makes it sounds like Joe’s talking about two people who no longer exist. Like, those people are gone. That door is closed. And look at you now. You’re a whole new set of two different people. It’s a different world, and you’ve changed. Grown. Learnt.

Who knows what you’d be like now.

Joe can’t predict the future.

And neither can you.

“Hmm.” you hum, eyes trained on the surface of the table, body flushed with conflicting feelings you don’t know how to put into words. Instead of stumbling through words until you find ones that make sense, you remain silent and pull at your sleeves so there’s more fabric for your fingers to run across.

“Hey,” Joe leans forward a little and catches your attention. “Are you okay? Do I need to be worried about you?”

You smile and let it take over your whole face as you shake your head no before you bring your hand up to cover another yawn.

“No. But I should go. This was never meant to be– she just… I don’t know, Emily got into my head and I didn’t know how to get her out.”

Joe contemplates in silence. Wonders if he’s okay with the idea of you walking out and going home right now, in this state. It’s almost three o’clock.

“I don’t make the best decisions after midnight. Sorry.”

You push your chair back and get up on your feet, the plan being to give Joe a quick polite hug goodbye before you make your way back to his front door.

You’re tired, but you know the second you step outside into the cold air that will make your lungs feel sore, you’ll wake up enough to make your way home without any problems.

But then Joe decides you can’t just go.

You can’t just leave.

He’s stuck.

You’re stuck.

You’re stuck in it, together, in this muddy sludge of whatever the two of you have become now. One of you is going to have to step out of their shoes and escape, and Joe thinks it should be you, because you’ve escaped this quicksand of a relationship before. You know how to get out.

It’s weird that you willingly came back.

Keep coming back.

And it’s awful that Joe just keeps inviting you in. Welcomes you with open arms every single time.

But he wants you to stay. It doesn’t have to be like before. Things can be different. Better.

He decides he’s not just going to let you leave, so when he stands up and you go in for a hug, he takes hold of you by your upper arms and starts moving you towards his sofa.

Says, “Come sit for a second.”

And no resistance comes from you. Joe thinks it must be because you’re tired. You’ve cried and you’ve worried and you’ve let all of it eat away at you until you decided to reach out to him, and now, he wants you to stay. He’s not a fan of how, from a certain angle, it looks like he’s taking advantage of the situation, but... you’re both adults.

He’s not doing anything illegal.

Well.

There’s a girl in his bed.

It’s why the flat is warm and why all the doors are closed. Joe shouldn’t have let you inside. Shouldn’t have made you come in and shouldn’t have made you close the door behind you. Shouldn’t have given you a glass of water and shouldn’t have sat you down.

He doesn’t want you to leave now.

There’s a girl in his bed.

And you’ve got a Jasper in yours.

Joe’s closeness to you will come at a price, he’s aware. But it’s one he’s willing to pay. One he’s got the cash for, no problem. Name the sum and he’ll double it.

He’s got you by the arms and is walking you over to his sofa. You are stopped just before you’re about to step onto the area rug.

“Shoes off,” he says, like he gives a shit. You know he doesn’t, but listen to him anyway, and know that taking your shoes off means you’re not going anywhere. At least not for a while.

You get turned around and get sat down, and immediately, you feel far too comfortable. The seat’s too soft. The cushion’s too fluffy. Memories of the hours spent snuggled up on this sofa shoot into the forefront of your mind and you want to warn Joe that it’s not going to take much for you to fall asleep.

But before you can, he pulls a throw blanket from the other side and hands it to you, and you realise that getting comfy and cosy is actually the goal here.

There’s a guy in your bed, who you’ve just… left. Didn’t tell him anything. Just got out, got dressed and left.

You take the blanket from Joe.

It’s probably a good idea to at least let him know something. Send him a text. Let him know you’re okay. But that little voice of reason in your head gets drowned out when Joe sits down next to you and helps sort out the blanket so it covers you both.

“Sit for a second?” you ask through a soft half-suppressed laugh as Joe settles in beside you, your thighs touch underneath the throw. “Am I staying the night?”

“I don’t know, I don’t control what you do. I just want to sit for a second.”

Joe stretches an arm behind you that you think he’s going to rest on top of the sofa, but it moves your head forward a little as it grabs hold of your bicep to pull you in a bit more.

“Joe...” you warn, but it sounds lighthearted and sleepy.

“What?” Joe acts all innocent, but you can hear his amusement when he adds, “Just for a second.”

Joe is still shuffling in his spot, using his other hand to sort the cushion behind him, then pulling the blanket and tucking it under his leg, followed by him using his chin to fix the bit of flipped cotton of his T-shirt sleeve – it’s a lot of faffing for someone who wants to sit for just a second.

He’s nearly done, a centering sigh half way out of him when, suddenly, you feel how he pipes up a little and see how he looks across the room. His phone’s still on the counter, and for a second, Joe debates getting up to go and get it.

You determine on his behalf that he doesn’t need his phone by draping your arm across his stomach and snuggling up.

It’s warm in Joe’s flat.

And this little nest is perfect.

“Fine.” you mutter softly. “Jus’ for a second.”

Joe pauses for a moment as he looks down at how you let your nose brush his arm, your eyes already closed, and he grins as he sinks back down into his sofa.

You don’t make the best decisions after midnight.

Neither does Joe.

Maybe you do deserve each other. Maybe you don’t.

But you deserve this, you think. And you mean that in the best way possible. You deserve to be comfortable, and cosy, and toasty warm in a dimly lit room with a man who smells really nice.

You deserve to cuddle up next to someone who truly values your presence and genuinely just wants you to be there with them for a little while.

You deserve the soft tickling fingertips that delicately dance across your hairline, lingering there for far longer than ‘just a second’.

You deserve the barely whispered, super soft “Love you.” spoken so tenderly and punctuated with a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head, it makes you tighten your arms around him.

You fall asleep in the soft glow of the under cabinet LEDs with the knowledge that the next morning is bound to be awkward. But this is still infinitely nicer than trying to fall asleep with Emily’s words on your mind. It’s difficult to think about impossible-to-answer questions when you’re wrapped up in strong warm arms that want you there, so you allow yourself to sink and to drift until dreams fully take you.  

A loud bang of a door slamming shut wakes the both of you with a violent jolt.

Two pairs of tired bleary eyes look around the room, and there’s a fleeting moment of confusion. Your mind scrambles to piece together where you are and what just happened, but all your mind can focus on is how dry and heavy your eyes feel as you blink to adjust to your surroundings.

“Oh, fuck,” Joe croaks, groaning as he goes to sit up. He looks over his shoulder, then rubs a heavy hand across his face before he goes, “Yea…”

You feel disoriented and frazzled, and move to sit up just enough to look over the back of the sofa with squinty eyes to see what Joe is even looking at.

All you see is an open door to the hallway that leads to his bedroom.

“What was that?” you ask, thinking maybe something dropped or knocked over somehow. When Joe gets up and walks over to his bedroom to check, you think that’s it. Something fell because gravity finally got a hold of whatever Joe had been precariously balancing on a bookshelf.

But then you hear Joe audibly sigh and dejectedly go, “Yea, she won’t be coming back.”

That takes minute to land.

It’s too early for your brain to comprehend what just happened, but slowly, puzzle pieces click together.

Oh.

Oh, that’s fucking detestable, isn’t it?

When Joe walks back out, he’s wearing joggers and is holding a ball of socks, and you hope there’s a different explanation than the correct one you just concocted. He looks at you for a moment, and you can tell by the look on his face that he feels awful.

Right.

Emily can fuck off.

You don’t deserve each other.

You deserve better than this.

Okay, so, yea, admittedly, you aren’t really one to talk, seeing the personal choices you have made over the past eight hours. But the choices Joe has made in that same span of time are just as bad, if not worse.

You decide to give into the feeling of wanting to lay back down rather than to face whatever this morning has on offer for you. You disappear from Joe’s sight, and cover all of your face with your hands that press and pull at your skin.

This is such a mess.

“Emily can fuck off.” You mutter into your own palms, hoping Joe can translate that and connect the dots of your disdain for him in this very moment.

You should leave.

Should check your phone for any messages or missed calls, and you should leave.

Never come back.

Learn your fucking lesson already and never set foot into this flat ever again.

But then Joe leans over the back of the sofa, and with knitted eyebrows that show off every single line on his forehead, he softly asks, “Do you want a coffee?”

You drop your hands.

Look up at him. The kind face. His short hair sleep messy. Jaw line. His mouth.

You should leave.

“Um…”

Oh... oh no.

“Yea…”

Fuck.

So close.

“Yea?”

You almost had it.

“Yea. I could use a coffee.”

Almost.

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @cowboymcflurry

@demonsanddemogorgons, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevitalifestyle, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson

@emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby

@gri959, @hanahkatexo, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns

@keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia, @mandyjo8719

@mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr, @munsonssweets, @nadixq

@niallersfreckles, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid

@readergf, @royale1803, @skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac

@solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle

@tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

add yourself

[aspenlovesmedia]

Credit to TMA for having Jon not forgive Daisy for what she did.

Listen I am an angry person at heart, I know this, and I rarely forgive people, but I will accept that they’ve changed, or are trying too. People say forgive and forget, or even forgive don’t forget, but I have so many wounds that will never truly heal and while I genuinely hope they have changed, they hurt me in ways that shattered my soul, so why should I forgive them when I will never be able to completely heal?

I am so sick of media where it has characters always forgiving the people who have wronged them. For some characters I think it makes sense, but I want more characters like me. I need people to understand that it’s okay to be angry, it’s okay to be hurt, and while you need to find a way to heal, you do not have to forgive the ones who hurt you. If they truly have changed, they need to understand that the people they hurt do not owe them forgiveness. They accept they hurt people, and while they can apologise, they can’t take back what they did.

Jon never forgives Daisy (rightfully so), but he knows she was trying to change. He helps her, and she never asks for him to forgive her. She does her best to change and it mostly works. I love s4 Daisy a lot for this reason. I also love how the narrative never condemns Jon for not forgiving her. Jon fucks up regularly, but not forgiving Daisy wasn’t one of those fuck ups.

Not forgiving people is okay. Don’t let your hurt and anger consume you, either channel it or find your way of getting rid of it. Personally I channel it, maybe one day I’ll get rid of it, but anger isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s an emotion that is often seen as terrible but it has a purpose. My anger makes me a better person, as it drives me to try and help people. It makes me more aware of injustice and ensures I do what I can to fight the wrongs in this world.

This post actually got more personal than I expected lol. I got triggered earlier today so that’s probably why. I hope I explained that decently well? I have so, so many posts about how I love the way TMA treats trauma, coping mechanisms and stuff like that. I will likely do more at some point.

Anyway, point is you don’t have to forgive people, and anger isn’t always bad.

[ghostofskywalker]

It (Shouldn't) Take A Village

gift wrap banners!

another fic for the @galactic-gift-gathering! this time for @dreamsight73 - the prompt was "fun around the christmas tree" with the bad batch. i wanted to write something absolutely silly and fluffy, and i hope that the vision of the bad batch trying to put up decorations works with what you were looking for!

ao3 link || words: 745

summary: For their first Life Day on Pabu, the Bad Batch end up with way more decorations than they know what to do with. Trying to put everything up is certainly an eventful experience.

Boxes were strewn out across the floor of the living room as Life Day decorations were laid out anywhere they could fit, not a single surface spared. To someone that didn’t know any better, they might have guessed that some kind of bomb had gone off to put the home in a level of disarray this intense. 

Everything was half complete, and the sound of different conversations all blended together from room to room. 

Echo and Crosshair, who usually operated as something of a well-oiled machine when it came to tactical missions, were finding that putting together a Life Day Tree was much more involved than they originally thought. In hindsight though, it probably wasn’t a good idea to assign a group that only had two hands total to do this particular task.  

“The tree’s crooked.” 

Echo scoffed. “No it’s not!” 

“Maybe if you weren’t standing so close to it you’d notice.” 

“We should have just cut down a real one.” 

“And which one of us was going to lug it around?” Crosshair asked, eyebrows raised at his brother as he held up his right arm. 

Echo sighed, looking down at his scomp and then at the doorway of the home, which wasn’t exactly the widest in the galaxy. “Good point.” 

Wrecker and Tech were taking care of a slightly lesser-known tradition among the galaxy but one that had been joyfully adopted by Pabu’s residents, the Life Day Village. Figurines, buildings, trees, and other various accessories were strewn out all over the floor as the two of them hunched over a table in the back corner of the room, bickering almost constantly about what should go where and how best to arrange the town. 

“Are Shep and Lyana aware that the buildings and life forms they purchased do not boast a consistent theme?” 

“What does it matter if you put a gundark next to a bantha? It’s all for fun.” 

“The architecture is completely historically inaccurate, and we cannot put the cantina next to the school.” 

From across the room, Crosshair snorted. “You are aware that these children aren’t real, right? What drunkards are you protecting them from?” 

From his perch at the corner of the couch, Tech rolled his eyes. “Shut up. The layout of things still need to make sense, or it doesn’t work in the first place.” 

Hunter and Omega were in the next room, unpacking stockings, garlands, and other decorations from totes that were gifted to them from the other inhabitants of the island. Eyes wide, Omega treated every item with the utmost care, and she had a special affinity for the plethora of tooka figurines, all wearing different festive hats. 

But of course, she still found a way to join in the fun the rest of her brothers were having (making fun of each other). 

“Look Crosshair! This decoration looks like you!” 

Two faces appeared in the doorway of the room, equally opposite expressions adorning them. And once Crosshair got a good look at what Omega was holding up to show him, the sound of his annoyance was audible even over Echo’s laughter. 

“Absolutely not. That thing is green.” 

Hunter, who at this point had managed to contain his smiles and present a completely neutral expression, entered the conversation seconds later. “What? You don’t see the resemblance?” 

Wrecker’s voice carried across the home. “What does it look like?” 

Echo spoke next, finally reeling in his laughter. “A grumpy expression, a tiny heart, and a set of glaring eyes.” 

“That sounds like Crosshair alright.” 

“You’re all getting coal on Life Day,” Crosshair huffed. “That’s the tradition, right?” 

Omega smiled as Hunter shooed Crosshair and Echo from the room. She knew that her brother’s ire was nothing but playful, and a feeling of warmth bloomed in her chest as everyone returned to their tasks, the small house growing more and more festive with every single box unpacked. 

She had always understood the appeal of Life Day, but her fondness for the Wookie holiday was increasing tenfold every moment. Every single one of them had been through so much, and getting to this point had been far from easy, but right now, as they laughed and joked with each other in a home they could finally call their own, it was like nothing had ever gone wrong. 

Maybe that was the true magic of Life Day, she supposed, even if she wasn’t looking forward to cleaning everything up after the holiday was over. 

[cocainever]

hi, I love your page and I have a question for you. I read over your "do not ask", and I think my question is within your boundaries. so, how do you maintain an orthorexic lifestyle without binging too much? I personally can eat very healthily for a few weeks, but then my sugar addiction kicks in and I binge. if this crossed your boundaries, I apologize.

-Cyrus💚

Hi Cyrus! Thank you for sending an ask ❤️❤️☺️!! And yes your ask is in my boundaries. It means a lot that you’ve acknowledged my boundaries and limits in my pinned post! 🙂 I hope this can encourage others to do the same.

So actually It was a really slow transition into becoming an orthorexic and yes I still have my bad days. My orthorexic rules are obviously like “don’t eat overly processed food like fast food. Avoid foods on the inner aisles” but I can have some exceptions. As time goes on I’ve seemed to reject “bad” foods like cookies and pasta and white bread. What I found is that when you get that out of your house, or actually out of site out of mind, it helps tremendously. I have a twin brother and he is obsessed with junk food. He is really active like me and has a good metabolism. Here is a picture of my pantry:

There is plenty of junk food in sight, all around me. As I’m rewriting this post I just had a shit ton of peanut butter. We all mess up sometimes—I’m sure anyone would when they’re missing flavor and live around this. I’ve already burned majority of it off—at least 600 calories.

So, that brings me to my first point. You should set in discipline when you eat “bad” food. Maybe that means you won’t get your weakly treat, or you post pone a meal a bit longer. Maybe you won’t make your favorite meal, but instead a more sadder one. These are all safe methods that don’t involve slicing your wrists for punishment or even worse harmful resorts.

I admire that you can stay on an orthorexic diet for weeks on end. For most people, it’s too tedious and takes a lot more energy. I like to take it one day at a time, and to obsess over making the RIGHT choice. You also could be binging because you miss the flavor. So, for example, you binge on chocolate crème cookies. That’s fine! Maybe you miss them. You could make your own using healthier, whole ingredients that not only leave you satisfied but proud. If you love sweets, try out protein cakes/waffles/pancakes/etc. these are so much more satisfying and guilt free! There is no reason to deprive yourself, especially when it is very possible to have that flavor!

I hope my post could help!! ❤️❤️🙂 Stay safe and stay healthy!

(PS: thank you for reading my pinned 🙂it means a lot to me!!)

[kingofbodyrolls]

PSA: Support Your Fanfic Writers! 📣 (Yes, this is a rant, but a fun one, I promise)

Listen up, folks! This isn’t about money—put your wallets away. This is about engagement. Yes, the glorious trifecta of likes, comments, and reblogs (especially reblogs, but we’ll get to that). So buckle up, because this is a love letter/rant/public service announcement that your favorite writers desperately need you to hear.

Let’s start with the bad news: I’ve seen way too many amazing writers pack their bags and leave this platform, and honestly? It hurts. It makes me sad, angry, and frustrated enough to scream into the Tumblr void. Why? Because there’s a big ol’ elephant in the fanfic room, and it’s called low engagement.

What is Low Engagement?

Let me break it down for you:

A fic gets few likes.

A fic gets even fewer reblogs (😭).

Comments? Barely a whisper.

Why does this happen? Maybe people don’t vibe with the story. Maybe they forget to reblog. Maybe the Tumblr gods are punishing us. Who knows? But here’s the thing: engagement matters. For a writer, reblogs are the gold standard. Reblogs = love. Reblogs = visibility. Reblogs = “Hey, world! This story is awesome—check it out!”

Why Low Engagement Is a Confidence Killer

Let’s be real—writing takes time, effort, and soul. Writers pour their hearts (and sometimes their sanity) into crafting stories for their readers. But when the engagement is low? It feels like screaming into the void. It’s disheartening. It makes writers second-guess themselves. And yeah, sometimes it makes them leave altogether.

And let me tell you about silent readers—those sweet, well-meaning souls who read but don’t interact. Look, I get it. Not everyone wants to leave comments or reblogs. But when a writer hears nothing—nothing—they often assume the worst: “No one likes my story. I should just stop writing.”

That’s why I’m here, yelling into the Tumblr abyss: Engage, people! Even a simple “OMG I LOVED THIS” or a string of heart emojis can make a writer’s day. And reblogs? Reblogs are the holy grail.

Tumblr ≠ Instagram (Stop Treating It Like It Is!)

Can I get this tattooed somewhere? Tumblr doesn’t work like Instagram. There’s no magic algorithm that boosts posts. If you want your favorite writers to stick around, you have to help their stories reach new eyeballs—and that means REBLOGGING.

Here’s the cheat code: If you like a fic, reblog it. If you really like it, reblog it with some tags or a mini-review. Want to go full superstar? Add a screaming reaction in the comments. Seriously, it’s that easy.

“But What If I Didn’t Like the Fic?”

Great question! Not every story will be your cup of tea, and that’s okay. Here’s what you can do:

Leave a like. It’s the bare minimum but still appreciated.

Maybe highlight something you did like in the story. No need for harsh critiques unless the writer explicitly asks for it.

How to Be a Writer’s Favorite Reader

Here’s a handy guide to becoming the MVP of your favorite fandom:

Like. Comment. Reblog. (The Holy Trinity!)

Reblog with tags or a quick review. Examples:

“This broke my heart in the best way 🥲”

“Chapter 3? Perfection. That plot twist? I gasped.”

Highlight specific parts of the fic you loved (a line, a moment, a character's sass—whatever made you feel something).

Send the writer an ask! Scream about your favorite scene. Yell about your emotions. Writers LOVE this.

Want bonus points? Make fanart. Create a playlist inspired by the fic. Recommend their work to others. Write a heartfelt thank-you message. These little gestures mean the world to writers.

Why This Matters (Yes, I’m Wrapping This Up, I Swear)

At the end of the day, we’re all here because we love stories—reading them, writing them, sharing them. But if we don’t support the people creating these stories, they’ll stop. And that’s a loss for everyone.

So, my plea to you is simple: Show your favorite writers some love. Hit that reblog button. Leave a comment, even if it’s just “!!!” or “cries in emotions.” Scream about their work in the tags. Your engagement keeps the fandom alive.

Got thoughts? Other tips? Throw them in the comments or reblogs—let’s keep this conversation going! And to every writer out there feeling discouraged: You’re amazing. Don’t stop creating. We need your stories. 💖

[ace-malarky]

Oooh I'm almost caught back up with the Entirely Abitrary Word Goal

Hit yesterday's, less than 1000 off today's but like. it's late. so I may draw back once I hit the next round number and come back at it tomorrow when I don't have work getting in the way lmao

[dykedvonte]

I keep seeing fanarts of ppl's OC's being on the ship, so do you think that if there was 6st crewmember (specifically, another woman) Anya would've been more safe? Like, someone to actually call Jimmy's begaviour out, someone Anya might wanna trust? Is there a possibility something might have changed (even if a little) or it would not have mattered at all?

-💀

I feel like the game would make it part of the commentary on where she would believe and help Anya but still be sort of dismissive? Like the whole “don’t waste time crying and being scared keep going and move on, don’t let him win”. It’s supposed to be positive and reinforcing but sometimes it does more damage in those times of mourning and grief, it feels patronizing, like you don’t understand what you’re going through but they do. Even if they did call out his behavior it’s still on Curly to act and while another voice would help, it’s still 4 against 2 on guys that don’t get it until they have to vs women who always have to.

I don’t mind mouthwashing OCs but I do get a bit bored as they tend to be borderline saviors or like Jimmy aligned. They are either more complicit than Curly or just Jimmy haters for no reason, outside of what the creators know about what he did to Anya. I am never irked by OCs but in a story like mouthwashing you really need to think about what your character adds to the commentary, especially if they are there during the crash. It’s nice to have like characters on Anya’s side more whole heartedly and interesting to see characters who placate Jimmy but sometimes it’s one note.

I can’t and don’t want to police peoples OCs it’s never my intention when I comment on trends I notice, but I do feel like the way people make their OCs interact with these two characters and especially Curly, really show a grave misunderstanding of the narrative and these characters as people vs roles in the story. Still, I know people just make up characters for fun and that’s fine. Great even, but I guys I’m focusing more on OCs that are supposed to have those serious dynamics. My favs tend to be pretty-Tulpar or post-Tulpar au OCs.

The inevitably of the crash is on Jimmy. He did that not because he wasn’t stopped but because all his means to kill Anya were taken. The gun, the axe. Even if Curly did strip him of his co-pilot privileges and try to keep him contained there’s only so many people. An extra body helps but they have jobs they have to do, he’s the only one steering the whole ship and Jimmy would likely have an out: food, bathroom, etc. He’s not new and if he couldn’t crash the ship directly, who’s to say he wouldn’t sabotage something else? A clunker like the Tulpar wouldn’t take much. An extra person helps but it’s just another thing that prolongs what a person like Jimmy is willing to do to shirk responsibility.

It’s more than just needing someone to stand up to him and think that’s what is missing when it comes to inserting a character into the mouthwashing setting.

[batsplat]

bat splat thank youuu for saying the pecco jorge rivalry is just for pecco as opposed to having the specter of Vale hanging over it. I want to ask tho, I have been seeing people say the only reason pecco wins the race is because he copies jorge's setup throughout friday/saturday/Sprint. Wanted your opinion on this because I have also heard that Pecco gives decent engineering input and builds his race slowly over the weekend. Was just confused about how much data sharing can actually help, and how much does it help with the ducati specifically!! Have a nice day, love your posts

have a good day too, anon!! and I will gladly spread the pecco narrative independence agenda!! it's something I really do like about the rivalry - expanded a bit in the comments under this, but it's neat to have something that really is Just Pecco's. from inception it's very much his own rivalry, his own narrative... idk, this sport is too reliant on valentino to provide any kind of narrative tension, and it's just sort of refreshing to see this multi-year narrative play out that has fuck all to do with that guy. enough

on the set-up copying, obviously that is bullshit. I mean, to be clear, I'm sure pecco absolutely copies the set-ups of other ducati riders, but that's very much a mutual process - it's something that benefits all the ducati riders, and they've all openly spoken about this. it's very helpful to be able to see the data from seven other riders!! that's a big part of why ducati has been so bloody good!! the main difference is that jorge tends to be faster from the start of the weekend, whereas pecco tends to take time to reach his level. which I suppose makes some people draw the conclusion that pecco is only fast once he's copied someone's set-up. again, this isn't the case - it is just a difference in approaches. points come... well, unfortunately, not just on sunday anymore, but they certainly do not come on a friday. pecco knows this, which is also why sometimes he's not even trying to top an fp1 session - this year there have been quite a few instances of jorge but not pecco throwing on a fresh set of tyres towards the end of fp1 and setting a particularly impressive lap time. there's also nothing wrong with THAT approach, jorge is playing to his strengths, but at a certain point we're just talking different run plans

(there is also a very obvious logical fallacy with this line of reasoning. if you are copying someone's set-up, then by definition you have the same set-up as them. and if you beat someone with the same set-up, then it stands to reason that you were riding better than them. sure, you can argue the success is less earned because your team... idk, just lazed around all weekend, but at the end of the day surely you still cannot be a bad rider if you are getting more out of another rider's set-up than they themselves are able to manage)

and yeah, pecco is known for giving good feedback! just being a good learner in general. here, actually, a little throwback from start of 2019 where pecco's crew chief gabarrini (who also ofc has worked with casey, lorenzo and briefly with marc) compared pecco and marc:

"A driver - all of them do this - starts at a certain level and ends the day at a higher level. What makes the difference is starting again where you were. Few have this quality: it often happens that a driver sets good times - without knowing why, without being aware of how he got there. The 'good' ones, on the other hand, have this characteristic: they achieve a result and know why they did it," explained the chief technician. Gabarrini even goes so far as to compare the MotoGP rookie with the current world champion: "I saw this quality in Márquez: I was with him when he made his debut in the MotoGP World Championship. His ability to not forget what he had learned impressed me. Once he had understood an aspect of the riding style, the set-up or any other thing to be faster, he had it in him forever. Pecco also has this quality." "In Valencia we started with a base similar to the one Lorenzo used: on paper it suited Bagnaia, based on what you could understand when you saw him riding a Moto2 bike. From then on, the normal changes to the set-up were made so that he could ride the bike as he liked. In the meantime, Pecco has worked enormously to adapt his style to the Ducati."

and there you have it - pecco's good at progressively getting better at stuff, including over the course of the weekend. as for the set-up copying thing, partly it's just typical competitive paranoia (even though it feels like the fans are currently doing it more than the riders). back in the day, valentino and jorge used to have the world's dumbest arguments about this every other week. led to one of my all time fave messy jb moments:

god I miss that guy so badly. they don't do ride-or-die like that anymore

the point is that both sides were engaging in pretty silly mudslinging, just kind of for the vibes of it. valentino/jb trying to get under jorge's skin and jorge a bit more earnestly aggrieved. as ever, if you want to read more about how that particular era of jorge/valentino unfolded, see here. this is just to say, this kind of faffing about is a tale as old as time and it's always a bit silly... you had jorge say that it was impossible for them anyway to copy each other's data in the very same answer as he accused valentino of copying his set-up. like, I'm sorry, I am not going to take this seriously. a lot of sports is about having dumb arguments

and yeah, again, pecco does gradually build up his level over the weekend. more of a valentino than a casey, it's fair to say. and that'll hurt him in the sprint format - which I talked about a bit recently while going through casey's latest interview about how sprints are satan's providence:

so yeah, casey thinks that if anything there isn't enough time to work on set-up, and mat oxley thinks it's rubbish to say pecco relies on sprint data to be better on sunday. (as I said in that post, I do find it fun if unsurprising that casey is so virulently anti-sprints, because you'd think a lot of aspects of the format - including less time for everyone for working on set-ups - really would have suited him. keeping it real.) so on the whole... y'know. maybe he just gets better over the course of the weekend. it's been known to happen. there's actually some pretty significant ways in which the current version of the sport isn't all that pecco-friendly, from the shitty michelin front tyre we're keeping for another year to the sprint format we appear to be stuck with. it's just that he also happens to be on the best bike - and the fact that he's winning a lot but simultaneously isn't highly rated by fans makes people want to believe that the current series is 100% ideal for him

a lot of fans are loathe to admit pecco might actually be a good rider so they'll find basically everything to justify that prior. including getting into increasingly conspiratorial territory. but my actual take is this - if pecco has been gaming the system so expertly that he is somehow the only guy able to take full advantage of everyone else's data, so shrewd and cunning that he can spread magic dust on his bike so that he suddenly leaps ahead of jorge, such a dastardly operator that he can steal the set-up that poor jorge perfected on friday morning to fix his bike five minutes before the sunday race, then... good. I support it. I hope he's cheating. the more unearned the success is, the better in my books. long live corporate espionage and foul play

[msburgundy]

everyone buy ducklings this spring and post pictures so i don't have to

[giantkillerjack]

Uh-oh! You are like, SOOO awkward!!

You're so awkward that it is occasionally mildly uncomfortable for people!

You're so awkward that sometimes people are confused by you and then there are awkward silences!

You're so awkward ...... that ultimately no one is harmed!!

Oh damn!!! What a vile crime you have committed! What an unforgivable thing it is to make a fellow human briefly confused!

Why, if *I* were ever briefly confused and kind of uncomfortable as a result, I'd be devastated.... by the absolute net zero change in my happiness and health! - From which I might never recover!! Yes indeed! No punishment can ever be enough for you!!

So you better absolutely hate yourself for it.

Better be SO MEAN to yourself about every single missed social cue so you don't forget your horrible crime! Meaner than you'd ever dream of being to someone else for the same thing! This is YOUR responsibility!

You need to show the world that you KNOW you are bad by punishing yourself constantly! After all, think of all the people who BENEFIT from you punishing yourself! - No, really! Think about it! Think about who benefits from your pain.

Think of alllllll the definitely-good people that your definitely-necessary self-torment definitely helps! I mean, you can't just cut off their definitely-life-sustaining supply of your suffering, right?? Sure, everyone else has a breaking point, but you're probably the only person in human history who doesn't, right? Best not to question it probably. Sure, it's a symptom that billions of people with trauma have had, but who knows? You could be a one-in-seven-billion exception. Anything's possible!

Instead, better just accept that idea that bullies carry like guns in holsters - the idea that people who have trouble with social cues deserve to suffer. Better carry on the burden they placed on you until you drop. Aid the cause of the callous by enforcing shame and suffering upon yourself extra hard; try your best to do their work for them. They're very busy.

Better not recognize that you need patience and kindness to heal from your trauma. Better not find out that it was trauma rather than personal weakness filling your head with self-hating thoughts. Better not find out it wasn't your fault.

Better not find out that awkwardness is not inherently harmful or unkind, and, in fact, the people who act like it is *are the ones enacting harm and being cruel.*

Better not get righteously angry when you realize just how much unnecessary damage this has done to you. After all, if you get mad, you might realize you deserve better. You might even feel brave enough to DEMAND better! You might build boundaries that keep you safe! You might make other people think they deserve to feel safe too! And we obviously can't be having that, so...

Better not show yourself even a little kindness a little bit at a time.

Better not make a habit out of it after all that practice.

Better not get confident.

Especially if you can't first wipe out every trace of awkward. (And you probably never will. Because people who experience absolute social certainty at all times tend to be insufferable assholes that enforce the status quo. And you just don't have the stock portfolio for that.)

Better not be confident and awkward because then you might confuse and delight people

- you might accidentally end up making other people feel less shame for their social difficulties

- you might make isolated, traumatized, and shy people feel like they deserve to be included in social situations

- you might even make them feel they can be themselves around you

- you might start loving the effect you have on a room

- you might enjoy conversations more

- you might forgive yourself and bounce back from shame more easily and frequently

- you might come to enjoy some of those moments of harmless confusion you cause because NOBODY expects the Confident Awkward, and that can genuinely be an advantage in social situations

- you might stop apologizing so much.

- you might find that socializing is like a video game: it requires practice but also a safe space for it to be fun and positive.

Or if you can't become assertive and confident, better not remain awkward and shy and quiet, and then love and forgive yourself anyway!

Why, it would be carnage!!

In either scenario, you run the risk of finding out that it's not your fault that safe spaces full of kind people can be really hard to find, create, and nurture. You could end up building a skillset that helps you do those things if you're not careful!

If you start giving yourself even the tiniest amount of grace at a time, you will find that you've accessed a gateway drug with extreme long-term side effects:

- You might realize that it was never your fault that it took so long to like yourself.

- You might realize that you were always worth talking to, even when you didn't like yourself and communication felt impossibly difficult.

- You might realize that you'll still be worth talking to even if communication becomes harder as you age and/or experience disability.

- You might come to know that you deserve to be heard even on bad days when words come slow and blurry.

You might discover that you were always deserving of kindness, first and foremost from yourself.

So. As you can see, it's FAR too much of a risk to start granting your awkward self free pardons for your many heinous and harmless crimes. Better to just leave it there.

[shalom-iamcominghome]

My thoughts on jewish politics are nuanced and convoluted in many ways, but if somebody comes at me with the idea of categorizing my thoughts as being in line with the "good jews" or the "bad jews," you've just got to assume I'm not One Of The Good Ones.

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 741: Danchiku's “shout”

Pag 1

1: In their eyes,an unshakable will....!!

Pag 2

3: Ahhhh

4: Danchiku is exhaling!! For so long!!

3.... 4....

5: 5 seconds!!

Ahh

6: No, he's exhaling even more!!

8... 9.... 10 seconds!!

Ahhhhh

Pag 3

1: 11 seconds.... 12 seconds!!

3: He's emptying his lungs using all his muscles around them!!

5: This is bad!!

Pag 4

1: It's coming!!

2: “Panda shout”

“It's a breathing technique”

“I become twice as fast”

The onw who reaches the sensor line first wins this race!!

If I don't get ahead now

3: He'll catch up!!

4: Ahhh

Pag 5

5: Filled up of “fresh”!!

6: Panda....

Pag 6

1: Shout!!

Hiigaruaaagh!!

Pag 7

1: Hiigaruaaagh!!

Pag 8

1: He caught up to me!!

2: Twice as fast!!

3: Kuaaaaagh

Pag 9

1: We entered the last curve!!

And Danchiku is still accelerating!!

2: This is Danchiku at “100%”!!

Pag 10

1: Cough cough

This is so hard!!

2: 300km left until the sensor line!!

3: Catch up, catch up, catch up

Catch up!!

Pag 11

1: Sugimoto Terufumi!!

2: Kuaaaaaa

200m left!!

Pag 12

1: Cough

Cough

2: We're all both human beings

We all have limbs, and a head

Danchiku, and Onoda, and Naruko too

3: We're all human beings!!

4: Our bikes aren't all that different

My Colnago is ligh and fast!!

5: So, I'll catch up

I'll catch up!!

6: I should catch up!!

Pag 13

1: I watched it, their running

3: I watched them from the sidelines

For three years!!

4: Onoda!!

Onoda-kun!!

Sakamichi!

Pedaaal!!

5: Doesn't matter how hard it was for them

Pag 14

1: They never gave up!!

3: Calm down, heart

Calm down, breath

4: Panda shout? Bamboo Hop Shot?

5: You're working hard,didn't you, Danchiku?

That's nice

6: Then I'll indulge you and let you practice with me!!

Kuaaaaaa

Pag 15

2: They left Onoda and the others behind.. so the race is on this lap!!

Nii-chan!! On!!

They're coming!!

3: Danchiku and Sugimoto

4: 100m left!! This will settle it!!

They both started the final sprint!!

Danchiku is ahead!! And he's smiling!!

Pag 16

1: Sorry, Sugimoto-san

As expected, you ran and practiced in Sohoku with no breaks for three years

2: But

It's over now!!

3: I'm sorry, but give up please!!

4: Sugimoto!!

5: Nii-chan!!

Pag 19

2: Kuaaaaaagh

4: Ju... just now....

Pag 20

1: They arrived at the same time.... on

2: At the end.... Sugimoto stretched ahead with a long sprint...

Who knew he could do something like that!!

3: Nii-chan really is amazing, on!!

4: But

A tie at this moment means that-

On

5: This race

Pag 21

1: Hasn't ended yet!!

It's a suddent death match until they settle this!!

2: A long.... sprint...

You still had.... something like that....

4: Good job.... my Colnago-chan, good job

5: No... now....!!

Should we go another lap, Danchiku?!

6: This guy.... he doesn't give up!!

[tenojan-in-tevinter]

Honestly I really want to be able to side with Solas in dreadwolf. I think it'd be super interesting to play as an elf in Tevinter and be able to just go "yeah actually I think Fen'Harel is right let's tear down that veil." I mean I assume the main conflict will be Solas trying to convince your character to join him, or your character being told they have to try and stop him, and there are not enough games that let you side with the presented "villain" character. I want to see what the world is like with no veil I'm so interested. Also so interested to see what full-on Fen'Harel Solas is like. Is he still as empathetic? Or is he more conniving and distanced from "mortals" like the old stories would have us believe?

[wildflowercryptid]

something that's been weighing on my mind ever since learning about the situation with ezra / toonimal is seeing how these predators will take the active hostility that is frequently directed towards minors in online spaces to their advantage and use it to prey on vulnerable children. i think that we as adults in online fandom should probably come together and maybe rethink the language / manner we go about interacting with kids bc clearly the way things are rn is causing active harm.

like obviously, if you're an adult and aren't comfortable with minors interacting with you or your content, you should be allowed to set that boundary and should be vocal about it, ( especially if the content you create isn't safe for them to consume. ) but i don't think talking to them like they're a blight on all that is good and holy is the way to go about it. maybe just saying you're an 18 plus account will suffice, you don't have to tell them to fuck off.